the burly man

Things that bother me in gay dating profiles ...
  • - Racism. 
  • - Rudeness. 
  • - No fat, no blacks, no Asian, no fem <= this fucking sentence. 
  • - Old people (50 +) who go exclusively for guys under 25, sometimes under 21, it is creepy.
  • - Fat people who won’t even talk to other fat people on line and then complain about how unfair they are treated because of their weight.
  • - Duck faces and smizes …. especially if you’re a burly looking man.
  • - Dick pics.
  • - Age shaming.
  • - Closet shaming. 
  • - Size shaming. 
  • - Kink shaming.
  • -Trans shaming. 
  • - Bottom shaming. 
  • -Top shaming. 
  • - Dick size shaming. 
  • - Fem shaming.
  • - Kink pushing (those who have a specific kink that they keep pushing onto people)
  • - People who can’t understand no. 
  • - People who say they want  a LTR but they’re only looking for sex (and vise versa)

I do understand that people have different preferences and standards, but you can:

  •  Be nice about it
  • Give people a chance
  • Put yourself in the shoes of the other people that you insult
  • Be open minded
  • Be realistic

rougeheichou  asked:

Like you know, how when you think of Reiner as boyfriend, youre like "man he's that big burly ladies man but he's like the most gentle person you will ever find and as soon as some harms you in any way, whether it was on purpose or not, he's gonna rip that person apart" ? :D But then you gotta be gentle af yourself to not accidentally use the word "Solider" or "Warrior" D:

I agree omg I think realistically dating him is not for the faint of heart and mind tbh

between the devil & the deep blue sea (m)


Words: 28,455. (rip)

Genre: Pirate Jimin au + smut, fluff, angst.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader.

Summary: “No matter the endeavour you were on, no matter the storms you encountered on rocky seas, or the possible threat of encountering blood-thirsty pirates, no one intrigued you or intimidated you more than the thought of him, of Park Jimin, the most notorious of pirates, the most brutal of men, the devil incarnate.”

Keep reading


It starts with a bar of soap.

For God’s sake, Kent thinks to himself in the “personal care” section of the grocery store. Why does Dove think I’m allergic to purple just because I’m a guy?

He picks up the lavender-scented bar soap and inhales. It smells heavenly. Next he tries the sandalwood-scented from the men’s section. It comes in a gray box and costs fifty cents less. It smells good but it reminds him of floor polish.

I’m a grown-ass man, Kent thinks, and buys the lavender soap.

The next time he’s out of body wash, he spends thirty minutes trying to decide on one of the many “manly” smells before caving to “Cocoa Cabana” in the women’s aisle because it smells like Valentines Day in a bottle. 

After that it’s his deodorant body spray, trading in “Bold” (whatever the fuck boldness smells like) for “Fresh Cotton.” 

The first time Jeff catches a whiff of it on him, he asks, “New fabric softener? It smells awesome.”

“Nah, switched deodorants.”

“Huh.” Jeff nods in approval. “Well, you smell like fresh blankets out of the dryer. I have a physical urge to hug you.”

Kent laughs. Jeff hugs him and he laughs more. It’s nice.

After five months, nearly every toiletry Kent owns has been switched over from an endless variety of blacks, grays, and occasional dark greens and blues to white, purple, soft brown, yellow, and pink. Showers have transformed from a perfunctory necessity to something luxurious. Women’s products are so indulgent. They make Kent feel and smell like he’s been at a spa. He does have to learn to juggle the fragrances appropriately or risk smelling like a perfume store vomited on him. But it’s worth it, for how good he feels after. He feels pampered. His skin is softer, his hair shines, and even his pits and crotch look and feel cleaner. He doesn’t know if it’s the products or because he really cares about the maintenance, now, since he’s got all these specialty items to try. It doesn’t matter. He feels great.

Kent now has honest-to-God bubble baths and detox-salt-soaks. He’s got body butters and face masks and a lip balm in almost every flavor. The ladies at the Lush at the mall know him by name.

Kent’s still single. He’s got his cat for company, though, and the guys, who drop by or come over for movie and game nights and get drunk and eat all his food and pretend to chirp him for the specialty lemongrass-scented hand soap in his bathroom. Sometimes, on roadies, Swoops will plop down next to him on a bus or a plane and say loudly, “Damn, who’s got chocolate and isn’t sharing? Oh, it’s just Parser. Fuck you for getting my hopes up,” and then he’ll noogie Kent or grab his fingers and gnaw on them.

(The coaches have had to break them up before and it’s very unbecoming of two adult men.)

More than once, one of the guys has fallen asleep next to Kent and ended up face-first in Kent’s shoulder. They’ll wake up blearily, rubbing their eyes and saying, “Whoops, sorry man, didn’t mean to drool on you.” Kent was confused at first but he’s realizing that it’s because they gravitate towards the scent of him in their sleep. He smells like comforting things: honey and chocolate and cotton and Shea. He smells like warmth and safety. It’s why he likes all the things he buys, so it makes sense the guys would like that, too.

Nobody rags on him for it. They chirp him, but that’s different. Chirping, light-hearted and giggly, means acceptance. Soon his teammates start coming up to him in the locker room or nudging him on a bus and saying, “Parser, can I borrow some of your stuff?” and leaving with key-lime lips or cocoa-butter hands.

But it’s when he catches Sunny—big, burly, greatly-bearded d-man Sunny—pulling a bright orange tube of passion fruit lip balm out of his bag and slicking it on in front of everyone that he knows for sure that it’s okay.

Only Way To Live - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 4818

Warnings: Kinky Filth, NSFW, 18+, Oral (Female Receiving)

Notes: Honestly, I’m kinda mixed about this entire thing? I don’t think it’s as good as some of the other stuff I’ve written. The idea was so good for this too! I got the idea from an episode of Attack of Titan while I was in my slump. So, please, any feedback ya’ll have would be appreciated.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

What's up with you and muscly men? No hate or anything, I'm just genuinely curious. Like, I like my men (no homo) with a touch of muscle y'know, to get the blood flowing if you know what I mean. But like, your taste in muscly men is something truly worthy of merit. I can find respect in the men who can truly admire the gratuitous muscles of a big burly man!

i cant respond to this seriously im hyperventilating

Of Sunsets and Tattoos

Originally posted by garisanee

Character(s): Reader X Changkyun

Genre: smut, pwp

Warning(s): praise!kink, pierced!chankgyun (is that a warning?), tatted!changkyun, breathplay, semipubluc sex

Length: 7k

Summary: In which you go to get a piercing and find that it isn’t so scary when you’re piercer is a cute boy with lots of tattoos

Friends are useless. 

You understand the truth behind these words when Minhyuk and Kihyun corner you after work an unsuspecting Tuesday afternoon, smiles much too wide to mean anything good.

“So,” Kihyun begins, inspecting his fingernails with a smirk, “Remember last Thursday when you said I’d be too much of a wimp to ever get a piercing?”

You roll your eyes, pushing him back a little bit with a shove. “That’s because you are a wim–”

“False!” Minhyuk interrupts, eyes glinting. “He is no longer Yoo Kihyun, wimp extraordinaire–”

“I resent that!” Kihyun interrupts, voice indignant.

“–but rather, Yoo Kihyun, hardcore, punk rocker with an ear piercing.”

Keep reading

“So what are you?”

The question which plagued my childhood in suburban Kansas; the ponderance of which led me towards years of agonizing identity searching; the answer to which I still hesitate to deliver.

“So what are you?”

It is an innocent question; one I know I am not alone in hearing the echoes of. But what do I say? “I’m mixed” is the short answer, but it always leads to the question of “With what” so do I say “My mom is white and my dad is brown” but brown isn’t usually specific enough so do I say “my mom is white and my dad’s Pakistani” but that doesn’t flow right because white is a race and Pakistani is a nationality so do I say “my mom’s American and my dad’s Pakistani” but that isn’t true because my dad was born in Canada and he’s lived here his whole life and American sure as hell doesn’t mean white I mean my dad IS American so do I say “My mom’s a white American and my Dad’s Pakistani American” but that just sounds like I’m trying too hard so that’s out of the question and so do I just drop it and leave it at “none of your business” but that’s rude and it’s really such a simple question so what in the hell do I freaking say?

“So what are you?”

It’s a good question, really… why don’t you tell me? I am the alienation that I feel when my mom’s family talks about how dangerous those Muslim immigrants are over dinner and I am the strange sinking feeling in my stomach which occurs when my cousins tell me that whatever I’ve just done is haraam. I am the frustration which clouds me when people around me doubt that I am what the hell I say I am. I am the product of the millisecond long stares of confusion people give me when I tell them the pale as china blonde lady I’m with is my mother and the looks of disgust I get when I, the young, doll eyed light skinned girl, go out to dinner late at night with a big burly middle aged brown man, aka my father. I am the three and a half years it took me to decide what to call the pigmentation of my skin.

I am the sadness which clouds me when one of my Aunties asserts how lucky I am to be so fair skinned. I am the anger I feel each and every time I think about the people who called my full and plump Desi lips fat as a kid and now use copious amounts of lip liner to accentuate their tiny mouths on Snapchat. I am the hours of hoping and praying during and after shootings that it wasn’t a Muslim. I am the incredible lengths I go to, the precise and complex knowledge I feel I must have of my roots in order to truly claim my heritage. I am neither and I am both and I hate it.

“So what are you?”

I can’t stand here and tell you that it is all bad. That would be I lie, for I am also the cool, smooth feeling of the bronze crucifix which sits on one side of my bedroom wall and the sentiment of the words “Allah most merciful” written in beautiful Arabic script on the other. I am my large French hazel eyes and my thick and wavy South Asian hair, my favorite of my features.

I am the pride I feel as I trace my thumb over the intricate embroidery on one of my anarkalis and the anticipation I feel for Christmas as I help line my grandmother’s fireplace with garland. I am the rhythmic clanking of my bangles as I dance to bhangra music at a cousin’s wedding and the clicking of tongues by a sizzling grill as my grandpa flips our burgers during a Sunday night barbeque. I am the flavorful and savory taste of pulao my father makes and the creamy texture of mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving. I am the Maybelline mascara I coat my eyelashes with and the kajal I used to line the edges of my eyes. I am the flavorant meeting of two cultures melting in an incredible country in which such a thing is even possible.

“So what are you?”

God, but what am I thinking? I’m Jackie. I am the impending messiness that is my bedroom. I am my inability to fall the hell asleep before eleven o’clock at night. I am my love for all things fashion and glamour. I am my obnoxiously large collection of makeup. I am my hideous shedding of tears each and every time Spock dies in the Wrath of Khan.

I am my intense love for horror movies and my struggle to move in the dark for two days after watching them. I am my passion for music and Michael J. Fox and Kanye West and my unrequited love for Zayn Malik. I am my collection of records and of 32 scarves which I never wear, my brown riding boots, my belting of Christmas carols in the middle of July, my irrational hatred of algebra, my inability to sleep without my phone being on its charger, the Toll House cookie dough I eat straight from the bag and the four Beatles posters I have hanging in my room.

I am the scent of Aussie conditioner and my clumsy, spacy nature; my obsession with the Kennedys, my adamant love for Diet Dr Pepper, losing myself in my daydreams, my extreme extroversion and procrastination of literally everything, my weakness for Reese’s peanut butter cups, my A to Z knowledge about Mick Jagger, my ever changing mind. I am my dreams and I am my fears and and I am my tenacity and I am my mistakes and my courage and my insecurities and my abilities and my hope … I am so much and yet I am so little. I am me. I am unapologetically and beautifully me.

“So what are you?”

I am Jacqueline Renee and I am what I am and no answer that I give you to this question will make what I am any different.

it always confuses me when superman gets drawn burlier than batman. i mean we dance around it but superman is basically super strong due to space magic. he could be a weedy lil string bean and he’d still be able to lift a bus. i’m not saying the muscles don’t help, or that he doesn’t probably have magic space muscles. i’m just saying, all of batman’s strength is muscle-dependant. he has no space magics. in my head he is the more burly of the two just out of necessity. i know he’s kind of got the gymnast thing going on but like. i imagine bruce wayne as more barrel-y and clark kent as more dorito-y. i don’t know why i’m telling you this except that i’m dealing with the realization that this is not the standard assumption.


He wanted her gone. He wanted everyone in this damn hallway gone. But there was no one he wished would vanish more than Alice cooper.

Couldn’t she fucking see? She was ruining her daughters. She was ruining Betty.

And that? He was not down with that.

As Betty lunged for her sister, the burly man in the white scrubs took a step towards Betty. No he couldn’t let that happen, he was hardly able to move before he was shoved against the wall.
They didn’t need a scene, he just needed Betty, he wanted to reach for her. But he couldn’t.

Suddenly Alice was dragging her away, Jughead following closely, as soon as they were outside Betty ripped her wrist free.

“Get off of me.” She was fully crying now, tears streaming down her face, but she looked deadly. Her tone even and cold.

“Betty don’t..” Alice tried to gain ground, reaching for her wrist again.

“I said get off of me.” Her eyes were still focused, but he noticed the shake to her shoulders, the way she backed up. He assumed Now was a good time to interject, he couldn’t sit by and watch this anymore.

“I’ll take her home mrs. Cooper, you should go.” He reached his hand out, intertwining their fingers and squeezing.

“Excuse me, this is my daughter I’ll decide..”

As Betty sunk lower behind him, he heard the soft whimper she was trying to hide. No, consequences be damned. He wasn’t handing her over to that monster.

“All due respect but like I said, you should go. You’re not wanted here. I’ll get her home safe. Go home.”

The blonde older woman, spared a glance at Betty before slamming the door to her car and speeding off.

Almost instantly the dam broke.

He had her wrapped up in his arms faster than he thought possible.

“You’re okay, pollys okay, I’m here. I’m right here” he whispered into her ear.

They didn’t speak, they stood in that parking lot for thirty minutes, just holding each other. Eventually the bus came, and jughead took her by the shoulders, leading her to a seat.

As soon as they sat down she had rested her head on his shoulder, falling asleep purely out of exhaustion.

Looking down, he frowned. She didn’t deserve this, she was so good, so loving, she cared so much. Dropping a kiss to her forehead, he closed his eyes. It was quite a bus ride back to riverdale and he knew he would sleep better having her by his side.

They were both jolted awake as the bus came to its final stop.

She smiled up at him sadly

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep. I wasn’t such great company today was I?”

He moved to help her off the bus.

“Are you kidding me, I couldn’t have asked for a better sleuthing partner.” He winked

He thought he saw a genuine smile but maybe he was biased.

They walked in comfortable silence, hand in hand.

Arriving at her door, he saw her shoulders start to shake

“Call me. No matter what happens. You call me, I’ll answer, whatever hour. I’ll answer. I can be here in ten minutes flat.” He said seriously, staring deep into her eyes.

She nodded and then lunged, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing so tight he thought he might suffocate. He didn’t care he wrapped his long arms around her waist, holding her to him.

After what felt like hours he pulled away looking into her eyes.

“Call me.”

She nodded before walking into her house with a wave.

Climbing the latter to her room, he scanned her over quickly. She was okay, no visible changes.

She was smiling, that was good. He could make her laugh, that much he knew.

she was ranting, talking about being crazy

He placed his hands in her shoulder, staring into those deep sad eyes.

“Were all crazy.” She laughed

He was choking, he couldn’t say it. Why couldn’t he say it? Just tell her.

She was so patient, understanding.

Forget it.

He had her face in his hands and his mouth on hers.

Oh god, he had never felt anything like this, he didn’t know how to feel. It was good, it felt good, it felt safe.

He pulled away, she went back nipping his mouth slightly. She was smiling.

Jesus Christ she was smiling

What did that mean?

As soon as he opened his mouth to speak her eyes had widened and she was back on the case.

They were gonna have to talk about this eventually , but right now?

There were more important things to deal with

Disgraceful Blood

Member: V

Genre: Smut / Angst

Series: \The Moon Child

Theme: Halloween

Part: 1 / {pt.2} {pt.3}

Description: With eyes like rubies and hair as white as the driven snow, you were a creature desired by all who were descendants of the night. A child born from the moon, somehow having landed in the greedy hands of a prince. And he, like all the others before him, craves the sweet taste of your blood.

Keep reading

Strictly Professional

Summary: You recognized the problematic customers the second you saw them. Lin, however, took the cake with being the most memorable client you’ve ever had. (TattooArtist!Reader)

Paring: Lin x reader

Words: 4,428

A/N:Thank you to @strongenoughfoundation for being awesome and giving me tips for certain parts of the story (you’re the queen of dialogue)! Also, thank you to @how-could-i-do-this for proofreading (I’m glad i’m getting better at not switching tenses lol). I wrote this in celebration of my first tattoo lol! Thanks for reading!

Edit: @whenthingsgettoughdontpushmeaway - I remember you asking to be tagged when I posted. @buckybarneshairpullingkink - You already read it, but I didn’t forget (well, I did, but ya know lol)

“Is that him?” you mumbled to your coworker Liz as you emerged from your room to the front desk, watching the man that paced back and forth in front of the parlor.

You could always spot the first-timers the instant you looked at them. You could sense the excitement and nervousness rolling off them in waves, their bodies tense from the anticipation of the ink that would soon permanently mark their skin.

But him?

It was more like a tsunami of emotions, crashing and tumbling over his body as he questioned his decision to get a tattoo. You felt it before you even stepped foot into the same room as him.

“It’s so unfair that you always get the cute ones,” Liz whispered as she handed you his paperwork. She had an appointment in ten minutes, and with the piece being a fairly large and intricate one, she passed him off to you.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring her comment and scanned his papers, noting his name and birthdate. “Lin?” you called.

He spun on his heel at his name, his swift steps having him in front of the desk within seconds. “Hi, yes, that’s me,” he answered quickly.

You inwardly sighed, knowing exactly what kind of patron he was going to be: the spazz that spoke too much, asked too many questions, and would hold his breath until he turned blue. “My name is Y/N and I’ll be with you today. What kind of tattoo would you like Lin?” you asked, watching as he nervously drummed his fingers against the counter.

His eyes widened, looking at you disbelievingly. “You’re the one giving me the tattoo?”

The neck cramp that you got when you handled frustrating customers reared its ugly head. “Yes. This is a fairly small tattoo shop and you just happened to come in last minute, without an appointment…” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes and challenging him to say anything further.

“I didn’t expect someone that looked like you to give me a tattoo. I’ve always pictured a big, burly man and not a beautiful woman that…” Lin trailed off, sighing when he realized what an ass he must have sounded, “I’m just going to shut up now. Sorry.”

Keep reading


fandom: monsta x
member/reader: minhyuk , female
genre/warning(s): smut, college!minhyuk, idk jealous smut?, face riding
length: 3K+
summary: [request] in which some girl flirts with minhyuk and you get jealous. please see full request at the end
a/n: hello, it’s been awhile. i’ve lost motivation, but thank god for biases, eh?

Keep reading

A Dangerous Game

Betty closed her eyes as she leaned out the bus window, the cool breeze felt good on her flushed cheeks and she pulled her hair from the ridiculously tight ponytail. Looking to her right she smiled at the pair beside her, an older couple, the man had his arm securely wrapped around the woman and she was fast asleep on his shoulder, his own eyes shut as he rested on the top of her forehead.

The bus came to an abrupt stop and she tugged her leather jacket tighter around her body, she turned to the sleeping couple as she was getting out of her seat, gently tapping the mans shoulder

“I don’t mean to be nosy but I think I heard you mention Riverdale being your stop? Well, we’re here. I didn’t want you to sleep through it.” She shrugged with a weak smile.

“Oh thank heavens! That’ll be the second time this week! Thanks darlin’ my names Pop, Pop Tate.” He gathered his things as the older woman gushed over Bettys long blonde hair. As soon as they got off the bus Pop Tate smiled

“I own the Diner just down the road, Pops, you stop by anytime for a free milkshake.” He winked at her and his wife squeezed her shoulder

“I’ll have to take you up on that, thanks so much.” She waved at their retreating backs, she wasn’t used to people being so friendly, normally the huge Serpent emblazoned on her jacket was enough to send anyone the opposite way.

Betty Cooper was a legacy, her mother was the leader of a chapter of the Southside Serpents, she ran the Toledo gang. Betty was a prominent member of the gang and was a shoe in to take over leadership when her mother passed it on, that’s what brought her here to Riverdale

The town with Pep.

The Riverdale South Side Serpents were in some type of trouble, apparently they were being dragged into some small town Drug ring and gang members were being killed and arrested. Betty could still see the tears in her mothers eyes when the news came that Viper had been found dead in a motel room, if that wasn’t enough one of her closest friends F.P jones had been arrested. Gladys came running through the bar doors late one Friday night sobbing begging Alice to help her husband.

That’s where Betty came in, it was her job to investigate the town, she needed to find out who was behind the heroin and she needed to report back to her mother, it was almost somewhat of a final test, if she could help out Riverdale she would be ready to take over the Toledo Serpents.

Finding the Southside was as easy as she expected, the familiar looking trailers and stray dogs reminded her so much of home she instantly felt her shoulders relax. She took a deep breath and walked through the bar, the door slamming against the wall as everyone went silent about a hundred eyes turning to her.

Betty straightened her back and crossed her arms, her most intimidating smile playing across her features. Out of the crowd came a burly, muscular man she knew very well.

“Baby Betty Cooper, my very favorite niece” the older man smiled down at her, dropping an arm around her shoulder, she grinned up at him and squirmed under his arm. Instantly the murmurs began

“That’s her!”
“That’s Alice’s daughter”
“She’s here about the drugs”
“She’s hot as shit!”

Betty rolled her eyes and laughed
“Nice to see you too uncle Hause, but don’t call me baby Betty.” She mock glared at him and he laughed heartily, clapping his hands he drew all the attention to himself

“Listen up Serpents, this here is Betty Cooper, I’m sure by now you all know what she’s here for. I want you all to treat her with the utmost respect, I’m looking at you jovan.” He said pointedly at the drooling young man in front. “Betty is Alice Coopers daughter so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll treat her like the diamond she is” he ruffled her hair and nudged her forward, encouraging her to speak.

Betty cleared her throat and began the speech she had prepared

“I’m here to help you all, no matter where we’re from Serpents are all a family. I’m gonna find out who’s putting us in danger and I’m gonna stop it, I can promise you that. Because… no one messes with a snake.” She finished darkly, sending the entire bar into room shaking cheers, she smiled proudly and turned to her uncle

“I’m looking for F.Ps son, I have to talk to him.” She said quietly “who is he?”

“That would be me.”

Whipping around Betty came face to face with the most attractive thing she had ever seen in her life, dark black waves and light blue eyes all wrapped up in a leather jacket. James Dean eat your heart out, he seemed to be just as interested in her as she was in him, he stood before her, his eyes surveying every inch of her.

“Betty Cooper” she stuck her hand out, he took it quickly, gripping her fingers with a gentleness she hadn’t seen in a gang member

“Jughead Jones”

“Well I’ll leave you two to it, Lizzy I’ll have aunt charla show you to your trailer after you and the boy have your discussion, oh and Jughead?”

Jughead turned to Hause, still clutching Betty’s hand

“Don’t forget to do your homework,” he warned.

Betty giggled from in front of him and he turned to her with pink stained cheeks
“Yeah yeah yeah” he grumbled, finally pulling his hand free.

Betty slid into a stool at the bar and grinned at the handsome boy

“Alright Jughead Jones, let’s get started.”

emeralb224  asked:

How would the chocobros react if their s/o told them they are going to go into crystal statis soon, you know similar to that of ffxiii and that they might sleep for almost a thousand years. Sorry if this doesn't make sense. ::>_<::

Oh I gotcha. FFXIII was the only other Final Fantasy I’ve played to completion so I totally know what youre talking about #xboxlife. Let’s see how the boys would react to their own little Serah being taking into crystal stasis. I’m going to leave out the whole L’Cie spiel since you didn’t specify to have it in.

I’m writing these after the 10 year time skip. I hope that’s alright with y’all.


1000 years.  

The four digit number buzzed around in Noctis’s head. He tried to muster the right words to comfort his lover, but was unsuccessful.

“I guess it’s my turn to take a nap in a crystal,” you allowed the words to flow from your mouth with the hope of lightening the mood in the slightest. You eyes begged to release tears to drift down your cheeks, but you denied their wishes.

“Why?”  Noctis questioned you breathlessly. His words were hallow and sorrowful.

“I’d rather not say,” you forced out, avoiding Noctis’s piercing blue eyes by staring at your shoes.

“Then…” he paused and exhaled a shaky breath. “How much time do we have left?”

“I don’t know… A week at the most?” You admitted, allowing your eyes to climb up his body to meet his face again. You watched as a single tear slid down his cheek. “I love you, Noctis,” you muttered.

“I love you too… I-I’m going to miss you,” his trembled. With a swift movement, he engulfed you in his arms. He buried his face in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling his body tremble as he allowed more tears to fall and more sobs to escape his mouth.

A sad smile grew across your lips.

You were going to crystal stasis for him. Noctis didn’t deserve to die. Lucis needs him. If that meant sacrificing your life with him… it was worth it. In a thousand years time you would learn of all the marvelous things he had done for Eos. That was going to make it all worth it.


“Can’t I go with you?” 

That was Prompto’s first reaction when you told him the news.

“Prompto you can’t—“

“Can’t I do anything? Can’t… Can’t it be me instead of you?” His questioned you urgently, wrapping his hands around your upper arms. “Can—“

“Prompto stop,” you urged him, taking his face in your hands. His lips began to quiver as his dark blue eyes filled with tears. “What’s done is done,” your voice  was only louder than a whisper. “I can’t change it… I— I’m sorry. It’s my destiny. This is what is meant to happen.”

He shook his hands and released your arms. His head hung low, staring intently at his feet. “What am I going to do without you?”
To that, you didn’t have an answer. “I’m sorry, Prompto,” you repeated your apology.

He released a trembling breath before looking back into your eyes with a weak smile.

“Can I visit you, at least? When you’re in the crystal?”

His words nearly broke your heart in two.

“Prompto… of course. Of course you can,” you repeated, gathering him in your arms. You pressed a sweet kiss  to his lips. “I love you so much Prompto.”


“1000 years, huh?” Gladio sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Maybe less than that,” you shrugged. Your hands trembled, still nervous over how he would react.

“Too bad I’m not the Immortal,” he forced a sorrowful chuckle, getting up from his seat that was placed just outside the caravan of Hammerhead. His large, calloused hands slipped into yours. He lifted your hands to his lips and pressed several gentle kisses across your knuckles. “I love you,” the burly man muttered in his bass toned voice.

“I love you too Gladio… I— I’m going to miss you,” you sputtered, trying to stifle your urge to cry.

“Not as much as I’m gonna miss you,” he stated. “You sure this is how it’s gotta be?”

“Yes… I’m… I’m sure,” you nodded slowly, raking your fingers over the rough skin of his hand.

He dropped your hands to your side and tugged the same necklace that hung over his neck for as long as you could remember. “I want you to have this, then. I want you to remember me a thousand years in the future.” He draped the jewelry over your head, and let it hang from you neck.

“Are you sure?” You questioned him seriously.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything, babe. I love you. I want that necklace to be reminder of that.”


“I’m so…. so sorry Ignis,” tears streamed down your face as you finished telling Ignis of your fate. “I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. You awaited for his response but received none. You cried harder and harder, screams of sadness escaping your mouth.

Without a single warning, a pair of familiar arms wrapped around your waist. You inhaled the scent of ebony and jasmine. A feeling of safety surrounded you.

“I can’t bare hearing you cry,” the blind man whispered to you, running his gloved fingers through your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for, my love,” he assured you, tipping your face upward to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I… don’t want to leave you, Ignis.”

“You’re not going to leave me,” he repeated.

You stared into his clouded eye blankly, unsure on what he meant.

“As long as our love continues for one another… we will always be together.”

A smile flickered on your lips. “I suppose you’re right, Ignis,” you exhaled. “I’m just going to miss you.”

“I will miss you as well, my darling, but I shall visit your crystal every day until my last breath.”

A Night in the City

Request; Um hi, can you please do a imagine where the reader gets stood up on a date and ends up crying to Spencer and to make things better the next day Spencer takes her out on a date going to her favorite places around the city like the art museum, a bookstore, a botanical garden, and finishes off with a dinner at the reader favorite restaurant and tells the reader how much she means to him.

Warnings; Spencer being a cutie

I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE whoever requested this imagine. I love the idea of all this so much!



Originally posted by hisirishsoufflegirl

5 minutes turned into 15, and then 30, and finally after waiting an hour, you were done. You hastily threw your napkin onto the clean, unused dishes on the table and stood up from your seat. Your blood was boiling and all you wanted to do was punch the douche you were supposed to go on this date with.

You had gotten yourself prepared for this special occasion. Your body was hairless, moisturized, and glowing in your mid-thigh red dress. Your hair was done without a single hair out of place and your makeup reflected an ethereal goddess. You fit in perfectly in the elegant, upscale restaurant; but the only thing that was missing is your date.

Your head was down as you weaved your way around the tables of other couples and families. Your eyes were glassy and pooling with tears and you so desperately wanted to go home to avoid any further humiliation. This was a train wreck just waiting to happen and you should’ve listened to your best friend, Spencer.

This wasn’t the first date you went on with the same douche. After you explained the whole date to Spencer and how the guy showed up almost 30 minutes late, he advised you not to go out with him again.

Yet here you are, crying your eyes out with your head resting on the steering wheel of your car. This was not how you imagined your night would go, so you decided to go to the one place where you know you would feel better. Spencer’s apartment.

So you drove to the address you knew by heart and hoped Spencer would be home from the BAU. He was always doing something work-related and it was times like these when you wished he had a different job, but you knew that was the only job that fit him and his impossibly high IQ.

It was half past 9 and way too dark for you to actually see where you were going but the tall building where Spencer may or may not be, finally came into view. You parked your car across the street from the entrance and carefully stepped out, careful not to trip over your high strappy black heels.

As you stumbled across the street, your eyes were blurring with tears and rivers of mascara were falling down your cheeks like rivers. You felt bad for the bystanders in the area who could see you. You looked like a ghoul straight out of a horror movie.

You pushed open the doors that enter into the lobby and hurried over to the elevators, trying your best to avoid eye contact with anyone else in the room. You almost reached them, but a hand had stopped you from going any further.
You looked up to see who it was, it wasn’t Spencer.

It was the security guard whom you were now on a first name basis with.

“Paul, can I please go up to see Spencer?” You plead at the tall and burly man.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Paul lets go of your arm and takes a step back to get a clearer look at you.

“Damn girl, I didn’t recognize you under all that scary makeup. I thought you were a demon for a second.”

“I know, I know, it’s bad,” you sniff as you rub at your eyes and cheeks.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he frowns and puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Spencer got here about an hour ago. Go talk to him, I’m sure he’s still up.”

“Thank you, Paul,” you solemnly grin as he presses the button on one of the elevators for you. The doors opened with a loud “ding” and you waited until they opened so you could rush inside and let your tears fall. You wasted no time in pressing the floor number and before the doors closed, you waved a goodbye to Paul and he nodded his head at you. You let out a heavy sigh as you let yourself fall back onto the cold metal walls, tears began falling down your face once again. Your love life was hard, it was hard to find a guy who shared mutual feelings with you and when you finally did, he’s a jerk.

The large number at the top of the doors froze and indicated that you arrived at the floor where Spencer’s apartment is. The second the doors opened, you ran out and jogged through the hallway until you reached his front door.

You brought your fist up to the door and knocked a couple times before waiting patiently. In all honesty, you felt bad coming to him at this time. He’s probably exhausted and stressed out enough as it is. You felt guilt wash over you and as you began to walk away from his door, the clicking of locks and a door swinging open made you turn around.

“Y/N? Oh my god,” he says as he takes in your image.

“Spence,” your voice breaks. You run into his open arms and throw your arms around his neck. His long arms encircle around your waist and he uses one to reach up to smooth the hair on the back of your head.

“Shh,” he coos as you cry into the crook of his neck. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

You nod into his neck and he picks you up in his arms, your head resting against his t-shirt clad chest that for some reason smelt like coffee. That was when you felt your sadness begin to fade away. Just being in his presence made you feel better.

The warmth of his apartment and his body caused the goosebumps on your freezing exposed skin to disappear. It felt almost heavenly the way he strode through the room and lightly set you on his nicely made bed. He picked up one of the many knit blankets he had in his house and laid it across your body.

“I should have listened to you,” you admit to him. “I never should have gone on this stupid date.”

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault,” he frowns and puts your feet on his lap as he sits at the foot of the bed. “Tell me what he did.”

“Well for one, he didn’t show up, at all,” you angrily complain.
Spencer nodded his head as you continued to ramble on about the guy, your love life, and how difficult it was to get a guy. He listened to everything, not interrupting once. You finished your rant with an exasperated sigh.

“I don’t think you should waste your tears on guys like that,” he comments. “You deserve the world, Y/N, and if a man doesn’t give you everything he’s got, then he isn’t worth it.” You didn’t reply, only giving him a lazy smile.

The loss of sleep had caught up to you and you felt yourself slowly beginning to doze off. You felt warm hands wrap around your ankle and you looked over to see Spencer untying the straps of your heels. He undid the ties to both shoes before dropping them onto the floor. The air and release of pressure from the shoes felt euphoric against your swollen feet. You muttered a quiet thank you to Spencer and he chuckled.

“Good night, Y/N,” he says and you feel him stand from the bed. The warmth of his body was gone and all you felt was the lingering heat where he was sitting.

“Spencer, wait,” you call. “Can you stay?” Even though he had already turned off the lights, you could clearly see the blush that crept onto his face.

“I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he stammers.

“I wouldn’t want to be intruding into your personal space or anything.”

“Please,” you ask one last time and he sighs.

“Of course.”

He tip-toes to the other side of the bed before joining you underneath the covers and lying rigidly at your side. You could sense he was nervous and careful not to overstep his boundaries but you didn’t care. You scoot your body closer to his and wrap an arm around his torso and hug him close to you. He took a sharp inhale of breath as your skin made contact with his, a small smile soon appearing on his face. You feel his arm slide under your body and hold you closer to him.

“You know, Spence,” you yawn before continuing. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You say I deserve the world, but I think you’re the one who really deserves it.”

“I already got it,” he whispers and curls a strand of your hair in his fingers. You couldn’t really process what he said seeing as you were dozing off. Your eyes were fluttering and heavy with sleep, your body felt limp against his, and your feet were pulsating from being in the air restricting heels. You were beyond exhausted and being in Spencer’s arms was really the cherry on top.

But before you slipped into your unconscious, you heard Spencer say one last thing, though you couldn’t make out what it was, so you fell asleep.


The next morning you awoke to an empty bed. You felt around for Spencer, but he wasn’t there. You began to think to yourself, maybe it was all a dream, but you swear you could remember how his embrace felt and the look of tranquility on his face. You remember how his sharp features looked so soft in the dark and how badly you just wanted to reach up and touch him.

Ever since you ran into him at the same coffee shop for a year straight, the two of you finally decided to become friends. You went from acquaintances to friends, to best friends, and now you’re almost inseparable. You can’t deny that at one point you started developing feelings but for some reason, you always felt like the two of you would never happen. So you hid those feelings way and hoped they would go away, but every time you saw him, they resurfaced.

His room was dimly lit, the white curtains hanging on each side of the bed were drawn shut. You had thought Spencer would already be the BAU by now, but the sweet smell of pancakes and syrup suddenly filled your nostrils. The heavenly aroma of the food woke you up immediately. You ripped the sheets off your body and stood up from the bed to go investigate but on your way out the room, something wicked catches your eye.

In the reflection of the full-length mirror, you almost look unfamiliar. Your hair was matted and out of place, your makeup was horrifying and smeared, and to make matters worse - you were still wearing the uncomfortable tight red dress. You felt like a wreck and all you wanted to do was shower and the door to Spencer’s bathroom was wide open.

You decided you would take a quick shower and you knew Spencer would be okay with it. This wasn’t the first time you spent the night at his house and you felt right at home doing whatever you desired. Spencer’s apartment was literally a home away from home. The warm and steamy water felt euphoric slapping against your back. You ran your fingers through your long/short hair and sighed contently as the water hit your face.

Once you finished your shower, you went into Spencer’s room to get a change of clothes from your designated drawer. After spending so many nights here, whether accidentally or planned, Spencer suggested you have a designated drawer for yourself whenever that was the case. Thank heavens for that idea.

After changing, you slipped on your fuzzy socks and padded into the kitchen where Spencer was cooking up something delicious.

His back was facing you as he flipped some pancakes while flipping the bacon in the other pan.

“You need help, Chef Reid?” You ask. He whips around and looks at you, cracking you a smile.

“I’m fine,” he retorts. “Go sit down, you’re not lifting a finger, not on my watch.”

“Demanding,” you tease with a laugh but still follow his orders.

You pulled out one of the chairs on the island and waited patiently in your seat until Spencer put an empty plate in front of you and a fresh cup of orange juice.

“After you finish eating, I’m taking you home so you can get dressed,” Spencer announces as he joins you on the island with a plate of pancakes and bacon. You reach over and grab a pancake and a few pieces of bacon and pile them onto your plate.

“How come?” You question curiously, taking a bite from your bacon.

“It’s a surprise,” he admits with a smile.

“Hmm, fine,” you roll your eyes. “How should I dress?”

“Not casual but make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Gotcha,” you wink.


Spencer took you to your apartment like promised.

“You’re not coming inside?” You ask.

“No, I’m going to go back home but I will pick you up half past two,” he responds.

“Okay,” you nod with a smile.

As soon as Spencer drives off, you rush into your house and head straight towards your closet.

“Not casual,” you hum to yourself as you observe your selection of clothes.

To your luck, Spencer picked the best day to go out. It was a warm summer day but there was still a refreshing breeze in the air that refrained you from overheating. You began putting outfits together in your mind that would fit whatever Spencer had planned. Knowing him, you know you would not be doing anything wild or that requires a lot of physical effort.

When you finally put the right look together, you stepped in front of your full-length mirror and looked at yourself for the thousandth time in five minutes. You kept asking yourself if this was a date, deep down knowing you wanted it to be.

“He’s just your best friend trying to make you feel better,” you try to convince yourself - but you had a gut feeling that told you otherwise. There was something more than just hanging out with your friend, you can just feel it.

The doorbell ringing throughout your apartment caused to snap out of your daydream. You looked at yourself one more time in the mirror, hoping that you looked presentable.

“Coming!” You yell as you rush over to the door.

When you pulled the door open, you were left flabbergasted as you stared at the man in front of you.

Spencer stood there, his hair more in place than usual, a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, some slacks, and his usual converse. In between his hands, he held a bouquet of red and white roses.

“You look amazing,” you both said at the same time causing the two of you to erupt in laughter.

“These are for you,” he says sheepishly, extending the flowers towards you.

“Thank you,” you smile brightly, taking the flowers. “I’m going to go put them in a vase and I’ll be right back.”

As you walked into your kitchen to find a vase, you suddenly realized that this was, in fact, a date. You felt butterflies flutter in your stomach, seeing Spencer in a whole new light. Of course, you have always wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship with this incredible man, but you always pushed it away. Now that it seems he shares your feelings, you can’t help but let your deepest desires surface again. The man of your dreams is standing at your doorstep, waiting for you to join him for a night of adventures.



I’m so sorry that this is late asf to whoever requested it, I’m literally at the bottom of my request list from the last time I was active which was mooooonths ago !!!  once again, sorry for any mistakes !!!