#mosaaic

[coffeenuts]

[drmeek]

the last onion ring

[destroyerfirst]

@mosaaic ♥’d  

  ❛ oh. you’re early. ❜ 

     ❛ drink? ❜ at 7 am. perfect to wake you up.                      && the last 95% of your brain

[sangre-lujuria-blog]

@mosaaic continued from (x)

     The touch is unexpected && softer than Micael has ever received and the foreignness of it makes his skinCRAWL. He can’t bring himself to move or even back away, itching to sink into the EMBRACE and stay there forever.

    “Estoy bien,” he murmurs, not able to believe the words himself. He’s so TIRED and the snarl on his face is replaced with a desolate expression. He can’t stop the hot tears from coming and he feels so RAW && empty inside, he finds it hard to believe he’s blocked these feelings off for so long.

    “I am only alone because I wish to be,” Micael lies through his teeth. He’s alone because he doesn’t have anybody and it EATS at him.

     He rests his head against Josh’s chest, reaching around to grip at the older’s back, soaking in his warmth. He feels protected && it’s disorienting because usually he’s the one protecting.

    “I don’t want to FEEL anymore,” he admits, unable to take it anymore.

[brokenmagxc-a]

@mosaaic​ ( short starter call. )

                  basked in the dim overhead lighting, he inhaled softly and turned, slow enough to tell that he was taking CAUTION into consideration. it was not uncommon to find him wandering the darker parts of the city, more so in search for INFORMATION. sleepless nights and a reckless soul often fed his workaholic tendencies ; he frequently found something to take care of when the bottom of a bottle helped no more. tonight, he stumbled upon a CONVERSATION that held some value to an ongoing investigation of his ----- though of course, not without getting CAUGHT. his eyes raised tenderly to greet the other’s in a sheepish look, hoping the whiskey still on his breath did well to support his developing alibi. “ oh ? may i help you ? am i in your way ? ” naturally shy mannerisms seeped through his professionalism ; he offered a soft smile and bit his lip, wondering if the other would give.

[wingsonxfire]

send ‘ ♡ ‘ for an aesthetic post for our muses’ relationship using this [x].

Colton & Josh { @mosaaic }

[wingsonxfire]

{ @mosaaic Continued from HERE }

“It’s oka— wait… what crush? You… I thought… I… when… look…” He massaged his temples, wondering if he maybe was just messed with. Someone having a crush on him? He couldn’t believe that. At least not in a romantic way.

“I mean we have sex so… so you mean that, yes?”

“No,” he smirks, “ not just cause tha sex. T’at’s not why I like yas. An’ I don’t just mean I like havin’ sex wit’ yas… Well tha sex is great but what I mean is… “ He grunts and pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly he’s getting ahead of himself and he needs someway to form the words correctly. “I mean, I like ya for bein’ ya. Josh, ya one of tha only people t’at don’t treat me like I’m broken. Ya don’t freak out when I have nightmares, I t’ink ‘bout yas when ya not around, shit I like havin’ ya around… I just I feel better when ya wit’ me.”

The veteran shifts his weight, eyes glancing to the ground with a blush present across his face. It was probably the most vulnerable thing he’s ever said to him.

“I-I t’ought ya knew.”

[illdepths]

people run in circles :: joshua

[ @mosaaic ]

   As far as carnal dens go, this one isn’t so bad. Not exactly his crowd of people, but he’s not here to mingle, per se. It’s his boss who wants the company provided here; Moana is mere security. It isn’t his usual job, but sometimes it helps to gain a bigger network. Although he must stand out in his dark getup of jeans, long-sleeved henley, and boots, so different from the raiment of the other patrons who bluntly exploit their wealth. With not even a bit of jewellery to give Moana some flair, he practically hears the bigoted thoughts whenever someone scans his attire in passing. The disdain is pungent.

   Moana doesn’t care frankly. Who does he have to impress when he’s only meant to assure the safety of fifty-two-year-old real estate investor Carl Hargrove, the cheating husband? Can it be called cheating if the wife’s a beard? Probably not, but that’s not Moana’s business either. If Mr. Hargrove is happy to live a cliché fantasy with an hired professional, then Moana is content to watch him make a fool of himself. He’s slightly out of the way under the guise of fake privacy, standing by wall near enough to the couch they occupy should interference be necessary.

   Observing the two, Moana wonders when the escort will be fed up with all the forward, inappropriate touches Mr. Hargrove thinks he’s sly about. Along with dissipation, there’s a small trace of sympathy for what the man must put up with on a regular basis.