#it's been a while since I've gotten to fixate

[heich0e]

"are you like... into that?"

you tear your eyes away from the screen a few seconds after rintarou says it, too rapt by what's unfolding in the movie scene to look away too soon.

"what do you mean?" you ask, glancing over to the other end of the sofa where he's seated. he's slumped down in the corner of the sofa, nestled right into the valley between the cushions where he always sits—which has resulted in a permanent sort of vaguely rintarou-shaped indentation that you hide using throw pillows when company comes over.

he's watching you very intently from his side of the sofa, too intently almost. you'd thought you'd felt his eyes on you while you were watching the movie, but you aren't exactly sure how long he's been staring, and now it leaves you wondering what exactly he's up to.

rintarou nods towards the television on the other side of the room, you look back at the screen once more and see the male lead still at the centre of the scene. he'd just gotten into a fight—shirtless, glistening with perspiration, and a strangely erotic trickle of blood trailing down his philtrum. you swallow a little as you become engrossed in the movie again, forgetting momentarily that you were ever asked a question at all.

"so?"

your eyes snap back to rintarou—who's still focused only on you, but with a slightly more disapproving look this time.

"what?" you ask him, a bit huffily. you're still not even sure what he'd been asking you in the first place.

"you've been ogling that guy since he got the shit kicked out of him," rintarou says pointedly, lifting a hand and gesturing towards the television. "you into that or something?"

there's something kind of accusatory in his tone.

"wha—hu—no," you stumble over your words in your haste to defend yourself. "i've told you i'm not into hardcore stuff. and that would constitute like... doctorate level BDSM."

rintarou's lips purse slightly. "do you think that guy's hot?"

"i mean... yeah," you answer after contemplating it for a moment. "i didn't really think so before but he's kinda sexy in this scene."

"he just got the shit kicked out of him," the boy at the other end of the sofa responds flatly.

"so you've pointed out," you answer. you turn back to the screen, watching as the battered male lead winds a roll of bandages around his ribs, then drags his knuckles roughly across his lips to clear away some of the blood that clings to them. your tongue peeks out to moisten your own unconsciously. "don't you think there's something kind of hot about a guy with a bit of blood on him?"

"is this a trick question?"

you look back at rintarou again, and find him still fixated on you rather than the film. he's pouting a bit, and it kind of makes you want to laugh. instead, you push yourself up from your own little nest at the opposite end of the sofa, crawling down towards him.

"rintarou, are you jealous because i called the bloody guy sexy?" you ask him as you pause at his side, resting back on your haunches.

he nibbles on the inside of his cheek—a habit he's had as long as you've known him—and for the first time in possibly the entire 54 minutes this movie has been playing, he averts his eyes from you.

"...no."

you do laugh then, swinging one leg over his lap to perch yourself atop him.

"you're being silly," you say to him as you balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders. his own come slithering up to settle at your waist, and his grip is a little tighter than you expect. he's still sulking though, refusing to look at you.

there's a loud crash in the film playing on the screen behind you, but you don't turn to look at it—you doubt that would help the situation at hand very much.

"rin," you coax him, making your voice as sweet as possible.

he doesn't look at you, but he does seem to bite the inside of his cheek a little harder now.

you dip down close to him, your mouth hovering over his and your eyes level. "rin-ta-rou."

he finally looks at you, his lips parting in surprise at your sudden nearness. you're so close that your mouths brush slightly thanks to that subtle movement, and he leans into the warmth of your lips to kiss you properly after getting such a small taste of it.

rintarou pulls away after one long, deep kiss, slouching back into the sofa again—but this time pulling you down with him into his little him-shaped indentation—holding you tightly to his chest as he gets you both comfortable. you let him maneuver you however he wants to, placating him with your docility to make him feel better, and keeping any comment about his jealousy to yourself—at least for now.

the two of you eventually find a comfortable way to rest, entwined together on his end of the sofa but both with a clear view to the screen to resume your spectating of the movie.

"what's so hot about a guy with a nosebleed anyway? i used to get them all the time when i was a kid," rintarou mumbles bitterly after a few moments, and you feel the words reverberate through his chest as you rest with your head upon it.

you laugh lightly, and your boyfriend's arms tighten around your waist.

he pipes up again after a few moments more pass in the film.

"you don't want me to start fighting or anything, do you?" he asks you skeptically.

you've effectively lost track of the movie's plot now, but you don't really care that much.

"no, rintarou, i don't want you to start fighting," you reply, patting his chest reassuringly. "you'd get your ass kicked anyway."

"well, apparently you're into that," he mutters.

"will you be quiet and just watch the movie, nosebleed boy?"

(a week later, rintarou sends you a photo from practice—having gracefully taken one of motoya's receives to the face—with an angry red welt on his cheek, blood dripping from his nose, and an obnoxious smirk on his lips. unfortunately, you are kinda into that.)

[jaysgirlx]

jason todd dealing with a partner who has an oral fixation? lots of open mouth kisses, sucking on his fingers, hickeys on his neck, and tugging down the zipper of his pants with their teeth and sucking on the metal? <3

i believe jason todd himself would have his own little oral fixation too but that's a story for another time. in the early stages of your relationship your oral fixation wasn't very apparent, jason only noticed some of your mannerisms but brushed it off.

when the two of you started to get sexual that side of you quickly came out. jason couldn't believe how good open-mouth kisses were until he experienced them with you. you'd be on his lap, grinding on his hard-on while your lips are messily crashing with his.

"p-princess slow down, i'm not going anywhere"

"i know, i know but your lips are soooooo addictive!"

jason wholeheartedly enjoyed your open-mouth kisses and how messy and sloppy they got. he couldn't help but find even your hickey obsession adorable. you were always so desperate to plant them on his neck, begging him to not change positions yet cause you weren't done with your fun.

"baby you're soaking just lemme help you rub one out?"

"no no, not yet, i've barely even marked your pretty neck”

he wouldn't even have to ask or demand you to suck in his fingers because you'd already gotten a headstart. for him, it was quite the turn-on, the way your tongue slid around his thick fingers.

"not so fast sweetheart, if you want my fingers you gotta earn it," he says sweetly as he palms your underwear. you had to cum on them first to be able to suck them and you like it that way.

but what did jason enjoy the most from your oral fixation? your insistence to give the man a blowjob. you'd use your teeth to pull down the zipper before sucking on his cock through his boxers, practically drooling like your spit stained his boxers. you're begging him to let you suck him dry, cause you were so good and you deserved a reward.

"i've been so good jay pleaseeeee”

"poor baby needs daddy's cock to stuff her pretty little mouth huh?"

and now you're gripping his legs while he's face fucking you and you love it. your head is tilted back while he's grabbing your hair and slamming himself forcefully into your mouth. your tongue is still managing to tease his poor cock while his hips stutter, nearing close to his finish.

"sweetheart, ah fuck- i can't fill up that sweet mouth when your tongue is pressing on my tip like that," he says groaning at the thought of his mouth being filled up with your cum. when he fills up your mouth, you're still sucking his cock trying to swallow every drop.

jason couldn't help but appreciate your oral fixation especially since i believe he has his own.

"now let me help with that mess you're made in your panties baby, i'm fucking starving"

[vivalas-vega]

late / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

hiii - feels like a long time since I've actually posted anything. this fic idea came to me kind of randomly - I've been seeing a lot of fics lately centered around making/having babies and I thought it'd be nice to write something angsty and fluffy catered to those of us who are childless and want to remain that way lol - as always, lmk what you think!

late / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

word count: 3.5k

I do not have a taglist - if you'd like to be notified of future works please follow @vegaslibrary and turn on post notifications

warnings: mentions of periods, hints at termination (not said explicitly but it's there), talk of kids/pregnancy, angst and fluff !!

You shut the dishwasher before continuing to move about the kitchen as you cleaned up from dinner, one you would say was one of your best if you were going to toot your own horn, and your sights were set on the freezer for a little ice cream to go along with your movie before bed. You thought you should hold out, you’d left an invite open to your boyfriend to come here after his plans, but you decided against it. Ben and Jerry’s waits for no one.

You set it out to soften for a minute, pulling your planner from your bag to skim through your plans for the next day to make sure all your ducks were in a row and you were about to close it when you fixated on the date. “There’s no way,” you muttered to yourself, genuinely baffled by how far into the month you were. Your brow furrowed as you tried to comb through your memory but things had been so busy lately you were falling short so you switched to your phone and tapped on the pink app icon, eyes widening as you realized your first thought was true.

“No, no, no,” you sighed, walking to the bathroom with a quicker pace than normal and dropping down to look beneath your sink. “Don’t be expired,” you pleaded. To whom you were pleading you had no idea, but you breathed out a sigh of relief when the tiny text on the box confirmed you still had a while to use them. 

You checked the app again, scrolling back through the month and confirming what you’d hoped you’d misinterpreted the first time… but you hadn’t, you were in fact late. Ten days late. You had always considered yourself quite lucky, your period ran like a well oiled machine and your cycle was always twenty-nine days on the dot. Every so often you’d fluctuate, but only by a day, and for that you were grateful. You were always prepared, and you always knew if you ever fluctuated by more than a day it was cause for concern…

Ten days was more than cause for concern in your book, frankly as you stared at the test you thought you didn’t even really need to take it. You only kept them on hand because you were known for missing a pill here and there and you’d rather have to run to your bathroom in a panic than to your closest mini-mart, but you’d never truly had a scare before. You always assumed they’d expire before you got to use them. Oh, how wrong you were. 

Pregnancy was never on the docket for you. You knew from a young age you had no interest and frankly it scared you more than anything. You knew it was reckless not to switch to a more effective birth control, one that was foolproof and long-lasting but the pill you’d been on since high school hadn’t failed you yet so you’d put it off despite the fact that it had been on your to-do list. Right about now you were wishing you’d just booked the appointment and gotten it over with. 

You did the only thing you really knew to do at this moment and fired off a text to Natasha, your best friend for almost two decades. All it read was three simple numbers: 911. 

You heaved a sigh as you ran your fingers through your hair and chastised yourself for being so flippant. You knew you didn’t want this, and you knew the pill wasn’t perfect, especially not when you missed at least one per pack. Really, you’d just gotten lucky your whole adult life, and the fact that this hadn’t happened sooner was beginning to feel like a miracle as you really let the situation wash over you. You were broken from your thoughts by the sound of your phone vibrating harshly against the tile and you answered it before it even got through its first ring.

“What’s going on?” Natasha asked in lieu of a hello. This was one of the many reasons you loved her and why she was still your best friend after all this time. Unless she was in the air or on the other side of the world, a 911 text was responded to in the form of a call in five minutes or less. You also decided to forgo a greeting and simply held up the box and her eyes widened, “no, are you serious?” 

“Unfortunately,” you sighed and she considered her next question carefully.

“Have you taken one yet?” You shook your head. “Okay, so it’s just a suspicion, maybe there’s not even anything to worry about.” 

“Ten days, Nat,” you replied.

“Oh shit,” was all she said for a moment. “Hey, you’ve been eerily regular your entire life, maybe your uterus taking a hard earned break,” she tried and you chuckled at the attempt to lighten the situation with humor. 

“Or maybe it’s growing a person,” you said and she rolled her eyes.

“You haven’t even taken it, you can’t get all doom and gloom yet. Have you talked to Jake?” 

“Should I?” you shot back and she just gave you a deadpan look through the screen.

“Should you talk to your boyfriend, the one who may or may not have impregnated you, about the fact that he may or may not have impregnated you?” she asked rhetorically. 

“I just… it’s not like it’s going to go anywhere if it’s positive,” you sighed. “We haven’t talked about it, Nat. He doesn’t know how I feel and I have a feeling it’s going to ruin everything.” 

“How could you know that if you haven’t talked about it?” she replied with that face that told you she knew she was right, because she always was, not that you’d tell her that. “If this was some random hookup I’d say absolutely don’t talk to them about it, but this is Jake… you guys are getting serious and I think you’ll feel better if you do.” 

“That’s the thing, we’re getting serious. This is still so new, what if I lose him as soon as I tell him ‘yeah if you stay with me you’ll never have a family’?” 

“First of all, I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this but definitely don’t say it like that. Second of all, if you lose him because your goals for the future don’t align then he was never really yours to begin with. It just means your person is still out there and so is his.” 

“I know that was meant to be comforting but the thought of him having a person out there that isn’t me is making me nauseous.” 

“Sure it’s not morning sickness?” she teased and you scowled at your phone screen. 

“I’m serious, Nat… I know it’s early and we’re just starting to settle into a groove but I feel like he’s it, you know?”

“No, I really don’t know how my beautiful and smart best friend winds up being it for Hangman, but you know I love and support you and all your choices… including whatever you decide to do if the test is positive. At the end of the day the final say is yours, but I think you should at least include him in the conversation.” 

“I know, I just… shit,” you were cut off by the sound of your front door and Jake’s voice letting you know it was him. “I completely forgot he was coming over.”

“Talk to him, even if it doesn’t go well it’s better to know now, it’ll only hurt worse later… and for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’ll be whatever worst case scenario you’ve concocted,” she said before you hung up and Jake was just walking into to bedroom as you exited the bathroom.

“Hey, there you are sweetheart,” he said with that famous smirk of his that was now only reserved for you. He leaned in to press a kiss to your lips that you easily reciprocated, “you on the phone?” 

“I was, with Nat,” you answered and he chuckled.

“Swear you two can’t go four hours without checking in. I have no idea how you make it through deployments.” He’d tease but he loved how close you were, if you weren’t he’d never have met you. You would have never been dragged into the Hard Deck and he’d never have the opportunity to spend two long months trying to win you over. She’d swear until her dying breath it had been the opposite of her intentions, but Jake would always consider himself indebted to Natasha for bringing you into his life.

“Yeah well, she had to tell me all about your epic failure at the pool table,” you said and he laughed. It absolutely had not been the topic of your call, but you were glad she had been texting you about your boyfriend’s terrible game against Bradley as it was happening so you had something to say while you worked up the nerve to tell him what you were really talking about. 

“Okay, it was not an epic failure,” he said as he pulled his spare clothes from your dresser and began working on the buttons of his khakis, “but if it was, it was only because I didn’t have my good luck charm.” 

“She said you’d use some cop out like that,” you replied and he playfully rolled his eyes. He quickly pulled on his sweats and became acutely aware of how you hadn’t moved an inch since he arrived, and the way you were picking at a hangnail on your thumb. Normally, you’d have already jumped into bed and launched into a rundown of everything that happened during the day but you were silent, unmoving, and about to hit bone on your thumb. 

“Everything okay?” he asked as he shrugged his shirt on and you nodded, suddenly realizing how off you were being as well. 

“Just a long day at work,” you answered, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and you should have known he’d see right through you. He always did, even before you were officially together. Jake had learned you and all your cues in record time and nothing got under his skin more than when you tried to pretend he hadn’t… like you were right now. 

“Wanna try that again?” He sat beside you and put a reassuring hand on your thigh, and the simple action had you letting out a sigh. 

“I’m late,” you said and Jake just nodded. Most men would have asked late for what? but as you’d learned over the past several months, Jake wasn’t most men and he didn’t need to prod to realize what you meant, especially when you were this visibly anxious.

“Okay, have you taken a test yet? Do we need to go get one?” He kept his tone even and measured, not wanting to add any more stress onto your plate.

You shook your head, “there’s one in the bathroom,” you answered. He hated the way you were avoiding his eyes and the way you hadn’t stopped picking at your hands.

“Let’s take the test so we know exactly what we’re dealing with, and then regardless of the result we’ll sit right here and talk it all out… how does that sound?” he asked and you smiled softly but it didn’t reach your eyes. He was always proactive, any time something came up he immediately sought out a solution and you weren’t at all surprised this was his response.

“I think that sounds good,” you said as you stood, “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here,” he replied and you knew from the look in his eyes he meant that in more ways than one. Seeing you stressed or overwhelmed wasn’t new for him, but this was something else entirely… normally you’d be frazzled over something work related and you’d vent to him and snap back to normal but you were completely withdrawn. He knew you were scared, frankly he was a little scared too, but he was suddenly worried he hadn’t made his feelings clear enough. There really wasn’t anything you could do at this point to send him running, and especially not this; he desperately wanted to know what was nagging at you so he could reassure it away.

You returned from the bathroom and took up your previous spot beside him, stick in hand, “two minutes.” you said softly and he leaned over to press a kiss to your temple.

“Hey, whatever it is we’ll figure it out. Everything will be okay,” he said and you nodded but he could tell his words just rolled right off you, not sticking in the slightest. He thought it’d be best to stay silent while you waited, he’d be able to get to the root of it once you both knew exactly what was going on.

The timer on your phone startled you and you silenced it as you took a deep breath. Jake slid his hand through your free one and intertwined your fingers, squeezing reassuringly as you flipped the test over. Negative. You exhaled in relief and dropped your head against his shoulder and he quickly lifted his arm to pull you into his chest. Emotion tugged at you despite how you tried to keep it at arm's length, and eventually you succumbed to the tears trying to break free.

“It’s okay, everything’s okay,” Jake whispered, kissing the top of your head and drawing soothing patterns along your back. He continued to talk, low reassurances that weren’t quite registering but the tenor of his voice eventually calmed you down and when the emotions finally ran their course he hooked a finger under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. “Talk to me, what had you so worried?” he asked gently, wiping away the tears on your cheeks.

You considered your options: you could say you were just terrified by an unplanned pregnancy and push past it, or you could do what you knew you needed to and be honest despite the fact you were somehow convinced it’d bring the end of your relationship. “I don’t want kids,” you blurted out and he was nearly as surprised by the sudden confession as you were.

“I- I never have, I… never envisioned that life for myself and I’ve never felt that thing people feel that makes them want kids. I know I’m like… broken or something, I know it literally goes against my biological nature to not want kids, I just don’t and I know that can be a deal breaker so I understand if you don’t want to stay-"

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he interrupted, his tone still gentle but not as soft as it had been earlier. “You are not broken. It’s perfectly normal to not want kids and you don’t need to justify that, to me or anyone else. This isn’t a deal breaker, sweetheart, I’m pretty convinced nothing is at this point,” he said and this reassured you slightly, loosened the knot in your stomach slightly.

“You don’t want kids?” you asked, your voice still timid and small. You didn’t want to ask but you needed to know, this was your one shot to get everything out in the open and make sure you were on the same page.

He thought carefully for a moment before answering. “I honestly haven’t given it a lot of thought. My life is so up in the air, literally and figuratively, I don’t think I’ve ever been able to picture slowing down enough to factor kids in. That’s not to say I’ve never wanted them, but I’ve never been attached to the idea.”

“Is it disappointing to know that if you stay with me you’ll never have that option? I don’t want you to have regrets or end up resenting me because I never gave you a family.” Jake’s heart cracked at the look on your face and the emotion thinly veiled in your eyes. In the back of his mind he knew this was coming from somewhere specific… At some point someone had made you feel like you were broken, had either said or made you feel like a life with you wouldn’t be enough without kids and he hated that. He hated that right now it seemed like you were just waiting for him to echo the sentiment and leave you stranded. 

“Sweetheart, if that test had been positive and you wanted to keep it I’d be thrilled to start a family with you, just as thrilled as I am to build a life just the two of us. I don’t love you because of your ability to provide me with a hypothetical family… I love you because you’re you, that’s always going to be enough for me.” Your breathing hitched as you processed his words, you literally felt the weight lift off your chest at the reassurance he really wasn’t going anywhere and it gave your heart the room to thud wildly against your rib cage.

“You love me?” you asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips and his eyes widened. In the heat of the moment he hadn’t realized what he’d confessed and he felt himself flush.

“Yeah, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it just now, or so soon- I do love you but this night has been emotionally overwhelming enough, please don’t feel like you have-“ he was rambling, and you were having a hard time keeping your enjoyment in check. 

Jake was a confident and assured man, it’s part of what drew you to him at first, but now he was a stumbling mess with crimson cheeks because he’d just confessed he loved you and you were sure he’d never been more attractive to you. Not when he sidled up beside you and bought every drink you ordered every time you were in the Hard Deck with that cocky smirk and those sparkling eyes, not when he boldly flirted with you every time he saw you despite Natasha threatening to have him shot out of the sky, and not when he threw an arm around your shoulder and called you his girlfriend with no real confirmation, he just knew you were his and he was yours. None of those moments of the smooth and charismatic Jake you knew compared to this sweet and bashful one in front of you.

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his in a searing kiss, knowing he wouldn’t stop unless you did it for him. He responded instantly and you couldn’t help but giggle as you pulled back. “I love you, too.” you said and in the blink of an eye he regained his confidence, pulling you back into him and kissing you like a man starved. 

“You just made me the happiest man on earth, darlin’,” he said, pecking your lips once more. “A life with you is everything I ever dreamed of. We don’t have to talk about this ever again unless you want to… I just need you to know that I’ll remain the happiest man on earth so long as I’ve got you, no hypothetical children could ever make me regret or resent you.” 

You felt the need to be closer to him and crawled into his lap to wrap around him like a koala, squeezing so tight he let out a strained laugh. “I love you,” you said again as he held you close.

“I love you too, sweetheart… Now what do you say we get some snacks and ice cream and decompress with a movie night?” he asked and your eyes widened as you pulled back, suddenly remembering what you’d left on the counter. 

“My ice cream!” you yelled, disentangling yourself from him and sprinting down the hallway to assess the damage and he trailed behind you chuckling the whole way… he watched you frown as you looked at what had turned into soup and you pulled out your phone, mumbling something about getting it delivered because there was no way you’d go without a sweet treat tonight. He was paying attention, because of course he was, but as he stood leaning against the doorframe looking at you with a lovesick expression on his face he was thinking about the future. 

He saw nights at the bar, you heckling his friends better than he ever could and getting away with it in a way he never did. He saw travel at every opportunity and nights-in just like you were about to have. He saw romantic dinners and fights and nights of endless passion — and maybe he saw a dog down the line. He saw himself putting a big rock on your finger and buying you a house with a porch swing out back because he knew that’s all you really wanted, and it’s there on that swing you’d watch the sun rise and set over the ocean and truly start to grow old together. He saw it all, the good and the bad, in a split second while watching you lean over the kitchen counter, eyes glued to your phone as you scrolled through your options, and he couldn’t help but beam. ‘As if I could ever regret a life with you,’ he thought.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Am I Acting Weird?

Walking home, I just can't shake the feeling that something is off, but I can't figure out what! I asked Coach about it before leaving practice, but he just laughed. He said I was weird not to appreciate the effort I've put into football lately.

He's right. I've been busting my ass, but that's exactly what I'm talking about!

I've never given a damn about improving my rank or even showing up to conditioning! I just wanted to hang out with my buds and mess around with the cheerleaders.

But now, it's like none of that matters! I've skipped the last three parties to bulk up at the gym! I haven't been able to drink anything other than protein shakes, and my meals are always loaded with meat. It's like I can't control myself anymore! Why can't I just take a night off and drink beers with the rest of the boys?

I let out a long groan of frustration and trudge upstairs. My younger sibling Max laying on the couch while the TV blares his favorite show.

Max is the weird one! He's like 18, and all he does is play videogames and sit around all day.

I quickly strip off my sweaty football uniform and toss it into the corner of my bedroom. My muscles are already tired and aching from yesterday's practice, so I can't imagine how sore I'll be feeling when I wake up for tomorrow's early morning workout; something I only recently started doing everyday.

Like every other night, I pull my usual at-home clothes on; a stiff white shirt, black apron, and bowtie. This outfit might seem weird, but it feels nice, especially when I tie everything up extra tight. Max showed me how. Sure, it's not comfortable at all, and I look like a waiter more than anything, but that doesn't bother me.

My little brother is annoying as hell, but he's usually right. Me and dad used to tease him all the time, but we've come around since then.

Now that I'm finally at home and suited up, I can feel my shoulders relax. Whatever was bothering me before can wait. I pull some shiny black shoes on, slip a pair of white gloves over my hands, and carefully step back downstairs. It's important that I make as little noise as possible when I'm home. I wouldn't want to disturb anybody.

"Hey, big bro," Max calls from the couch, "Your home."

"Yes, Max," I answer, taking my usual position next to the couch.

This is where I stand when I'm in the living room anymore. It's just where I feel most comfortable, and it's right next to a little cart of useful supplies. I grab a towel and sling it over my shoulder. It's always a good idea to have one on me when I'm at home. Never know when I'm going to need it.

"My shoes could use a polish while we chat," Max adds, flipping through the channels.

"You got it, Max."

See, the towel does come in handy. I quickly fetch a container of shoe polish on my little cart and kneel by his feet. I've been polishing Max's shoes for a few weeks now, so I've gotten pretty good at it. He doesn't really appreciate the art of it, but I guess it's just something that I'm into.

"How's football? You the best player yet?" Max asks nonchalantly from above.

"No, Max. I've gotten a lot bigger lately, but the quarterback is still a lot more muscular and skilled."

He rolls his eyes and adds, "Give it time I guess. You're going to keep at it until your a professional player like the ones on TV."

I stop buffing his sneaker for a second and glance up at him. His attention is now completely fixated on an NFL videogame.

"Max, that's just it," I admit, "Lately I've been working out and bulking up like I'm some pro-athlete, but I'm not. I don't think I even want to be! That life just seems so grueling."

Max pauses his game and looks down at me solemnly.

I avert my gaze and add, "It's just weird that lately I've put so much work into something I don't want."

"You think that's weird?" he dryly raises an eyebrow.

I just shake my head and turn my attention back to my brother's sneaker. It's going to need a lot more polish before it shines.

The door opens and our father arrives home.

"Hey, boy," he dismissively calls when he sees me on the floor. Then he notices my brother lounging on the couch.

"Max," he says with a bit more emphasis, dipping his head a little.

"Dad, I'm really hungry right now, so could you get a move on with dinner?" Max answers.

"Of course, Max."

Our father immediately drops his keys and briefcase and shuffles into the kitchen. I've always admired him. He played football in college too, so we've always bonded over sports.

But lately, he only seems interested in his work. I rarely see him because he always stays late and picks up night shifts at the office. It's done wonders for his career, so I guess that's good. He's been given a few raises recently for all the extra effort he's put in, but I can tell it's taking a bit of a toll on the guy.

"Big bro, just look at Dad," Max explains to me, "He doesn't complain about anything being weird, does he? He just keeps his mouth shut and goes to work. Be more like him."

I don't speak as I switch to shining his other sneaker. Max is probably right. If Dad can power through long hours in the office to bring home a decent salary, then I can surely shut up and dedicate myself to a career in football.

It doesn't take long for our father to return to the living room.

"The food is almost ready, but here are some drinks while you wait, Max," he says.

Our dad seems minorly annoyed by the starched clothing he has on, but that suit is his typical home outfit. It looks even more stiff and uncomfortable than my get up, but I guess he's willing to put up with it.

Max stands before I can finish at his feet and grabs a glass from our father.

"Whoops, here you can finish them," he says after a swig of wine, kicking the shoes off in my direction, "And then take care of the laundry in my room."

"Sure thing, Max," I answer, but he's already turned his attention to dad.

"Is your wallet in your briefcase?" he asks, "I'm taking a few friends out tonight."

"It is, Max, and the car keys are next to it. The car is low on gas. Should I take it to a station before you go out?"

"Yeah," Max adds between sips, "Take care of that while I eat."

"Of course, Max."

"Oh, and Dad."

"Yes, Max?"

"Start making double portions for big bro's meals. He needs to bulk up faster if he's going to usurp the current quarterback."

I pretend not to hear, and finish up my work with Max's shoes. Maybe my new focus on football hasn't been that strange after all. It's not really the life I thought I'd be pursuing, but it's kind of nice being bigger and more athletic than I used to be. It's not really weird if I think about it. Maybe I can even get a few more reps in after I finish Max's laundry.

I hope he has a good time out with his friends tonight. It's weird, but I don't really know what else I'd spend my time doing.

[tonkatsubowl]

a little toxic.

satoru gojo x fem!reader

he's all egotistical, cocky and high & mighty... until he experiences jealousy with you.

the man is fully aware of what he is.

attractive, the strongest (obviously), cunning, smart... and the fact he has you as his lover, it boosted his ego tremendously. he flaunts you off, he makes sure that the world knows who you belong to:

the baddest, most beautiful, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the entire universe.

...but why was it that a single man who has no idea what cursed energy is the reason why there's a tug at his heart strings?

it all started when satoru took you out to the café. it was his day off, and he finally had some time to be with you. of course, you were loyal. he trusted you that you wouldn't lay your eyes on any other man. after all, his cockiness and his ego practically told him you were obsessed with him! in truth, you were just loyal and you loved him dearly.

satoru was just a fucking idiot with that brain of his.

as the both of you sat together at this café, satoru notices his precious students—yuuji, nobara and megumi—walking together outside. you wanted to see them too, but you were too comfortable in your seat, but satoru obviously did the greeting as he got up to exit temporarily to talk to his precious students.

you were left alone, and you were enjoying the comfort of your seat and the fact you could see the four of them right outside the glass walls. you smile, admiring the sight of satoru laughing and teasing megumi while the others chimed in.

"excuse me," an unfamiliar voice grabs your attention away from your lover, your gaze fixated to a random stranger who spoke to you, "may i speak with you for a moment?"

you blink, nodding your head slowly before glancing back to satoru again. "what is it?" you ask.

"i just wanted to say i've been admiring your smile and your beautiful appearance since you've gotten here." he said, flashing you a bashful smile. "sorry, i just had to muster up the courage to say something."

that's when your cheeks had dusted itself with a crimson palette, leaving you to clear your throat awkwardly. "a-ah.. well, thank you!" now you weren't sure if you were getting genuinely hit on or complimented. you should bring up satoru.

"i'm here waiting for my boy—"

"sorry i'm late, baby." you hear satoru's voice chirp in the distance as he raise an arm around your shoulder, leaning in to pepper a few kisses on your cranium.

the strongest adjusted his sunglasses, lowering them to gaze upon the male who hit on you with his six eyes.

"ah, s-satoru," you blink, comforted by his appearance.

"who's this?" satoru asked you, resting his chin on top of your head.

the man in question looked at the both of you awkwardly, as he rubbed the back of his head. he did not realize you were dating anyone...

"oh, this is—" you began.

"i'm—" the stranger began.

"i'm gojo satoru," your boyfriend practically interrupted the both of you as he smiled, "i'm y/n's boyfriend. did you need something?"

you blink, staring at the sorcerer next to you with a bit of surprise... was he jealous? he knows you weren't gonna go anywhere but now... why was he so possessive of you at this very moment?

"a-ah, no. not at all. i uh... s-sorry. didn't know she had a boyfriend..." he murmured before walking away.

you look at satoru with a raised brow, "what was that about?" you asked. "don't tell me you're jealous."

"not jealous," he corrected you, obviously lying, "c'mon. let's take you home~."

you blink. "hey—" you feel yourself getting gently pulled away as he took your hand, twirling you close as he whispered something into your ear.

"didn't like how he made you red. so i'll be sure to make you even more red tonight in bed."

[z3rinn]

# #. KINGDOM CALLING !!

Being a Keyblade Wielder you thought you'd have seen everything by now. But you never expected to end up in a world where the villains you defeated were worshipped.

more twst x kh content because i’ve been hyper fixated on it for the past few months T_T speaking of, the reason I've been gone for so long is because I’ve now got a fic in the makings- using this exact concept! it’s posted on my wattpad and quotev, but I’m also debating if I should put it on this site… it’s quite long though! lmk if you guys think I should :]

Twisted Wonderland was weird.

You thought you’d have seen everything by now. Being a Keyblade Wielder, your job was to travel across worlds, defeating the darkness and hate spread by those willing to conquer.

You’d experienced stories and magic you could barely comprehend, standing on the sidelines as you watched fairytales play right before your eyes.

Creatures and supernaturals were considered friends, being far different from the monsters you imagined them to be. Even talking animals were a common thing now, having traveled with Donald Duck and Goofy for a better part of three years now.

You never thought you'd miss them.

Your life back on Destiny Islands was simple. Back there, you had a home; with small rowing boats and hammocks on the tiny island a quick swim away. You had proper food, with star shaped fruits said to bind your soul with your loved ones. Most importantly- you had your best friends; Sora, Riku, and Kairi— all eccentric yet lovable characters that held your heart. You would do anything for them.

The island was a sanctuary, a place for comfort and familiarity. If you had known what you did now, you would've trapped yourself there, basking in the warm sand and cool water brushing across your body. But then, being young and immature, you just wanted to leave.

Three years have passed since then. Years full of mystery and surprise.

You had undergone many things on your journey; battling against Heartless and monsters. Falling down rabbit holes and encountering princesses every which way you turned. Meeting leaders of all kinds of worlds, binding your hearts to create everlasting friendships. You had even sided with villians, willing to set aside your differences to accomplish your goals.

It was odd… working with Maleficent.

At one point you even had your heart stolen. Ripped away from you to create a husk. And that was just the surface.

You thought you had seen everything by now....

But Twisted Wonderland was weird.

Everything happened so suddenly; kicking open an overly fancy coffin ( far different from the ones Jack Skellington used ) only to be met by a creature that looked oddly like Stitch. But before you could ask anything, he gave chase, demanding you give him your robes— how did you even get these on?

Panic stricken, you ran. Running across classrooms, hallways, and courtyards- all while trying to get away from the cat.

Questions and concerns began to gush through your mind. How could you have gotten here? Where was everyone?

And where were you?

The next thing you knew, you were in a regal library, cornered by the monster. Floating books and dancing lanterns surrounded you, all approaching with intrigue. They all seemed to be observing you, like they were anticiping something.

Blue fire brushed across your skin, the flames flickering against your robes. You realized they were waiting for a spell, like they knew you would cast it before the thought could even pop into your mind.

Just as you raised your hand, getting ready to summon your Keyblade, a whip wrapped around the cat.

Both of you jumped, eyes darting to the double doors, finding a crow-looking man standing there. He looked oddly disappointed. Your eyes immediately narrowed, hands tensing.

Just looking at him made you feel on edge.

He was radiating darkness.

His golden eyes seemed to be staring right into your soul, gazing deep and pulling you apart from the seams. They pierced through your own. Entrancing. Like they were studying and discerning your moves. You didn't like them.

They looked like a villians.

You were wary of the man, raising a brow when he introduced himself. Crowley was his name; Descendant of a Hero. An odd name for someone whose heart seemed so full of darkness. He led you to a chamber room, surrounded by floating coffins and magic. Dark energy overfilled the room, whispers and cackles echoing from robed figures as they eyed your form.

You thought back to Organization XIII.

You didn't like robes all that much anymore.

They were traumatizing.

Crowley huffed, pushing you in front of— the magic mirror? Was that the one The Evil Queen used?

The mask in the mirror spoke, blank eyes narrowing at you as if you'd attack it at any second. Of course, it had every right to be afraid. Your friend literally threw a giant key at it once. Hopefully it could get passed that though, and you could ask it how you got here?

It bullshitted something about you not having a soul, ( you had a strange inkling it was being petty but whatever ) but before it could finish, the cat broke free.

He yelled, claiming he was strong enough to be at this school, and that he deserved your spot. You tilted your head at his outburst. Was that all he wanted? You gladly would've given your spot to him. You weren’t meant to be in this world in the first place. Hopefully you’d be out of here soon.

You had Heartless to go fight.

You had to go find Sora.

A quick mishap occurred, with Grim ( you remembered his name ) setting the room on fire. Apparently he was trying to show off his magic; an odd way to do so but you digress. A red haired boy chased after him, along with a boy with glasses.

Their magic was strange, coming out of a jeweled pen of all things.

Wind magic was casted, similar to your own Aero spells. Water attacks were aimed at it, easily dousing the blue flames. It was honestly amazing, watching so much magic come out of a tiny pen.

The redhead stopped in front of the cat, pointing his pen at him with narrowed eyes. Your own widened as he shouted a curse.

Off with your head.

That sounded awfully familiar.

…

Crowley was going to kick you out.

The magic mirror- or rather the dark mirror- explained that you didn't have a home to go to. You guessed it was because Destiny Islands was a whole other world, and simple mirror travel wouldn't be able to reach that far.

No matter, you could simply contact Donald or Riku on your Gummi phone and go home.

But of course, the first time a phone specifically made to communicate between worlds doesn't work is when you need it most.

So you did the only thing you could.

And showed him your Keyblade.

He muttered something to himself, widened eyes never leaving the blade in your hand. His feathers ruffled in surprise and intrigue, the slight curl of them being… strange. 

It was as if they were smiling.

Your eyes flickered to his own- noticing his scary… intense gaze.

You didn’t dare break contact, being far too focused on those piercings eyes. 

Those haunting, golden eyes. 

Eyes that looked just like Xehanorts.

The Headmage led you to a rundown cabin, home to a variety of ghosts and cobwebs. The building reminded you of the ones in Halloween Town; rundown with mischievous creatures inhabiting the spaces. These ghosts just looked like marshmallows.

You let out a low sigh, allowing yourself to fall on the dusted couch in the lounge. Debris flew up under your weight, flying into the air before dissapting. Your gaze was focused on the ceiling above, dazed as rain droplets fell to your cheeks and the wooden floors below.

The building was silent, aside from the rain. Wind blew against cobwebs, flying past your face and sticking to the rotting wood. Splinters and jagged pieces spiked up, parts of the walls ripped apart from age and student endeavors.

It was lonely here.

You didn't have anyone in this world.

Not even Jiminy fucking Cricket.

You hadn’t been alone in a long time.

The door creaked open, "Myah- it's really pouring out there!"

...

Twisted Wonderland.

That's what this place was called.

A world very befitting for its name.

Everything about this world was off— or at least— Night Raven College was.

Students seemed to love and adore the beings you had tried so desperately to keep away. They had dorms dedicated to them, embracing their darkness and allowing themselves to fall under its curse. Darkness that you had to get rid of.

Of course, they didn't actually know about the dangers you faced, finding these villians to be great and kind. They didn't know of the death and tragedy caused- the mistakes you had to fix.

It was strange though. Worlds weren't supposed to know of one another, otherwise chaos could ensue.

So why was Twisted Wonderland a combination of them all?

You suppose that's how this place got its name.

Everything in this world was twisted. Villians were considered heroic; great and all mighty beings that you and Sora definitely didn't beat.

While in the botanical gardens you sometimes laugh, imagining Leona's face if you told him you helped kill Scar. He gives you weird looks, telling you to shut up and go back to sleep. You try. It doesn’t work.

It wasn't until the Riddle incident did you realize why you were sent to this world. Darkness and hatred had been accumulating in the corners of this realm, seeping into the depths of people's hearts.

It was at times like this that made you miss Sora.

You turned over on your bed, eyes focused on the ceiling above. Moonlight seeped in through the wooden cracks, bits of the glowing celestial body peeking in. It was almost speaking to you, luring you towards it with the promise of comfort.

Kingdom Hearts.

Your eyes shut, turning away from the beckoning moon.

Well whatever. You had another long day ahead of you.

…

Thoughts? This was just a quick wip that I made in like an hour lolll. I’m thinking of doing another part tho, where we dive into character interactions and such. Rlly wanna write for Silver and a KH! MC!

[l1tw1ck]

A Stardew Valley Affair

bottom!ftm Kent x top!masc reader

☆ Word Count: 930 ☆

[REQUEST] | AFAB Language Used

CW: Cheating, Caught Masturbating, Squirting, Cunnilingus, Creampie

You’ve been married to Sam for almost a year and you're already starting to become unfaithful. You feel like a bag of trash for it, especially because the reason for your unfaithfulness is his own father. You didn't see him as a romantic interest for a while but he started to look more desirable as time went on. You couldn't put your finger on it but you started thinking about him in ways that you shouldn't.

Jodi paid you to stop by and drop off some vegetables. Since you have the key, she didn't stick around and wait for you. You assumed you were going to be the only one there.

You place down a fresh bag of veggies and turn to leave but you stop. You swear you just heard something from Jodi and Kent’s bedroom. You creep over to the door to prevent whatever's or whoever's inside from possibly running off. You press your ear against the wood and listen.

“Mm- fuck-” Kent moans, jerking his t-dick while he thinks about you and your muscles. “I'm close, [Name]~”

You feel yourself growing hard from hearing that. You open up the door and look at him and his wet sex. He stops immediately, eyes widening when he sees you.

“Need any help?” You smirk. Kent nods quickly. You lock the door behind you and quickly remove all your clothing before climbing onto the bed. Kent looks up at you then down to your length. You're big. Bigger than anything he’s ever taken. “Do you have any condoms?” You ask.

Kent looks at you like you’ve asked a stupid question. “No need.” He shakes his head, pulling you onto the bed. He hovers over your length before sinking down onto your cock. He bites his lip, feeling a little bit of pain as you stretch him out. It's a good kind of pain though. “You can come inside.” He’s too sexy to question.

“So you've been thinking about me.” You smirk.

“I've been doing more than that.” He grinds down onto you. “I've wanted you ever since I came back to the valley.”

“Today’s your big day then.”

He grins, pulling off his shirt, revealing the piercings on his nipples. “Sure is.” He holds onto your shoulders for balance and starts to bounce on your length. He bites his lip, pure pleasure painted on his face as he rides you. He notices your fixation on his nipples and brings his hands to them, playing with them to tease you. His increased moans tell you that his nipples are sensitive. He knows this is bad, considering the fact that you're married to his son, but oh Yoba, he loves this.

“Fuck–” He lets out a sharp breath. “I can't- ‘s too much-” He slows down.

“Let me help you out.” You grab his sides and bring him onto the bed. You position him on his side and bring his leg up against you and start fucking him roughly. “You feel so fucking good.” You rub his clit. Curses slip out of Kent’s mouth as you bring him closer and closer to his orgasm. He rolls his eyes back and squirts. You slow down and let him recover.

“I haven't done that in years..”

“Years? I think we should make up for that.” You smirk.

“Not all at once, okay?” He laughs.

“How about…two more times?”

“You can try.”

“I’m up for the challenge.” You pull out of him and flip him onto his stomach. You raise his ass in the air and bury your face in his cunt. You lick a few stripes up his pussy, tasting him, before sticking your tongue inside him. He bites down on his lip, shivering as your tongue explores his insides. He hasn't gotten ate out in so long. He can't even remember the last person who did. He wishes he got with you instead, you would've been happy to regularly eat his pussy. If only he didn't go to the military. You slide your fingers up and down his t-dick, stimulating him even more. His toes curl as he starts to get towards his second orgasm. He moans your name and squirts once again, drenching your face in his liquids.

You pull away and wipe your face. “Do you need time to calm down?” You look at his twitching cunt in awe.

“I need to, but I don't want to.” He turns to look at you. “Put it back in.”

“Your wish is my command.” You slide back into him, his pussy ten times wetter than the first time you were in it. You hold his waist and pound into him at a fast pace. He's so sensitive, it feels like he's gonna explode. It's so much all at once and he fucking loves it.

“Harder!” He cries out. You do as he says, pulling more moans from him. The two of you should be feeling guilty for numerous reasons, the biggest being that you're both married, but neither of you care. You're thoroughly enjoying the warmth and wetness of his pussy and nothing can make you feel bad about it.

“‘M gonna come soon-” Your thrusts become more rough.

“Inside! Do it inside!”

“Shit- Are you sure?”

“Yes!"

Kent comes before you, slick gushing on your cock. Just feeling that brings you to your orgasm. Your thrusts eventually come to a halt and you finally fill him up with your cum.

This just brought on a ton of complications. You’ll have to choose between Kent and Sam. Things are gonna get messy.

[polakina]

on his knees for you

pairing: javier escuella x reader

rating: mature

outline: a robbery goes sideways, and your already rocky friendship with a fellow camp mate is put to the test as you evade the guards of Van Horn

warnings: cursing, so much bickering, canon-typical gore and violence, flirting, slightly suggestive (this is by far the tamest thing i've ever written)

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

a/n: i can't believe how many notifications i've gotten about my works over the past week. its fucking crazy. thank you so much, you're all absolute stars

masterlist

II

It was a simple job, really. Get in, steal the bonds, and get out.

But nothing ever went as simple as the original plan, did it? Not with the Van Der Linde gang. There was always a little bit of improvisation to be had. Which was exactly what you were doing right now.

Bullets firing past your ears, blood running down your leg, the target’s personal guards chasing you down the winding paths of Roanoke Ridge.

-

One day earlier.

The plan was set. Arthur, Bill and Lenny were to infiltrate the building and steal the bonds, while Micah and Charles handled the guards. You and Javier were on lookout, posted at the entrance gates. 

You were all stationed just outside of Van Horn, your target being the mansion and its occupiers. Trelawny had brought intel of bonds on their way through Van Horn to Annesburg, stopping off at the mansion overnight. Roanoke wasn’t a place anyone wanted to be caught up in at night.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” you muttered, leaning further against your horse, absorbing his body heat as much as you could. It had been hours of waiting around and checking on the mansion. No movement whatsoever since the sun began to set. Darkness was nearing and the coach was nowhere to be seen.

Javier stood beside you, rifle in hand, eyes fixated on the road to the right, where the coach should appear from. “Want my poncho?” He asked, glancing at you briefly.

You didn’t even cast him a look as you responded. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your style, Escuella. I think I’ll survive without it.” You sighed, and moved from your position, heading further down the road, hiding in the trees to watch from a different position, seeing the road winding down Roanoke Ridge to New Hanover.

The two of you had never gotten along. He didn’t like your attitude one bit. You were snarky, cold. Something you’d developed after years of running with Arthur and John. He’d try and make conversation, you’d brush it off. He’d invite you on a fishing or hunting trip, you’d decline and say you preferred to hunt alone. He couldn’t win. You never sat with the camp during his songs or meals, you were always perched somewhere else, keeping lookout. That’s what you did. That’s all you ever did. 

So after a few months, he gave up. Not exactly understanding your harshness to him, he just accepted it instead. He returned your cold comments and your mean stares. Years passed and you bickered like enemies living beside one another. 

You whistled out to the group as you spotted the coach. Your whistle blended with the birds, so it was undetected by the gourds watching the bonds.

Everything went smoothly, Arthur, Lenny and Bill making quick work of breaking into the bonds lock box, and you heard the guards grunting and groaning as they hit the floor from Micah and Bill’s attacks.

Through your scope, you spotted as the boys grabbed the bonds, throwing them into their satchels. Drifting your rifle along the side of the mansion, you sensed something wrong with Bill. He was arguing with Micah. More so than usual. 

“What’s going on?” Javier whispered, lying beside you, hidden between the trees.

You shushed him, focusing on Bill. Their argument grew even more heated, and you caught a glimpse of lantern light behind them. You watched as they turned, cursing loudly before returning fire. Micah had scurried off during the brawl with the guards, seeking other treasures and getting himself caught in a scuff with guardsmen minding their own business.

“Shit, shit,” Javier cursed, throwing an arm over you and holding you down, protecting your head as bullets fired your way. “He can’t keep his head for one mission, puta madre!”

Arthur had ordered for, if the mission went south; which you had good money on it that it did, that you scatter. Split up and evade Van Horn at all costs, go the long way around New Hanover until it was safe to return back to camp so you were sure you weren’t followed. 

They had the bonds, all they needed to do was escape without getting caught. But you wouldn’t have minded if Micah got murdered in the. Just when you thought he’d found your last nerve, he managed to hit another one.

“I think this is our cue to leave,” you said through gritted teeth, pushing yourself onto your feet and grabbing your gear. Javier was on your heels, close behind. You hiked deeper into Murfree Brood territory, constantly keeping an eye over your shoulders for lantern light.

“Our safest path is through Roanoke,” Javier said from behind you, following your path through the trees. “The guards won’t dare follow us through there this late at night.”

You halted suddenly, whipping around to face Javier. He was caught off guard, almost stumbling into you, a surprised expression on his face. “Are you crazy, Escuella? Murfree Brood hunt here at night. If it’s not the guards who get us, it’ll be them. And I’d rather take my chances with bullets rather than-”

A bullet shot through the wind, straight through your leg into the tree behind you. It caught your words in your throat and you almost crumbled to the ground under the pain firing down your leg. Javier didn’t even blink as he wrapped an arm around you, catching you before you fell. He pulled his gun from its holster at his hip, pointing it over your shoulder and firing it straight into the head of the guard who fired at you first.

It drew attention. Of course, it did. Javier pulled you away from the scene, down the winding path leading to New Hanover. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, and you tried to hold in your groans of pain as your feet collided with uneven terrain, worsening the sting of the wound.

You both heard voices, coming from the top of the hill of which you had just descended. Javier pulled you around a large oak tree, pushing your body against the bark which pulled a pained gasp from your lips. “Fucking hell, Javier. At least try to be gentler with-” His hand clamped over your mouth, his body pressed against yours as he looked past the tree trunk to the guards making their way past you, checking their surroundings as they went. 

“You need to learn to shut up once in a while,” he whispered, looking back to you. His hat was tipped down his head, shielding his eyes. “I’m trying to save you and you’re still complaining.”

You looked up at him, your mouth still firmly covered, your hand wrapped around his wrist, instinct from when he shut you up. He smelled of whiskey and firewood, his scent filling your nostrils. His hand wrapped around your waist protectively, tightening as the footsteps grew closer.

Pulling his hand down, you noticed his skin never left yours. It rested around your neck. Softly, no pressure in his fingers, but the heat of his palm burned against your pulse, and he felt your heart rate jump. “Thought you would have wanted to get rid of me, Escuella,” you whispered, looking up at him. 

But he just looked down at you, surprised. “What?”

“Get rid of me. Hand me off to some guards searching through half the woods for us.” Your gaze never wavered. “Would certainly save you the trouble of dealing with me back at camp.”

He just smirked, tilting his head up, his eyes turned down to look at you. “And why would I want to get rid of you? Perhaps I enjoy the trouble you cause me. Ever thought about that?” His eyebrows raised as you stood there, unable to form words. “So are you going to  shut up and behave yourself while I get you out of here? Or are you going to keep talking until they figure out where we are?”

Javier waited for your response, but it never came. You just bowed your head, sealing your lips in a thin line. He took that as a sign that you’d ‘shut up and behave’. 

The men eventually left, abandoning their search for you, leaving both you and Javier a window of opportunity to flee.

-

The sun poked out above the trees from the makeshift camp Javier had set up in New Hanover. You were shielded by the canopy of branches, the fire in front of you keeping you warm. But it wasn’t doing anything good for the bullet wound in your leg. You stretched out your leg, wincing at the pain shooting through your body.

“I told you not to try and fix it by yourself,” you heard Javier say as he emerged with an armful of firewood, dropping it by your bags. “Your hands will shake before you’ve finished stitching it.”

You glared up at him. “Would you suggest I just leave it? Cut my leg off?”

Javier rolled his eyes at you, kneeling in front of you, his knees on either side of your wounded leg. “I would suggest…that you should wait for me. I’ll stitch it for you.”

Pulling his knife from the holster at his ankle, he sliced the blade through the fabric of your pant leg like butter. All the way up to your hip. “Hey!” You called out. “They were new pants.”

“I’ll buy you a replacement. Now shut up.” He was always harsh with his words, but now, it was even more so. A slight pang of worry soaked his tone.

“You’re such an ass sometimes-ow!” His fingers pushed against the wound on your leg, blood pooling out to the floor. “The fuck was that for?”

He looked indifferent as he looked up at you. “Feeling for any shrapnel. You don’t have any, thankfully, or else this would have hurt a lot more than its about to.”

“I could have told you that,” you grimaced as he began cleaning the wound. Applying pressure to one end of the bullet hole only forced blood through the other side. You could see both the entry point and exit point of the wound, stretching across the left and right sides of your leg.

You were both silent as he cleaned your leg, but you gasped as he pulled out a needle. He saw a panicked flash across your face, seeing it appear as quickly as it fled. “Easy,” he soothed, patting your knee. “I’ll be quick. You won’t feel it.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you whispered, your eyes only focused on the needle.

He sighed, leaning closer, tipping your chin up to meet his softened gaze. “Okay. You will feel it. But not much. A bee sting, that’s all it feels like. But it’ll be easier if you lie down.”

“Why?”

“Your muscles tense when you sit upright. You could at least be comfortable while I stitch you up.” He helped you into a more comfortable position. Javier still straddled your shin, one of his hands pressed against your thigh while his other stitched the hole closed. You laid there, his poncho acting as your pillow as you looked up at the trees.

You ignored the sting you felt each time the needle pierced your skin. Javier wasn’t wrong, it did feel like a bee sting. What’s more important, was that you could manage that sort of pain. “Thank you,” you said quietly, but you weren’t certain he heard you at first, until the needle stopped in your skin, his actions immoveable. Lifting your head and straining your neck, you met his eye. There was a small smile on his face, the corners of his moustache turned upwards with his laugh lines driven deep into his skin. You always did like his smile. That was the one thing that never changed about him. 

“It’s the least I can do,” he smiled, turning his attention back to your stitches. “It’s sort of my fault you got shot in the first place.”

“Sort of? You mean ‘entirely’?” You laughed as he playfully slapped your other leg with the back of his hand.

“Quit laughing,” he chuckled with you. “Or I’ll end up stabbing you in the wrong place.”

He finished quickly, wiping away any trace of blood before gently bandaging your leg. His soft touch lingered for a little while, his thumb gently rubbing soothing patterns into your skin. Your breath stopped in your throat as his touch rose higher. Higher up your thigh. To where your thigh met your hip. He was so fixated on it, he didn’t realise what he was doing until he felt your pulse beating at an ungodly rate at the top of your inner thigh.

His eyes flicked up to yours, where you laid, patiently. You were curious what sorts of thoughts were running through his head right now. What sort of cogs were turning in that brain of his.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your face closer to his than it had ever been before. “What?” You coaxed, too curious to keep quiet now.

“Nothing,” he moved to lean back, his hands drifting down your thighs, but they never left your body before you grabbed the front of his shirt, holding him in place.

“What did I say? Don’t lie to me, Javier.” Your voice never raised above a whisper. It didn’t need to. You were so close a whisper felt like a shout.

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t speak. The close proximity had rendered him faulty in speech. So instead he closed the gap. His lips touched yours, his body melting against your touch. You didn’t expect it. All those years of bickering. All those years of cruel comments and nasty looks. Nothing prepared you for this. But you welcomed it.

Javier leaned you back, your head meeting the poncho  as you felt his body settle on top of yours. Breaking away for air, you saw a softened, kinder look in his eye when he looked at you. “Is this your apology for me getting shot?” You asked, smiling against his lips as he kissed you once more.

“Is it working?” His lips moved to your neck, hovering above your skin to a point where it tickled.

“Hmm…maybe.” 

“Then perhaps I’ll try a different angle,” he smirked, unbuttoning your pants, encapturing your lips in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He had a lot of making up to do.

[scuderiasundays]

you and me together

summary: a growing rift between you and carlos mixed with late night celebrations for an old friend + a little insta au at the end!

words: 1,345

a/n: this is the first time i've gotten a request for a fic so a big thank you to anon for sending this in! i've been fixated on who will win wimbledon 2023 so i had to incorporate a few tennis players ��

Carlos had managed to score some much-needed time off to make it to Wimbledon. The two of you had always dreamed of witnessing the pinnacle of tennis, booking the trip ages ago when the two of you were on steadier ground. Carlos was going to join you after his stint at Silverstone, while you had landed in London a day earlier to reconnect with college friends.

"Looks like Taylor's the hot favorite this year," you grinned. You and Taylor had a loose connection through Alexa, his cousin, who happened to be your college roommate. Whenever Taylor felt overwhelmed by the pressure of ATP rankings, he would swing by their apartment unannounced. The easygoing Californian would tag along to frat parties, going in as a stranger and emerging with a whole crew of newfound friends. You had played the role of Taylor's personal chauffeur, escorting him home in his intoxicated state, all the while indulging in his drunken rants about seeds, tournaments, and prize money. You always had a hunch that he had a thing for you, but your busy schedules kept the two of you delicately tiptoeing around the topic, never quite addressing it head-on.

You couldn't help but wonder how different things would be if you had taken a chance on Taylor. Stuck in a relationship that felt stagnant, you walked through the familiar streets of a city where you and Carlos had once roamed during his McLaren days. London summers seemed to stretch on forever, with the sun setting late around 9:30 PM. You and Carlos had once strolled through the city hand in hand, lost in aimless conversation. Now, the demands of your job kept you from accompanying Carlos to race weekends, while he rarely made it home, going straight from races to the simulator in Maranello.

When Carlos strolled into the hotel lobby with Charles by his side, you couldn't help but let out a faint sigh. It wasn't exactly a huge surprise since you knew Charles was a tennis fanatic, and you actually liked hanging out with him. On the other hand, you had secretly hoped this trip would be your shot at reconnecting with Carlos and maybe reviving the dwindling spark. Well, there goes that idea, you thought, feeling a twinge of disappointment set in.

As you entered the hotel room, Carlos asked, "You don't mind that I brought him, do you?" You replied, "No, not at all." Carlos proceeded to mention that he had to hit the gym since the Hungarian Grand Prix was coming up, emphasizing his "no days off" mentality. He affectionately kissed your forehead before shutting the door behind him.

Just as you were about to head out, a text notification popped up. It was from Carlos, apologizing that he couldn't make it to the Gentlemen’s Singles Final. Ferrari had sprung a last-minute PR commitment on him and Charles, but he promised to make it up to you. You were gutted, quickly dialing Alexa's number. You didn’t even feel like watching the match anymore, but she was adamant that you join her in Taylor's box. It had been years since you had last seen Taylor, and you were dazed by just how much he’d changed—a newfound aura of confidence that screamed "America’s No. 1."

"Y/N, it's been too long!" Taylor exclaimed as he pulled you into a warm hug. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as you wished him luck and turned your attention to Centre Court, where Taylor was about to embark on an epic showdown against Carlos Alcaraz, the newly crowned world No. 1.

As the final point was won, the stadium erupted into an explosion of applause and admiration. Taylor stood tall, basking in the well-deserved glory of his hard-fought win. Emotions ran high as he shook his opponent’s hand in a display of sportsmanship and mutual respect.

Taylor's victory had set the stage for a night out on the town, and drinks were on him as the entourage made their way into the vibrant Sexy Fish in Mayfair. Congratulations poured in from all directions, amplifying the elation in the air. However, amidst the festive ambience, a pang of longing tugged at your heart, reminding you of the nights you’d spent by Carlos' side, reveling in his victories and beaming with pride.

As the evening progressed and the champagne flowed, you playfully grabbed an imaginary microphone, assuming the role of a reporter. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you turned to Taylor, who stood at the bar, soaking it all in. "You just won Wimbledon! How does it feel to be on top of the world, Mr. Fritz?" you mockingly asked him.

Taylor, caught off guard but never without his notorious charm, grinned and replied, "I don't even have words, Y/N. I wasn't in the best headspace going into the match, but you showed up, and something just clicked. Maybe I'd be World No.1 if you were in my box at every tournament." His playful words made you blush, fully aware of the harmless flirtation at play. You knew you weren't doing anything wrong, yet the room seemed to spin, overwhelming you with a sudden rush of emotions. Excusing yourself, you swiftly made your way towards the ladies' room, seeking a moment alone to gather your thoughts in the midst of the whirlwind celebration.

As Carlos and Charles walked into the restaurant, accompanied by a group of older executives, they immediately spotted you amidst the crowd. Charles couldn't help but make a lighthearted remark, "Funny seeing you here, Y/N! Any chance you can introduce us to the Wimbledon champion?" Relief washed over you, knowing they hadn't overheard your conversation with Taylor. Taylor was stunned to say the least as you walked back to the bar with two rather muscular men by your side.

“Taylor, meet the Scuderia Ferrari boys. Boys, meet Taylor.” The handshake exchanged between the three men was cordial, but Carlos, always quick-witted and ever possessive, raised one of his infamous eyebrows and chimed in, "Thanks for the introduction but I’m your boyfriend more importantly, no?" The playful remark had a tinge of jealousy in it, causing a momentary pause in the conversation.

Just then, Alexa, your ever-supportive confidante, happened to pass by. In her extremely inebriated state, she voiced what had been gnawing at her mind, "Not for long if you don't treat her right. You barely show up for her." Alexa had been there through the ups and downs of your rollercoaster of a relationship, aware of the challenges posed by long-distance and the strain it had placed on the both of you.

Overwhelmed by the weight of it all, you felt the need to escape for a moment. Without a word, you made your way outside, craving the coolness of the night air. Carlos, sensing your distress, followed closely behind. Observing your shivering, he swiftly handed you his navy blazer, offering you comfort in the only way he knew how.

"I'm sorry I haven’t been putting us first lately. I can tell I'm losing you," Carlos admitted with a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, his hands fidgeting nervously—a telltale sign of his unease. You could tell he was hurting as he struggled to find the right words. He had been grappling with the reality of your relationship slipping away, yet hesitant to poke the bear.

“It’s not just you, Carlos. It’s me too. Neither of us has been putting in the work and it shows.” Carlos nodded as his gaze softened.

“Where do we go from here?” Carlos muttered.

"Where do we go from here?" you repeated, mulling over the open-ended question. It held infinite possibilities, a multitude of paths stretching out before the two of you. And in that moment, you knew what you wanted more than anything.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you looked up at Carlos, a spark dancing in your eyes. "Let's just walk around the city like we used to. Take me anywhere, as long as the night ends with you and me together."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

liked by carlossainz55, taylorfritz, and 57,575 others

yourusername: what a weekend! catching up with forever friends, getting my steps in, and watching the sunrise with my person 💚

alexafritz: you’re stuck with me for life

yourusername: i love this photo of you, lex! i’d be lost in a world without you 🫶🏼

carlossainz55: solamente mía

pierregasly: how dare you even think of going to wimbledon without me, @charles_leclerc 😤

charles_leclerc: calme-toi, mate! i didn’t even get to go but i did meet @taylorfritz 😏

yourusername: get a room

fan1: i went on a run in primrose hill this morning but i didn't want to bother carlos and @yourusername because they looked so blissfully in love

taylorfritz: you and lex are the best (loudest) cheerleaders 📢

yourusername: rooting for you always!

update: part two here ➡️

[lazywriters-blog]

SISTER's SUPPORT 2

Summary: You have a story to tell about how you got pushed into a situation by your sister-in-law. Lying didn't get you anywhere.

Since you wanted a part two, here it is. With some sprinkled dark chocolate and layered spooky, I like these kinds of goofy dark scenarios- (not proofread)

You felt like a married couple consoling a raging teen who refused their favorite snack because of something you did. Even if you did, you had no idea of what you did wrong to deserve this, you barely know the twin brother and sister.

Maybe faking it till you make it home safe and sound was a good decision to keep in mind while you slowly and carefully sip your black tea, peering over to the twins who thought taking eyes off of you meant death.

You know they are not bad people, there are only good things you've heard about them in passing, adorable twin magicians with hats and tricks beloved because of it.

You didn't think the sister would have such a temper. Who in their right mind would come forth and throw accusations, unless her dear brother did admire you and you've gone and missed his magic show?

"No need to be coy, you don't need to lie about anything, we know much already. You like my brother too, don't you?"

You couldn't have responded quicker than lyney who gasped and hid his face behind his hand unsure if disappointment or embarrassment was right in his situation. '... Would you please stop embarrassing me and giving me heart attacks?"

"I'm sure he's a good gentleman and-"

"I asked, do you like him or not? Quit beating around the bushes and tell us the truth, that way my brother can rest easy and move on from his unhealthy fixation." She crossed her arms and glared, you are not sure if she's older than you yet.

"Oh... Uh." she's blunt, you were caught off guard, "Well, to be honest, I don't know him. You both are good magicians I've heard, I can't say if I like him or not if I haven't gotten to know him at all."

"Brother, tell her about yourself." She faced him, "You've been pining over a girl who doesn't even know you better than herself and you've been losing sleep over this?"

"Lynette, maybe spare me some dignity and let things happen naturally. Why do you have to rat me out like that?"

"Because I hate seeing you like this."

If you could get up and leave, you would without a second wasted. The twins were bickering while you contemplated your wisest words and phrases, sentences that were guaranteed to get you out of it with your ego intact.

"I said I've lost sleep because of that one failed trick I got wrong, and you were the one to butt in before I could make my move!"

"If I hadn't, this wouldn't be happening! You would be back to stalk-" Lyney quickly put his hand on her mouth and furrowed his eyebrows, as if to say 'Shut up she doesn't need to know that.'

But that expression eased off when he turned around to look you in the eye, "I'm sorry about this, my sister is a little fussy and all, you know..." he nervously smiled, had you not known better or seen it happen you would have believed they had nothing to hide.

"It's fine." What more could you say? They were guilty of dragging you here.

"I am sorry, I am, My sister usually doesn't pull off such stunts, it would be better for us to forget about this and move along." he laughed, but somehow it felt ominous to you, the way he steepled his hand and drop his elbow on the table, he didn't feel threatened anymore.

"Of course, why not," you answered.

"Splendid!" he raised his hands, giving you a tight smile with closed eyes. Giving it a few seconds, he waited for his sister to say something, elbowing her when she didn't.

Were you bonding with the twins? Not really.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but would you like to marry my brother? I'm sure he'll sleep better knowing you are his. He's not a bad guy."

If you weren't there, Lyney wouldn't have kept up his smile and made you see him in a good light, however, his smile still appeared strained.

These two were oddly funny siblings with a sudden tendency to expose each other.

"Lynette..." Lyney hummed in a low voice, and his sister did not even flinch, "Sorry bro."

"Was this conversation about marriage from the beginning? Why didn't you say so? I wouldn't have had to worry so much haha..." how were you supposed to get out of this?

Reacting positively could only get you so far.

"So? Do you approve of my brother? You guys should get married in two days." Nothing seemed to faze this girl.

You looked at Lyney, then Lynette and you weren't sure of what you were going to say anymore.

If you say no, you are certain his sister will tear you to shreds and make sure the rest of your days go on as badly as possible, even saying 'I'll think about it' ingrained the same scenario in your head.

It shouldn't be so bad to say yes, no?

"... Why not?"

Saying no meant more harm than good. Besides, you just wanted to get out of this situation as quietly as possible.

"Bro, you owe me one. When can I expect grandchildren?"

"You mean nephews..." lyney replied.

"Yeah, that."

Tag list

@swivy123 @rotin0

@idontevenknow129 @heartsbyvalentina

[happyandticklish]

The Joke's That Make You Laugh

Notes: Inspired by this post by @nhasablogg because I've been fixated on the concept ever since I saw it. Anyways, Wonka gives off insane lee energy and I refuse to believe he wouldn't get up to shit like this. Based on the new Wonka movie.

Summary: Wonka's newest chocolate creation has him in stitches.

Willy's heart raced as he looked down at the creation on his table. It was a beautiful thing. The appetizing treat curled slightly into a bow with golden tendrils spanning out into dozens of soft barbs. It very nearly seemed to flutter with the breeze flowing in through the window with how lifelike it appeared, though Willy knew this was impossible.

A feather. A simple creation when compared to the hundreds of wonders Willy had stocked his factory with, but its appeal was not held in its design. It was in what it could do.

He sat back in his chair, holding his chin as he stared at it. His leg jumped and jerked under the table in an unsteady, anxious rhythm. He and the feather held a silent staring contest as he debated adding finishing touches. Behind it sat several copies of the same chocolate in a pile—he always made sure to create back-ups. Perhaps he should add speckles to the top for realism, or splatter a black coating on the quill to appear as ink. None of this mattered, really. If he was being honest with himself, the chocolate had been finished thirty minutes ago and all of his tinkering and fussing was mere procrastination.

Willy wasn’t embarrassed. That was silly, after all, to be embarrassed of something that no one will see but you, that impacts no one but you. Not quite nervous, either. He had wanted to try creating something like this for a while now, even if the idea hadn’t quite formed into a coherent thought yet. He was excited about this. He wanted this. No, if he were to put it into words, it was a vague apprehension, a worry that it wouldn’t work, or worse, that it would work too well.

He tapped his fingers against the table. He leapt to his feet. He paced around several yard before whirling back to face the innocent feather.

“It’s just chocolate,” he muttered to himself. “Familiar territory.”

Before he could overthink it anymore, he snatched the treat and popped it into his mouth.

He rolled the chocolate around with his tongue. White chocolate, notes of hazelnut, all with a sweet vanilla glaze. It was, as always, delicious. He held it in the pocket of his cheek, allowing the warmth of his mouth to dissolve it.

Stalling.

Willy frowned, before determinedly swallowing it.

The effect was not instantaneous. He had made sure to calculate in a slight delay as there had been some fear of choking by accident. He was hyper aware of his own nervous system, unsure if what he was feeling was a tingling sensation or merely the butterflies swooping in his stomach.

Now that he had done it, worries began to flood Willy’s mind. He was alone, as he often was. There was Noodle and the rest of them, and the Oompa Loompas of course, but not here, not in his personal bedroom, not in his factory after hours. Sometimes they would stay late to finish up orders, and the Oompa Loompas slept here at the factory. If something had gone wrong, it would only be reasonable to get him. What if someone came in? What if it didn’t fade out in time? What if he had gotten the calculations wrong and it never wore off?

What if it was a dud and he was working himself up over nothing?

Just as he was about to go and check if the door was actually locked, however, Willy felt it. It was faint at first, a mere spark of something in his stomach. Soon, however, the spark multiplied until it was less of a spark and more of a crawling sensation over his lower abdomen, like spiders with feathers for legs.

“Oh. Oh.” A grin was breaking out across his features, his legs far less steady than they were mere moments before. He thought about making a break for the bed, but the sensation was only getting worse, and he found himself crumpling to the ground, arms wrapped protectively around his stomach.

It tickled. God, it tickled. More than he had anticipated, despite having created the recipe himself. It was spreading out from his stomach now and heading toward his sides. He dug beneath his coat, his own fingers gripping frantically at his undershirt in an unconscious effort to stop the feeling. Giggles welled up in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep them in. But it just wouldn’t stop. It was all just so intentional and teasing. Swipes up his sides, pokes at his ribs, fluttery fingers scuttling across his hips and down to his lower back. It was an overwhelming force of gentleness that he couldn’t fight off no matter how much he wanted to.

He knew logically that the chocolate was merely activating his nervous system and making his mind believe that it tickled when in actuality he was fine. One of the core ingredients to the chocolate was a rare hallucinogen he had found while out on his travels that was meant to interfere with one’s nervous system.

The idea for a tickling chocolate was one he had been working on for a while by then (secretly, of course, in the late hours of the night when the longing for it transferred into a desire so intense that he thought he might actually die if he didn't have it fulfilled), so when he stumbled across the plant, he knew immediately what to do.

He had tweaked it of course, taken out any dangerous elements, and only added in enough for about twenty minutes—nothing too crazy. So, rationally, he knew there was nothing really happening to him.

Still. It felt real.

Red crept up Willy's neck, tinging his ears as he twitched and jerked away from his invisible oppressors. It was a strange feeling, being tickled by one’s own mind—no pesky hands to fight off, no people to plead to. Just a grown man giggling to himself on his bedroom floor. And the only person he had to blame for this was himself. All of this was going on in his own mind, after all. As such, it was easy to convince himself that all he really needed to do to get it to stop was stop believing that it tickled at all—even if it was a goal that he hoped to fail at.

Willy forced his eyes open, taking deep, shuddering breaths. He glared firmly down at his own legs, holding the image of them in his mind. He could see nothing touching him, therefore there was nothing touching him. Thus, his mind had to be wrong in its attempts to convince Willy that something was squeezing devastating pinches higher and higher up his legs.

“It doesn’t tickle,” he gritted out, his wide grin saying otherwise. “It doesn’t… mmhmm… doesn’t tickle!”

Fingers crawling up toward his torso.

“Doesn’t—”

Scribbling over his stomach.

“Ti—”

Thumbs digging into his hips.

“—ihicKLE! Oh, what’s the pohohoint!” He doubled over at last, cackling wildly as he held his stomach. “Why does it hahave to tihickle so much!?” To who he was speaking, he couldn’t say, but some part of his mind was convinced that if he put the information out into the universe that maybe it would lend a helping hand. When that didn’t work, he attempted a more accepting method.

“N-now, now,” he assured himself, as though condoling a wailing child. “It’s just, ah, tihickling! Nothing t-to get so wohorked up about!” This was answered by several rapid-fire pokes to his ribs that sent him falling back and rolling about the floor. He knew it was impossible for the tickling to in any way be impacted by himself, as proven earlier, but it was starting to feel a tad bit personal as time went on.

Willy’s shoulders scrunched as soft touches flicked behind his ears, seeming to almost kiss his neck. He covered his face, groaning into his hands. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. How was he going to survive the next fifteen?

Willy continued to lie there as he waited for the chocolate’s effects to wear off, squirming frantically in desperate mirth. What he didn’t see was the shadow of a man right outside his window that he had failed to notice in the excitement of his creation. They perched on the sill, observing him carefully until Willy’s laughter transformed into a few trickling giggles as the effects of the potion wore off.

They watched him as he carefully stood up, still a bit wobbly from the tickling, and walked over to lock up the remaining chocolates on the table in a little sealed jar that he shoved behind some books on his shelf.

It wasn’t until Willy had finally gone to bed that they emerged, shuffling carefully into the room and quietly sneaking over to the bookshelf. They scaled the wood paneling with ease, careful to make sure Willy was still out. The tickling had exhausted him, however, so it seemed, and so the man had no trouble sneaking behind the books and opening the little jar, sticking his orange hand inside.

The Oompa-Loompa smiled as he beheld the ornate sweet. It was true he was no longer conspiring against the chocolatier, but he hadn’t yet lost his penchant for mischief. Besides, it was just tickling—a harmless prank. He shoved the chocolate pieces into his pockets, quickly hopping down from the shelf and sneaking out the window before his plans could be ruined.

He held high hopes that this was going to be an eventful week.

[cookinguptales]

So I've talked about this a little bit in the past, but like... to me, the biggest tragedy of this substandard turning for Guillermo is that he's clearly always associated vampiric transformation with personal growth.

One thing that's always struck me about both Guillermo and Nandor is that both of them have this odd fixation on a nebulous "better" version of their lives that they should be living, and that fixation is so strong that it prevents them from fully living the life they already have. They both have a tendency to be so focused on how green the grass is on the other side that they forget to water their own lawn, if you get me.

Nandor has pretty obviously been on a quest for meaning since at least the first season (due to his crisis over Al Qolnidar no longer existing and his descendent dying) and he has a strong tendency to ignore all of the meaningful things that already exist in his life so he can pursue a fantasy of something better. He constantly throws aside the good things he has because he believes there must be something better. And in so doing, he often loses what he had to begin with.

Guillermo actually does things fairly similarly, except while Nandor is looking externally for something to enter into his life and give it meaning, Guillermo's fantasy life is focused more purely on his sense of self, with the anchor of it being vampiric transformation.

Guillermo has always looked at vampiric transformation as being the magic bullet that will make him good. It'll make him stronger, faster, more powerful, sure. But it's not just that. His entire sense of self-worth is attached to this. He doesn't just want physical power; he wants social power. He wants emotional power.

When Guillermo becomes a vampire, he won't get bullied anymore. When he becomes a vampire, he'll get respect. He'll be smart, strong, sexy. He'll be loved. He'll be able to love himself.

He'll be better.

Guillermo has always unabashedly put all his eggs in that basket. He's always just waited for someone to come bestow worthiness on him. But it's also circular logic, y'know? He'll become worthy once he's a vampire, but he'll also only become a vampire once he's worthy.

He has to earn it, and he'll never be happy until this growth, this vague sense of superiority, is earned.

That's really not how self-worth works, though, is it? No one can give that to you. No one can magically make you all the things you've always wanted to be, and no one can magically strip you of all the parts of you that you're ashamed of. And all the praise in the world won't mean anything to you if you don't believe it.

Guillermo, as he's gotten further away from being a vampire, has actually started to gain all the things he has intrinsically associated with vampirism. He's stronger. He's faster. He's more powerful. He's sexier. He's more confident. People respect him. People accept him. He's been able to start to reclaim his sexuality. He's starting to be able to be himself, and that self is both alluring and dangerous.

But none of that came because of anything he's done to try and earn his worth. It was all accidental; he's been so focused on this fantasy version of himself that he didn't see the way he was growing, changing, and developing in his own way.

Guillermo can't see that he's already grown up to be his childhood fantasy of himself, y'know?

So now he's gone and used all this newfound power and confidence and cunning to finagle himself a bite. But it didn't work. And it didn't make him feel the way he thought it would.

Because it's always been a fantasy. It's always been something to work toward. It's always a version of him that can't exist because it's nothing concrete, it's just the nebulous idea of being better.

Moreover, it's not just a power fantasy, though it certainly is that. I think the key to it here is that Guillermo has really come to associate this changing with acceptance. Not just anyone's acceptance -- Nandor's acceptance.

Along with all the other parts of the fantasy, Guillermo has fantasized about Nandor changing him because Nandor thinks he's worthy. It symbolizes all the longing he's ever had for acceptance and respect and acknowledgement and love and desire. Nandor's really become the center of all that for him, mostly because Guillermo is stupid in love with him. And since he circumvented Nandor's acceptance when he claimed a bite from someone else, he's really missed out on a major portion of what he was fantasizing about in the first place.

No one in the vampiric world is accepting him. If anything, they're pushing him away even more now that he's upset their social balance. No one thinks he's sexy. No one thinks he's cool. No one loves him, desires him, respects him. He still hasn't gotten the acknowledgement that he really wanted all along.

It was never just the powers. It was the fact that Guillermo hated himself. He hated his nebbishness, his weakness. He hated the way he couldn't fit in, not with his peers or his family or his religious community. He hated his timidity and his shyness and his submissiveness. He hated the way he was pushed around by everyone -- and in fact, he wanted to do the pushing.

And he thought that getting bitten would fix all that overnight. But it didn't.

So now even though he's gotten the bite he's always fantasized about, he's still deeply unhappy. And some of this really is the lack of physical power, which he's associated with social power. But I think more of it is that he always thought that a bite would change him on a fundamental level. But he has to come to terms now with the fact that he's still just Guillermo.

He can never be anything but himself. And Guillermo hates himself. He's embarrassed by himself. He's ashamed of himself. The idea of never being anything but what he already is is unbearable to him.

Then you add the fact that he doesn't feel like he "earned" this transformation, he never did get the acknowledgment from the person he needed it from most...

Guillermo was bitten and he still doesn't feel worthy. That's the root of it. He doesn't feel like the bite made him worthy and he doesn't feel like he was deemed worthy of the bite. So the bite itself? Yeah, that's worthless, too. Just like him.

Guillermo is struggling with the death of a fantasy here, I think, and struggling with idea that he might only ever be himself. And all he has to impress those around him, especially Nandor, is that self. And he doesn't feel like that self is enough, especially now that he might have fully alienated Nandor in particular.

God, I just. I really want Guillermo to come to accept who and what he is. I want him to see his own strength and his own power and his own beauty and realize that it didn't have to be bestowed upon him by anyone. It's not just his bloodline, it's not just the master he serves. It's him! It's in him! It's intrinsic! It's good!

It's enough!

I want him to be so proud of himself, because I am. My beautiful little murder machine. He's awful and I love him so dearly. ;;

God, I just want these two idiots to look at each other and realize that what they already have is enough. Nandor already has the love and acceptance he's been craving. Guillermo already has the power and worthiness that he's been craving. They already both love each other. They just need to stop being dumbasses for five minutes!

(But now who's lost in a fantasy world? lmao)

[love-minor-poltergeist]

A/N: I've only known this man for roughly a week and I want to pour milk on him and violently throw him against the wall (lovingly). While I'm not known to write for horror media, let alone for a franchise as brutal as Outlast, but I've been quite captivated by the Outlast Trials since the July 16th update. Because of course I would fixate on the hyperviolent mafioso with extreme mommy issues. _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):_

General Franco Barbi Headcanons

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

Loathe as he is to admit—  that is if he’s willing to acknowledge it— Franco and his father are far more alike than one would think. Both men share the same hair-trigger temper, a fondness for collecting artisan firearms, tastes in women… And who could forget that sailor’s mouth? 

Hell, prior to his exile, it became something of a running joke between the triggermen of the Barbi family. The minute they hear Franco and Don Barbi’s shared “FUCK”/“CAZZO”, they share a knowing look amongst themselves. Like father, like son.

Of course, they also take it as a warning to keep their heads down and quietly pray that lupara isn’t pointed their way.

His birth mother was killed long before he could even remember her. No one dared utter it aloud, but he knew why. He would’ve been downright stupid to think it was because of anything other than how he came out. Ugly. Malformed. Hell, his father certainly made it clear how he felt about his defective son whenever he got mad; and Franco’s got the scars to show it.

However, during one of Don Barbi’s infamous bouts of rage– fueled by alcohol and his ever-growing frustration over Franco’s reckless spree killings– he had let it slip that Franco resembled his late wife far more than he was comfortable with. 

Dark eyes– cold and vast like the deepest parts of the sea– regarded the crumpled form beneath him. Franco couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen then. He had just gotten back from a hit. Some rat bastard from another crime family; a lowly racketeer who thought he was hot shit. At least he did until he was filled with hot lead from lupara. Only thing was— his father just wanted the intended man dead. It was a simple request. And what did his ugly shithead fuck of a son do? Franco ends up massacring the whole bar he had tracked the man down to. Staff, patrons, and a band of musicians that were unluckily set to perform that night— a whopping thirteen other people on top of the measly single target the Don wanted. And the real fucking kicker? That very bar– dinky as it was– was under Barbi family protection. And they had paid handsomely for their services. 

All hell broke loose once Franco came home. The minute he stepped foot in his father’s office, the world became a blur of violent shouting and spat expletives. The walls and furniture shook with each slam as the Don punched and kicked at the younger man. Franco had tried to fight back, getting in a few nasty hits himself, but it was clear his father easily overpowered him. In a matter of minutes, his vision and lungs grew wet with blood. Everything hurt, and all young Franco could do was fight for air.

“You had one job, boy. One. Yet I find that we lost a paying customer— one that we’re supposed to protect. Making me look like the asshole for not keeping my word.” 

The older man crouched down, yanking Franco by the little patches of hair he had. The Don was baring his teeth now, eyes boring holes into his son. 

“You’re even lucky I let you live, you miserable waste of spunk,” he pulled harder on Franco’s hair, ignoring the latter’s grunt of pain. “I could have killed you in your crib. I should have.” 

He accentuated each word with a rough yank, and a particularly pathetic pained moan from Franco only made the Don slam his head into the floor. Hot, sticky crimson coated his broad fingers, and he regarded the now weeping visage of his son with disdain; as if he had found a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. A pregnant silence fell between the two. Nothing but the faint sounds of breathing filled the air. 

Then the Don spoke once more.

“Even now, you look just like your mother. Useless, bloodied, and soft.”

Don Barbi never did talk about his first wife again after that incident. Not that Franco ever cared. He never knew her. Though, he did faintly hear from a few of his father’s older associates that he shared his mother’s eyes, or that he had the same hair as her. One man even said that had Franco been born normal, he would’ve been the spitting image of her. 

Said man was later found in the alley between a bar and sundry store. Discarded within a dumpster and body absolutely mangled. 

Once, when he was around maybe ten years old or so, his father had tried to take him to the dentist in order to get braces. Something to fix up those “broken piano keys” he had, as his father put it. Franco didn’t even last a half hour before a capo had to come pick him up because the boy went and bit the finger clean off of the poor dental assistant that tried to get him ready. 

He has some breathing problems, going off what could be heard within the trials. If he’s not yapping off, he could be heard heavily panting and straining to catch his breath. It’s nowhere near bad enough to be considered asthmatic, but Franco’s definitely not winning any marathons, that’s for sure. Not that his little baby legs would let him-

Absolutely refuses to drink anything that isn’t sweet enough to send a bear into a diabetic coma. If he doesn’t have his thermos of wolf’s milk on him, he’s dumping a whole bowl’s worth of sugar into whatever’s given to him. He doesn’t care if it's already been sweetened. He needs it sweeter.

Murkoff’s budgeting department is at their wit’s end and it is absolutely Franco’s fault. Does he care? Of course not. He deserves nice things and it’s a travesty that someone of his status is forced to live in squalor. About a week after he’s been taken to Sinyala, a special budget ends up being put aside for him. He goes over said budget every time. No, he won’t stop, either. He is a luxury that few could afford.

The first thing he demanded for his living space was the fanciest phonogram Murkoff could get and some records. He didn’t particularly like juke boxes– he thought them too flashy and that they usually played the same boring tunes. Usually if you walk by his containment unit, you'd hear the rich, dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and the occasional Engelbert Humperdinck.

Don’t ever take him to the beach for too long. He usually forgets to put on sunscreen and ends up sunburnt at the end of the day. It’s one of the few things he doesn’t miss about Miami/Cuba. 

Small dogs hate him. His stepmom Angelina owned a few pomeranians. He and the little bastards never got along. It wasn’t all too uncommon to walk in on him telling one of them to fuck off whenever they bit at the pant leg of his suit. He’s held a vendetta against all tiny dogs ever since. 

While he may not look like it, he’s quite fond of the ocean. He enjoyed the boat rides he took to and from Cuba, and would occasionally fish if time was passing by a bit slow. Though he didn’t do it very often thanks to bastardly seagulls and pelicans trying to bully him for whatever he caught. 

Would probably own an aquarium of tropical fish if Murkoff trusted any of their test subjects with a living thing under their care. When he was younger, Franco’s father had an associate who owned a giant tank full of brightly-colored tetras, cherry barbs, and guppies. And while his dad sat through boring talks, Franco would usually watch the little things dart around in the water.

Speaking of, he’s particularly fond of ranchu goldfish. Mostly because, in his words, “they’re ugly little fuckers”.  Franco means this lovingly, of course. 

╚═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╝

[pinkomcranger]

my thoughts on Saga Anderson and the lack of spotlight on her in fanworks

Hmmm…this has been bothering me since I waded into the fandom after AW2 dropped. WHY DOES 99.9% OF THE FANDOM SLEEP ON SAGA WHILE IT'S HALF HER GAME???

I DON'T understand the fixation on Casey (even though I adore him and he's the other half of my OTP), or Zane to the point that when Saga is in ensemble art, she's relegated to being the "bro". And for what purpose? She has just as much build up and storyline as Alan himself. She certainly has more screen time than FBI Casey. I see posts going "oh, I love Saga so much, she was so badass" and then almost nothing when it comes to fan work.

Do y'all understand, how, as a black woman, this frustrates me to NO end? I go to her tag on AO3, see new fics, get excited...just to see she's the bro or footnote to CaseyWake. I've literally been brought to TEARS over this. Saga was written with SO much love and care, and it's so obvious. She was not the stereotypical sassy, angry, loud black woman that we tend to get when we're even thought of at all.

And it's genuinely PAINFUL to see all of the love, all of that care, ALL OF THAT RESPECT, IGNORED by fandom because you want to focus on the white men. Because why? I get it, het is so icky for most of you, fine. But to not even give her fanart/fics just on her and her daughter? It's terribly egregious.

Saga Anderson is genuinely a role model. She's smart, warm, funny, dedicated, sympathetic and passionate. She will change REALITY just to save the ones she loves. She's NEVER had to deal with anything like the Bright Falls situation and she came through it with such GRACE. She saved the fucking day. She did what Alan couldn't do in THIRTEEN YEARS. And she gets no recognizance in fanworks?

And I know the majority of this fandom happens to be made up of women, at least for fanworks. You truly mean to tell me you can't, at all, even a little bit, relate to this woman? You can't make her the focus, instead of a background character? The white men are easier to understand and draw/write for?

I can't tell anyone who to like, or who to ship, nor would I ever try to, because on the internet, it seems like het is icky despite how amazing the woman is. But I've seen comments towards andercase fanart going "Saga, no, you're married!" But shipping CaseyWake in the same breath, despite Alan being married and getting back to his wife being the main motivation for Alan to do anything at all.

It comes off as hypocritical, it comes off a wee bit "I don't know what to do with this black woman...hmm, let's just make her root for CaseyWake" I'm left feeling that Sam and the team love Saga more than the fans ever do or will. And that fucking sucks. Because to put so much thought into a character and love the character, just to be ignored?

That hurts, really really badly. I genuinely enjoyed feeling like I was represented. I loved having a character I could relate to, one I could understand. But it feels like I'm in the minority. When she tells Alan he's not alone in this, this is THEIR story...well, that was the truth for me, and I wish others felt the same way.

I genuinely adore the works Saga has gotten that focus on her, and I see so much love and care put into them. It just somehow feels like fandom made this game into CaseyWake 24/7 and it's icky.

[bitsybunbun]

Asks: 🙈😇😫😳

🙈- Uh-oh, you couldn't hold it. When you fantasize about having an accident, do you think about having it unprotected, inadequately protected, or perfectly protected?

Usually I daydream about having unprotected accidents and being forced into padding 🥵 In real life I much prefer being perfectly protected when I have accidents though

😇- You may look innocent on the outside, but something tells me you've got a naughty streak. What kinds of funishment do you like?

So many! Spanking, denial, adult privileges taken away, predicament bondage, language restriction, humiliation, and more! I enjoy a wide variety of pain play as well!

😫- How embarrassing! Do you like to be humiliated? What gets you the most embarrassed?

I love humiliation, it is the core of 90% of my fantasies! I think my most embarrassing moments have been accident related, whether it be bedwetting or unexpectedly losing control at inopportune moments. I also get very blushy about having my intelligence reduced hypnotically, being taunted for being helpless, or not being able/allowed to talk!

😳- It's time for you to be regressed! How do you want it to happen? Fast? Forced? Magically? Slowly? Covertly? Hypnotically?

A slow, forced slide into regression is what excites me the most! I love the idea of hypnotically or magically having grown up abilities stripped away piece by piece to my dismay and humiliation, forever grateful to my cg for being understanding and caring, all the while not realizing that they're the one doing it to me in the first place. They're firm when they insist I wear diapers, use a pacifier, crawl, but it's always presented as all for my safety, since I've gotten so clumsy and orally fixated and even more accident prone. Soon they have me totally helpless and dependent on them and diapers, playing with my hypnotic triggers and enjoying their mindless bb 😵‍💫

From my Emoji Asks 🌻🧡

[ittybittybattyart]

Finally beat everything from Pokemon scarlet and I’m hyperfixating on it haha, I’ve always loved Pokemon and I’m so glad I got to play this, the last gen I played was 7 (moon(Guzma my beloved)

There’s a lot of characters I like from this game that I’m hoping to draw (Rika, Geeta, Jacq, Hassel, Brassius, Ryme, Carmine, Drayton, Amarys, Giacomo, Eri) but I thought I’d start with one of my absolute faves Kieran! (Tied with Arven)

I really resonated with Kieran and Arven, it’s so cool to see the improvement in the storytelling/character writing with Pokemon, I hope they keep it up and keep improving too!

Semi personal rambling of why I relate to this dude under the cut

If this game had come out when I was a tween/teen I would’ve resonated even more with Kieran than I do now, since I was dealing with a lot of similar stuff at that time.

I’ve gotten to a much better place with myself and situation in the last five or so years, most of these unless otherwise said aren’t things I really struggle with anymore but I was so reminded of my younger self while playing through Kierans story

The self esteem problems and wanting to prove others wrong about what they think of me, the passive and overt bullying from others, the need of validation from others, especially those I admired/envied. Additionally the constant setbacks in life and trying to achieve my goals despite it and the envy of other people’s lives that seemed easier than mine

… also some of the obsessive tendencies just like generally, I'm extremely monotropic so its VERY difficult to get me to focus on something I'm not fixated on already, I will talk about it without even realizing and do it for days/weeks/months its still something that really effects me, I'll fixate so hard i dont sleep much for weeks and forget to eat/drink kind of levels, I've always been like this (AuDHD)(I'm working on taking breaks and self care in this regard tho)

Therapy really helped/helps (Kieran please go to therapy lol)