#he comes back to being the matador

[cannibalovers]

currently imagining Will sitting on his porch for those last three years, listening to this song

thinking and imagining extremely hard

[skitskatdacat63]

For everyone who wanted bullfighter Nando when I mentioned it the other day, here you go :D

+ this one I don't feel like coloring yet(imagine he's in Ferrari colors!!!)

[littlenightma]

Hello. Could you write more about Sheriff Eric Newlon (if he's dark or yandere it would be great.) Your article about him was great.

Yandere!Eric Newlon Headcanons

• Eric comes off as a normal guy. Always has a smile on his face, greets everyone with warmth and is always there when someone needs him. His dazzling charm sucked you in. No one could have ever seen the darkness brewing beneath the surface of his nice guy facade.

• Eric thrives off of protecting you. He loves the way you curl into him with his coat wrapped around you as you two walk down the sidewalk or when you tighten your hold on his hand when you pass a group of unfamiliar people. You have no idea the lengths he would go to in order to keep you safe.

• No idea.

• And damn it what kind of man would he be if he allowed you to wander the world without him, alone, naive to the dangers that were lurking around every corner.

• Eric isn’t just in love with you. He’s obsessed with you. Everything about you Eric thinks about every waking hour of the day from your twinkling eyes, your gorgeous hair, down to your luscious body. He’s practically itching to get off his shift so he can drive home to find you curled up on the couch waiting for him.

• He has access to everyone’s files at the station, including yours. Especially yours. He keeps a copy locked in his desk drawer, tucked safe and sound, where he can pull it out whenever he wants to. All of the info he could ever want to know is right there within arm’s reach.

• He knew which cafés you preferred, which stores you liked shopping at, and where you got your car maintenaced. He knew everything about you before you even knew his name.

• You didn’t actually believe running into him as much as you did was all due to chance, did you? Silly one, you should know by now when it comes to Eric, nothing is ever just a coincidence.

• He pulls it out when he’s having a particularly bad day in order to run his thumb across the picture he took of you while you were out shopping with your friends. You’d stayed out longer than usual so he felt the need to check up on you and he got so enthralled by your beauty that he just had to snap a photo to remember the moment forever.

• You start noticing Eric’s paranoia emerge the longer you two are together and the more his feelings for you grow. At first, he comes as extremely protective, but then it progresses into something more darker, more…possessive.

• When he comes home to find you not there, he checks his phone. To his dismay there is no text and he becomes scared thinking that you were hurt. Call after call there is still no answer. Eric rarely shows himself so when you come home in the middle of his breakdown he is instantly in your face asking you question after question not letting you answer the first one. He chides you about not informing him of your whereabouts and berates you about who exactly you were with.

• You brush it off, believing it to be a symptom of being a cop for so long. You explain that you had to stay back at work to put finishing touches on a project and this seems to calm him some. He pulls you into a hug.

• “I’m sorry I acted like that, baby. I just get so scared when I don’t know where you are.”

• Puts a tracking app in your phone and on your car without you knowing. He can’t allow that to happen again. What if you had been hurt and what if he didn’t reach you in time? He can’t risk it.

• Black Friday shopping was always off limits to you, but when your friends invited you to go with last minute you decided to go. Eric had been constantly hovering and you yearned for space.

• What a stupid decision on your part.

• Eric is livid. He’s like a bull ready to charge as he’s driving out to find you. When he does, he is suspiciously calm. He asks you to come with him and you do and on the way home you apologize but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are trained on the road. Inside the house though it’s like a matador had finally raised their red flag.

• He’s roaring. “I fucking told you not to be out on Black Friday! Why can’t you listen to me?! I’ve lost so much. So many people. I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you!”

• “Eric, you can’t expect me to stay home when everyone’s out shopping.”

• And then he snaps. He yanks your hair, his handsome face dangerously close to yours. “Don’t fucking do it again or I swear to God you’ll regret it.”

• And the worst part is that no one would ever believe that highly adorned and doting Eric Newlon would ever do something so horrible and so vicious.

• You’re stuck with no where to turn. If you leave, he’ll track you down with the plentiful resources he has at his disposal. You are trapped, forever his.

NSFW 18+

• You have pushed Eric past his limit. You are tied to the dining room table, legs spread and mouth gagged. He has presented you like an oven-baked turkey and he can’t wait to take a bite out of you. He runs his cock over your slick opening teasingly, preparing you to get basted by his cock.

• “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you? After everything I have done for you, all the love I have ever given and you still want to leave me.

• He thrusts exactly three times. “So. Very. Ungrateful.”

• You moan against your gag. Your body is betraying you. It accepts him with open arms, like he was meant to be inside you. You tried so hard to get away from him, but he always managed to reel you back in.

• Eric sees the turmoil on your face, sees the fight you’re having with yourself. With every snap of his hips he knows he’s closer to breaking you down and he’s desperate to do it.

• He pours cranberry sauce on your chest, letting it dye your chest maroon. He rubs the sticky liquid over your body and it looks like blood. Your blood.

• “I could fake your death so easily, you know. Then lock you up and keep you all to myself. No one would come looking for you. Or I could always find someone else who will appreciate my efforts.”

• You fight your binds, not liking that he was talking about someone else while he was rearranging your guts.

• “Ah, so you do care. What is it, dear? Want me all for yourself then?”

• Crawling on top of you, he unknots the gag and kneels over your face. He puts his cock to your mouth. “Why don’t you show me just how grateful you are.”

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ el matador y la matadora (masterlist)

fc: rachel zegler // sainz!sister fic

f1 academy has been dominated by Valeria Sainz for two seasons. Between beating every expectation and leading her friends to victory, the younger Sainz sibling is a perfect echo of her brother. But, when George is knocked out for a few races mid season, and she’s moved up from a Mercedes reserve, the two Sainz siblings might be the only thing that can stop total Red Bull domination.

But not everyone wants to see the praise of the Sainz siblings, and will do whatever it takes to bring them down.

notes: woah woah woah !! me?? writing carlos?? who is she ?? just a big ol' heads-up, this series touches dark fiction, dealing with heavy themes of manipulation and gaslighting. there is also a significant age gap (22-39) very breifly, but that will be appropriately tagged when the time comes <3

if you wish to be added to the taglist, send in an ask or comment on this masterlist (or fic chapters!)

chapter one: welcome, señora sainz.

Valeria accepts the call from the Wolff's, joining Mercedes for the foreseeable future. She reunites with friends, sets some records, and finds a wandering eye or two.

chapter two: el matador

Australia goes better than anyone can expect, especially for Valeria. To keep the energy going, Valeria invites the grid to celebrate, and maybe they go a little too hard. Someone makes a huge mistake.

chapter three: knock down

Valeria spends a few days back to back in the garage training, and pointedly avoiding. Toto picks up on some odd tension between his drivers and reaches out to Carlos for answers, Valeria takes her ignorance a bit too far.

chapter four: spiderwebs

After a bit of a fight between two drivers, one takes it upon himself to bring the mistake back to light. Valeria scrambles to save her image, Carlos falls for a lie, and the McLaren duo end up being the saving graces.

chapter four: xoxo gossip girl

A bit drunk after a successful Japanese GP, Valeria admits her problem to the Post-Prema trio. Sworn to secrecy, both Oscar and Logan come up with a plan to help Valeria without alerting Carlos of the issue. Or, in fact, anyone at Mercedes. However, secrets travel quick in the paddocks, leaving Valeria with no other choice than to trust Lando with the true secret instead of the lie he's heard.

chapter five: la matadora

Channelling her rage from her mistakes and the stress of her secrets into her driving, Valeria makes the Mercedes car sing all the way to P2. Her victory is short lived, however, when it seems Susie and Toto may have been told the truth.

[penaltyboxboxbox]

loved your recent ferrari + charles/carlos painting! I had a question though and apologies if it's weird, but is there a reason that carlos is...packing? no negativity! just wondering if it had a meaning in the piece! thanks!

hi hi hiiiiiii wow...this ask is definitely welcome haha i already love seeing everyone pick apart the symbolism in the tags so like talking about the stuff like this is fun

the visible dick/implied erection on carlos does have significance- particularly i added it because i wanted to frame carlos as like the "masculine hero" character of this piece- it adds to the contrast and "wrongness" of him being bound and stabbed the way he is. i wanted it to almost mimic a codpiece, and how large decorative ones were used to signal wealth and power, theres also the fact that his pants are modeled off of matador pants which are notoriously tight, and just like that outfit i want to show like....the idea of virility, this idea of this masculine life force, masculine power that remains in the face of death but has nothing to protect him from it.

additionally, depicting him as aroused by the situation is just....a little bit self indulgent i guess, theres something about the ferrari suffering that is pleasurable, he will stay here despite the betrayal, it still makes him feel good, he'd probably come back in an instant if they changed their mind. my girl can be as mean as she wants to me and it still turns me on etc etc etc...

so YEAH the many layers of dick drawing symbolism

[murfpersonalblog]

Thanks for tagging me @little-desi-historian! ❤️

YES, all of this takes me back to something I wanted to touch a lot more on in my original post when it comes to the historical male image, Percy, Lestat, and Matadors; because it truly does link back to how AMC is playing with dandyism and society's expectations about effeminate men.

Dandyism is a form of resistance culture. As I've said before, Lestat flouts gender norms because HE CAN do whatever he wants & get away with it. His androgyny's on a different level: effeminate or masculine, he's still a vampire, a SUPERnatural creature elevated beyond the bounds of social mores that determine what men & women could or SHOULD act/dress like. MANY people across social media have pointed to Lestat's limp wrists, long blonde "Barbie" hair and ESPECIALLY him dressing in drag in Ep7 as proof that he's the "wife/mother/woman/femme fatale" in Lousta's relationship, and THEN claim its either gender essentialism or homophobic/racist to say Louis is CANONICALLY female-coded one in BOTH the books and show (as AR said so). But no, Lestat in drag was a power move, because he doesn't care what anyone thinks/says/does--he'll just eat them. Mockingly eating the baby in a dress was a deliberate bastardization of motherhood/womanhood. Louis is called every homophobic name in the book by those expecting the black man to just take being insulted, but MARQUIS de Lioncourt DEMANDS being crowned KING of Mardi Gras, Krewe of Raj, & he'll show you exactly what he thinks about your silly homophobic hypocritical human society: You're just "the MEAT," let them eat KING Cake--you're his FOOD. Eff y'all, I'm dressed to KILL you, & laugh doing it.

Lestat's behavior is not only derived from the time period he was born & raised in (the Rococo era of so-called "effeminate" high class dandies--a la Percy Blakeney, etc). Lestat is the embodiment of PRIVILEGE: a powerful rich white male vampire, who leans into being foreign/French White to excuse anything he does that people find strange/off/unnatural/dangerous--all the red flags. 🚩🚩🚩

And red flags brings me directly back to matadors/toreros.

@toscrollperchancetomeme

😂 TYSM! Sam Reid dropped so many juicy deets; I couldn't resist! There's so much depth to the Matador outfit, beyond the gendered aspect of bullfighting that I discussed before. Let's go back to what Sam said about Lestat, and delve deeper into matadors:

The most iconic apparel worn by toreros ("bullfighters") / matador de toros ("killer of bulls") in Spanish bullfighting is the Traje de Luces, the "Suit of Lights." The colors are usually bright & vivid, as part of the showmanship & pizzazz. Darker palettes are less common, as shiny sequins (the luces/lights) became part of the standard fit.

However, Lestat's all-black Matador outfit from what Sam called the "villain sequence" in Ep5 seems to be loosely following the style of a different but very closely related outfit, the Traje Campero "Rural/Countryside Suit" aka Traje Corto ("Short Suit").

(These costumes are typically worn during ceremonial parades and a very specific festival I'll get back to in a moment, cuz it's important.) Unlike the Suit of Light's sequins & silk, the Rural Suit is made of suede, leather, or velvet, in dark muted colors. The pants can be light or dark, striped & patterned, with or without chaps (also found in gentleman's uniforms of military officers and cowboys).

The trajes originated from "the flamboyant costumes of the 18th-century dandies and showmen involved in bullfighting, which later became exclusive to the bullfighting ritual." (Wikipedia)

The ancestor of both trajes (luces/campero) is traditional 17th-19th century Andalusian clothing (Andalusia being the home of Spanish bullfighting), closely associated with a very particular type of masculine dandyism. (The campero/corto is also the costume worn by Andalusian male flamenco dancers.)

"Before the 17th century the profession of bullfighting did not exist as such, and the fighters did not wear luxurious & shiny trajes de luces, but instead normal clothes of the time according to the social class to which the bullfighter belonged. The first bullfighter trajes de toreros appeared in the 17th century, when professional bullfighters from Navarre & Andalusia wore characteristic garments with their gangs to participate in performances and thus differentiate themselves from other bullfighter bands." (translated/truncated from Spanish website)

In the mid-1700s, Francisco Romero revolutionized professional bullfighting by establishing the first matadors who fought on foot, heroically fighting the bull face to face with swords & the muleta (iconic red flag) in a dance-like performance, dressed in a suede/velvet coleto (jacket), a precursor to the traje campero. Romero (from a carpenter family) wanted to show off & stand out from the nobility, and changed the game entirely, through a form of social resistance-turned-innovation.

"At that time, bullfighting on horseback was more important, which was considered a sport and not a show. Bullfighting on foot was not yet widely recognized." (translated from Spanish website)

Bull-killing on horseback was practiced by Spanish noblemen, attended by lower class assistants on foot. Romero was the first to make on-foot matadors the stars of what was increasingly becoming a dandified show/performance/dance. Matador Joaquin "Costillares" Rodríguez introduced even more showmanship, competing against Francisco Romero's grandson Pedro Romero (famously painted by Goya--bottom right).

For his matches, Costillares (middle) dressed in flashy silks, threaded in shiny silver braiding; the precursor to modern traje de luces. Like Francisco Romero (left), Costillares wanted to show off & stand out; and revolutionized the male image of the bullfighter through clothes.

In 18th-19th century Andalusian Spain there were 2 types of dandy: the French-imported upperclass petimetre (effeminate dandy), and the indigenous working class majo (masculine/macho dandy).

Noyes, Dorothy. “La Maja Vestida: Dress as Resistance to Enlightenment in Late-18th-Century Madrid.” The Journal of American Folklore 111, no. 440 (1998): 197–217. https://www.jstor.org/stable/541941

The majo, like many dandies, became the peak of Andalusian fashion, across all social classes; and torero/matador outfits weren't the only ones to take cues from them:

18th-19th century majos "distinguished themselves by their elaborate outfits and sense of style in dress and manners, as well as by their cheeky behavior. The majos outfits were exaggerations of traditional Spanish dress. The style stood in strong contrast to the French styles affected by many of the Spanish elite under the influence of the Enlightenment. Majos were known to pick fights with those they saw as afrancesados ("Frenchified" – fops)." (Wikipedia)

The majos' flamboyant/cheeky/saucy/exaggerated behavior was aggressively masculine; a lower/working class resistance to social mores imposed on them by (foreign) elites, whom they saw as more feminine, and FOUGHT against, to reaffirm their masculinity. These dandies were violent, brazen non-conformists; as beautiful & stylish as they were dangerous. And matadors/toreros knew that the bullfight was the perfect arena to exemplify the spirit of the majos through the dandified performance art/sport of killing bulls--a universal cultural symbol of masculine prowess & strength. Spanish bullfighting used to belong solely to the aristocratic equestrian sphere. Lowly pages/assistants like Francisco Romero (dressed in the precursor to the Rural/Countryside Suit), were the first to buck the system by killing bulls on foot--he likely didn't own a horse. The Romeros were from a carpenter family. Costillares was the son of a butcher. But through bullfighting they gained social status and became icons of masculinity--and dandies.

Lestat--the nouveau riche son of a poor country marquis--insists on being all the beautiful things he is without apology: masculine & effeminate alike. But like I said, it was no coincidence that Carol likened Lestat's Ep5 villain outfit with matadors--he's fighting Louis for dominance in their household, and reaffirming his place at the top of their very gendered social hierarchy, as a warning to BOTH "the housewife" AND "the prodigal daughter" he feels are threatening his authority as their Maker, so he defeats them BOTH.

Carol Cutshall initially designed Lestat's matador pants as pajamas--loungewear. (Lestat's CASUAL & comfortable in his ability to KILL--matador means "Killer" in Spanish--and remember what I said about Louis & Claudia being put on the same parallel level in Ep5, when Claudia's attacked by "Killer" aka Bruce.) Sam said Carol made several versions of the pants; and yup, they're foreshadowed in Ep5 when Lestat first starts arguing about Louis' depression, then they pop up again in Ep7 during the Murder Plot--two instances @dwreader brilliantly linked Lestat (& Stanley Kowalski) wearing wifebeaters. (Listen, Carol, I just wanna talk.... 😅🔫)

And here's my last points about Lestat's matador outfit. First there's the irony of Lestat (who grew up poor in rural France) wearing the something very similar to the matador/torero's Rural Suit, traje campero (aka Short Suit (traje corto)). But what's more interesting is that that type of Short/Rural Suit is usually only worn during special festivals called the Tienta ("trials"), not the regular corrida ("bullfights").

These Tienta are trials for young and immature bulls to be tested in the ring, to see if they're fit for breeding/fighting. 🤯 FLEDGLINGS. And who's Lestat's young bull? "Built-like-a-bird" Claudia. Who's the immature bull? The "biggest rat eater of them all," the under-developed "botched" vampire Louis. During these trials, veteran matadors can show off their skills; and novice bullfighters are shown the ropes and prove themselves. Like I said: the matador wins again.

God, even the way Lestat dragged Louis' bloody body out of the courtyard by the jaw/neck resembles the way the defeated bull--bled out & stabbed in the neck--is dragged by the neck out of the ring.

And remember what I said about Lestat and FOOD. Cuz what happens to the bulls after the matadors kill them? They're sent to the slaughterhouse to be butchered for FOOD. People EAT the bulls.

So yeah, my whole point in this post and my first one is not to sleep on guys like Lestat, Percy--or even other famous dandies like Valmont from Dangerous Liasions/Cruel Intentions (mentioned by both @little-desi-historian and @dwreader)--just because they're effeminate--especially when they're emulating mannerisms from a time period where the model of what made a fashionable gentlemen/good breeding/elite society did NOT match modern expectations about gender. People are getting distracted by Lestat's yaasified manner, not what the show itself is signalling through the relationships he has with others.

This show is deliberately painting Lestat as a villain through Louis' & Claudia's perspectives, as they were the ones who suffered under his Reign of Terror. The symbolism behind the matador-inspired costume used in Ep5 reflected gendered social hierarchies embedded within bullfighting culture (in Spain, women only started being allowed to fight in the 19th-20th centuries). Dressed in clothes resembling that of a matador, Lestat beating & defeating Louis mirrored the defeat of the emasculated bull, and the reification of the victor's masculine prowess at the top of the foodchain.

[tarjapearce]

Hear me out the book of life x bbg miguel 😍 it could either be like La muerte reader and xibalba Miguel and if that’s to ooc for Miguel then Manolo Miguel and Maria reader🙏 I feel like it’s a little ooc either way but PLSSS😞🙏

🤭 It's fine dear. I think, Miguel would do a great job as El Catrin, I feel his personality is more inclined to go with it, and the reader, well, Xibalba. Mischievous, kinda tricky but still so so loving and a softie for him :')

No proofread, just randomness ahead

"Why would I want to rule the Land of the Forgotten?" Black wings tucked behind your back as you stared at Miguel. Red eyes blinked unamused at you.

"Why can't we share? I could do a pretty good job too."

"Mi cielo, Who would watch over the land? You have the talent for it."

"You're just saying that cause you don't wanna share. The Land of the Forgotten is boring! With capital B! Nothing ever happens. It's so depressing all the time. No colors, nothing!"

"It's your realm. You're there cause you cheated on a wager." His finger flickered your nose.

You groaned in annoyance. Of course you would try and ask but to no avail. His decision absolute.

"Let's make a wager then." Smirking you planted yourself before him, his nose flared softly but waited for you to finish.

"A wager?"

"Yes. A wager . See those two boys there? They're always fighting for that girl's attention. And you and I know that only one of them will come out victorious."

"And?" His eyebrow quirqued.

"If my boy wins, I'll have your land. If the other boy wins?-"

"You'll stop meddling with the affairs of men" He caressed your cheek before disappearing.

"But it's the only fun I have left, my dear! You scared of not winning?" Your fingers walked over his chest and smirked.

-----

The wager was on. He had blessed the boy he rooted for with a pure heart, but you on the other hand had given the little jerk of a kid, an ominously beautiful looking black and green medal. The Eternal Life Medal. Whoever wielded it could be no harmed not killed. Your plan had been on a roll without any signs of stopping. Now everything you had to do was wait.

----

The two boys turned into men, both persuing their passions. Yours turned into a respectable and famous soldier that always ended up living to tell the tale thanks to his magic medal none knew about. And Miguel's boy had grown into a famous bullfighter. Even though both were different the love they had for the girl, now a lovely looking woman, remained the same.

But you had seen the hesitation in Miguel's part of the bet. Despite him being a famous matador, he didn't wish to inflict any more pain in the poor animal. He wanted to sing.

The woman seemed impressed by his act of mercy. You would have to step up in your game if you wanted the Land of The Remembered.

----

A two headed sneak had bitten Miguel's boy, he had gladly took his role among the dead if that meant to rescue his beloved.

A rare sight among the perverse humans. A pure heart. Of course it was cheating, but it'd make you one step closer to be the ruler of such wonderful and colorful land.

---

Your name echoed through your old realm as Miguel roared, full of anger. He had discovered what you had done.

"Repugnante hija de burro leproso! Hiciste trampa. Otra vez!" ( You misbegotten daughter of leprous donkey. You cheated. Again!)

"I did not do such thing!"

His boy was there, facing you, needing answers. And so was Miguel.

---

You had put Jim through his worst fears, a maze that somehow he was able to decipher, and the final test. El Toro. (The Bull)

A manifestation of every single bull slayed by his ancestors.

-

Miguel's boy had won the wager. You were to return to your realm.

"I believe you've won the wager again mi amor. Just like my heart, all over again."

His eyes softened and a bony finger was brought to your chin.

"I'm really sorry my love. Would you ever forgive me?"

"I do"

He pulled you closer to give you a deep kiss as the skies exploded in colors.

-----

(Love this movie btw 🥹❤️)

[escapedaudios]

Ok future series planned, with introductory synopses.

My Greasefire Life (Slice of Life, Satiric Comedy): A theater school graduate relegated to working at a Burger restaurant with a theatrical gimmick befriends a night shift server from the Denny's that he dramatically broke up with his girlfriend at. On the same night, he befriends the profoundly stupid but oddly wise rugby player that his girlfriend cheated on him with. Together they try and fix their pathetic lives.

Neon Memoriam (Drama, Supernatural, High Romance): After helping to set Raven's life right from beyond the grave, the haunting ghost of Crow ponders his purpose. He is met by a swan, who reveals herself as a beautiful scythe-wielding angel clad in white. She is the angel of death that was meant to take his soul to the afterlife years ago, but for some reason was unable to. Together they he accompanies her through her day to day life as a reaper, as they explore Crow's own life and death to come to understand his nature and destiny.

Matador Oscuro (Action Adventure, Gothic Horror, Drama): 24 years after the events of Matador Gothic, a newly turned vampire couple struggles to survive in a compound of fledgling vampires. The vampires quickly turn on each other to compete for prey and power. To worsen matters, a deadly attack by a Matador Gótico named Diego Villaba (son of Alfonso Villaba) on their compound sends them running. As the sole survivors, these two not-quite-in-love lovers resolve to go on a journey of vengeance across Spain to find the vampire who turned them into monsters and destroy him, all while being relentlessly pursued by Diego Villalba.

My True Love is Dead (Slash and Basher sequel): After the events of the Reddening, time is unable to turn back in Slasher's world. Slash ressurects naturally as a ghoul, a natural ability of slashers, but Basher does not. Learning from the Reaper that this is because Slash has supplanted Basher's territory by surviving The Void Maverick a few minutes longer, they make a deal with death to go on a dangerous quest to ressurect the Basher.

Blue Infinity Season Two (Nautical Fantasy, Alternate History): After being captured by the feared pirate Blind Simon, Lass learns the reason why Simon seeked her out. Knowing that her pendant has something to do with ending The Drift, Simon resolves to destroy it, knowing that the end of The Drift would mean the end of pirate domination over the Blue Infinity. When she refuses, she flees overboard and is rescued by Fletcher and a siren who's voice Simon once loved. Together they go on a journey to end The Drift, culminating in a battle of destiny against Blind Simon and the crew of Persephone's Bleeding Heart.

I'm going to make this happen come hell or high water god damnit. Desmond ASMR is still in, though it's gonna take some patience from me.

[thebahwrites]

Slider & Mav + shovel talk...

Slider & Maverick - Shovel Talk (But I'm gonna surprise you <3)

Ron thinks he should be thankful that things worked out between Tom and Pete; it took them long enough after the Layton rescue but he thinks he should be thankful — if it had gone over a year, he'd probably start ripping his hair out. It was even worse not having Goose around to suffer along with but those were thoughts to be buried and not brought up again; the kind that led nowhere and only made him sad to begin with because what else there was to deal?

(Maybe he'd deal with it by himself and a bottle of Jack, when no one was looking.)

But right now, Slider found himself sitting besides Ice who was going over some reports ever so absently, muttering to himself things pertaining to their latest training hop - teaching at Top Gun wasn't a bad place to be so he didn't mind some of these more slowly-trickling days. "What d'you think about Matador Beach?" Tom finally speaks up when Ron was almost dozing off, laying on the couch, he blinks slowly.

"Like... as a place in general or..?" Ice grunts out a small laugh.

"For a date, Kerner." Oh, right, yeah, it made sense. Scratching the side of his neck, all Ron does is shrug, not really thinking too much about it.

"I guess it's fine if you like beaches? Like a picnic or something, right?" Between the two of them, Ron was more impulsive where Tom held back so his dates tended to be a lot less planned than the other's.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Ice shrugs with that typical self-confidence of his and goes back to pour over his reports. Slider's eyes narrow as he realizes he should probably make sure this whole thing doesn't blow over Ice's face. Not that his friend needs protecting but it's always good to secure and Maverick was a damn menace who often needed corralling so a shovel talk, before things got super serious between those two idiots, was more than due.

It wasn't hard to find Maverick these days, if he wasn't on the tarmac or the bar or the hangar, he was at Carole's. (Whom Slider had been avoiding like the plague and he was sure to get an earful from.) So it was quite easy to, on the very next morning, when out for a run to detour so he'd hopefully find Mitchell there; which he did.

What Ron did not expect was to find said man just sitting on the front steps of the house, staring emptily into the distance with a blank expression and slouched shoulders. For someone who was, quite frankly not particularly tall or big - Maverick often took up a lot of damn space. So much so it was easy to forget the inches he lacked in height, making up for it being loud and brash and seemingly larger than life. The kind to not let himself get hit by anything and even if he did, brushing it off like water off a duck's back. Hell, he had come out of a tragedy into a rescue with what, a week to spare?

(Impressive was the right word but Slider would be damned to say it.)

He stands there, at the corners of the fence, watching Mitchell for a moment longer. In his USNA threadbare shirt and running shorts, the man doesn't move for a good while, like he's bracing himself for something, drawing sharp breaths and then burying his face against the back of a knee.

Ron decides to step back, seems like a bad moment.

Then every moment after that seems like a bad moment.

Maybe because he had never tried to pay close attention to Pete until now or maybe because he had never had the chance, always surrounded by others and the very very least Ice was always there too. Maybe he had never really tried to read more than just their regular banter but in the following days, looking for a breach, Slider realizes just how stupidly vulnerable Maverick is. How he keeps fighting uphill to stand taller than everyone, how he keeps his chin up taking hit after hit both metaphorically and physically when it comes down to it.

Their stupid beach picnic date comes and goes without any kind of hiccup and Slider was still trying to find a way to put Mitchell against the wall but the more time went by, the less he actually felt like doing it. It felt wrong, like kicking someone who was already down and he can't quite put a finger on the why. Maverick was a damn runt, is what he was.

It's exactly a week after that, when Ron realizes why, despite all their bantering and picking and arguing and more often than not headbutting, he can't bring himself to be actually hard on Mitchell. Sure call him slow and overthinking, maybe he just liked to cover all of his bases before spurring into action but for once, it at least panned out when the lamp clicked over his head like a cartoon moment.

"Hey." He calls out to Ice, as they're back where they'd been a week ago but instead of lying flat on the couch, Slider is standing right in front of the desk, grabbing his pilot's paperwork to make him look up, serious intent behind it. Tom looks up with a puzzled and slow blink, putting the papers down. They'd always been on the same wavelength

"Hey, what's up?" Ice picked tone shifts easily, he'd learned how to read Slider like an open book and he was glad for it. It was why, and how, they worked so well together for so long. So he could read the very real seriousness on Ron's voice and the very real intensity behind his eyes, adjusting his posture to make sure Ron knew; he was listening.

"Be good to Mitchell." If anyone, ever, held Ron Kerner to those words, he'd probably deny it. Hell, he wasn't so sure he was even saying them but fuck it if he hadn't rehearsed it inside his head for a while now. Holding Ice's startled gaze with firmness, he held a rigid finger pointing at his pilot's chest. "Don't fuck this up, man. I know you're the best and all so I'm counting on you, don't make me kick your blondie ass, got it?"

Tom stared back, surprised and clearly speechless, a little bit like a startled fish with his mouth falling a little open; Ron wanted to backtrack because it felt weird.

But someone had to keep an eye out for Goose's runt, right?

[Send me a Top Gun / Top Gun: Maverick prompt for a ficlet!]

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

another manolo anon here, requesting- another manolo fic. preferably nsfw of some kind, i think he's really good with his fingers from playing guitar for so long. do what you will with my headcanon.

Deep

Pairing: Manolo Sanchez x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, just downright smut, thirsty reader, fingering, short fic, drabble

Words: 1027

Streams of the sun was what awoke you that morning, tangled in your bedsheets with the spot next to empty. It was cold, telling you that Manolo had woken up long ago and left the comfort of your casa. You hadn’t even felt him get up.

Leisurely you stretch your limbs, enjoying the action as a lazy cat would. You wonder how long Manolo had been gone for.

Ten minutes later you catch the creak of the front door opening and the soft shutting of it. Gentle footsteps guide your eyes to the bedroom door. Just as it opens, you close your eyes feigning sleep; wanting to know what he would do.

You hear him tenderly chuckle, his hand oh so delicately comes down on the top of your head in an affectionate pat that had your tummy searing warm. It was hard to keep the smile off your face but you managed to restrain your facial muscles.

He shuffles away and you begin to hear articles of clothing being removed.

Covertly you crack one eyelid open the smallest fraction.

While not being a matador anymore, Manolo still kept up with the work out routine of one as he liked staying in shape.

Broad shoulders glisten with sweat that crawls down to the fine taper of his waist. He's quietly humming as he undoes his pants. You allow your eye to open a little more. Manolo had one of the finest asses in all of Mexico. Perfectly rounded with pure muscle. You let the other eye open to truly appreciate the sight before you. They led to expertly sculpted thighs that could crack open a watermelon.

But you were specifically waiting for him to turn around so you could see that beautiful monster between his legs.

"Ay!!" Manolo leaps a little when he realizes you're actually wide awake and watching him with a blush to your cheeks as you cheekily grin at him. "Mi amor! I hope I didn't wake you." He relaxes but still a bit flustered from your heated gaze.

You practically purr as he's still standing in front of you completely naked. "You didn't. Come here, Manolo."

Even though both of you have seen each other naked many times, Manolo still grew bashful in front of you and shuffles his way over.

To his surprise, you run your finger along the length of his girth, watching it come to life from your touch. It rolls over and immediately fattens up. He moans softly, always responsive to your caresses and overly sensitive. Soon enough, his cock is standing at attention, swaying in front of you as he continues to shiver from your ministrations. You're practically jacking him off now, but you really want him in your mouth.

When you lean your face forward to his crotch, Manolo's heady haze clears and he's pushing you away. "Mi amor, no. I'm still sweaty. Can't imagine it would be pleasant for you." He chuckles at the last part and you pout.

Before you could protest though, Manolo throws the sheets off of your body. You were still clad in your thin nightgown. "I can offer you something else though." Those skilled fingers of his glide across your bare thigh, pushing up the hem of your gown to your lacy panties that had him biting down on his bottom lip. His cock twitches when he runs his hand under your panties and cup your ass. A breathy moan shudders your body when his fingers wedge their way between your thighs. His pupils are completely blown up and he's panting a little.

To make things easier for him, you roll onto your back and spread your legs wide for him. He's whimpering from the sight of your already wet pussy. Many times Joaquin teased him for being so pussy whipped. Manolo never felt bad though as he sat on the edge of the bed to worship properly. Your panties are promptly discarded, replaced by his large hand that was rough with calluses from both the sword and guitar.

His thumb first rolls over your clit before slipping between your sopping folds earning more whines from Manolo and you. "Que bonita." Manolo sighs as he toys with your cunt, riling it up for him so that his large fingers would have an easier time penetrating you. He's squirming and fisting his cock with his other hand in needy desperation.

You toss your head back and forth on your pillow, his name a prayer on your tongue when he finally slides in one glorious finger into the velvet wetness between your legs. Instinct had your hips bucking and your legs threatening to trap his hand but he's strong enough to keep your bucking at bay.

"Manolo-" Your moan is utterly filthy but drives right into his cock and has Manolo slipping a second digit into you. His pumps are slow and torturous. He revels in the feely of your gummy walls squeezing the life out of his fingers. Tickling the inside of you when he begins to curl his fingers in a delicious rhythm that has a wonton cry coming out of you.

"Eso es todo. Canta mas para mi (That's it. Sing more for me)." Manolo's dark eyes actually roll when he feels your pussy mercilessly clench down as he continues to finger you. His thumb strums your clit as it would the strings of a guitar. "Por favor mi amor. Necesito escuchar más de tu bonita voz (Please my love. I need to hear more of your pretty voice)."

Lips quiver to form the words "P-p-please Manolo." From your bleary vision you make out Manolo's shoulders shiver at your begging. A squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy grew louder as his movement became faster. He presses down harder on your swollen bundle of nerves with his thumb.

That was it for you. Those magical hands of his always brought you to a fast climax that smacked you senseless. Your entire being explodes and you knew your neighbors would be able to hear you happy cry as you came hard around Manolo's fingers.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕾𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖓 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Figured my warrior man here needed some… acknowledgment after sometime. He has also been added to the “ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ”.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams.

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Google Translation.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐏𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐱𝐮𝐬 𝐎𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬

A mountainous Spartan that just loves being by your side. Can never truly get rid of him.

𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜/𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜:

Straight off the bat, his presence is frightening to be around. His shadow engulfs other shadows, like he eats them. So it’s quite realistic when you run/shuffle away when you spot him. When he’s sees you? It’s a straight shot for him. Someone in his way? They almost get ran over by him or get shoved to the side. They are not as important as you, minima angelum(tiny/little angel.)

While he stands by your side. He’ll death glare at anybody that comes to close for his liking and it could be someone in a damn tower. He’s going to glare up at them with the heat of a thousand suns. How dare one be in the area with a deity such as you? How dare one approach what is his?

He does try to speak to you in his language. Trying to get to know you better with words rather than slow, processing actions, but it seems like you were always adamant with speaking to him. Always speaking to him in a different language and he can’t tell if you are teasing him with it or not.

Whenever he reunites with you again? He pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss. It has you filling all woozy and buzzed, you forget where you are sometimes. It makes you dependent on his strength to hold you up next to him and the warrior does it. Every. Single. Time. It drives you crazy, but it earns him a very needy deity to return to or a very challenging one.

The challenge consists of stealing his cloak away from him and avoid him as much as you can. Something like capture the flag, but just capture the cloak instead. Playing with him like he was bull and you were the Matador. It usually ends with him pinning you down on a surface with his cloak wrapped snuggly around you, laughing up at him at the small, childish game you challenge him with.

Speaking of the cloak, he’ll give it to you and only you like a gentleman. Wrapping it around your shoulders comfortably. Watching as you nuzzle into it on inhale his scent. He won’t admit it that he loves your scent. Loves when you give it back and it smells just like you.

𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥/𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭:

When I said this man loves your scent? He loves your scent. He’ll have his nose in your neck anytime he could get. Whether if you are sleeping, training or simply just standing there. He’s nuzzling his nose in your neck and core. If he has to smeared his face with your juices to get your scent on him? So be it, he’s eating breakfast, lunch and dinner today.

When you two fight either by training or disagreeing with one another it riles him up. He knows he should settle this matter in a more… civilized manner, but you just look so beautifully angry at him. He can’t help, but pin you to the nearest surface and shove his c*ck through your folds raw.

Walls, he loves pressing you up against walls. It keeps you from running away from him. It also keeps you trapped, still where he wants you to be. It gives him almost more movement, but for you? You stuck on his c*ck until he’s finished with you.

Oh, tie him up and ride him, I dare you. He’ll be so quick to break from his bonds and have you on your back with your knees up to your shoulders as you cry out to him while he growls and snarls in you ear. Pissed that he fell for your seduction to tease him out of all the things? Oh he’ll make sure you can’t walk for the next moon.

Did I tell you this warrior loves to breed? Well I did now. He wants nothing more than to pass on his attributes and your divinity through both of your lineage, but no matter how long he stays inside of you. How many’s days he overstimulates you. You never seem to get pregnant like he wants :(

[ysoandi]

An Understanding | Rick Grimes

(fem!reader)

Summary: After pulling a dangerous stunt in a run, Rick seeks to teach you a lesson.

Warnings: Smut, Dom!Rick, Rough Sex, Sub drop if you squint.

Word Count: 4.2K

You weren't running.

At least that's what you told yourself as you quickened your steps. No. You just needed to go back. Go back to the house. Before he catches up to you.

You'd made it to the porch. The house was silent, courtesy of Olivia taking Judith in. And you thanked your lucky stars that Carl was out. No doubt hanging around with Enid. You've never been more grateful in your life to have the kids out of the house.

Reaching for the door, you'd thought yourself lucky to have made it this far without him hounding on your back. You knew that you made a mistake today. A big one but you thought maybe he'd already gotten over it. Maybe he just went back to the armory, checking, making sure that everything was going back to its place. Maybe he'll just go on about his day. And maybe he'd come back to the house when you and the kids have already gone to bed. However, you weren't that fortunate.

A hand reached out, clasping tight around your arm and you closed your eyes as you felt him turn you towards him.

"Y/N," he hissed, face close to yours, his breath fanning out on your cheek, "What the heck was that?"

You didn't bother saying anything. That would turn out to be another mistake. It seemed that today was going to be filled with a lot of those.

"Answer me," you opened your eyes to see his chest moving fast, like a bull who has a matador within his sight. And there you were with your silence, red as you waved it in front of him. His frustration grew and when he saw you weren't going to answer anytime soon, he dragged you into the house.

You blinked and found yourself pushed against the wall.

"What the hell were you thinking? Pulling a stunt like that? Huh?" You shut your eyes, remembering what happened on the run.

You'd all went to a shopping centre that Glenn had scouted before. With no sight of a big number of walkers, you'd all made a run there in the hopes of finding whatever you can find. Diapers, formula, antibiotics, gauze. So many things needed, so little the chance of finding them was. But you'd held out hope.

It was expected to not find all you wanted but you still looted a decent amount of stuff. You'd gone into the pharmacy, jumping over the countertop and tried to find anything useful. Rick had been across from you, inside a clothing store. And when you saw him lift a small dress, a frilly orange thing, your heart had clenched at the sight.

You forced yourself not to stare, moving your attention to the shelves in front you. You had no idea what you were grabbing but you gathered all you can take in a plastic bag you found lying on the side.

You were pushing the heavily filled bag to the other side of the counter when you heard it. The sound of the unmistakable growls of walkers. It was coming from behind you and once you turned around you found more than half a dozen of those dead ones. That probably was the moment when the reality of the situation had set in for you. Where had they come from? Glancing behind them, you saw the open storage room door. How long had they been there for?

You'd grabbed your knife, the handle cool against your palm, when Daryl shouted,

"Y/N!"

You didn't turn back, but instead took a step towards the walker closest to you and thrust your knife in that small spot in-between the eyes. More came out of that damned storage room, and it was like being dunked into cold water. There were too many. You couldn't take them all. And neither could the rest.

And that's when you made a decision.

Turning back, you looked up at the metal shutters. You'd bumped your head into them when you stood up after jumping over the counter but now you were glad. Because now you knew what to do.

You reached over, arms straining to grab the shutters. Rick had dropped the dress, making his way over to you, machete in hand, the rest following close behind but there's no need. You'll make sure to give them a chance.

Not able to deny yourself one last look, you let a small smile stretch across your face. And Rick's eyes widened as if just now realising what you wanted to do, jaw going slack and that's when you pulled.

The heavy clang of the metal was loud in the small space behind the counter. It only helped in cementing the walkers' attention to you if it weren't already but that was the plan. So it was fine. Everything was fine. You didn't plan on dying. Quickly that is. At least not without a fight.

You were readying yourself, planning on lunging towards the first walker to get close enough when you saw it. A cramped little window, just above one of the shelving units on the left side. That's when a small thing unfurled within you. You didn't dare call it hope yet but it got you moving, darting towards the other side, hands gripping the shelves as you began to climb. You heard the groans behind you, worryingly close but you were nudging the window now, pushing it open.

The shelving unit began to shake as the walkers pushed their weight forward. The window slid forward and you wedged your way through the opening. It was a tight fit but nothing that a bit of wiggling couldn't solve. One last push through and you were out, panting on the ground, the asphalt hard and hot beneath your palms. It felt like your heart was trying to carve its way out of your chest.

When your breathing had settled down, you stood up. You weren't far from the gate. The window had led you on the other side of the shopping centre and now you had to make your way to it again.

Walking around, you shook away the remnants of fear. The shaking of your hands, the shudder running down your back. No. It wouldn't do to be afraid. The worst was over. Hopefully.

You'd turned around the corner and found them. Right in front of the gate, clustered together, murmuring amongst themselves. You got closer and saw Rick holding a hand to his face, expression hidden from you but whatever it was that he was hearing from Glenn had him shaking his head. You could practically see the agitation, stringing his back straight. He looked ready to implode. Daryl was at his back, crossbow in his hands as his eyes flitted between the men.

However, when you got closer, finally within their sights, Sasha was the first to notice. Her eyes widened when she saw you. Her arms going limp, the gun lowering, and then she was running.

"Y/N!" She threw her arms around you and you found yourself leaning into the comfort provided. When you looked up, you found Rick already looking at you. And you almost took a step back at seeing the expression on his face.

The rest of the group had welcomed you back, giving hugs and occasional pats to the shoulder but Rick didn't even come close. When things had settled down and their surprise and happiness has turned into relief at your survival, Rick has just shook head, his jaw tightening before turning away.

He wasn't happy. But he was alive. That's what matters.

The group had noticed the absence of a reunion between you and Rick. And soon enough you were all walking back to Alexandria in silence. When you reached the gate, you hoped that Rick would be too busy with anything for the rest of the day. You hoped that you'd be granted reprieve. However, it seems there were other things planned for you.

The hands around your arms tightened and your were brought back to the present.

"Open your goddamn eyes, y/n," he let out. You looked at him and you thought you could almost cut yourself on the sharp line of his jaw, "You wanna tell me what that was back there?"

You don't know what happened in that moment. Was it the fact that you felt his body pressed up against you, chest to chest? Or was it the little pants he let out between each word as if it was physically exhausting to hold himself back? Whatever it was, it had that tiny thing in your lower tummy unfold. Pulsating. Wanting to spread its warmth until all you could feel is the need and nothing else.

"It was the right thing to do, Rick," You were surprised at how steady your voice sounded, "The only way. Carl and Judith can't lose you. And if it was you or me that had to get out. I'd always choose you."

"You can't fucking do that, y/n," Rick pressed closer and oh. You were so wet, it was like a fucking waterfall between your legs. You wondered if he noticed that, how much you wanted him. And when you shifted, you became aware of his need pressing against your thigh. "It's not your fucking decision to make."

"And who's gonna stop me, Rick?" You raised a hand to his chest, feeling the strength of the muscles that lay beneath his shirt, feeling the hammering of his heart beat. Maybe it wasn't the anger that had his heart kicking into overdrive. "You?"

"Yes," he hissed and your faces were that much closer. All you had to do to take his lips was stand on your toes. But you didn't. Not yet. A moment passed. You stared into each other's eyes. You wondered what he saw in them because you felt him almost take a step back, his shoulders lowering. But then it was like you'd been imagining things. Rick pressed so deliciously close to, body tight against you, and sealed his lips over yours.

And it was good.

So good in fact it had you gushing. Your insides melting like he'd just lit them on fire. And it was like he sensed it too, sensed that burning inside of you because before you knew it his tongue was rolling in your mouth, pushin in.

You weren't sure how long it was but when he pulled back your head was full of cotton. Hazy. It took a while for you to remember what you were arguing about in the first place.

"You think you can just go on and do things on your own? Think you can leave me behind?" His thigh was pressed between your legs, and you groaned, hips moving forward, humping down on his knee. You were staring at him, forced to witness the anger in his eyes. Anger at you. It was when Rick pushed you back, pinning you againt the wall, halting you from finding any release that you realised he was expecting an answer.

"I did it for you, Rick," You let out, a whine making its way out of your throat. You were getting desperate now. For him to understand you or for him to let you continue rolling your pussy on his knee you didn't know.

"I don't care if it was for me. Don't ever do that," He pressed in closer, his hands keeping your arms by your side, "I can't lose you, y/n," his voice didn't break but the distress at the idea of you being in danger again was clear.

"Do you understand me, y/n?"

"Yes," You breathed out and he groaned as if he was hurt, as if you'd taken a shot at him before pressing his lips to yours, sucking hard at them. You were sure by the end of this they'd be puffed up and swollen red from the attention.

His hands landed on your face, holding you to him and you groaned once one of them gripped at your hair, tight, pulling your head back. You let out a soft cry as he bit down at your neck, sucking and licking a path down to your collarbone. This was good. It was numbing. It made your head empty, no thoughts whatsoever except for the feeling of his hand, lips and tongue on you.

At feeling the hard bulge pressed against your hip, you reached a hand down, fingers fumbling with his belt before you pulled down his zipper. Rick groaned once you palmed him through his briefs, pulling back to look at you.

"Pull me out, y/n," he let out and you did just that. Pulling his cock out until it lay heavy and red in your palm. You looked down and felt yourself get wetter at the thought of him all hard because of you.

"You see what you do to me?" His breath fanned your cheek and you nodded almost absentmindedly, mind still too focused on the weight of his cock in your hand, "Then take some fucking responsibility for it."

Rick bared his teeth, hands turning you around until your cheek was pressed against the wall. You let out an ugly squawk at the sudden shift that quickly turned to a moan when he got in close, dick pressed in close to where you want it. You could feel yourself seeping through, pussy pulsing hot as slick soaked your panties. Pushing back, you tried to hold in a whine as he rolled his hips, grinding into you.

"You feel that, Y/N?" You nodded your head, frantic pants leaving you. "This is what you do to me, sweetheart."

His hand slid down your chest, slipping between the vee of your thighs, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

"Riiick," You drawled out, back arched, willing him to touch you where you needed. His fingers opened the button of your pants and you couldn't help trying to buck into him, nudge your wet pussy into his palm. But that was the wrong course of action it seemed as his other hand fisted into your hair.

"Aaaah," a whine was pulled out of you.

"I need you to be good for me, y/n," Rick breathed out behind your ear, the hand closest to your cunt stilling. "You hear me?" And maybe it was the hint of desperation in his voice that made you nod your head, eager to please him.

"Good girl."

That's all it took for you to melt into his embrace like putty. The hand that gripped your hair soon let go as it busied itself with getting rid of your shirt. When the relentless buttons refused to give in under his careless ministrations, that's when his other hand came up and joined the first into ripping your shirt off.

It was a beautiful day outside and as the buttons of your shirt pitter-pattered on the floor, you thought maybe it could've even been a great day to spend in the garden. But here you were instead. Face pushed against the wall, moments away from a rough fucking.

"Rick," You let out, mourning your shirt as its tatters hung limply around your arms and waist.

"Hush now," His voice was rough, and you're sure if you could turn around and look at him, you'd see his eyes darkened, the blue overtaken by his lust, "I'll have Carol sew it together later."

It was hard to argue after that when his hand cupped your tits, the weight of them filling his palm. He squeezed one of them and you groaned, eyes shut at the firm pressure.

"You ain't never gonna leave me like that, y/n," a hand trailed down your navel until it was stopped by the waist of your jeans. He was panting in your ears as if he'd been running a mile before he stood behind you. "Not again. Not ever," He slid his fingers beneath the strap- finally. You shut your eyes, at feeling your wetness gladly drip into his palm. It hurt. It burnt. You needed him to douse the flames that were currently licking up your deepest insides.

You ground into his fingers, smearing your slick all over them, trying to find your release but the hand on your tit reached to grip your jaw. Firm.

"Stay still, y/n."

You ignore him, grabbing the hand that's down your panty and pushing it closer to your cunt. It felt good. Like a salve. Like you were hurting deep down in your pussy and this man who was heaving behind you - as if he was under the heaviest of weights - could just make it feel better instead.

But your relief was short lived.

"Ah," your breath punched out of you.

Your cheek was pushed against the wall. Again. This time the sweat almost making you slide down. You felt pinpricks, his hand fisted impossibly tight in your hair. Holding you still. Holding you close.

The hand in your pants left, and instead grabbed yours, both of them. You shut your eyes at the thought of the bruises that were going to undoubtedly show up. He raised your arms up.

"I said. Stay. Still," he was close. His lips brushing your ear, breath hot. Rick took each one of your palms, pushing them against the wall and let go. When your arms fell. He grabbed them and shoved them against the wall again. It didn't take long for you to understand the message.

Brace yourself.

"You ain't gonna be cummin' on my fingers," Rick growled out. "You don't fuckin' deserve it," His hand slid down back to its place, nestled between your folds. "I'm gonna make sure that everything's alright down here," a long finger pushes inside of you, breaching until it stop at the knuckle.

"That this pussy can take me and once I'm sure, I'm gonna fuck you against this wall," your breaths were becoming faster, excited at the lovely picture appearing in your mind. "And when I'm done, maybe you'll have learnt your lesson."

A whine rips itself out of your throat. An unbearable sadness wells up inside of you. Why doesn't he understand? Why doesn't he get why you've done what you've done? Tears burn your eyes. And at the feeling of a second finger joining the first inside you, you can feel it build up. The burning wave that wants to crest over. You try your best to stay still but your hips betray you every once in a while, twitching back down on the thrusting fingers.

You hold your tears back but then two becomes three inside of your cunt. And that blue sadness gets washed over by that toe-curling white pleasure, mingling with each other until all you can do is try not to drown in it.

You're close now. Rick knows it too. You're clenching down on him, wrestling to keep him there but he pulls out nonetheless. Your chest is rising and falling, the thrumming of your blood a loud white noise in your ear. Your cunt throbs, aching at the emptiness.

The metal of Rick's belt buckle reach your ears and that's when you notice he's breathing as hard as you. You feel the soft flutter of your jeans and panties against your skin as he drags it down to your knees, leaving it there. He presses close to you, the hardness between his legs against the crack of your ass cheeks. Your eyes feel dry when you open them again.

"Rick."

He grunts, his hips snapping against you. You turn your head, slightly, making sure he's looking at you. He is. And despite thinking that Rick looks like he wants to fight, you say, "I'm not sorry," His eyes darken, a snarl lifts the corner of his lip. You'd probably be worried at the expression if it currently didn't feel like your body was in heat.

Keeping your eye on him, you continue, "I never will be."

He bares his teeth at you for a second and you're sure he's gonna eat you. You're certain. But Rick just presses against you. His clothed chest against your back, the buttons of his shirt rough against your skin. His fingers move to your face, squeezing themselves between your lips, forcing their way in. You can taste yourself on them, salty, slick. The smell making you heady.

"I haven't been trying enough, y/n," His other hand fists against his cock, brushing the back of your thigh. "And that's my fault. So I guess I'll just have to teach you your place," the head pushes past your entrance and you gasp, the stretch still causing a delicious burn despite his efforts at opening you up. "Every fucking day," he thrusts, the length of him pushed inside of you completely.

You can hear babbling and it takes you a second to realize it was coming from you.

"Shut up, y/n," He gave another thrust, his fingers - thick and calloused - drove deeper into your mouth, almost reaching the back of your throat. "Don't fucking talk back."

You were drooling, the spit leaking out your mouth after finding nowhere to be with Rick's fingers in your mouth. The sound of slapping skin filled the house. Loud. Obscene.

You were getting close now. You could feel it, heating up your gut, wanting to spread its way through your body. You wished you could touch yourself. But Rick was a heavy weight pressing against your back, preventing you from sliding your hand to where you want it to be.

The thrusts were brutal. Their pace only pushing you closer and closer to that equisiteness you knew was ready to wash over you.

"-iick—" you chocked around his fingers.

"Yeah, I know, y/n," Rick panted against your shoulder. "You're gripping me tight down there," his thrusts slowed down, turning into grinds instead - delicious deep strokes that you could almost feel in your guts. "But the only way you're cumming," Rick pulled back from you. "Is on my cock." He drove in hard and it was like all thoughts had dissipated from your head. He built up that pace again, his hips smacking against your ass.

Rick's shirt stuck to your back, your sweat melding it to you. Your cunt was burning. Set ablaze. It felt like you'd accidentally smacked it against the corner of a table. Those flames were rising up, quickly. And before you knew it, your legs were spasming out, your nerves singing as hot sparks spread through your body.

"Aaaah," your moans were long. Needy. Your bones have turned to jelly. The weight of them becoming impossible for you to bear on your own. But that didn't stop Rick. Instead his thrusts have picked up their speed. Slamming in and out of you, having your eyes roll back, almost in a trance. The slaps of your cunt have turned wet, the gush of your pussy only making it easier for him.

He was close. You could feel it. You could sense the desperation fueling him. Making him seek his pleasure. Your mouth was empty, chin shining with spit. His hands were on either side of your own, entangling with them as he pushed you against the wall until it felt like you couldn't breath.

Rick gave one final thrust and pulled out. Hot spurts of his cum landed on your ass, dripping down. You lamented the loss. Later on, when you've regained the higher functions of your brain, you'll give the man a deep kiss for his careful thinking.

But now you couldn't even pull your legs beneath you to walk. Rick had fucked that ability out of you. So you stayed there — both of you, against the wall, heaving for your breaths. Your sweat has matted your hair to your forehead. For a moment, you were certain that your body was stuck to the wall. But when Rick pulled away, pulling you with him, your body had simply peeled away like a wrapper off a candy.

Rick was silent.

You stumbled against him and his strong arms lifted you up. You could only close your eyes and lean back on his chest.

When you had opened your eyes again, you were laying on your stomach, naked. Rick was kneeling beside the bed, cleaning you up with a warm towel. You stared, admiring the profile of his face. He rubbed circles into your skin, his hands gentle. So unlike their previous treatment of you. Rick didn't look at you. Not yet. But you were patient.

"You're part of this family, y/n," his hands finished with the towel, setting it aside. Blue eyes snapped to yours. "You know that, right?" Your heart ached at seeing him so lost. So confused. So hurt at the mere idea.

You gave a small nod. Not quite trusting your voice. Rick looked away.

"I can't lose you, y/n," his voice strained. "I can't." His hand found yours and you squeezed him tightly. Offering what comfort you can give. "We can't lose you. Not me. Not Carl. Not Judith. Do you understand?"

"Yes," you croaked out, voice unadjusted.

Rick looked back at you. And you were filled with such sudden affection towards the man. This man who knelt in front of you with fear in his eyes. Fear for you.

"I understand now, Rick."

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ el matador y la matadora - welcome, señora sainz (cs55)

(series masterlist) (next)

Valeria accepts the call from the Wolff's, joining Mercedes for the foreseeable future. She reunites with friends, sets some records, and finds a wandering eye or two.

warnings/notes: mentions of car accidents and injury (non-graphic, possible spine injury mentioned.) slightly uncomfortable energy, valeria being a pushover/ignoring red flags, thats rlly it <3 hope y'all like this one shes gonna be fun

fc: adria arjona // sister!sainz + hamilton, piastri, sargeant / reader

One thing Valeria Sainz did not expect when she signed as a Mercedes reserve driver, was to walk into the Mercedes Australia garage for a meeting with Susie and Toto at fucking one in the morning.

One in the morning?

Valeria and her parents had just gotten into Australia. Dead from the long flight during the practice days and in dire need of rest. Despite needing to check into the hotel and get some actual sleep, Toto continuously pressed that this matter had to be discussed 'in person, immediately.' So, Valeria sent a suitcase with her father and kept her carry on with her as she called for a rideshare.

At 12:56am, Valeria arrived to the Australian GP's circuit with a Monster Energy tucked under one arm. Fighting back several yawns as she fishes out her lanyard and scans into the gate. Rubbing sleep from her eyes and sleepily stumbling her way down the pavement to where she knows she's supposed to be. Luckily, it doesn't take long for her to find her boss, plus Susie, both looking equally as frazzled as they stand on opposite sides of the only light source pouring out of the Mercedes garage.

Valeria chugs the rest of her Monster, tosses the can, and approaches with a tiny huff.

"You both look miserable." She chimes once she's within earshot, causing Susie to jump out of her skin--which in turn makes Toto chuckle.

"Sorry, it's been a long night." Toto runs one hand through his hair, shirt partially undone and sleeves rolled up as normal. Susie's in fucking pajamas. An old Mercedes shirt that's definitely Toto's over some leggings, and if Valeria looks hard enough she thinks she can see Jack napping on a couch with headphones on.

"Yeah, I can see... uh, why was I... needed? So early?" Valeria looks over at the engineers finishing packing up what's left of George's car. It had been completely knocked out last lap of practice, left laying on its side until Stroll whipped around the corner a bit too quickly and clipped the side, sending himself and Mr. Saturday into a nearby wall.

Double knockout. Drugovich on standby for Lance. No one yet on standby for George.

"Come, sit." Susie waves her over to where she crosses the room to snag her husband's desk as a chair while he falls into his office chair. Jack stirs, sitting up to see Valeria and he smiles and mumbles a mix of sleepy German and English to his past babysitter. She wastes no time scooping up the Wolff child and settling him in her arms like she had when he was still tiny, and she was a teenager. Carefully, Varelia sits across from the Wolffs as Jack drifts back to sleep in the comfort of her arms, tucked tight against one of Carlos' old Red Bull hoodies she'd stolen years back. A staple in her closet now.

"George is out... for a while." Toto makes a vague gesture, "At least two months. They're suspecting a spinal injury. If so, he's out for the season."

"Ah, dios mio, it looked horrible on the little plane screens. I didn't imagine this bad." Valeria rubs Jack's back, giving her shaky hands something to do. Toto just nods and leans on his desk, Susie's hand resting on his forearm softly as she turns back to fully face Valeria.

"He's alright. Carmen's flying in to be with him and his team while his family prepares for him to be sent home." Susie looks at Valeria, watching the girl with a keen eye the Spaniard in front of her has picked up on over the years.

"No." Valeria whispers, an edge of surprise, "But what about Schumacher? And Vesti?"

"I can pull you fully out of F1 Academy easier than getting those two for long term, plus, we need to keep them as reserve for Lewis. They're more used to his car than Georges." Susie hums and Toto nods, rolling his neck out and looking up at Valeria.

"You have been driving for Mercedes since we could have you on our program. There is no one I'd want more for a long-term contract than you, Valeria." A tiny smile graces Toto's distressed expression for half a second as he says, "You've babysat Jack all these years, you're like family. Plus... I trust your capability to be thrown in with little warning."

"Quali's tomorrow. We need you here at... we'll say ten because you need sleep. Sharp, Sainz." Toto snaps for the extra effect and Valeria nods. The night is still when Mercedes packs up, Susie bringing Valeria back to the hotel alongside Jack while Toto goes off to the hospital. It's too early to wake her family, so Valeria jumps around in excitement in the bathroom before getting herself ready for bed.

Her Formula One debut tomorrow. And only her and the Wolff's know.

Valeria doesn't sleep.

Well, she does. But it's terrible sleep. And Carlos moving in the attached en suite wakes her up fully only a few hours after shes gotten home. It’s barely sunlight, but she can’t help but get out of bed and stumble to the kitchen.

“[Why are you awake, Valita?]” Carlos asks his sister in Spanish, one arm lifting so the baby of the family can tuck herself comfortably against his broad chest.

“[Slept terribly. I’m racing.]”

“Qué?” Carlos pauses mid coffee making to look down at his sister, her mused hair and tired expression. The girl who was seven years his inferior, who had taken after him in every aspect of his life.

She was racing?

“Today, ahora. This weekend. I’m racing for George.”

"What?" He blink again, still struggling to process. Laughing to herself, Valeria unsticks from her brothers side and puts her hands on her hips as she blinks up at him.

"[Are you deaf?] Hello?" She waves a hand in front of his face and he swats it away, electing to go back to pouring some creamer in his coffee as he still stumbles through his words.

After a beat, he asks, "[This weekend?] In Australia?"

"No Carlos, [this weekend in Singapore.]" Valeria deadpans, bumping him off to the side so she can make her own coffee as she mutters, "Ponerse las pilas, Carlitos."

"Ay, tia," He pokes her side as he leans across her to grab his phone off the counter, "You don't get to Carlitos me, I get to Valita you."

"Yeah yeah," Valeria whacks her brothers arm, shooing him out of her space as she pours some coffee in a cup, "but, hello, me racing?"

Carlos hums, sitting at one of the barstools nearby, sipping his coffee before he says, "[How long is George out for?]"

"They're not sure... [I think Toto said at least two months.]" Valeria grabs the coffee creamers from the little coffee maker area, pouring a good few in along with some sugar.

"[Good lord,]" Carlos hums, setting his cup down, "through Monaco?"

"Most likely. He could be out for the whole season, but I don't know how bad his injury is." Valeria huffs, sitting down next to her brother who smiles and pulls his sister to his side.

"Congratulations, Valita. [If I was a bit more awake I'd look more excited.]" He chuckles and Valeria laughs, resting her head on his shoulder and yawning.

"Me too."

The paddock is absolutely buzzing as the Sainz family, right now just both Carlos' and Valeria, walk through the warm sun. Carlos keeps his children in front of him through the gates until they meet up with both Mercedes and Ferrari staff to help escort them along. They've been speaking amongst themselves for a while, Valeria trying to keep her nerves at bay as she walks into the paddocks. It's her first time here as a racer for F1, not just to support Carlos, and she can't help the way it makes her feel sick.

"¡Ay, Papá! Relax!" Carlos laughs, watching as his father adjusts Valeria's outfit for her... for about the hundreth time.

"[It's her debut, Carlos! Let me make her look nice!]" The man defends his actions as they've stopped outside the Mercedes garage. Valeria feels two little arms wrap around her leg and she laughs, leaning down to pick up Jack as the Wolff's approach and smile. Toto and Carlos Sr. exchange a quick hand shake and greeting while Susie fusses over Jack's shirt being ruffled now that he's still. Valeria is well aware of every camera on her, her skin crawling at the sight of everyone watching her.

This was the part of racing she never liked, but had to accept, the insane publicity.

"Alright." Carlos leans over to give his baby sister a tight hug she reciprocates without hesitation. Snuggling into his tight hold as he murmurs to her, "[Good luck, not a single one of us will go easy on you.]"

"[I wouldn't want you to.]" Valeria steps back, smiling at her brother. As much as she knew Carlos wanted nothing more than to keep her glued to his side the whole day, they didn't have much of a choice since they were on seperate teams. Before she can make a snide comment, her father takes her in for a tight hug.

"[I'm so proud of you, Valita.]" He muses to his daughter, stepping back after a moment to straighten her collar and give Jack a little fist bump.

"Gracias, Papá." Valeria smiles, pecking his cheek, "[I'll be nice to Carlos.]"

Her father laughs, a bellowing thing as he claps her shoulder and Carlos playfully flicks her cheek. A few more pleasantries are exchanged before Valeria's waving the two off to go drop him at Ferrari while she turns into Mercedes with the Wolffs.

As soon as they're in the garage, Susie takes Jack from Valeria and the driver escapes off to George's drivers room--or, hers, she supposes to drop her bags and get changed into her team shirt. It feels weird to press the Mercedes crest to her skin this time, because its a different uniform. The white shirt they're wearing this weekend pairs perfectly with her dark wash jeans and white platform sneakers, her gold jewelry a nice accent. But she can't help but stare at herself in the mirror.

This isn't F2, for F1 Academy. This is the real deal.

She hates that its an injury that's brought her into Formula 1. But, she supposes, it's nice to know that Mercedes trusted her. Winning F2 her first year in it and winning F1 Academy for two seasons might've done it, but shes also done hundreds of tests in these F1 cars. She knows George's car like the backs of her hands.

When she exits George's--her, drivers room, she so distracted runs headfirst into someone. Curses fall from her lips as she stabilized herself, barking out apologizes with a flushed face before soft laughter chimes in her ears.

"Oh! Lewis!" She smiles and the Brit grins, bringing her in for a tight hug.

"Hey Little Sainz, how are you?" Lewis steps back, eyes trailing up and down Valeria as if seeing her against for the first time, "God, you've grown since the last time I saw you."

"It's been like six months, Lewis. I haven't grown that much-- and I've been good! Training, training, and more training." Valeria follows Lewis out to the main garage, his hand ending up on her back to guide her through a bit of a crowd before the re-emerge in a calmer spot.

"I've been watching you and Dorianne absolutely dominating F1 Academy. It's nice to be getting the next generation of drivers in." Lewis smiles, stepping up to stand beside her. He's almost suffocatingly close as they chat, but she chalks it up to the crowded garage.

And tries to not think it's weird Lewis has yet to move his hand.

f1 made a new post!

liked by carlossainz, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, and 786k others...

f1: BREAKING: F1 Academy and Mercedes Reserve Driver Valeria Sainz to drive for George Russell during his injury leave for the Australian GP. Mercedes is yet to release how long Russel will be out.

view 567k comments...

"Holy shit, Prema crew is back!"

Valeria squeals as Logan lifts her, Oscar laughing off to the side as he steps to the side to wait for his turn to give their childhood third a hug. Since their days of karting, the three were practically glued at the hip. It had gotten to the point where the two had been to their home in Spain multiple times, and vice versa, the two practically as much her brothers as Carlos--with Lando slowly working up to tht level.

"How are my two pain in the necks doing? Got over your weird not talking bump?" Valeria is finally set on her feet and she pulls Oscar into a side hug, grinning happily before letting go of both as she leans against the wall of the exterior back wall Mercedes garage. It's still super early, so not many people are here, giving the three a quick pause to reconnect.

"Through the magic of you forcing us both to answer FaceTime calls, yeah." Oscar smiles, fist-bumping Logan, then Valeria, "Glad the trio is back in action."

"Fuck yeah. It's been way too long since the three of us have gone out, we should do something this weekend." Logan smiles and Oscar gasps, quickly rattling off a few places he and Lily were looking at going to over the weekend, as well as when his family was visiting. Logan tries to pay attention, to Oscar and Valeria's excited chatter, but he seems to notice something.

Oscar's about to call out Logan's distracted look whent he American pulls him a bit closer to Valeria and leans down to whisper, "Why's Lewis staring at you?"

Valeria perks up and then turns back to look in the garage where she can see Lewis' eyes for half a second before he tucks away and moves out of her eye line. Her eyebrows crease before she turns back to her friends.

"Probably just looking out for me, he's probably worried about media or something being weird..." Valeria shrugs, but when she feels eyes on her and turns back again, Lewis' gaze isn't exactly what she'd expect.

"No, it's not anything protective. It's.. like it's constant. It's weird." Logan hums and Oscar even looks back now, all three of the post-Prema trio staring at Lewis until he dips away.

"It's super weird." Oscar reinforces and both men look to Valeria. She sputters before admitting softly,

"Okay, he's been a little weird, but I think he's just worried with media and everything. The Mercedes garage was packed with reporters when I got here and he refused to move his hand off my back--I also didn't ask him to, so he probably think think it was weird but." Valeria shrugs, "there's no harm in him being nice guys."

"But he doesn't really know you, does he?" Oscar hums, "Like its not weird for me, Logan, or even Lando to do that because we're close with you and Carlos trusts us."

"Mate, I think you're overthinking this," Logan nudges Oscar lightly, sharing a knowing look with him, and Valeria can see his attempt at lightening the mood. But it falls flat.

And Oscar, thinking he's making a point just says, "I have sisters."

Logan turns to look at Valera for help, and she just shrugs, prompting Oscar to continue his thought.

"One of my sisters had this older dude she worked with hit on her for a few weeks before she noticed. He was always checking up on her, being overly nice, and the--the hand on the back thing! He did that."

Valeria laughs softly, squeezing Oscar's arm in reassurance, "I don't think he's flirting with me, Oscar. He's like, forty. He is literally old enough to be my father."

"You're definitely otherthinking this, Osc." Logan chuckles and Oscar raises his hands in defense, saying something about being better safe than sorry. But his words are lost in the hubbub of the paddocks as media starts to filter in, forcing the trio to say goodbye to turn to their respective garages.

Valeria tries to not let it bother her that Lewis is the first in Mercedes to speak to her when she returns.

"Valita!" Two arms wrap around Valeria's mid section and she squeals mid-interview as Carlos pokes her sides. Resorting to whacking his hands away so that she can get him to stop tickling her, Lissie laughing at the Sainz siblings banter.

"Congratulations on Q2," He smiles, wrapping an arm around his sister, the cooling feeling of his cooling vest on her back making her huff and lean into his touch.

"Congratulations to you on Q3, I was just as close as Ollie was to Q3!" Valeria laughs, letting Carlos hijack her interview for a bit. Mostly because she's excited to be able to do these sorts of things with her brother, and also because it feels safe.

"A wonderful start for the both of you tonight," Lissie smiles, angling her mic towards Carlos as he speaks.

"It's a real honor getting to have my sister here to race with me," Carlos slightly tightens his grip, but more out of a genuine happiness than any level of overprotective weirdness, "She's a wonderful driver and I really hope that people will get to see that this weekend, and in the future."

"And Valeria, how does it feel racing with Carlos?"

"Oh dios mio, It's like a dream! I never thought we would be able to race together since I was always just behind him, but I've looked up to Carlos since karting so it's honestly amazing to get to be there, driving along him now." Valeria turns to smile happily up at Carlos, who returns the gesture and passes her back to Lissie for her interview once he's whisked away by some Ferrari employees. Smiling through the interview, even as her energy is dragging, Valeria eventually finds solstice on the floor in her drivers room to sort of reset herself. Plus, the concrete is ice cold and it feels amazing after hours of being in a car and on her feet in the Australia heat.

Three knocks on her doorframe make her look over, to where Susie stands and smiles softly.

"Great work, rest up. We'll see you tomorrow."

Valeria nods, sitting up to thank her as Toto leans on the doorway behind her and smiles, his voice a deep timbre as he says, "those guys aren't going to take it easy on you tomorrow, to them you're just another car. Keep your head straight, stay locked in, you've done excellent so far."

"Thank you, Toto." Valeria gets up with the help of Susie, and as Lewis passes by with a soft congratulations she tries to ignore the fact his eyes seemed to settle anywhere but her face.

She's got bigger problems to worry about.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ taglist, thank you !!

[welcometololaland]

WIP WORKING WEEK PART 1: THE RING-IN (AGAIN) (not sure if this is 57 sentences exactly but here you go - TK, Carlos and Nancy go to a spin cycle class, and TK and Carlos assess the quality of the restrooms).

The spin cycle class is exactly as TK expects – sweaty, loud and full of middle aged women who are far better at riding a stationary bike than he is. On the upside, he gets to sneak looks at Carlos every thirty seconds and appreciate another perfect part of his husband’s physique: the way the muscles in his shoulders flex as he shifts the distribution of his weight, the tight swell of his ass in workout shorts, the way his skin looks golden in the dim lights, glittering with sweat. 

On the downside, so does everybody else.

Carlos is so distracting that the instructor has trouble maintaining control over the class. Despite their spin bike prowess, many of the women seem to be gradually losing interest in the class as Carlos gets increasingly sweaty. At some point, the music gets turned up, as does the instructor’s mic, trying to redirect attention to the fact that they’re supposed to be changing their resistance every few minutes. On a quick glance, TK suspects a fair few people haven’t gone up a level for half the class.

TK isn’t typically the jealous type. In fact, he feels vindicated by the attention Carlos gets because he finds the man borderline irresistible, and being in love with such a gorgeous creature has made him do some pretty insane things. Even so, there’s a limit to how much appreciation he can endure before he feels the need to savagely stake his claim.

“Stop looking like you want to murder that poor woman in her sleep,” Nancy says through laboured breaths. They’re just about to get back out of the saddle, although TK has sort of lost which part of the class they’re up to.

“Her jaw is practically on the floor,” TK mutters. “Do you think she could pick it up one of these days?”

“You can’t seriously be jealous of Janice over there,” Nancy snorts. “Have you forgotten that your husband is completely obsessed with you? He bought you a pet lizard the other day.”

“Bearded dragon,” TK corrects. “And the fact that Carlos loves me isn’t going to stop me informing the entire class that he’s gay and he’s mine.”

Nancy rolls her eyes, blinking as the sweat from her brow appears to momentarily blind her. “You need to cool down,” she says drily. “Go outside and then come back in when you’re ready to play nicely with the other children.”

“What? And look like I suck?!” TK protests. “I’m not giving Janice the satisfaction.”

“You do kinda suck,” Nancy mutters, “also – and I say this in the nicest way possible – no one is looking at you.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” TK snipes as he stops pedalling and hops off the spin bike, plucking his water bottle from the holder like it’s personally offended him. “Also, you suck.”

“Don’t forget your towel!” Nancy snickers, and then wobbles dangerously on her bike as TK pulls it off with a flourish. He feels like a matador tempting a bull, because the instructor gives him a very dirty look.

TK has to admit, once he’s back in the cool, heavily air-conditioned hallway, he starts to feel a lot better. There’s something about getting sweaty in a room full of other sweaty people that grosses him out a bit and he’s admittedly not the best at being told what to do. Unless it’s at his job, but that’s because he respects his father and Tommy more than he respects most people. A hell of a lot more than he respects any spin cycle instructor, at least.

“Hey,” Carlos says, dropping down onto the bench seat next to him. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

TK takes one look at him and wishes he didn’t, because the concern written into Carlos’ expression combined with his sweat-slicked curls and the big, irresistible brown eyes renders him completely weak.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Just sick of how good you look. Also, I don’t like spin cycle.”

Carlos arches an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Yes, you did,” TK mutters under his breath, but loses his train of thought completely as Carlos cups his cheek in one hand.

“You don’t like getting sweaty with me?” he asks, and although it sounds innocent, the wink that accompanies is anything but.

“Careful,” TK warns. “The restrooms are less than twenty feet away and I’m very frustrated.”

Carlos drops his hand and looks over his shoulder, before turning back to TK with a coy smile. “Think there’s anyone in them right now? The class is fully booked and it looks like the reception area is empty.”

TK stares, mouth watering. “Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?”

“Well,” Carlos replies mildly. “You must be rubbing off on me.”

“I’ll show you something else I can rub off,” TK smirks, before taking Carlos’ hand and tugging him towards the door.

[jacks347]

I have an opinion on Der Wolfsjäger that I wish to share.

I have listened to almost every series Escaped has put out (I will listen to Blue Infinity once Desmond actually rises from his grave) and loved all of them but this one does something a little different and it surprised me.

Jäger apologizes for yelling at Ursula.

"Jacks what are you talking about, the boys always apologize when they yell at their listener."

Mm, yes and no. Yes, they do apologize but no, I'm not talking in the way you're thinking.

Let me rephrase, Jäger apologizes for lecturing Ursula.

In Matador Gothic, Alfonso gets on the Guest's case for just standing there when Scythus goes after her in the alley and back in the hotel when he realizes she's been bitten and didn't say anything.

In Against The World, Escaped gets on Asset's for not knowing how to aim and for hesitating during the initial chase.

In both these instances, my response is along the lines of "Bro, I've known of your existence for all of five minutes, why are you yelling at me??" because seriously, the listener is a normal person thrown into a very not normal scenario and the expert in the situation is yelling at them to do better like they know what "better" is. Like dude, wtf.

In Der Wolfsjäger, Jäger initially lectures Ursula about freezing up and pulling out her pistol against a werewolf but when they're in the hotel, he apologizes. And more so, he actually understands why Ursula reacted the way she did.

Ursula didn't even really think werewolves existed until she was face to face with one and when she did, she panicked. In that panic, instinct took over and that instinct followed her CIA training, training which involves her pistol and taking out whatever the threat is. And Jäger acknowledges this which, as stated above, none of the other series leads do.

I was actually really surprised like "Oh! So he actually realizes I was thrown into this ten minutes ago and have no idea what I'm doing, impressive!"

So yeah, safe to say Jäger has secured his spot as best lead in my heart (not favorite, that spot goes to Alfonso and will until the end of time) for actually taking the time to apologize for being an assuming asshole.

Also Weißhund is best girl who deserves all the pets after literally being almost eaten by a werewolf and the Dad Energy is unmatched, I love him.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, tip your waiters.

[obsidiancreates]

Robin Hood: Man In Vents

@pineapple-psychic

"Gus." Shawn whispers as quietly as he can into the little mic pinned to his collar. "I see you flirting with the receptionist."

"Heh, one second." Gus's smirk slips right off as he turns and whispers back "You told me to say I'm security!"

"So no-one would question the mic and earpiece! Not to creep out some poor girl taking this jerk's calls all day!"

"I'm not creeping anybody out!"

"She's literally holding a tiny lipstick taser in her palm."

"Wh- where are you?!"

"The vents. ... Top of the wall to your right."

"Shawn, you're supposed to be in this guy's office already."

"I had to take a pit-stop, man, you were totally ignoring me!"

"Just get in there, if someone we know spots me we're toast."

"Dude, Lassie and Jules are totally busy with that other case with the dead bull or whatever."

"It was a dead matador, Shawn, and they're only busy because you put them on the wrong lead!"

"Yeah, so we're covered."

"Just get into that office!"

Shawn watches Gus turn back around with his 'Smooth Gus' smile and keep chatting with the receptionist- who's relaxing more as Gus talks to her, actually, and she realizes he's just Not As Smooth As He Thinks He Is rather than Trying To Be Creepy.

Shawn crawls through the vents, wondering not for the first time why Santa Barbara seems to make all their air vents big enough for over-30-year-old-men to crawl through with room to spare, and makes it to the office. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his little uses-actual-tape vintage tape recorder, stolen from his dad's house, and hits record.

"No, look, if we sell more than this it'll look suspicious. ... I know, I know, but our payout won't be worth shit if we get caught. Just- have you taken care of the severance situation? ... Well, cripes, Monty, if you don't find a way to avoid paying out severance after this we'll have done it all for nothing! ... That's it, I'm coming down to your office. No, I don't give a crap if your wife is there, kick her out or I'll beat her ass along with yours. ... You'll take this talk from me as long as you live, if you don't want to become my next scapegoat."

The phone slams back into it's receiver, and the CEO storms out of his office.

Shawn tests the vent grate- if he did it right when he pretended to be the building inspector a few days ago, it should just-

CRASH!

... Whoops.

Shawn slides out of the vent and lands in a heap on the floor, springing back up as quickly as possible and going for the computer! This office is relatively isolated, but someone will have heard that. Gus posing as security can maybe buy him twenty minutes, but after that he's risking everything.

Gus would kill him for saying so, but all that makes this even more fun.

He copies the password he saw being entered in the reflection of the window when he came in to sabotage the vent, pulls out the list of keywords Gus's jotted down for him, and starts combing through the files as quickly as possible. He plugs his pineapple-shaped hard drive into the PC unit and begins downloading everything relevant to the insider trading and company self-sabotage.

"Dude, hurry up, I just got told over the walkie that there was a loud sound in the CEO's office," Gus hisses through the earpiece.

"I'm hurrying!"

"Hurry harder, Shawn! Oh, uh, hello, fellow security team. Yeah, Im uh, going to check out the disturbance myself. no need for all of us, right?"

"You're in fire, dude."

"Yeah, well, I'm a uh, black belt in taekwondo, so I really don't need any backup. Might get messy."

"Black be- okay I know that's not true, but I also know you've been sneaking out of cases more often than usual. Gus, are you taking martial arts classes without me? How is our partnership supposed to work if you become a lethal weapon of flesh and blood and I don't?"

"I'm not taking any classes, I'm buying you time," Gus hisses again. "Quit distracting me!"

"Fine. ... But we should sign up for some classes together after this."

"I agree, but shhh!"

"Fine. ... Okay, okay, I got it!" Shanw unplugs everything, makes sure his gloves didn't rip or leave any fibers behind- and then looks up at the vent. "Oh. Oops."

"Oops?!"

"It's uh- it's a little high to reach."

"Oh my go- you didn't measure a way up to your only escape route?"

"I was a little focused on the entire rest of the whole plan!"

"Figure it out fast, we're almost at the elevator!"

"Ah- stall for time! Pretend to pee yourself!"

"No, stop using that as a go-to distraction!"

"Well do something!"

"Ah- HEY! Ahem, hey, guys, uh, you know, I read in Men's Digest last week that elevators have been linked to Kidney Stones."

Shawn looks around frantically for something he can use to get up to the vent that won't leave a suspicious trail- nothing. Unless...

"Dude, I'm taking a risk."

"Another one?!"

"Trust me!"

Shawn pulls the wheely chair over to the vent and stands on it. It's just enough for him to leverage himself into the space. He hops off and grabs the vent cover, puts it on top of the headrest, and turns. He puts his feet on the wall, walks them up to the vent opening, and slowly walks his hands up to the top of the chair to leverage himself into the exit.

As soon as his hands reach the top he hears the elevator ding down the hallway. He hears Gus's rambling coming closer, and knows it's now or never. He takes a deep breath, winces in preparation for the on coming pain, and pushes off of the chair! He just barely manages to grab onto the vent as the chair goes flying across the floor back into place!

His push gets him halfway into the vent, the wind knocked right out of him, but he has no time to recover. He squirms the rest of the way in, and managed to re-affix the loose vent cover right as the door to the office opens.

Gus glances up at the vents and they lock eyes. Shawn gives a thumbs-up, and begins scooting backwards out of the line of sight.

"I'm never helping you with one of these again," he hears Gus mumble over the earpiece.

They both know Gus is lying. They're partners in crime-solving and in crime, and they always will be. Especially when it's something like this.

Now to figure out if blackmail or exposure is the best use for what they've gathered...