#this was such a fun scenario to think of!!!

[orangeblossomsintheair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (3/3) | CS55

summary : You shouldn’t have said anything. You really shouldn’t have. But it’s too late now. “He sent me a dildo shaped like his cock,” you mutter under your breath, so fast you almost hope she didn’t hear you.

wc : 14k

an : This might be the end of the Illicit Affairs series! Honestly I might write another part (as I intended) but I realized it could also end here. I might work it alongside a few other fics on the back burner.

The thing about Carlos is that he doesn’t tiptoe. He doesn’t hesitate.

He’s the kind of guy who walks into your life, plops down, and acts like he’s always been there.

At first, you think he’s just passing through, like one of those tumbleweeds in old Westerns. Here for a moment, gone in another, leaving only a faint memory and maybe a little dust.

But Carlos is no tumbleweed.

He’s ivy. Creeping into the corners of your life, attaching himself with relentless charm and absolutely zero warning.

At first, it had just been sex.

Carlos calls, you pick up, and the two of you dive headfirst into whatever filthy scenario he’s cooked up for the evening.

It’s hot, it’s fun, and afterwards, you both lie there catching your breath while exchanging a few words like some half-hearted attempt at aftercare.

“Good for you?” he’ll ask, panting, his voice somehow managing to sound both teasing and sincere.

“Sure,” you say, rolling your eyes at the ceiling. “Top ten, at least.”

He laughs. Deep, warm, addictive. “I’ll aim for top five next time.”

It’s simple. Casual. Exactly what you signed up for.

Until it’s not.

Until the minutes start to stretch.

At first, it’s just an extra five. Then ten. Then before you know it, the two of you are sitting there, chatting about absolutely nothing long after the heat of the moment has faded.

Next thing you know Carlos is reaching out for the sake of company.

It’s easy to brush it off at first.

To pretend it’s harmless.

Carlos is just a guy who’s annoyingly good at making you laugh and has a voice so smooth it could probably negotiate world peace or at least a really good discount at a used car dealership.

But then, one afternoon, as you’re scrolling through your texts, you realize something horrifying:

You talk to Carlos more than you talk to your friends.

No, scratch that. You talk to Carlos more than you talk to anyone.

And it’s not just the sheer volume. It’s the content.

It’s the way his words sneak into your day, set up camp, and throw a block party. He texts you good morning before you’ve even had coffee, which is frankly criminal.

Carlos Rise and shine, baby. Did you dream about me again?

You I dreamed I hit you with my car

Carlos Hot. Was I shirtless?

You No, but you were crying. Freaked me out

Carlos Probably because I looked so good

You should block him.

You should delete his number.

You do neither, because somewhere deep down, you’re a masochist.

He doesn’t stop at morning texts either.

He sends unsolicited opinions all day, every day.

Carlos Do you think cows ever get tired of standing?

You They sit, Carlos. They sit all the time.

Carlos Yeah, but like, emotionally? What if they’re just pretending to like grass because they’re scared of change

You What would they change to, exactly? Chicken nuggets?

Carlos Maybe. Cows could be wild carnivores waiting for their moment. We don’t know what they’re capable of.

One day, while you're halfway through a bag of chips, your phone buzzes again.

Carlos Do you think birds ever judge us for not flying?

You You need therapy

Carlos So do you, but I don’t judge

You You judge me constantly 🤨

The banter becomes relentless.

Carlos If you had to pick one food to eat for the rest of your life, what would it be?

You Pasta

Carlos Predictable. You’re so basic it physically hurts

You Pretentious words from a man whose favorite snack is probably caviar

Carlos First of all, how dare you

You You’re trash

Carlos Trash that you text back btw

Then comes the random photos.

He sends you a blurry picture of his sneakers one afternoon.

Carlos Do these make me look fast? Be honest, but also lie

You Fast to embarrass yourself

Carlos Wow. Jealousy is a disease. Get well soon

Carlos Does it change anything if I say they’re limited edition

You Limited edition ugly

He sends you a picture of his dog another day, sprawled on the couch like he pays rent.

Carlos We’ve decided to boycott walkies today.

Solidarity with my guy.

You Tell him he’s lazy

Carlos He says those are bold words from someone who hasn’t hit the gym this week

You glare at the screen. It’s 7 a.m. How does he even know that?

You Your dog is illiterate. Don’t drag him into this

Carlos Rude. He’s very smart

You He licks his own butt

He becomes a fixture in your life without you even noticing.

Carlos Did you miss me while I was asleep?

One morning, you’re sipping your coffee when your phone buzzes.

You I slept better knowing you weren’t conscious

Carlos So, you’re saying you dreamt about me

You I dreamt I moved to a remote island where Wi-Fi doesn’t exist

Carlos Romantic getaway for two. Love that for us

You groan, but your fingers are already typing a response.

And somehow, without you realizing it, Carlos isn’t just a voice on the phone or a name on your screen.

He’s everywhere, weaving himself into your days with his relentless humor and absolute refusal to leave you alone.

That’s why when a day passes by without any contact, you’re tilted off balance.

The silence is unnerving.

You tell yourself it’s just one night.

One single night where Carlos doesn’t text or call, and you should be relieved.

Grateful, even, for the reprieve from his relentless antics.

But you’re not.

You spend the evening trying not to think about it.

You scroll through Instagram, open a book, binge half a season of some random series. But every few minutes, you find yourself glancing at your phone, waiting for it to light up.

It doesn’t.

The hours crawl by, and by the time you’re lying in bed, glaring at the ceiling, you’re starting to feel… itchy. Annoyed. Frustrated. And maybe just a little bit unreasonably hurt.

Then, finally, your phone buzzes.

You grab it so fast you nearly knock it off the nightstand.

Carlos Miss me?

Your stomach does a ridiculous little flip, but you type back quickly.

You Not even a little

Carlos Liar

Another message follows: a selfie of him holding the meerkat plushie you’d sent him as a joke a week ago.

Carlos He misses you too

You groan, but your cheeks ache from smiling.

Carlos By the way

Carlos I sent you a gift

You I didn’t get a package?

Carlos Wait

Carlos Call me when you get it

You shake your head, setting your phone down.

It’s probably something stupid. Knowing Carlos, it could be anything from a ridiculous gag gift to an actual penguin.

Two days later, a package arrives.

It’s sitting on your kitchen counter, deceptively normal-looking for something that Carlos sent.

You eye it warily, debating whether you should even bother opening it.

You stare at it for a good ten minutes, arms crossed, trying to decide whether you should call him first or just dump it straight into the trash.

Eventually, curiosity (and mild fear) wins out. You grab your phone and click the topmost contact.

It rings once before he picks up.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you,” Carlos says, his voice smooth and entirely too smug.

“What the hell did you send me?” you demand without preamble.

“Why don’t you open it and find out?”

“Carlos.”

“Yes?”

You groan, already regretting this decision. “I swear to God, if it’s alive-”

“It’s not alive,” he interrupts.

“Then what is it?”

“Open it.”

“No,” you snap. “Because if it’s something awful, I can’t unsee it. I’m preemptively traumatized. Just tell me what it is so I can mentally prepare.”

“That’s not how surprises work,” he replies, completely unbothered.

“It’s not a surprise if I hate it,” you point out.

“You won’t hate it.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“You might be pleasantly surprised,” he insists, and there’s a tone in his voice, something too smug, too amused, that makes your stomach churn with suspicion.

“Carlos,” you warn.

“Yes?”

“If this is some kind of prank-”

“It’s not a prank,” he says, cutting you off again. “It’s a gift. A thoughtful, meaningful, deeply personal gift.”

“Deeply personal?” you echo, narrowing your eyes at the box like it’s about to explode. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

“It’s just a little something to remind you of me,” he adds, which is possibly the least reassuring thing he could have said.

You exhale sharply through your nose, setting your phone down on the counter so he can see.

His face lights up on the screen, all lazy smirks and overconfidence, and you hate the way your stomach flips at the sight of him.

Grabbing a pair of scissors, you slice through the tape with the caution of someone defusing a bomb.

Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his chin resting on his hand. “Excited?”

“I’m terrified,” you deadpan, peeling back the flaps of the box.

For a moment, you just stare.

Then, you shriek. Loudly.

“Carlos, what the fuck?!”

He leans closer to the camera, his grin widening. “You like it?”

“You sent me a dildo?!” you yell, your voice an octave higher than usual.

“Not just any dildo,” he says smugly, sitting back like he’s the king of the universe.

You stare at him, then at the object in the box, and back at him again.

It looks… normal, at first glance.

But then you notice the size. The veins. The shade.

The very specific details.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, horror dawning. “It’s your… your…”

“My cock,” he supplies helpfully. “Yep.”

“Carlos!” you screech, clutching the box like it’s cursed. “You’re a lunatic!”

“True,” he says, completely unfazed. “But admit it- you’re impressed.”

“Impressed?!” you repeat, your voice pitching even higher. “What is WRONG with you?!”

“A lot,” he admits, far too cheerfully. “But you already knew that.”

“How did you even- who does this?!”

“Visionaries,” he says smoothly. “Trendsetters. People who care deeply about customer satisfaction.”

“Customer?!”

“Well, you.”

“I am not your customer!” you yell, holding the replica aloft like it’s a cursed artifact.

Carlos is unbothered. “Technically, you are. You’ve been enjoying the original product for a while now. Or, well, the sight of it.”

You choke on air. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely thoughtful,” he corrects.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re flustered. It's very cute.”

Your jaw drops. “I am not-”

He cuts you off, grinning wider. “So, when’s the test drive?”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, setting the… thing down and burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t happening.”

“Take your time,” he says, magnanimous. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he adds, like this is a completely normal conversation.

“I didn’t ask for this!”

“I know. That’s what makes it such a great surprise,” he says, his grin practically splitting his face.

“Surprise?!” you echo. “I almost had a heart attack!”

“You’ll appreciate it later,” he says confidently.

“I will not!”

“Bet you will.”

“You need therapy,” you hiss, shoving the box away like it might explode.

“And you need lube,” he counters smoothly.

“You’re deranged!”

“Efficient,” he corrects, smirking. “In case you miss me.”

“I don’t!” you lie, your face burning.

Carlos watches you, entirely too pleased with himself. “You’re keeping it, though.”

“I am absolutely not-”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupts, his tone maddeningly smug.

“I am throwing it in the trash right now!” you declare, grabbing the box and stomping toward the trash can.

He leans closer to the camera, completely unbothered. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

You freeze, hand hovering over the trash.

“There it is,” he says smugly. “Knew you wouldn’t.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, stomping back to the counter and slamming the box down.

“And yet, here you are, calling me,” he points out.

“Because I needed to yell at you!”

“And now you’re smiling.”

“I am not smiling!” you yell, even as you turn away from the camera to hide the traitorous curl of your lips.

Carlos laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Admit it- you think it’s funny.”

“I think it’s horrifying!”

“You’re laughing on the inside.”

“I’m plotting your murder on the inside,” you snap.

“Sure, sure,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “So. Again. When are you trying it out?”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Liar,” he says again, his grin positively devilish.

Before you can come up with a response, he adds, “Just make sure to let me know how it compares to the real thing. For science.”

“You’re insane,” you mutter, grabbing your phone and ending the call with a vicious jab.

Seconds later, your phone buzzes with a text.

Carlos Don’t forget lube, babe. You’re gonna need it. ;)

You stare at the screen, your cheeks burning.

Carlos And batteries. Unless you want to do it the old-fashioned way. Your call.

You want to throw the phone, the box, and maybe yourself out the nearest window.

You Blocked

Carlos Bad girl.

—

Carlos has this way of getting under your skin. Not in an infuriating, "I can’t believe I’m dealing with this" kind of way, but more in the likes of "Why do I secretly enjoy this ridiculousness?"

It starts with a string of increasingly pathetic messages.

Carlos Please?

Carlos Just once?

Carlos I take that back.

Carlos Twice? Maybe even thrice

Carlos C’mon, I’ll be good

Carlos I’m literally begging here

Carlos On my knees

Carlos Pathetically btw

Carlos Do you need a photo for proof?

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your head.

You Carlos, we are not doing this again

Carlos You say that

Carlos But I feel like deep down you want to. You’re just being stubborn

He replies instantly, because of course he’s sitting there, waiting for your response like his life depends on it.

“Stubborn,” you deadpan, fingers hovering over your phone. “Sure. That’s definitely it.”

And then he hits you with a voice note, because apparently texts alone can’t convey his desperation.

You don’t even mean to open it, but your thumb slips, and suddenly there he is, using that tone that he knows gets to you.

"Just once," he begs, words spilling out of your speakers like some lovesick fool. "I swear I’ll make it worth your time. Please. I just wanna watch you take me again."

You know you shouldn’t.

It’s ridiculous, bordering on embarrassing.

But then you picture his face, probably flushed, probably biting his lip in that way that always gets to you, and against your better judgment, you cave.

You Fine. But just this once

Carlos I love you

Carlos You’re the best

Carlos I’m naming my firstborn after you

You Just call me

Carlos Yes ma'am 🥰

When the call connects, you're met with the sight of Carlos lounging on his couch looking very much the part of a man who's won an impossible bet.

One arm is draped lazily over the backrest, laptop balanced on his thighs.

The soft glow from the screen highlights the sharp angles of his jawline and the shadow of stubble that you know feels just as delicious as it looks.

The smirk that he wears is devastating. An expression of smug satisfaction that makes your pulse race even as you curse him for it.

His shirt clings to his broad chest, the undone buttons teasing you with a glimpse of hard lines across tanned skin.

His eyes are locked onto you.

There’s heat in them, hunger.

He’s relaxed, but you can feel the tension rolling off him, the way he’s barely holding himself back.

And you?

You’re perched on your bed, knees tucked beneath you, completely bare.

The dildo lies heavy in your hand, the silicone cool against your flushed skin.

The sheer indecency of it sends a rush of heat through you, making your thighs clench.

Carlos smirks, his hand disappearing offscreen for a moment, only to return with a slow stroke along his already hard cock.

He leans forward slightly, the movement drawing your eyes to the way his length twitches in his hand.

For someone who was shamelessly begging just minutes ago, Carlos is playing it way too cool now.

“Naked on your bed, holding a mold of my dick,” he says, his voice smooth like it’s a damn sales pitch. “I mean, come on. That’s the kind of devotion poets write sonnets about.”

You snort, rolling your eyes even as your cheeks heat up. “Oh, yeah. Shakespeare totally had this in mind when he wrote, ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day.’”

“Exactly. I’m a classic, baby. Timeless.”

“Delusional,” you counter, grabbing the bottle of lube with way more force than necessary.

His laugh is low and warm, the kind that annoyingly makes your stomach flip. “Call it what you want, but you didn’t say no to my ‘gift.’”

Your glare falters, just for a second, and he catches it immediately. Carlos thrives on cracks in your armor, and his smirk sharpens like a predator who just spotted its prey.

You glare at the bottle in your hand like it personally wronged you. "I hate you," you mutter, squeezing out a glob of lube.

Carlos's face lights up on the screen, all smug satisfaction and unearned charm. "Funny, because you're doing exactly what I asked. Almost like you want to."

"Don’t push your luck,”

He leans closer to his camera, his grin widening. "Oh, pushing my luck is my favorite hobby. You know this."

You level him with a deadpan stare. "And yet, here you are. Still single."

"Wow. Low blow. But fine, I'll allow it, because you're about to make my night."

"Make your night?" You scoff, dragging this out purely to annoy him. "I’m just trying to remember what this was called. A gag gift, right? Or was it just a waste of money?"

His jaw drops. "A gag gift? I can’t believe you’d say that. This is art."

"This is silicone," you reply flatly, holding up the toy with a disapproving shake of your head.

"Silicone art," he corrects, pointing at the screen like that changes anything. His grin sharpens. "And don’t pretend you weren’t curious the moment I sent it to you."

"You sent this to annoy me," you retort, spreading the lube over your fingers with dramatic flair. "And congratulations, it worked."

Carlos leans forward, his chin propped on his hand as he watches you, his dark eyes glittering with mischief.

"Oh, but look at you now. All lubed up and ready to go. Who's the real winner here, hmm?"

"Still me," you shoot back, though your fingers falter as you glance down at the toy.

Your grip tightens as if it’s a stress ball, and the obscene squelch it makes has you biting back a groan.

Carlos’s smirk grows. "Careful, sweetheart. You keep squeezing it like that, and I’ll think you’re practicing for something."

You let out a sharp breath through your nose, refusing to look at him. "You’re insufferable, you know that?"

He leans in even closer. "And you’re still here. Lube in hand. Ready to-"

"Don’t finish that sentence," you interrupt, finally looking up to glare at him. "I’ll block you."

Carlos snickers, leaning back like he’s won. "You’d never block me. I’m your favorite pain in the ass."

"No," you say, grabbing the toy with more force than necessary. "You're just a pain in the ass in general. Huge difference."

His brow arches as he watches you spread the lube along the length of the toy, the slick sound louder than your ego can handle. You freeze mid-motion, hyper-aware of his gaze tracking every movement.

Carlos’s grin falters for a moment, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His voice drops an octave. "Good girl."

The unexpected praise punches the air out of your lungs, and your hands falter, nearly dropping the toy.

"Keep going," he murmurs, his tone rich with satisfaction. His eyes don’t leave yours, the heat in them curling low in your stomach. "Let me see you do it."

Your pride flares, and you straighten your spine, lifting your chin as you resume your movements with exaggerated precision.

"You’re lucky I don’t throw this thing across the room," you grumble.

Carlos hums, his gaze shamelessly lingering. "You wouldn’t dare. That thing cost more than your dignity."

"Bold words for someone whose dignity died in 2016," you snap, but the banter feels more like a lifeline now, a way to distract yourself from the intensity of his gaze.

The corner of his mouth lifts, cocky and infuriating. "Touché."

You inhale sharply, your hands trembling slightly as you grip the toy.

You hate how your body reacts to him, how his voice, his laugh, his everything gets under your skin like this.

Carlos leans forward again, his smirk all-knowing. "Having fun yet?"

Your pride makes you glare at him. “Fuck you.”

His laugh is low, indulgent, the sound curling around you like smoke. "Soon, sweetheart. Very soon."

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” he fires back smoothly, his eyes gleaming with wicked intent.

His voice drops to a growl. "But you won’t, will you? You’ll do exactly what I say because you love being told what to do. Makes you wet just thinking about it, doesn’t it?"

Your lips part, but the sharp retort you’re trying to form dies as his gaze drops to your hands.

His smirk fades, replaced by a hunger so fierce it leaves you breathless.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rich with satisfaction.

The unexpected praise sends a rush of heat straight to your core. "Keep going. Let me see you do it."

Your fingers tremble as you continue spreading lube on the length of the toy, the silicone cool against your skin.

“Fuck,” Carlos breathes, his hand tightening around his cock. “Look at you, already so obedient. Knew you’d listen.”

He shifts slightly, his voice softening. “Now, spread those legs for me. Show me how wet you are. I want to see that pretty pussy you’ve been thinking about me filling.”

Your thighs part, the cool air brushing against your slick heat as you settle back against the pillows.

His sharp inhale through the speakers sends a jolt straight to your core.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice strained.

His hand pauses on his cock as he drinks in the sight of you, dark eyes dragging over every inch of exposed skin. "You’re so fucking perfect. Do you even realize how bad I want to bury myself in you right now?"

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the heat spreading from your cheeks to your chest as the ache between your thighs sharpens with every passing second of his unrelenting stare.

Slowly, you drag the toy through your folds, the soft, slick sound of your arousal breaking the tense silence.

It’s obscene, the way the wetness clings, glistening on the head of the silicone.

Your arousal drips along your thighs, the skin glistening under the low light and you can feel how messy you’ve become, how utterly soaked you are.

"Oh, sweetheart," he rasps, his eyes fixed on the toy and the way it slides against your swollen folds. "That's it. Get it nice and wet for me. I want to see just how desperate you are to take it."

Your fingers tremble as you position the toy at your entrance, the blunt tip pressing against your slick heat. You hesitate, glancing up at him through the screen.

“Carlos…”

“Go on, baby,” he urges, his tone soft but insistent. “Don’t make me wait. I want to see you take it.”

You bite your lip, a soft whine escaping as you slide the tip between your folds again. His gaze darkens, his strokes faltering as he watches you hover above it.

The moment the dildo breaches the first ring of muscles, your head falls back with a moan that’s nothing short of sinful.

Carlos’s eyes burn through the screen, dark and wild, his fist sliding steadily up and down his cock as he watches you begin to move.

“Fuck, baby, look at you,” he groans, his voice rough and needy. “You’re so fucking tight. That little pussy is made for me, isn’t it?”

You whimper, your hips starting to bounce, your slick heat making it easier to slide up and down. The toy stretches you so perfectly, but it’s his words that send fire shooting through your veins.

“Yes,” you gasp, gripping the bed to keep your balance. “It’s yours, Carlos. Always yours.”

“Damn right it is,” he growls, stroking himself faster. “You'd rather have me inside you, stretching you out, making you scream my name, hm? Doesn't matter if it's a mold from my cock. Still can't compare, yeah?”

Your hips jerk at his filthy words, and you pick up the pace, grinding down harder until the toy presses right against that spot that makes you see stars.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice dripping with dominance. “Say how much you want my cock, baby. Tell me what you miss.”

“I miss you,” you cry out, each bounce making your voice tremble. “Miss the way you fill me up, how fucking deep you get- oh god, Carlos-”

“That’s my girl,” he groans, his jaw tightening as he watches the way your body moves, the slick sounds of the dildo sliding in and out of you driving him insane.

“You’d take me so good, wouldn’t you? Let me fuck you until you can’t even think, until you’re dripping all over my cock.”

“Please,” you whine, your fingers digging into the sheets as the pleasure builds, your body tightening around the toy with every bounce. “I need it. Need you to fuck me, Carlos. Need to feel you come inside me-”

“Shit,” he growls, his hips jerking up into his hand. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Feeling me stretch you open, filling you so full you’d still be dripping with me the next day.”

Your head is spinning, the combination of his words and the relentless drag of the dildo inside you sending you spiraling closer to the edge.

“You’d let me do whatever I want, wouldn’t you?” His voice is a low, dirty rasp now, his strokes frantic as he chases his release. “You’d let me bend you over, fuck you on every surface in the house, make you come over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”

You nod desperately.

“Go faster, baby” Carlos murmurs, his voice low and rough.

You whimper, obeying.

Each downward motion stretches you all over again, and the fullness makes your eyes flutter shut as a moan spills from your lips.

Carlos’s growl cuts through the speakers, low and rough. “You look so pretty fucking yourself on it like that.”

You lift yourself just enough for the toy to drag along your walls, the friction igniting sparks of pleasure that ripple through you.

When you sink back down, the stretch feels even deeper. Your thighs tremble, your pace picking up as the need builds inside you.

“Fuck,” Carlos groans. “Your tits are bouncing so perfectly. Keep going, baby, let me see them move while you ride it.”

Your breasts sway with each bounce, the motion only adding to the heat pooling low in your belly.

The way his eyes lock onto you, dark, hungry, devouring, makes your nipples pebble, the cool air only amplifying the sensation.

“You look so fucking good,” Carlos murmurs, half mindless, his strokes on his cock quickening as he watches you. “Look at how deep it’s stretching you. Look at the way your tits bounce every time you take it. Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

You can’t stop now, the pleasure too much to ignore.

Your hips grind down harder, rolling in small circles as you press yourself against the base of the toy.

Each motion sends shocks of ecstasy through you, your slick heat gripping the silicone like you never want it to leave.

“Bounce on it harder,” he says.

Your hands grip the sheets tightly as you obey, your hips lifting and dropping with more urgency.

The wet, obscene sound of the toy sliding in and out of you fills the room, mixing with your soft gasps and moans. Your breasts bounce with every movement, and you feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

“Baby,” Carlos groans, his fist tightening around his cock as he watches you ride the toy. “You’re so fucking perfect. You’d ride me just like that, wouldn’t you? Taking every inch, letting me stretch you open until you can’t handle it.”

Your breath catches, your body arching as you grind down harder, the toy hitting that perfect spot deep inside you. “Carlos,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “It feels so good- so fucking full-”

“That’s it,” he growls, his strokes turning frantic as he watches you lose yourself. “Take it all, baby. Keep bouncing. I want to see you come while you’re stretched out like that.”

“Yes,” you gasp, your body trembling as you grind harder, your cries turning into broken moans. “Carlos, I’m- fuck, I’m gonna come-”

“Do it,” he growls, his eyes locked on you, his voice pure command. “Come for me, baby. I want to see it. Show me how fucking good I make you feel.”

Your body shatters at his words, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your walls clench around the toy, your cries spilling out uncontrollably as pleasure courses through you.

“Fucking hell,” Carlos groans, his own release hitting him hard as he watches you fall apart. His hand jerks wildly as he spills over himself, his groans mixing with your whimpers through the screen.

As you both come down, the air is thick and charged, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. Carlos grins at you, looking like the devil himself, his chest still heaving.

“Pretty girl.”

—-

Carlos’s phone is propped up against his water bottle, the screen showing you on the other end of the line as the two of you talk over lunch.

He’s at a small café near the gym, picking at a plate of grilled chicken and rice while you sit on the terrace of a restaurant somewhere near the Monaco Marina.

He can’t tell which restaurant exactly, but it doesn’t matter. He’s too focused on the way the sunlight catches in your hair, how you’re picking at a croissant with absentminded precision.

“So, wait,” you say, mid-bite. “You’re telling me you thought you could just wing the French?”

Carlos grins, popping a spoonful into his mouth. “I did wing it. The waiter understood me perfectly.”

“Sure,” you deadpan. “Because pointing at the menu is such a skill.”

He chuckles, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Why complicate things? A man’s gotta eat.”

You shake your head, your exasperation half-hearted at best. “You’re hopeless.”

“Worked, didn't it?” he counters smoothly, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

You roll your eyes but don’t argue, which feels like a victory.

For a moment, the conversation drifts to lighter topics.

Where you’d want to travel next, the chaos of his morning workout, and whether or not croissants count as dessert.

It’s easy, effortless, the kind of back-and-forth that feels like second nature.

But then you glance down, suddenly fidgeting with your sleeve, and Carlos picks up on the shift immediately.

“What’s that face?” he asks, leaning forward, curiosity laced in his tone.

You pause, debating, then sigh. “Can I tell my friends about this?”

Carlos blinks. “This?”

“Us,” you say, casually, but the word lands heavier than you probably realize.

He freezes for a split second, his mind stalling like a rookie stalling a car on the grid.

Us.

You don't mean it in the way that’s currently making his chest feel too tight, but it doesn’t stop the word from echoing in his head.

You take another bite of your croissant like you haven’t just derailed his entire thought process.

“Legally? No.” he says, recovering with a smirk. “You’re under NDA. You can’t even mention I exist.”

Your eyes narrow. “Carlos, no one cares that much about you.”

“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically.

You shake your head, your expression flat. “Be serious. Is it okay or not?”

He leans back, draping an arm over his chair and studying you with an unreadable expression.

The truth is, he should say no. He should remind you how much he values his privacy, how careful he has to be.

But the thought of you talking about him, to your friends, no less, makes him feel... proud. Like he’s somehow made it onto a list of people who matter to you.

“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice casual. “Go ahead.”

“Really?”

“Why not?”

You narrow your eyes, clearly suspicious. “You’re not going to show up at my door with legal threats if I say something stupid?”

“Not unless it’s really stupid,” he teases.

Your unimpressed stare makes him grin wider. “You’re annoying,” you mutter, but your tone lacks any real bite.

“You love me though,” he counters easily.

He watches as your face softens, just for a moment, and something about it makes his heart stutter in a way he’d never admit.

“You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head.

“And you like it,” he fires back, his voice light, though there’s a trace of sincerity underneath it.

The conversation shifts again, and by the time you glance at your watch, he’s already dreading the inevitable.

“I should go,” you say, reaching for your coffee cup.

“Busy?”

“Not really,” you admit, but you’re already sitting straighter, ready to leave.

Carlos hesitates, leaning forward slightly. “Hey.”

You pause, looking up at him expectantly.

“Call me again tomorrow,” he says, softer this time.

Your brow lifts, a flicker of curiosity crossing your face. “Why?”

He shrugs, fighting the grin threatening to take over. “I like hearing your voice.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, you’re about to call him out on it.

But then you roll your eyes, hiding a smile that he doesn’t miss.

“Goodbye, Carlos,” you say, shaking your head as you reach for the screen.

The call ends, and Carlos sits back in his chair, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he stares at the now-empty screen.

Us.

—-

It’s the bimonthly girlfriend meet-up, and Kika’s already locked onto you like a heat-seeking missile.

“So, there’s this guy,” you say casually, swirling your wine like this isn’t about to become the most chaotic conversation of your week.

Her brow arches, her smirk appearing like she’s just been handed premium-grade gossip.

“Oh?” she says, leaning in.

“Yes,” you reply, taking a slow sip from your glass, because wine is courage, and you need a lot of it right now.

“Tell me more,” she says, her tone deceptively sweet, like a predator coaxing its prey closer.

You hesitate. There’s no way you’re telling her the guy in question is Carlos Sainz.

That would be insane. Absolutely unhinged.

One, because it’s Carlos Sainz.

Two, because it’s Carlos fucking Sainz.

“We’ve been… hooking up,” you say vaguely, hoping to skate by with minimal detail.

Kika narrows her eyes. “Hooking up? Where? I haven’t seen you at the club scene lately, and I definitely haven’t heard from Charles about you sneaking out.”

You blink at her. “Why would Charles know- wait. Are you spying on me?”

“No,” she says breezily, waving a hand. “But Charles knows everything about you. If you were sneaking around Monaco with a guy, I’d know by now.”

Kika tilts her head, studying you. “So if it’s not a local guy…”

She pauses. Then her eyes widen. “Oh my God. Is it a long-distance thing? Is this why you’ve been all ‘mysterious vibes’ lately?”

You sigh, realizing you’re caught. “It’s phone sex, okay?”

Kika blinks. “Phone sex?”

“Yes,” you say, downing the rest of your wine in one gulp. “We’re doing… phone stuff.”

She hums, sitting back, her gaze calculating. “It’s a famous guy, isn’t it?”

“What?!” you sputter. “How did you- why would you even-”

“Ma’am, look at you.” She gestures at you like you’re an exhibit at the Louvre. “You’re gorgeous. You’re you. Why would you ever settle for phone sex unless it’s, like, some Vogue model or an A-lister who’s too busy jet-setting to see you in person?”

“That’s ridiculous,” you say, trying to laugh her off, but it sounds more like a dying animal.

Her grin turns absolutely wicked, the kind of wicked that makes you instantly regret ever letting her into your life. “Oh, so it is a famous guy. You just gave yourself away. Who is it? Spill.”

“I did not!” you protest, but it’s weak. Too weak.

Kika hums, tapping a finger on her chin as she tilts her head. “Hmm. Let me think. Is it an actor? A musician? Oh my God, is it Harry Styles? Blink once for yes.”

“Kika-”

“Wait!” She gasps, cutting you off and slapping the table. “Is it a prince? Are you pulling a Meghan Markle? Are we about to be royalty by proxy?”

“Kika!” you hiss, glaring at her as a nearby table turns to look at the commotion.

“Okay, okay, fine. I'll behave.”

“But,” she adds, holding up a finger and wagging it at you, “you can’t just stop there. I want details. Stories. Anecdotes. What have you two done other than, like, phone sex? That can’t be it, right? Kick it up a notch. Spice things up.”

Your face burns, and you take a long, slow sip of your drink, desperately trying to buy time. “We… talk.”

Kika stares at you, unimpressed. “Talk? Oh, please. You’re telling me a man calls you up just to talk?”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Sometimes.”

Her grin turns sharper. “And the other times?”

You look away, pretending to be fascinated by the texture of the tablecloth.

“Oh no,” she says, leaning in like a predator cornering its prey. “You’re not getting out of this. What does he say? What does he do? Don’t make me guess because I will make it a thousand times worse.”

You groan, your head falling into your hands. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I care about you,” she says sweetly, patting your hand before grinning again. “Now spill. What’s the wildest thing he’s done so far? Flown you out to a private island? Sent you a love letter written in champagne? What are we working with here?”

You hesitate. You know telling her anything will only fuel her chaos, but at this point, it feels like you don’t have a choice.

“Fine,” you mumble. “He, um… he sent me a… package.”

You take a long sip of your wine, trying to ignore Kika’s razor-sharp gaze burning into the side of your face.

You shouldn’t have said anything. You really shouldn’t have.

But it’s too late now.

“He sent me a dildo shaped like his cock,” you mutter under your breath, so fast you almost hope she didn’t hear you.

Kika chokes on her wine. Full-on chokes. She’s sputtering, clutching her chest as her eyes go wide.

Meanwhile, you calmly sip your drink, staring at some random painting on the wall like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

“WHAT?!” she finally manages, her voice about three octaves higher than usual.

“I’m not saying it again,” you reply coolly, refusing to meet her gaze.

“He sent you a-” she starts, and then bursts into laughter so loud half the restaurant turns to look at your table.

You shoot her a glare, shushing her. “Could you not announce it to the entire world?”

“Oh my God,” she wheezes, clutching her stomach. “Mr. Mystery sent you a dildo shaped like his cock?!”

You take another sip of wine, your cheeks burning. “It was… thoughtful.”

“THOUGHTFUL?!” she howls. “He’s out here like, ‘What’s a practical gift? Ah, yes, my dick!’”

“It’s not a big deal,” you mumble into your hands, praying the floor will swallow you whole.

“Not a big- ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” She’s laughing so hard she can barely breathe.

“Kika,” you hiss, kicking her under the table.

“That’s so romantic,” she says, ignoring you entirely. “Forget flowers. Forget jewelry. Nothing says love like, ‘Here’s my dick. In case you miss me.’”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Are you kidding? This is the best thing you��ve ever told me,” she says, still grinning like a lunatic.

She leans forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do you… do you keep it on your nightstand? Like, right next to your lamp? Is it displayed like a trophy? Maybe on one of those little velvet stands?”

“Kika!” you hiss, glancing around the café as if someone might overhear this absolute chaos.

Her laughter crescendos, attracting a few curious stares from nearby tables. She waves them off with a flick of her wrist, too far gone to care.

“No, seriously, I need to know. Oh God, imagine if you lose it. Like, it’s just missing one day and you’re crawling around under your couch yelling, ‘Mr. Mystery, where’s your dick?!’”

You groan, your head dropping into your hands. “Can you be serious for one second?”

She sucks in a breath, fanning herself like she’s about to faint. “Okay, okay. Serious. Totally serious. I’m done. Promise.”

You peek at her through your fingers, skeptical. “You sure?”

She nods, biting her lip to stifle another laugh. “Totally. Except… I have one more question.”

You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling like it might grant you patience. “What now?”

She leans in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is it… accurate?”

You freeze, horrified. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” she cries, grabbing your arm before you can stand. She’s laughing again, her grip on your sleeve shaking with the force of it. “Come on, I’m kidding! Mostly. But seriously. Is it accurate? Like, should we call MythBusters?”

You gape at her, flabbergasted. “Why would I answer that?”

“Because I’m dying to know!” she says, eyes gleaming.

You shake her off and reach for your bag. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” she fires back, wagging a finger at you like a smug prosecutor. “Which makes me think it’s very accurate.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown this glass of wine at you.”

“Please,” she scoffs, twirling her straw. “You’d never waste good wine. Now, answer me. Did he measure it himself, or do you think there was a mold involved? Like, did he sit there in some science lab with a team of experts, being all, ‘Make sure you get the angle right!’?”

“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face again.

The two of you quiet down as a waiter approaches your little corner.

It’s quiet for a moment—mercifully quiet.

Kika is vibrating with barely restrained laughter, and you’re praying she doesn’t lose it while he’s standing there.

The waiter sets down your plates, refills your glasses, and gives Kika a quick, confused glance because she’s shaking like a malfunctioning washing machine.

You smile at him—tight, polite, please don’t ask questions, I beg you—and he wisely scurries off.

The second he’s out of earshot, Kika slams her hands on the table, rattling the cutlery. “Let me see it.”

You nearly choke on your own saliva. “What?! No!”

“Why not?” she demands, like this is a perfectly reasonable request.

“Why not? Because we’re in a crowded restaurant, that’s why!” you hiss, clutching your purse like it’s a medieval chastity belt.

She leans forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “So you’re saying there’s a non-crowded situation where you’d show me?”

“That’s not what I said!”

She smirks. “Sure, but you didn’t not say it.”

“Kika, I swear to God-”

“Just one peek,” she pleads, like she’s asking for a bite of your dessert. “Under the table. No one will even notice!”

“Under the- what are you, a contraband dealer?” you whisper-yell. “This is not a shady back-alley dildo exchange!”

She grins, undeterred. “So, what does it look like? Is it… metallic?”

You freeze. “Why would it be metallic?!”

“I don’t know! Maybe it’s fancy. Maybe it’s, like, a collector’s item.”

“It’s not a lightsaber, Kika!”

She gasps, her hand flying to her chest. “Oh my God. Does it light up?!”

“No!”

“Are you sure?” she presses, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe it has LEDs. You know, for… ambiance.”

—

Kika’s obsession with the whole thing also refuses to let up. She knows, and worse, she loves knowing.

It starts small: innocent comments here and there, teasing questions she doesn’t expect you to answer.

But over time, her nosiness evolves into full-blown meddling. She’s not just curious. She’s invested.

And one day, it all comes to a head.

Kika cracks.

Or rather, her big mouth does.

“This is too good,” she hisses over the phone like she’s smuggling state secrets. “I can’t keep it to myself any longer.”

You drop your sandwich mid-bite, the mayo squelching onto the table. “What the hell do you mean you can’t keep it to yourself?”

“This secret,” she says, as if it’s physically weighing her down. “It’s eating me alive. I can’t keep it anymore.”

You groan. “Kika, we’ve talked about this. It’s not your secret to keep.”

“Which is exactly why I need to tell someone!” she snaps, like that’s a logical leap. “It’s not mine! It’s yours! I’m just... borrowing it, and now I’m returning it to the universe.”

“That’s not how secrets work,” you deadpan, rubbing your temples.

“I need to tell someone! Please, let me tell Alex,” she begs, her voice desperate, like she’s asking for kidney donation approval.

You choke. You actually choke, sputtering on your words like a broken engine. “Are you insane? Have you lost what little is left of your mind?”

“She’s so cool! She won’t tell anyone, I swear.” Kika’s tone is sunny, like she’s campaigning for Alex to win Best Confidant of the Year. “She loves secrets! She’s a vault!”

“She’s my brother’s girlfriend! My. Brother’s. Girlfriend.” You emphasize each word like you’re explaining calculus to a toddler.

“And a great secret keeper regardless of who she’s dating!” She chirps, undeterred.

“She’s dating my brother,” you hiss, as if saying it will drive the point home in her thick skull, pacing across your room like a caged animal. “Do you not see the problem here?”

“I see no problem,” she says brightly. “Alex is the Fort Knox of secrets. She’ll take this to her grave.”

“She’ll take it to my brother,” you counter, jabbing the air with your finger even though she can’t see you. “And then my brother will take it to my mom, and then my mom will take it to church, and next thing you know, I’m being exorcised for sins of the phone!”

Kika laughs, the kind of laugh that means she’s not taking you seriously at all. “Don’t be dramatic. Your mom would faint.”

“Kika!” you hiss, lowering your voice even though no one else is in the room. “If you tell her, I swear to God, I’ll... I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Call Mr. Mystery and complain about me?” Her grin is practically audible.

“Yes, and he’ll agree with me!” you snap, clutching your phone so tightly it’s a miracle it doesn’t crack. “Because this is not a group project!”

“Okay, okay!” She gasps, wheezing like she just finished a marathon. “I won’t tell her! I swear!”

You pause, narrowing your eyes even though she can’t see you. “Wait. Really?”

“No,” she says flatly, so matter-of-fact you feel your brain short-circuit. “I’m absolutely telling her. She’s going to lose her mind.”

You let out a shriek so loud your upstairs neighbor thumps on the floor in retaliation. “Kika, if you even breathe a word”

“Just picture it!” she interrupts, steamrolling over your protest. You can hear her bouncing on her bed. “I’ll text her right now. Something casual, like, ‘Hey Alex, you’re never going to believe-’”

“Fine!” you snap, throwing yourself onto the bed so hard the mattress squeaks in protest. “Fine, just tell her! But we do it in the next meet-up! I have to be present to keep your unruly mouth shut!”

Kika lets out an unholy squeal, the kind that makes dogs two blocks over start barking. You yank the phone away from your ear, grimacing.

“This is the best day of my life,” she announces, and you can practically hear her smirk.

“This is the worst day of mine,” you counter, dragging a pillow over your face and screaming into it.

“Relax,” she says breezily. You hear the telltale sound of typing. “Alex is going to eat this up. She loves a little drama.”

You lower the pillow just enough to breathe. “This isn’t drama. This is my life unraveling because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, please. You’re being dramatic,” she says, her tone so casual you almost throw your phone across the room. “It’s not like we're sending the story to Charles. That would be a scandal.”

You sit bolt upright. “Kika, I swear to all that is holy, if this gets back to him-”

“It won’t!” she chirps. “Unless Alex tells him. But she won’t. Probably.”

“Probably?!” Your voice cracks, and you claw at your scalp like you’re trying to yank out the stress by the roots.

“She’s trustworthy! You trust her, right?” Kika says, still typing away.

“No! I don’t trust anyone!” you shout, rolling onto your stomach and pounding your fists into the mattress. “Least of all you!”

Kika laughs so hard she starts coughing. “Oh, you’ll thank me for this one day,” she chokes out between wheezes.

“Unlikely,” you mutter.

“Anyway, gotta go! I’ll let you know if Alex is available next week,” Kika says brightly, and then the call ends before you can respond.

You stare at your phone in silence, a deep sense of dread pooling in your stomach.

Mistakes were made. By you. Specifically by trusting Kika with anything.

—

The restaurant is stupidly fancy, the kind of place where the bread basket comes with a backstory and the waiters judge you if you butter too enthusiastically.

You sit on the terrace, the Mediterranean sparkling behind you like a postcard that refuses to let you forget how expensive everything is.

Your table has a perfect view of the marina, where billionaires are essentially playing a game of “whose yacht is bigger.”

Not that you’re paying attention.

Alex and Kika are too busy ruining your life for you to focus on anything else.

Alex is halfway through her sea bass when you drop the bomb.

She freezes, her knife poised mid-cut, before her hand falls to the table.

Her fork clatters onto the porcelain plate, loud enough to make a few patrons turn their heads.

You wince, sinking lower in your chair.

Across from you, Kika sips her champagne, completely unbothered. She smirks, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“You’re kidding,” Alex says, eyes wide with disbelief.

Kika doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, she’s not kidding,” she says, swirling her glass lazily. “She’s dead serious.”

You squirm under Alex’s gaze, picking at your lobster ravioli like it might swallow you whole if you wish hard enough. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble.

Alex snorts, an uncharacteristically undignified sound for someone who normally looks like she belongs on the cover of Vogue.

“Not a big deal?” she repeats, her voice rising just enough to make you glance nervously at the tables around you.

“Shut it. People are going to hear,” you hiss.

“Oh, darling,” Kika cuts in, her grin widening. “If people heard, they’d ask for more details. Probably start taking notes.”

Alex ignores her, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table, etiquette be damned.

“You’re telling me you’ve been having phone sex with some elite celebrity and it’s ‘not a big deal?’”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Can we not call it that?”

“What would you prefer?” Kika asks, her eyes practically sparkling. “Verbal intimacy? Oral storytelling?”

“I hate you both,” you mutter.

Alex waves her off, laser-focused on you. “And the… gift?” she asks, voice dripping with disbelief. “Are we glossing over the fact that he sent you a dildo?”

“It was thoughtful,” Kika offers, deadpan, before taking another sip of champagne.

“Stop helping,” you snap at her.

“I mean, really,” Alex continues, ignoring the interruption. “The man is rich, probably gorgeous to somehow convince you to give him a chance, could maybe have anyone he wants- and he’s doing phone sex with you?”

You glare at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You know what I mean,” she says, brushing off your sarcasm. “Why would he go through all this effort unless-” She stops, her eyes narrowing slightly like she’s just cracked the Da Vinci Code.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” you ask, already dreading whatever is coming next.

“That man is in love with you,” Alex declares, her tone final, like she’s just announced a royal decree.

You choke on air, coughing so violently that Kika reaches over to thump your back, more amused than concerned. “He is not in love with me!” you wheeze.

“He absolutely is,” Alex insists, sitting back and crossing her arms.

“That’s a huge leap,” you argue, waving your hands in front of you. “How do you get ‘in love’ from… from phone sex and-” You gesture vaguely. “Other things?”

Alex doesn’t blink. “He’s a famous athlete, right?”

“Sure,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “So?”

“So,” she says, leaning forward, “he’s settling for phone sex instead of hooking up with someone in person? That doesn’t happen unless he’s in love.”

“It’s not settling!” you argue, flailing slightly. “It’s convenient! We have an NDA; it’s low effort!”

“Low effort?” Alex raises an eyebrow. “More low effort than walking into a club and taking his pick of willing women?”

“Well… yeah!”

Kika cackles, nearly spilling her drink. “Oh, babe. You really think you’re less effort? That’s adorable.”

You glare at her, but Alex presses on, relentless. “Does he do this with anyone else?”

“How would I know that?” you snap.

“Ask him,” Alex says simply, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.

“Absolutely not!”

“Oh, come on,” Kika says, grinning. “Just casually drop it into conversation. ‘Hey, Mr. Mystery, quick question: am I your only long-distance dirty talk partner, or is this a group activity?’”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m not asking him that.”

“Why not?” Alex demands, cutting into her sea bass like this conversation isn’t actively ruining your life. “If it’s no big deal, he won’t mind. And if he does mind, well…” She trails off, her smirk infuriatingly smug.

“Then you’ll know he’s in love with you!” Kika chimes in, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Or he’ll think I’m insane,” you shoot back.

Alex shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Either way, it’s good information to have.”

You sit back in your chair, glaring at the two of them as they sip their champagne like this is the most entertaining lunch they’ve ever had.

“You two are the worst,” you mutter.

Kika raises her glass in a mock toast. “To Mr. Mystery and his poor, emotionally repressed heart.”

Alex clinks her glass against Kika’s with a soft laugh. “And to you,” she adds, “the object of his inconvenient affections.”

You consider grabbing their glasses and chucking them into the marina, but that would only prove their point.

Instead, you stab your ravioli with far more force than necessary, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

Mistakes. So many mistakes.

—

You can’t stop thinking about it.

Carlos. In love with you.

The concept is so utterly ridiculous you actually laugh to yourself, out loud, like a complete maniac.

Because Carlos isn’t in love with you.

That’s not how this works. Carlos doesn’t do “love.” Carlos doesn’t do you.

Well, okay, he does you in certain… contexts, but that’s beside the point.

The point is, Carlos is like a human golden retriever with too much charm for his own good.

He’s nice to everyone. He flirts with everyone. He probably gives everyone those stupid lingering looks that make your knees go weak.

He doesn’t fall in love. And if he did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be with you.

But the thought won’t leave your brain. It’s set up camp there, pitching a tent and roasting marshmallows over the fire of your own self-doubt.

And then the photo happens.

It’s a normal day.

Quiet. Peaceful, even.

You’re in bed scrolling through your phone, feeling pretty good about life.

You’ve got coffee on the nightstand, a blanket wrapped around you, and a vague sense of superiority because you haven’t thought about Carlos in at least six hours.

Then his face pops up on your feed.

Carlos, golden and gorgeous, lounging on a yacht like he’s auditioning for a Bond movie. He’s shirtless, of course. Because of course he is. The sun catches in his hair, and his jawline looks so sharp it could cut glass.

You don’t even blink.

You’re too used to this by now. This is just Carlos being Carlos.

But then you see her.

The girl.

She’s pressed up against him, all long legs and glossy hair and perfect teeth. She’s laughing, her hand resting casually, possessively, on his chest like it’s hers to touch.

Your stomach does something horrifying, like it’s trying to fold in on itself.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. This is normal. Carlos is always surrounded by beautiful women. This means nothing.

But the way he’s looking at her…

You throw your phone across the bed like it just personally insulted you.

Then you lie back and stare at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself you’re not spiraling.

Spoiler alert: you’re totally spiraling.

Which is how you end up calling Kika and Alex.

Because misery loves company, and also because you’re desperate for someone to tell you you’re not crazy.

“Hello?” Kika answers, far too cheerful for your current mood.

“I need help,” you blurt out.

“What kind of help?” she asks cautiously.

“Emotional help,” you say dramatically. “I’m having an existential crisis.”

“Of course you are,” she says. “Hang on, I’m adding Alex.”

“No, don’t-”

Too late. Alex’s voice cuts in, already exasperated. “What happened now?”

“He posted a photo,” you mumble, already regretting this.

“Okay…” Alex says slowly. “And?”

“And there was a girl in it,” you say, your voice climbing an octave.

“Oh my God,” Kika groans.

Alex sighs. “Let me guess. Hot girl, hand on his chest, looking like she just stepped out of a magazine?”

“Exactly!” you exclaim, sitting up. “How do you always know?”

“Because this happens every time,” he says dryly. “It’s cliche at this point. You're a walking cliche.”

You whine. “He looked… happy.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kika asks, “Are you drunk?”

“No!”

“Okay, just checking,” she says. “Because you sound drunk. Or insane. Possibly both.”

“I’m being serious!” you say, flopping back onto the bed. “What if he actually likes her?”

“Then he’s an idiot,” Alex says without hesitation.

“You don’t even know who she is!”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “No one’s better than you.”

You groan. “That’s not helpful.”

“Look,” Kika cuts in, her tone gentler now. “You’ve got two options. One, you ask him about it. Two, you do what you always do and overthink yourself into oblivion.”

“Three,” Alex adds, “you block him, move to a remote island, and live off coconuts for the rest of your life.”

“I hate both of you,” you mutter.

“No, you don’t,” Kika says sweetly. “Now, are you going to talk to him or not?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “What if I ask and he laughs at me? Or worse, what if he doesn’t care?”

“Then you’ll know,” Alex says simply.

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it?

Knowing.

Because right now, as painful as it is, not knowing still feels safer than finding out the truth.

“Thanks, guys,” you say finally.

“Anytime,” Kika says. “Now go stalk his Instagram and cry into your coffee like a normal person.”

“Bye,” you grumble, hanging up.

You stare at the ceiling for a long time after that, the ache in your chest refusing to fade.

—

So, you cut him off.

Not all at once, because that would be too obvious, and God forbid Carlos Sainz think you’re actually affected by anything he does.

No, you do it slowly, carefully, like easing out of a party you didn’t really want to attend in the first place.

At first, it’s just a delay in your replies. Not anything dramatic, just enough to make it seem like you’ve got better things to do than hang on his every word.

When he sends a text, you leave it unread for an hour. Maybe two.

(Okay, fine, sometimes you read it immediately and then stare at your phone for thirty minutes trying not to reply, but that’s beside the point.)

When you do respond, you keep it short. Curt, even. No emojis, no playful banter, just cold, functional sentences.

Carlos How’s your day going?

You Busy

Carlos Busy with what?

You Work

He doesn’t push, which is somehow worse.

You want him to notice, to ask what’s wrong, to demand answers you’re not prepared to give. But he doesn’t.

He just keeps texting you, the same way he always has, like nothing’s changed.

When he asks to call, you tell him you’re busy. Which is technically true, if “busy” includes reorganizing your spice rack and watching sad movies while eating ice cream straight out of the tub.

It’s not immediate, but it’s different.

The rhythm of your conversations shifts, the easy flow replaced by stilted exchanges that feel like wading through molasses.

The worst part is how much it hurts.

Because cutting him off isn’t supposed to hurt you. It’s supposed to make things better. Easier. Less messy.

But instead, you’re walking around like some tragic romantic hero, clutching your metaphorical wounds and waiting for someone to ask why you look so miserable.

You try to distract yourself.

You download a meditation app, but the soothing voice telling you to “release your tension” only makes you think about how Carlos used to tease you for clenching your jaw when you were stressed.

You go out with friends, laughing too loud and drinking too much, but every time your phone buzzes, you can’t stop yourself from hoping it’s him.

It usually is.

Carlos Did I do something

You Just busy

Carlos Are you mad at me

You No

You toss your phone onto the couch and stare at it like it’s personally betrayed you. He’s starting to notice, which is both validating and soul-crushing.

Because if he notices, then maybe, just maybe, he actually cares.

And if he actually cares, then maybe cutting him off isn’t the answer.

But then you remember the photo. The girl. The way he looked at her.

And you remind yourself that Carlos Sainz isn’t yours. He never was.

So you keep going.

You tell yourself it’ll get easier. That eventually, his texts will stop coming, and the ache in your chest will fade, and you’ll finally be free of whatever this is.

But for now, you’re just sad and tired and watching Pride & Prejudice for the third time this week, convincing yourself you’re Elizabeth Bennet and he’s Mr. Darcy, except there’s no grand declaration at the end.

There’s just silence.

—

It's one of those times where you answer Carlos' call so he doesn't think you're actively avoiding him.

You’re stretched out on your couch, half-listening as Carlos narrates the chaos of his day, his voice flitting between amusement and exaggerated frustration.

“…and then they tell me the setup’s wrong, again, so I had to sit there, listening to engineers argue for an hour. An hour! I’m telling you, I deserve a medal just for staying awake.”

“Tragic,” you reply, dry as ever. “Truly, you’re the unsung hero of motorsport.”

“Exactly!” he exclaims, his tone shifting as if you’ve validated some grand injustice. “Finally, someone understands.”

You hear the faint rustle of fabric, the soft creak of leather, and you know he’s probably leaning back in one of those expensive chairs he likes so much, the ones you tease him about.

It’s a scene you’ve imagined a thousand times—so familiar it borders on comforting.

“So,” he says, drawing out the word like he’s gearing up for something. “Guess where I am right now?”

“Let me think,” you say. “Some glamorous location with a ridiculous view and an overpriced minibar?”

“Close,” he says, and you can hear the grin tugging at his words. “I’m in Monaco.”

Your heart stumbles, just a little, just enough to be annoying, but you keep your voice casual. “Oh, the usual playground of the rich and famous. How very you.”

“Hey, it’s practically home,” he teases, and the warmth in his tone makes your stomach twist. “And speaking of home… aren’t you supposed to be here too? Isn’t that, like, the whole point of being Monegasque?”

You hesitate, just for a beat, but it’s long enough.

“…Wait,” he says, his voice sharpening with suspicion. “You’re not here, are you?”

“I’m in Italy,” you admit, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere closer to forced.

There’s a pause, the kind of silence that feels heavier than it should. “Italy?” he repeats, his voice carefully light, like he’s trying not to make something of it. “What are you doing there?”

“Just am,” you say, shrugging even though he can’t see it.

“Right,” he says slowly, and you can feel the weight of his thoughts pressing through the line.

He doesn’t push it, though, because Carlos is a lot of things, but he’s not the kind of person who asks questions he’s not ready to hear the answers to.

He shifts the conversation after that, steering it back to safer waters.

He tells you about a restaurant he tried, about the ridiculous amount of traffic on his way to the track.

You laugh in the right places, make snarky comments when it’s expected, and for a while, it feels almost normal.

But it’s not.

The photo lingers in the back of your mind like a ghost. Her hand on his chest, his easy grin, the effortless way they fit together.

You thought you could handle it. Thought you could keep things light and easy, pretend that the photo didn’t bother you, that you hadn’t spent an embarrassing amount of time dissecting every pixel like it held some kind of secret truth.

But now, sitting here, listening to him ramble on about his day like everything’s fine, you’re not so sure.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, breaking the flow of his own story. His voice is quieter now, more thoughtful. “You’ve been kind of… off lately. Is everything okay?”

Your breath catches, just for a second.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, too quickly.

There’s a pause, just long enough for you to know he doesn’t believe you.

But he doesn’t call you on it. He just hums softly, like he’s letting you have this one.

The conversation winds down after that. He says something about an early meeting, and you use it as an excuse to end the call.

—

Carlos has a suspicion you’re avoiding him.

Or maybe, just maybe, Charles Leclerc has turned into some kind of shadowy mastermind, meticulously coordinating Carlos’s travel schedule just so he can keep you two apart.

It’s ridiculous, sure, but how else do you explain it?

When Carlos is in Monaco, you’re in Italy. When he’s in Italy, you’re in Mallorca. When he’s in Mallorca, you’ve suddenly jetted off to Switzerland, of all places.

It’s like you’ve taken on the role of “Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?” with unsettling precision, a game he didn’t even know he was playing until now.

At first, he tried to laugh it off.

Told himself it was just bad timing, a string of coincidences that would eventually break in his favor.

But now? Now it feels deliberate. Calculated. And the worst part is, he knows you. Knows you well enough to feel the subtle shift in the air between you, like a storm quietly gathering on the horizon.

He’s tried to tell himself he’s overthinking it.

That you’ve just been busy, that your life doesn’t revolve around him and his schedule.

But the excuses are starting to ring hollow, even to his own ears.

The delayed responses to his texts. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes when he finally does manage to catch you available for a call.

And now, sitting alone in his Monaco apartment, his phone resting on the coffee table in front of him like a lifeline you’ve left dangling just out of reach, Carlos can’t shake the weight that’s settled in his chest.

You’re pulling away.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, sudden and brutal.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands running through his hair as he stares at the floor.

His heart feels heavy, tangled up in a mess of confusion and hurt and something he doesn’t want to name.

Why? That’s the question that keeps circling back.

Why are you doing this? Why now, when he feels like he’s finally starting to understand just how much you mean to him?

His mind races, replaying every interaction, every conversation, searching for the moment he might’ve pushed you away without realizing it.

Did he say something? Did he not say enough?

“Dios,” he mutters under his breath, his voice thick with frustration.

He doesn’t want to think it, doesn’t want to believe it, but the thought won’t leave him alone: maybe you’ve finally gotten tired of him.

The idea makes his chest ache, a dull, hollow pain that spreads until it feels like it’s consuming him.

He doesn’t want to lose you, doesn’t want to let go of the quiet moments, the shared laughs, the way you make him feel like he can just be for once.

But what can he do? He can’t force you to stay, can’t make you want him if you don’t.

He picks up his phone, his thumb hovering over your name in his messages and sends a message before he chickens out.

Carlos Where are you right now?

You Still hoping for that coffee date, huh?

Carlos Always

You …Paris

Carlos frowns at his phone, and you can almost hear the mental gears grinding in his head. Paris. Of course, it’s Paris. Because why wouldn’t it be?

Carlos Okay, I’m going there.

Your phone buzzes immediately, the boldness of his response catching you off guard.

You What?

You ARE YOU SERIOUS???

Carlos Yes.

You Carlos, you can’t just drop everything and fly to Paris.

Carlos Watch me.

You stare at your phone, torn between laughing and rolling your eyes. This is insane. You text him back, unsure if you want to be mad or amused.

You This is insane.

Carlos No, it’s determination.

You It’s bordering on stalker behavior.

Carlos Then stop running from me.

You I’m not running!

Carlos You’re in a different country every time I blink. Sounds like running.

You It’s called having a life.

Carlos A life that conveniently never overlaps with mine. Carlos Got it.

You Carlos, I swear to God if you actually come here

He doesn’t reply. The silence settles in, and you think that’s the end of it. Carlos is too sensible to drop everything and fly to Paris, right? Right?

Wrong.

Three hours later, you’re in your hotel room, scrolling through your phone while you regret the third croissant you scarfed down earlier, when you hear a knock at the door.

You frown, setting your phone down. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Another knock, this time more insistent.

Curious, you peek through the peephole. And there he is.

Carlos Sainz.

Standing in the hallway, casually leaning against the doorframe, holding a bouquet of flowers like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Your jaw drops.

You swing the door open before you can think better of it. “What are you doing here?”

Carlos shrugs, flowers in hand. “You said Paris.”

“That wasn’t an invitation!” you hiss, your eyes darting up and down the hallway as if expecting paparazzi to jump out from behind the elevator.

“Seemed like one to me,” he says, unfazed, like he’s the most logical person in the universe. “Besides, I brought flowers. That makes it okay.”

You stand there, staring at him, completely caught between laughing and slamming the door in his face. “This is… I don’t even have words.”

“‘Thank you’ works,” he suggests, stepping past you as if he has every right to be there, dropping onto the armchair with the ease of someone who’s been invited to stay.

“Excuse me-” you splutter, still holding the flowers, but too stunned to do anything with them.

Carlos stretches his legs out in front of him like he’s planning to stay a while. “Nice room. Cozy.”

“You can’t just-” You gesture wildly at him, still holding the flowers like they’re some kind of shield. “Carlos, this is insane!”

“What’s insane,” Carlos says, his voice slicing through the heavy silence, “is how hard you’ve been avoiding me.”

The words hit you like a sharp slap, cutting through the thin armor you’ve been clinging to.

You wince, his accusation landing squarely on the truth you’ve been trying so desperately to bury.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you say, but even as the words leave your mouth, they feel hollow.

A poor, pathetic attempt to cover up the obvious.

His eyes narrow. “Yes, you are,” he replies, his voice edged with a kind of raw frustration you’ve never heard from him before. “You’ve been avoiding me, pulling away like I’ve done something-”

He leans forward, his knuckles white from how hard he’s clenching them. “Did I do something? Tell me, please.”

You shake your head quickly, your chest tightening. “No, Carlos, you didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice cracks, rising just enough to make you flinch. There’s a tremor in his tone, something that tells you this isn’t just frustration- it’s pain.

Your mind races, heart pounding against your ribcage like it’s trying to escape. You can’t look at him.

You can’t meet his eyes because you know what you’ll see there: vulnerability. A rawness you’re too afraid to face.

“I told you, I’m not avoiding you,” you say again, but your voice wavers. The lie cracks as it leaves your lips.

Carlos exhales sharply, a bitter, humorless laugh escaping him. “Really? That’s what you’re going with? You’re not avoiding me? Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell feels like you are.”

His voice lowers, softer now but no less piercing. “You’ve been ignoring my calls, dodging my texts. You won’t even look at me right now.”

He pauses, his voice dropping even further, his words so quiet they’re barely a whisper. “It’s like you’re disappearing right in front of me.”

“I’ve been busy,” you mumble weakly, knowing even as you say it how ridiculous it sounds.

“Busy,” he repeats, dragging the word out like it physically pains him to say it. “Right. Busy. Of course. That’s your excuse? That’s all you’ve got?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he steamrolls ahead, his voice rising in disbelief. “Do you think I’m stupid? Is that it? Like I haven’t noticed you pulling some kind of secret agent disappearing act every time I’m within a five-mile radius?”

“I’m not-”

“Oh, please!” he cuts you off, throwing his hands up dramatically. “When I was in Monaco, you were in Italy. When I was in Italy, you were in Mallorca. When I was in Mallorca, you went to Paris. I thought you cared about the planet!”

“I had a reason!” you defend weakly.

“Oh, sure. Let me guess. You were ‘busy.’” He uses air quotes this time, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Busy doing what? Hiding in the catacombs so I wouldn’t find you?”

“Carlos-”

“No, seriously! Are you Carmen Sandiego? Did you take on a secret job as an international spy and forget to tell me? Because at this point, that’s the only explanation that makes any sense!”

You can’t help it.

A small, nervous laugh escapes you, but it’s swallowed by the look he gives you, a mix of exasperation and something rawer, something vulnerable that wipes the humor from your face instantly.

“I’m serious,” he says, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “Why are you doing this? What happened? Did I do something?”

“No!” you blurt out, the word rushing out of you like a reflex. “You didn’t do anything-”

“Then what?” he demands, stepping closer, his brows furrowed. “Why does it feel like every time I try to get close to you, you’re already halfway out the door? What is it? Did I say something? Did I forget something important? Did I-”

“Stop!” you snap, your voice louder than you intended, cutting him off mid-spiral. “You didn’t do anything, okay? It’s me!”

He freezes, his hands hovering in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “What do you mean, it’s you?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t do this anymore, Carlos. I can’t keep pretending like this, like we, don’t mean more to me than it should.”

His brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face. “What are you talking about? What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m in love with you, okay?” you blurt out, the words tumbling out of you before you can stop them.

Your hands fly to your face, your voice shaking as you add, “Not as a joke. Not as a friend. Not in some ‘haha, Carlos is cute, what if’ kind of way. I’m in love with you, and it’s ruining me, and now I’ve said it, and- oh my God- I’m going to vomit-”

“Wait, what?” Carlos interrupts, his voice a mix of shock and something dangerously close to hope.

“You heard me!” you snap, your hands still covering your face as you pace in frantic little circles. “I’m in love with you, and now I’ve ruined everything, and you’re going to freak out and leave, and then I’ll have to fake my death and move to Antarctica and befriend a penguin colony-”

“Will you stop?” he cuts in, grabbing your arm to stop your pacing. “Just- stop for a second, okay?”

You yank your arm back instinctively, shaking your head. “No, I can’t stop! Because if I stop, I’m going to have to look at you, and if I look at you, I’m going to see the exact moment you decide this is too much, and you walk out of my life forever, and I’m not emotionally equipped for that-”

“Would you listen to me?” he shouts, his voice startling you into silence.

His hands fall to his sides, his eyes locking on yours with a desperate kind of intensity. “I’m not walking out of your life, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Jesus, do you really think so little of me?”

Your lip wobbles, your voice breaking. “You don’t get it. You’ll leave.”

He lets out a laugh. Sharp, exasperated, and a little unhinged. “I’m in love with you, you absolute idiot.”

You freeze. Your brain is refusing to process what he just said. “What?”

“I said I’m in love with you,” he repeats, louder this time, as if yelling the words will hammer them into your skull.

“Have been since the first night, I think. Do you honestly believe I’d fly halfway across the world, lose sleep, and spam you with dog pictures because I don’t love you?”

You stare at him, mouth agape. “You- what?”

“Yes!” he throws his hands up, pacing like he’s been holding this in for years and it’s physically painful to let it out. “God, how do you not see it? I thought I was being so obvious!”

Your brain is scrambling for any coherent thought, but instead, all you manage is: “Then who was that girl?”

Carlos blinks at you, mid-rant. “What girl?”

You fumble for your phone like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment to catch him red-handed.

Opening Instagram with trembling fingers, you shove the screen in his face, pointing at the offending photo. “This girl. The one on the yacht!”

He squints at the screen, then back at you, his brow furrowing.

“That’s my cousin, Marina.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

“My cousin,” he says again, slower this time, as though you might be hard of hearing. “She’s married to a guy named Tomás. I was literally holding her bag while she FaceTimed her kids.”

You gape at him, the ground beneath you threatening to swallow you whole. “Oh.”

Carlos stares at you, his mouth falling open. Then it clicks. “Oh my God. Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were ghosting me because you thought I was on a yacht with my cousin?” he demands, his voice climbing into incredulous territory.

“It looked bad!” you squeak, the heat in your face making it impossible to look him in the eye. “I didn’t know she was your cousin! She was all- touchy!”

“She was showing me pictures of her dog!” he cries, like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation.

You clutch your head, feeling both humiliated and mildly hysterical. “I’m an idiot. I’m the biggest idiot alive.”

“No arguments there,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, then fixing you with a look that’s somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You honestly thought I’d just…what? Post my side chick on Instagram for you to see?”

“I didn’t know what to think!” you snap, burying your face in your hands. “I panicked, okay? My brain spiraled!”

Carlos lets out a disbelieving laugh, pacing a tight circle like he’s trying to figure out how he got here. “So instead of asking me, you just…decided to ignore me? For weeks?”

“I said I panicked!” you groan, peeking at him through your fingers, mortified.

He stares at you for a beat, then pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath in Spanish. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”

Your heart lurches, but you’re still too mortified to fully process it. “You can’t possibly still love me after this.”

“Oh, I can,” he says dryly, crossing his arms. “But I’m definitely telling Marina about this. She’s going to think it’s hilarious.”

“No!” you cry, lunging forward and grabbing his arm. “Carlos, I swear to God, if you tell your cousin-”

He grins, all smug amusement now, his earlier frustration melting away. “I’ll think about keeping it a secret. On one condition.”

“What condition?” you ask warily.

“You stop ghosting me,” he says simply, his voice softening as his eyes meet yours. “And maybe…start trusting me a little more?”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of your own stupidity pressing down on you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, looking at the floor. “I really messed this up.”

“Yeah, you did,” he agrees, but there’s no bite to his words. He tilts your chin up so you have no choice but to look at him. “But you can make it up to me. Dinner tomorrow?”

You nod, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at your lips. “Okay.”

“And for the record,” he adds, smirking, “if you ever ghost me again, I’m showing up with a mariachi band.”

You groan, shoving him lightly as he laughs, but you can’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. Somehow, against all odds, he’s still yours.

---

@lilorose25 @widow-cevans @mderby03 @zyklion @papichulomacy @irisesinthegarden @leclercdream @moonvr @ilovemeni @iamdedsthingz @shwnirwin @softhecreator @claimingharrystigertattoo @5sospenguinqueen @wadupppdylan-blog @waytooobsessedwithlife @weekendlusting

[grandline-fics]

Can you do the nightmare wedding scenario with Luffy, Sanji, and Ussop

DESCRIPTION: They have a nightmare that you marry someone else

WARNINGS: little bit of brief angst/insecurity but it's kept light for the most part

CHARACTERS: Luffy, Usopp | Law, Zoro, | Ace, Shanks, Mihawk, Kid, Katakuri

WORDS: 1,653

A/N: Thank you for the request. I loved the past versions of this prompt so I was happy to return to it. Sadly I wasn't able to think of something unique for Sanji so left it to just Luffy and Usopp. It's my first time writing for Usopp so hopefully I got his character right and that you like what I came up with for this.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

LUFFY

Love was a word Luffy knew a great deal about in all of its various meanings and depths. He loved freedom and adventure, discovering each new island and opportunity to explore like a restless electricity ran through his nerves. His love for food and fun was quite literally sating a deep hunger leaving him content and filled. The love he had for his brothers was deep and intense, sadly sometimes painful but it was a hurt he bore willingly and without complaint. His crew and friends brought out a love that left him feeling stronger, fierce, and determined to protect. 

You were all those feelings wrapped into one amazing person that Luffy knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t be without. Being separated from you for two years and losing Ace had been the massive wake up call to his feelings for you. He truly didn’t think he would ever have to endure that sharp twisting feeling of shock and pain when it came to you again. Oh how wrong he was because now here he stood looking at your smiling so brightly and staring at only Trafalgar Law with your entire attention raptly on the other Captain, your hand interwoven and anchored into his; refusing to let go. 

On the one hand, seeing you smile made Luffy want to smile too but on the other hand, why did you have to be looking at his supposed ally like that? Robin had warned him that pirate alliances usually ended up in betrayal but this was a hundred times worse than what he ever could have imagined. Then it got worse when Luffy stared in horror as you and Law exchanged rings and vowed to be each other’s spouse forever and complete the declaration with a kiss. 

With a yell Luffy woke, launching himself out onto the floor. In his dream he’d tried to leap between you and Law before your lips could connect but he had been so tightly invested in it that his actions had carried through his subconscious. Groggily he rubbed his eyes and got to his feet blearily looking around the empty Crow’s Nest. The memory of the dream fresh in his mind, Luffy wasted no further time in racing down the mast and to the sleeping quarters. 

The door slammed open loudly causing you to wake with a jolt, eyes barely opened and alarmed when you felt someone leap onto your bed and grip your shoulders. Instinctively you grabbed the person’s wrists and blinked through your tiredness to become even more confused to see Luffy staring at you intensely. “Wh- what’s… Luffy? What’s wrong?”

“As your Captain you’re not allowed to marry Tra-guy ever!” His order did nothing to help bring you out of the heavy fog of sleep. You scrunched your face up in confusion, you recognised the words but the context of the order just didn’t make sense. 

“Marry Law?” You mumbled with a yawn. “What’d’you mean?”

“I know he’s smart and whatever but this is your crew. You can’t leave-”

“Luffy.” You stopped your Captain with a light squeeze of his hand and smiled at him sleepily. “I’m not leaving the crew, relax.” Your voice was soothing at it was a relief to hear you say you weren’t leaving but still Luffy couldn’t shake the uncomfortable twist in his stomach. 

Feeling your hands over his helped with ridding him of the image of Law’s hands over yours. Luffy took a breath and kept his gaze on you, heavily frowning at your lips, the image of Law’s about to claim yours making him glare. Before you could ask what was wrong you blinked in surprise when Luffy kissed you. It wasn't the first time you’d kissed, your relationship with the Captain was one neither of you really thought to put a label on, just deciding to enjoy how things naturally progressed. This was the first time however that Luffy’s lips pressed against yours so insistently, like he was trying to prove something.

Given his confusing statement about you and Law marrying you could connect the dots now that you’d woken enough. With a smile you pulled back and lifted your hands away to wrap Luffy into a hug and lay back down on the bed. Your smile grew when Luffy adjusted his arms to hold you tightly, your body already feeling the pull to go back to sleep. As you smiled contently you tucked your head under Luffy’s chin, falling back to sleep to the sleepy mumbles of your Captain cursing out Law for being an idiot if he thought he could ever have you.

USOPP

“Usopp! I have to tell someone before I burst!” Your excited voice shot through his concentration as he sat working in his workshop. Immediately Usopp turned to smile at you, his own excitement mirroring yours. You were truly the only one that was capable of stealing his attention no matter what the situation. You slid to a stop in front of him, hands reaching out instinctively to take his into your hold, your excitement only growing with each second. “I can’t believe this is happening!”

“Well come on, tell me already!” Usopp laughed trying to keep you concentrated on the mystery topic that he now couldn’t wait to be part of. 

“I’m getting married!” Your exclamation caused Usopp’s face to freeze in shock, his previous smile twitching into one of disbelief, thinking you were pulling a prank on him. How could you get married? He hadn’t proposed to you yet. While you’d both been together for a while and he loved you, he’d been too much of a coward to say those three little but massive words to you. Mostly he told himself it was too soon, really though he’d convinced himself that if he did confess the full weight of his feelings to you, you’d crush him by saying you didn’t feel the same.

“O-oh! Th-that’s…great!” He forced out tightly, unwilling to see you upset for not taking your news well. “Wh-who’s the lucky guy?“

“That’s the amazing thing!” You all but swooned as you thought about your betrothed. “He’s a real hero and warrior! So brave and strong, you’ll love him! Promise you’ll come to the wedding, please Usopp?” Your request was spoken so sweet and earnestly that again, despite the painful punch to his heart Usopp refused to show it. Unable to say no he ground his teeth together before forcing himself to nod, flinching when you let out a cheer and threw your arms around him to hug him tightly, thanking him.

In the blink of an eye you were no longer hugging him and Usopp was no longer in the workshop. Instead he stood on the deck of the Sunny, hearing the rest of the crew laughing happily as they waited for the wedding to start. Usopp kept his head down, trying to avoid the reality of the situation for as long as he could. When your laughter sounded Usopp slowly looked up and let out a shriek of shock to see who your were marrying standing at the altar, arms folded tightly and face completely hidden by the all too familiar mask. “Sogeking?!” He demanded in disbelief managing to stagger over to you, his head spinning at the development. How was this even possible? “You’re marrying Sogeking?”

“Of course!” You beamed, oblivious to Usopp’s distress as you left Usopp’s side to approach his secret persona. “Look at him. Isn’t he perfect? There’s no one else I’d ever consider marrying. Only him.”

With a gasp Usopp woke and covered his eyes, slowly working on calming his breathing as he realised everything was a dream. Just a stupid dream. Sighing in relief he rolled his eyes at his own silly mind. Of course it was a dream. Then his mind began to stir up uncomfortable thoughts once more. Why were you with a coward like him? He wouldn’t blame you for choosing someone else to marry. Just as he was about to spiral more, he jumped in surprise when you rolled over in your sleep, your arms tightening over his as your lay your head on his shoulder. As if sensing how tense he was, you stirred and woke with a small sleepy hum. “Usopp?”

“I’m okay…”

“Liar.” You sleepily mumbled, pulling yourself closer lifting your head up to press a small kiss to his cheek. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah…” Usopp sighed, moving to hold you close. You always could see through him. Swallowing hard, he began to think of the deeper meaning the dream must have had and cleared his throat. Bracing himself he blurted out. “I love you.”

“Usopp.” Usopp flinched and prepared himself for your rejection but it didn’t come. Instead you sat up to face him fully, smiling happier than he’d ever seen you show before. “I love you too.”

“Thank goodness! I thought you’d call me an idiot or something…” He sighed with a nervous laugh. You smiled softly, shaking your head at your boyfriend’s timid nature. You knew he could be brave when he needed to be, it was just a shame he didn’t have the same amount of faith in himself that you had in him. “Also, you should know I’m Sogeking. No one else. If anyone says they are, they’re lying. Okay?”

You stared at Usopp in surprise. You and everyone on the crew- except for Luffy and Chopper- knew that Usopp was Sogeking. It was obvious but you didn’t have the heart to disappoint him by telling him that so instead you slowly nodded. “Thank you for trusting me with the truth. You really must love me to tell me that.”

“Of course I do!” Usopp declared, offering you a proud grin as you kissed his forehead and lay back down, allowing him to hold you close and sleep dreams better than his last one.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost

[zombeesknees]

#i don’t think we give keaton!bruce enough credit for his flirting game #he feels this is the perfect time and place - mid-catwoman straddle - for a BOTANICAL FUN FACT #100% convinced that is the thing to say in this scenario (he is correct) #i want him carnally

Batman Returns (1992) Dir. Tim Burton

[nanamineedstherapy]

Controversial Opinion: The Anti-Sugar Baby Manifesto

Okay, so... does anyone else not want to be Nanami’s sugar baby, Gojo’s dependent, Sukuna’s servant, or insert your favorite emotionally unavailable man’s sidekick?

I’ve read (and loved!) plenty of fics where the reader is in one of these roles. And honestly, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying them—power to you if that’s your vibe! But if we’re talking canon or even slightly realistic scenarios… yeah, I just can’t.

Before you start throwing tomatoes 🍅, hear me out. I promise this isn’t a hate post—just my thots.

Alright, buckle up because I’m about to destroy your sugar baby and servant fantasies with my unsolicited, unhinged takes.

Nanami Kento:

You wanna be Ken Doll’s sugar baby? Cute, but be serious. This man is one passive-aggressive comment away from throwing himself into traffic because he hates capitalism that much. He chose exorcisms and certain death over Excel sheets. Excel sheets, babe. If you think he’s gonna work overtime to buy you Versace, you’re delusional.

If I were with him, I’d work harder at my job (I hate corporate too, but not more than I love Nanami) and funnel my salary straight to him. He’d handle it responsibly because I’d just blow it on expensive pens, another PC, and iced tea. But also? I’d keep an emergency fund. Trust no one. Not even your man.

Let’s not forget the workplace romance trope. This man is the epitome of professionalism. He’d never date his coworker, let alone his secretary. Not because you’re not amazing, but because the power imbalance would haunt him. Like, he’d wake up in a cold sweat thinking about HR policies. And I respect that about him bcs same.

Also, please don’t get involved with someone who promises love and then runs to HR if his job’s on the line. (Not Nanami but in general advice.)

The stats don’t lie, and I’m not about to become the next cautionary tale in a LinkedIn post.

Gojo Satoru:

You wanna date Gojo? Cute. Except he wouldn’t date you, let alone spoil you. He wouldn’t date anyone. He’s emotionally constipated, a walking trauma fest, hyperfocused on being the strongest sorcerer alive™️, and allergic to vulnerability.

Most fics turn him into this suave flirt, but let’s be real—canon Gojo struggles with human interaction beyond being a troll. He’s a nerdy dork, so his game is shit even if he wanted to date you.

Y’all write him as this rich sugar daddy, but in reality? He’d spend your entire relationship trolling you, gaslighting you into thinking he’s a “normal guy,” and then disappearing for weeks because he’s busy babysitting teenagers and battling his inner demons.

Also, sugar babies love his money, but be honest—you don’t even like him; you like his black card. Gojo deserves better than being your walking ATM, and you deserve better than a man who’d eat your last snack just because he can.

Gifts are cute, but if he’s doing all the work while I’m chilling? That’s just freeloading.

I'm yet to come across a fic where he takes the time to realize he even wants a relationship, instead of being a pre-established fuckboy who suddenly changes because he found the 'right person.' Let’s be real, that’s not how it works. We shouldn’t glorify men for changing after finding the right person or excuse their past behavior, including any STDs they may have/had.

(Note to self: In future fics, explore his struggle to admit he wants a relationship and the challenges he faces in figuring out how to be in one.)

Haibara Yu:

So, you’re thinking about dating Haibara? Buckle up, ‘cause you’re signing up for a rollercoaster ride where the tracks are constantly under construction. Haibara’s got the energy of someone who just found out about sarcasm, but also the emotional depth of a puddle.

This guy’s all fun and games until you realize he’s like a cat that wants attention, but only on his terms. He’ll say the most unbothered things with that sunshine stare of his, but don’t be fooled. That’s his way of hiding his entire emotional baggage.

One minute, he’s sarcastic and aloof, and the next, he’s unexpectedly clingy, wanting to know if you still like him (even though he’d never admit it). You’ll spend half your time wondering if he actually likes you or if he’s just in a perpetual state of "I’m too cool for this."

Does he care? Absolutly. Expect texts like "I'm fine" followed by a cryptic emoji and zero context.

Dates? Don’t hold your breath. He's too busy trying to be taken seriously.

He’s not a millionaire either. Don’t expect a big grand gesture. His idea of spoiling you? Buying you a drink from the convenience store, giving you stale candy and maybe, just maybe, sending you a playlist of sad songs that “remind him of you.” Yeah, romantic, I know.

He’s not gonna spoil you with gifts, but he’ll share his last pack of gum like it’s the greatest act of love ever. Don’t expect consistency, just an occasional burst of affection sandwiched between long silences and sarcastic banter.

Would he be loyal? Absolutely. Would he constantly second-guess himself and need reassurance that you're not going to leave him because he doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings? Definitely.

Prepare to give him more emotional support than you ever signed up for. Would he adore you? Yes, but he’ll probably think it’s too much work to actually show it. But hey, if you’re into emotional chaos and not knowing where you stand, Haibara’s your guy.

You probably only like him because you know nothing about him.

Ryomen Sukuna:

The “servant/concubine” trope is insane. INSANE. You think Sukuna, the literal King of Curses, is gonna treat you like anything more than a chew toy? The power imbalance isn’t sexy—it’s electric chair. You’d either die mid-hookup (his hands alone could snap you in half) or be tossed into a volcano because you sneezed too loudly.

Be fr—he’d accidentally (or on purpose) kill anyone he sleeps with. The man’s a giant sadist, naturally rough, and has zero chill.

Romance? Nonexistent. Sukuna’s idea of flirting is probably something like, “You’re less annoying than most humans. Barely.” That’s not romantic; that’s verbal abuse with extra steps.

Toji Fushiguro:

This one hurts because Toji’s hot but this man has no money. None. Zero. If you want to date him, you better be ready to cover rent, groceries, and his “post-mission beer fund" because his entire paycheck goes toward sharpening his sword, buying protein powder, and gambling.

Let’s not forget he has a dead wife, and he went off the deep end after her death. Even if you could somehow 'fix' him like the unlicensed therapist you are because you have nothing better to do, he’s a vengeful widower who would leave you randomly for missions—and might not return because he’s driven by the insecurity of proving the Zenins wrong, which would get him killed.

Plus, he’d bring up his dead wife in every argument, saying things like, “She wasn’t this nagging; she didn’t do this or that.” People tend to glorify the dead, and he’d be the prime example of that. How could you compete with the memories of someone his mind has declared perfect?

He’s everyone's wet dream, sure, but do you really wanna date a guy who’d ghost you and leave you with his kid?

And don’t even get me started on his love language. It’s probably, “I killed a guy for you.” That’s cute until the cops show up at your door asking questions.

He might toss you a bone (not like that, calm down), but the idea of me paying for someone who might not even text me back? Pass.

Kamo Choso:

Sweetest man alive. Too pure for this world. But dating him would be like adopting a sad, traumatized puppy who cries every time you leave the room. You’d spend your entire relationship comforting him and Googling “how to help my boyfriend stop mourning his 17 dead brothers.”

He’s too busy laser-focusing on Yuji and going through an identity crisis to even think about being in a relationship. I’d want to protect him, not date him.

Also, his skincare routine is probably better than yours, which is cute until you realize you’ll never be the pretty one in the relationship.

Geto Suguru:

Ah, Babygurl Suguwu. Love him to death (pun intended), but dating him sounds like lifelong therapy.

Do you really wanna date a guy who’s juggling a cult, unresolved trauma, and genocidal tendencies?

His love language is probably “eliminating humanity,” and unless you’re down to join his pyramid scheme of sorcerer supremacy, this is not gonna work.

Also, you will forever be second place to the Gojo-fucking-Satoru.

Be serious. You will never win that chase. He'll leave you mid-sex to go see his 'one & only' babe.

Kashimo Hajime:

Kashimo would date you for the sole purpose of fighting you. He doesn’t want love; he wants violence—he’s looking for someone who can throw hands.

Imagine coming home after a 10-hour shift at work, exhausted, and this man’s standing in your living room like, “I’ve been waiting to test my new technique on you.” No, sir, I want a nap.

And don’t think you can just say no. He’d follow you to the grocery store, the dentist, your grandma’s funeral, like, “We fight now!”

Hiromi Higuruma:

Now, this man’s tempting. Responsible, classy, knows how to argue (a lawyer, duh), but... he’s also on the verge of a midlife crisis.

Do you really wanna date someone who’s one bad day away from snapping? You’d spend most of your time convincing him he’s not a terrible person, and honestly, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for that. Therapy is expensive, and I already have PTSD from my ex.

Also, he’d probably start arguments just to win them. You think you’re ready for that kind of intellectual warfare 24*7?

Shiu Kong:

Do you like mafia drama? Because that’s what you’re signing up for. Mafia life isn’t sexy—it’s stressful.

You’d be dodging bullets, interrogating his “coworkers” about his whereabouts, and wondering if he’s about to betray you for a promotion.

Also, he's an asshole who's going to disappear after he's done with you; go see the scene before Toji died. Hard pass.

Kusakabe Atsuya:

This man is the king of doing the bare minimum. His love language is probably “napping,” and while that’s cute in theory, it’s less cute when he cancels date night because he “forgot” he had to sleep.

Honestly, he’d be a great friend, but as a partner? You’d be babysitting him.

Takuma Ino:

You wanna date Ino? Adorable. But let’s be real, you’re signing up for 24/7 unpaid emotional labor. Ino’s a golden retriever boy who desperately wants validation, and you’d basically be his therapist, hype woman, and emotional punching bag all rolled into one.

He’d shower you with attention (cute, right?) until you realize he’s also incredibly insecure and needs constant reassurance that he’s “doing a good job.” You’d be his number one fan and his HR department.

He’s not rich either. Like, at all. His idea of spoiling you would be buying you snacks from the konbini and taking you to the movies with coupons. Don’t expect luxury here—expect a man who puts in effort but forgets anniversaries because he was too busy stressing about being a sorcerer who no one takes seriously.

Would he adore you? Yes. Would you want to be adored by someone who still Googles “how to ask her out” while you’re already dating? I’ll let you decide.

Final Thots-

At the end of the day, I’d rather have my own independence than rely on someone else to “take care of me.”

I want a partner—not a sugar daddy, not a servant-master dynamic, not a walking red flag, and definitely not a paycheck.

I'd rather have a househusband who's retired and relaxed than an overworked sugar daddy—or worse, a dead one. Is that too much to ask?

Anyway, this is just my opinion!

If you love those tropes—go off; that’s totally valid. I’m not yucking anyone’s yum. We all have our preferences, and that’s what makes fandom fun.

No hate, just vibes.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk. I’ll see myself out. 👋

If you still wanna fight, my comments are open, although I will reply like the guy you are fighting for.

[goldencherryskies]

I love being a fan of media that has different interpretations with different actors because yeah, of course Patrick Swayze and Dan Berry are making out in my mind right now

[laurellala-comics]

I've been having so much fun with my Ace Attorney comics lately but I've been feeling the pull to do original stuff again. So to ease into the transition, here is my (very first!) comedy zine. You may spot some familiar faces B)

Thanks for reading my goofiness! I'm including some nerd thoughts about zines under the cut

Zines are sooo cool and I assume most people have heard of them since this is tumblr BUT if you haven't! Zine is short for magazine (pronounced "zeen" it does not rhyme with vine). It usually refers to handmade pamphlets that can be created by folding and cutting a single sheet of paper, which is what I did, but it can be used for any sort of self made publication. The goal is to make something that can be reprinted and shared so mine is technically not in the spirit of that because of all my little interactive details but shh that's fine. Zines have been used in sooo many ways (Was Martin Luther's 95 theses not in a way the first zine (this is a joke)) but they are especially recognized as part of the punk movement as a way of fighting back against mainstream media and of sharing information around! It was a way to get around censorship and spread the word about social movements and political messages buuuut it has also always been used to share fun things, like music recommendations OR FAMOUSLY. STAR TREK SPOCK KIRK FAN FICTION (this is real and there are academic papers about this). Some of the earliest m/m fanfic was passed along through zines because they did not have ao3 back then! All they had was a typewriter and a dream! It's actually sooo silly, but I took a class in college that heavily emphasized these zines as leading to the fandom culture we had today, so they really did shape the world we live in today. Tumblr posts are like our own little zines that we share, with our own messages and thoughts and yes even hand drawn gay people...

Anyway, like I mentioned, in these fandom spaces you had queer zines that were about explicitly romantic and sexual relationships between fictional men. At the time, slash shipping was not the most common way to engage with fandom, but today it has become very mainstream and widely accepted amongst the fandom. But you know what queer behaviors are still not mainstream within fandom spaces, even within queer fandom spaces? Aro ace rep babyyyy. With that in mind, I feel like what is considered radical and abnormal these days in queer fandom spaces is to engage with fictional men (or any characters) from an aromantic or asexual lens. And so I am here to hold your hand and walk you through the wonderful radical world of imagining non-romantic scenarios with fictional guys. You can have so much fun with it and I think more people should do it. What if you stood in line at the bank and your favorite anime man was in front of you. What if you had to go in for jury duty and the guy from five nights at freddy's was there. What if you went to the library and spock and kirk were both there researching the history of zines. In a world that expects us to prioritize one normative romantic and sexual relationship as the big thing that will bring you happiness and fulfillment, it is radical to say "actually, i could probably still be really happy and fulfilled if i had some cool friends to hang out with and do mundane things with. And also what if those friends were fictional lawyers."

Anyway. Thank you to all the spirk shippers who worked hard to get us here, I will pick up your mantle and continue to push against societal norms but with fewer sex scenes this time around. Not that you aren't valid for that, this is just personal preference. The end. Go make a zine everybody.

[star2fishmeg]

oooooh for your 1K celebration could i request scenario 133 with jack hughes pretty pls and thank you :)

Thank you for requesting <3

SCENARIO #133 Bffs 'practising'

📞 dialling…

“Are you kidding?” Jack asked in surprise, eyes almost burst straight out of his head, pushing off his headboard to lean closer to y/n opposite him on his bed. 

“Jack, stop, it's so embarrassing.” She hushed urgently, hoping Luke couldn’t hear anything from the room next door. Heat flushed to her neck, and she buried her face in her hands. “People didn't like me like that, okay?”

He leant back again, jaw agape and mind trying to process the information. Out of all the years they’d known each other, he couldn’t comprehend how he didn't know she’d never been kissed before or how he never knew about it. What rattled him the most was that he knew guys who would have gone through the trenches for y/n back in high school, yet nothing ever came of it. His ride or die, y/n? Never been kissed?

He pushed his hair off his forehead, the locks getting longer just the way he knew she liked it, “But college? You're saying you did three years of college and nothing? I'm finding it hard to believe that someone as pretty and cool as you had nobody who wanted to kiss you, sweets.”

Her hands fell to her lap, fiddling with the ends of her pyjama bottoms, stomach flipping anxiously at all the two memories of when she almost had a kiss, but could never bring herself to go through with it. It just didn’t feel…right.

“Ah, well, my friends were more approachable, I guess. I don't even know what the fuck to do anyway, like how do you even make-out?” She chuckled, peering up to give him a quizzed look. 

Jack didn’t need to think, didn’t need to hesitate, the first thought that came to mind hit him like a brick and was a risk he was willing to take, the tightness and excitement in his chest needed relief or he would end up facing the anguish of not taking the risk.

“I can teach you.” He said, quickly with his unwavering confidence across his lips, eyes flickering to her lips. “For real, I'll teach you how to kiss. Come on, it'll be fun and it's just me. You know I won't tease you.”

“You don’t have to, J. Honestly, you don’t have to pity me.”

“It’s all good, sweets. I’ve got you, c’mere.” He patted his thigh twice, inviting her in with a confident grin on his face. She wasn’t sure if he was confident or finding amusement in the whole thing.

She exhaled, crawling towards him and straddling his lap, the new position sparking a funny excitement in her stomach, heat surging over her body. His hands held her hips, firm but not bruising, enough to reassure her that, he was sure. Y/n’s breath fell shaky, she’d been face to face with him before but not in that position, where his thumbs rubbed her hipbones gently and her hands wound around his shoulders. 

“Don’t be nervous, princess,” he murmured, “tilt your head to the left and follow my lead.” 

She did, closing the space between them. He pressed his lips to hers tenderly, slotting perfectly. In those brief, six seconds it felt as if the world burst into colours around her, butterflies swarming around her stomach and finally understanding how addicting it was to taste another. Without much thought, she slid her hand to his nape, pulling a groan from Jack’s throat.

Y/n pulled away, lips still parted but eyes searching his for any speck of mutual desire that washed through her, hands still holding each other but she felt his fingers sneak under her t-shirt with feathery touches. 

“Do…do you normally make noises like that when you kiss girls?” she asked quietly, a wild glint in her eyes, one that Jack struggled to contain himself over. He shook his head honestly, hands slithering further under her shirt but doing nothing but running his hands over her waist. “J, I think I wanna make-out with you.”

His lips quirked up in the corners and he licked his lips, “Me too. It’s gonna feel weird, but move your tongue against mine, just follow my lead, ‘kay?”

She nodded, eyes fluttering closed and leaning into him. He pressed his mouth to hers again, swiping his tongue over her bottom lip, feeling her open cautiously before sliding his tongue further. Jack was right, not that she didn’t believe him but his tongue finding hers and lapping against it was alien, yet she followed him. His hand moved up her back, the other arm still wrapped around her waist and keeping her secure to his body, lips moving in a slow rhythm, his chest fizzling at the little moans emitting from her shamelessly as they licked into each other. For someone who’d never made out with anyone before, she learned fast, ignoring the saliva drooling from the corners of mouths. 

Jack hummed when she looped her other arm around his shoulder’s tighter, unknowingly rolling her hips into his crotch, their rhythm becoming hungrier, hotter and heavier until they had to pull back, gasping for air.

Jack rested his forehead against hers, the pair falling into giggles. Twirling a strand of his hair around her finger, she smiled. “How was I?”

“Good, but I think we’re gonna have to go again just so I can be sure.”

He rolled them onto their sides, Jack propped up by his elbow with y/n tucked underneath him, kissing her hard with his hand soothing over her waist and hiking her t-shirt to her ribs. She moaned into him with a slight smile to her lips, one hand tucking his hair away from his face meanwhile her arm held onto his shoulders. Love, lust, hunger and comfort during three separate kisses, yet three attempts at showing how deep down they knew they were meant for each other.

[zaynes-pookie]

Hi! 💖

I hope you have a nice afternoon! I was wondering if by any chance you could recommend me some blogs related to love and deepspace, please. ☺️

Hello!

I happily can recommend you some! I want to start by saying I love all those blogs and thanks all the writers for their time and energy on those fic. It is an honour to be able to read them and you make this fandom amazing🤍! Here I go:

PS: This is going to be a list I’ll update as I discover more🥰

@loveanddeepthroat

Just some fun headcanon and beautiful fic🥰

@jinwoosbabyboo

I love their writtings! It makes the boys feel so alive and just super fun overall with a lot of different scenarios!

@aeyumicore

One of my favorite. I think I read everything on their masterlist 3 times🫣

@tbaluver

Super cute and hot scenarios to read and a fun blog too🤍

@mephisto-reporting

Their "I love you" series and Jealousy Sylus fic are the best. Make my heart squeeze anytime i read them again!

@chuluoyi

I go see this blog once a day at least... 🫣Super fun and really would recommend!

[jacenotjason]

The Ōmukade and the Futakuchi-Onna

aka totally epik battle Hyaku vs Winifred Winifred obv belongs to @itsnotmourn

Hyaku vs Winifred have been living in my head rent free for like. four days. They bring me SO MUCH joy. so many scenarios... soo many thoughts... woowaoh.....

I'd ramble but this is an art post and I don't want it to get too long hehae

i will say this song makes me think of them, sort of thinking of it as Winifred being like "I just want to be safe and be left alone, wtf is your problem? Why can't you leave me alone?" kinda deal

ANYWAYS art!!!!!

i had so much fun drawing this, i got a new outline brush and it made shit real fun. PLUS. i kept adding to Winifred's hair hehaehabzf

Bonus, Hyaku's bottom hands are supposed to be doing the "Bring it on" motion

HERES SOME FUN ALT VERSIONS:

No shading + a fun saturated opposing colors version

theyre literally red vs blue, opposing colors they are MEANT TO BE ENEMIES hEHEAH

[noblehouseofgay]

i love characters having flaws actually

i think we should acknowledge them more

what are some flaws your give the marauders & co?

Ooooo ok I like this

I'll start with lily bc I've been thinking about it lately bc I'm trying to give rhe girls more depth. I think lily can be a bit rude and a know it all. Not all the time, but she has her moments where she somehow makes you feel stupid and small

Remus has anger issues obviously, but he also has a bad habit of believing the scenarios he makes in his head

Regulus is selfish bc its how he survives, but it's a habit he struggles to shake. He's rude and bites back on instinct

Dorcas sees morals in black and white, she only learns to change that by befriending the skittles

James buries his negative emotions so much that when he shatters its an explosion that hurts everyone nearby

Sirius is more of a prick than he shows. His thoughts can still be just like the things his mother taught him. Just because he doesn't speak them and just because he ignoress them doesn't mean they aren't his instinct

Marlene is snippy and immediately assumes the worst because people have treated her like a punching bag for years

Pandora is a great listener- until she's not. She zones out and goes off into her own world, sometimes in the middle of your conversation

Barty is an impulsive ass. He acts before he thinks. He does the reckless thing to hurt himself, but everyone ends up burned

Evan comes off as apathetic. He's not, but he can be monotone and rude so it seems like he doesn't give a single shit about you

This was a fun character building exercise actually so ty!!

[crescenthistory]

hey queen! i recently just dyed my hair (like very very recently. like the purple dye is sitting in my hair as i type this) but i got to thinking about reader helping barty dye his hair! i think it would be so cute and wholesome bc like imagine:

barty and reader are in a prefect bathroom (props to regulus bc there’s no way he wouldn’t be a prefect) and reader who’s so concentrated on making sure there’s no missing strands of hair while barty is basically making cartoon heart eyes at them and just sighs every once and a while while reader is also yapping about their day. basically a wholesome bonding experience

(also this is my fav sticker reaction to use and i imagine this to be barty during this whole scenario)

hi my love !!! love this purple moment for you, my wife always switches between dying her hair purple, brown and red every few months so i know the process very well lmao<3 i hope it turned out how you wanted mwah

the thing with my barty is that he is very much self-destructive and chaotic, so i've always pictured him doing any form of alterations to his appearance alone by himself with little to no regard for safety. we're talking dying his hair with streaks of acid green in the sink of a small bathroom without gloves, getting some in his fresh piercings that he stupidly did right before he started the dyeing process with safety pins and cheap jewlery despite being able to afford the real deal.

that is until he meets his partner – someone who loves and cares for him with such gentleness and encourages him to do the same without losing who he is. he rebels because his father tried to make him something he wasn't, but you show him that being himself does not have to equate harming himself or being reckless.

so when he gets the urge to dye his hair or get a piercing or be spontaneous, you do it with him. you help him with everything, showing him that company does not lessen the fun in the activity – it might even be better. if you're the kind of person who wants to do the same impulsive acts with him, whether that be stick and poke tattoos or cutting up your clothes, he will of course return the favour happily.

you make sure you get to borrow the prefect bathroom so that there is adequate space to move around without bumping into something or making a mess. you make sure you're both wearing gloves and even put vaseline along his hairline to make sure the dye doesn't stain or irritate his skin. you make sure he doesn't get any water in his eyes when you wash it off. you make sure to discard of the trash safely once you're done.

all the while, he is sat there staring up at you with awe, the realisation that he truly is loved and safe and known striking him deeper with each second that passes, each act of service you manage to squeeze into this one favour. how you caress his cheeks gently, how you make sure not to pull his hair, how you double check with him whether he wants the messy look of patchy dye to add edge or if he wants each strand to be polished and perfect.

and even then, you don't make it into a big deal – it doesn't feel like a special occasion in that way that always quickens his pulse nor does it feel like he owes you something huge for this. it's just you and him, you're telling him about each random thought that plops into your head, recounting previous hair dye experiences or just what your day has been like before this. it feels so natural and so right and barty fucking melts for you.

barty learning soft love while still keeping a sense of who he is. absolutely adore it.

also YES, that sticker is very much lovesick!barty

[jarvewrites]

hi! I'm sorry for not being specific on my last ask! Could I request genin Gaara developing a crush on genin female reader? Like how would he act and/or adjust to this new feeling?

🏵️

genin!gaara crush headcanons!

hey there 🏵️ anon, glad to see you again! no worries about that, thanks for your request ^ ^

characters : gaara

female!reader

(love this header)

— genin!gaara was a menace and that would be an understatement

— as we all know he had a rough childhood, being isolated from the other kids and getting treated like a monster simply because he was a jinchuriki(my boy didn't deserve this)

—so he grew up into this cold - blooded person, who never showed any signs of kindness or care even towards his own siblings, threatening them and making they obey his very command(as shown during the chunin exams)

— so let's say he met you during the chunin exams, i can see two scenarios. either you pick his interest right way(perhaps some unique looks or out of ordinary behavior) or he doesn't really acknowledge you(common for him)

—his crush would develop slowly, but surely. at first it would simple interest in your abilities, just like with sasuke, or being impressed by lee's skills, that's the first one

—especially if you were good with taijutsu or any other type of jutsu that could easily counter his sand attacks. he would he intrigued to find out how you were gonna fight during the exams

— but it was the kindness blended with courage that intrigued him the most. he saw how you took care of your teammates, wholeheartedly trusted them and never backed down, especially when a much more stronger team tried to take your team down. gaara thought to himself that this was stupid and just annoying

—but soon he thought of you more, which annoyed him that itself resulted into him snapping at temari and kankuro much more easily than before

—i don't think that genin gaara is smooth with small talk, so even if he gets a chance to stir up a conversation, he would say something that almost sounded like a threat

—even if gaara doesn't realize at first, his siblings definitely would notice his subtle change in behavior. temari and kankuro were worried that gaara was just blood - thirsty as ever, so that's why he acted this way

—soon gaara would look at you frequently, though his stares were giving "resting bitch face", it made you feel weirded out especially after knowing his reputation of cruelty

—the idea of having a crush on you wouldn't even cross his mind at first, or at second..

—only when kankuro slightly made fun of the way gaara was that interested in you he thought of this possibility.

—«it looks like our little brother has a crush on someone!» temari looked at kankuro as if he doesn't appreciate his own life. gaara, surprisingly didn't snap this time, he simply hummed in return while his thoughts wandered around his head

—after realizing his crush gaara would try to deny it, but soon it angered him, he stopped believing in love, care or anything remotely like that after his uncle's betrayal

—so he would take it out on you, during the forest round of chunin exams he would say remarks at you, how ninja shouldn't be so trustful with teammates as they just disturb the work.

—in the final round of the exams gaara would approach you, saying how thrilled he is to find out your abilities. you didn't know if that was another threat of his or he is just trying to scare you off with words.

—you know what happens next, orochimaru attacks, sasuke chases gaara, naruto saves him and completely changes his views of this world. only after that gaara starts to change and finally understands your perspective of the world.

—when sasuke leaves, gaara with his siblings help out konoha. after the mission failed gaara came back to the village to apologize to you for acting this way during the exams.

—with white tulips in his hands gaara wanted to make amens with you. kankuro and temari were all near while it happened, you could hear kankuro giggling, saying that «my little brother changed a lot, don't you see?»

—kankuro's words flustered gaara, as he shook his head disagreeing «i still have a long journey to take. once again, forgive me for my past behavior. i hope this would mark new beginnings in our interactions»

—gaara seemed so nervous during this conversation, so when you told him that he can stop worrying about it and that it's all in the past he cracked a little smile

—so even though in the begining gaara never thought of ever feeling love himself and getting a new friend, life had other plans for him!

— by the way, white tulips mean new beginnings and forgiveness. gaara definitely asked temari for an advice on how to apologize to a girl, which surprised her, but she was happy to help.

—«since when he apologizes?» kankuro tilted his head before temari scoffed «have some faith in him! he changed!» «temari, i think he has a crush..»

— after those events you would see gaara on missions the sand or when he would come to konoha for diplomatic reasons as son of the kazekage. those white tulips never disappoint, they did spark a new path in both of your lives!

thanks for reading this far! as always, if you enjoyed the post make sure to like and reblog. thank you for your support, i appreciate it! 🌷

[melancholyswayafterdark]

TMNT 2007!Raph x Fem!Reader: Make Me (NSFW 18+)

Anonymous asked: This is kind of weird but would you be able to write 2007!Raph x reader where Raph is trying to dominant and gets shy when he finds out y/n is more experienced?

ya'll im such an idiot and I accidentally deleted the anon request who had asked for this. Luckily, I keep all the reqs in a google doc when writing lol. Here goes nothing! Let me know if you enjoyed this :)

NOTE: this is my after dark blog, and you're going to find smut here. 2007 is a more mature version of the turtles, and they are around their early/mid 20s. MINORS DNI. WARNINGS : dirty talk, doggystyle, and missionary

Imagine Raphael getting thrown for a loop the first time you have sex with each other

It’s honestly so sudden, neither of you expecting it to happen the way it did.

Now, Raph has had his fair share of sex. If the turtles had to take a guess, Raph would have the highest body count out of the four of them (Donnie takes the cake for last place, he’s a scaredy-cat).

He vividly remembers women practically throwing themselves onto him while he was The Nightwatcher long ago

I mean, could you blame him? A mysterious man in metal armor with a sexy accent who protects the city?

He felt invisible, being able to be himself and enjoy life the way it was supposed to be lived

In short, Raph here is no stranger to women- he knows what’s got to be done. 

When you first met the turtles, it was thanks to a clumsy Mikey during patrol one night who came crashing into your bedroom window.

With some panicked explanations, promises to keep a secret, and to fix a window, bonds were made. Friendship blossomed. 

Feelings blossomed. 

You seemed to get along well with each and every turtle, however, something about the smug-looking golden-eyed one who didn’t speak much at first had grabbed your attention. 

As you began to come down to their home often, you found yourself having more opportunities to interact with the second oldest brother: Raphael. He had this bad-boy aura that had you hooked. 

However, it wasn’t what you thought it was.

Raphael constantly teased you, and you constantly did the same back. He had no malicious intent, and neither did you. You had simply piqued each other's interest. 

“Hey shorty,” Raph snickers at you trying to reach for something on a high shelf.

“Hey hothead,” You tease back, “How about you use those big muscles of yours to help me instead of standing there and enjoying the show?” His eyes watched your breasts bounce in your shirt as you struggled to reach what you needed. 

Oh, and he loved it. That you noticed what his game was, and that you were more than happy to play. 

His non stop picking had been his fun way of flirting with you, to which you did the same back. As it went on, a friendly yet flirtatious connection had been made. 

Only, a cloud of sexual tension seemed to follow you around every time you interacted with the turtle in red. 

There was something about Raphael that got your panties in a twist. As time went on, you found yourself fantasizing about how you’d make your move on him. It seemed that your sexual appetite grew hungrier with each and every scenario you imagined in your head. 

You wondered just how Raph was able to get you going. 

Unbeknownst to you, Raphael’s reptilian instincts give him a heightened sense of smell. 

AKA, you didn’t have to tell him, he knew- no- he could smell how down bad you were for him.

Luckily for him, your human senses weren’t as strong. 

He remembered how he tested the waters a bit, trying to see if he was the cause of the smell of arousal coming from your sex. He had to make sure you were actually thinking of him in that way. 

Long story short, he was right. One day, he placed his hands on your waist during training, only for his nostrils to be hugged with your excitement in between your legs. 

And thus, the more he flirted with you, the more he wanted- no- needed you. 

It seemed the feeling was mutual, yet you both went about your days as normal. 

Until one day, you said two words that sent Raph over the edge.

Brace yourself, Y/n.

-------

“Ya ain’t gonna take me down that easily, shorty.” Your eyes follow Raph’s figure, watching as he circles you around the dojo. Since the streets have been getting pretty bad, Raphael took it upon himself to teach you a few things just in case. 

You could almost feel your heart pounding out of your chest. Being pushed to your limits, you weren’t giving up so quickly, either. You could see Raph looking you up and down, his amber eyes stopping right at your chest. You made a good choice to wear a tight tank top today, huh?

Quickly, his eyes shoot back up to look at your own, and suddenly, he’s studying you to see what his next move could be.

“I bet money you can’t take me down this time.” You smirk, albeit you were talking out of your ass; seeing Raph’s devious smile got you going. 

“Oh, so now we’re delusional?” The turtle chuckles as he gets in a fighting stance, “Looks cute on ya, Y/n.” Raph closes the space between you both inch by inch, and suddenly, his fists are flying toward you. 

He was ready to see if you remembered what you practiced. 

You quickly dodge his first hit, brushing the loose hair out of your eyes, “I told you,” Your knees bend, and Raphs last punches don’t connect, giving you the upper hand while he’s distracted. “I pay,” with a sweep of your left leg, you were able to catch Raph off balance. “Attention!” To finish, you hop on his shell from behind, touching the pressure point on his neck with two fingers (thanks, Master Splinter!) He easily topples over, and you pin his arm behind him as you straddle the back of his rough shell. 

Okay, maybe Raphael underestimated you a bit. He had no idea where you’d learn pressure points from, he didn’t teach you those. 

Seemingly defeated, the turtle under you sighs, his breathing becoming regular and less shallow as his heart rate goes down. 

“Did Leo teach ya that?” He huffs, straining under your control. A prideful smile is formed with your lips. 

“Nope, Master Splinter did.” Why would Leo teach you something like that, anyway? I mean, it wasn’t like he trained you alone. It was always as a group with their sensei. Leonardo taught you safer tricks that didn’t require you to get so close to your opponent.

You were enjoying your little victory, and what kind of victory would it be if you didn’t rub it in Raph’s face? 

“Did I really beat Mister Hothead?” You teased the turtle under you, whose annoyed eyes seemed to burn into your skin for you to set him free.

“Aigh’t, ya got me, now, get off.” Raphael’s rough accent was music to your ears, and you couldn’t imagine letting this opportunity go to show him what you were made of. Your grip on his arm becomes tighter, and you lower your lips to his exposed neck. 

What’s the point of teasing the big teddy bear if some flirting isn’t involved, right?

“Make me.” 

Suddenly, Raphael stops struggling and falls silent. You follow suit, alleviating the pressure you put on his body while on top, letting your guard down in confusion. Before you can ask what was going on, you feel yourself being flipped over, with your back hitting the hardwood floor and Raph’s face centimeters away from your own. Your arms are pinned at the top of your head by one of his hands, while the other is placed under your chin. 

“Come again?” He purrs, eyes scanning for any sign of you wanting him to stop. But, you don’t. In fact, you wanted him to keep going. 

“I said, ‘Make me.” You could feel the heat between your legs begin to rise, and your heart practically beating out of your chest. You watched as golden eyes behind a red mask looked into your own before his free hand moved toward your bra strap.

“Ya think ya so innocent, dontcha?” You could almost jump out of your skin from the feeling of butterflies invading your stomach. It felt electrifying with every touch the turtle gave you. 

“Ya think I don’ know?” His face dives into your neck, taking a slow lick before suckling in a spot that causes your body to shiver in desire. “I can smell ya, I know that ya been wantin’ this.” You wished he would let go of your hands to give you free will, eager to take the lead and surprise him. 

It wasn’t long until your soft whimpers caused a throbbing erection to emerge, and when his hand let go of your wrists bound at the top of your head, your fingers found their way to his biceps, giving them a light squeeze. 

“Like you haven’t been wanting it, too” You challenged, trying to keep all composure. Raph comes up from working on your neck, his eyes darting to your lips that continue to tease him even though he has the upper hand. He couldn’t wait to shut you up. 

He did just that. Before you could think of something slick to say, his green lips crashed on yours, not coming up for air once. It seemed all the pent-up sexual frustration was being let out in this very moment in the middle of the dojo. 

Speaking of, it’s amazing how nobody came in by now. 

“I’ll take you right here,” You knew he would. Name a time or place and Raph would be down. You could feel tingles up and down your body from the friction, your nipples hardening from the arousal, and Raph's tongue intertwining with your own. 

It was a long time coming, and before you know it, Raph’s three-pronged hand moves one of your thighs over, only for them to rub circles around your clothed clit. Now sensitive, you wondered just how you could get Raph crumbling beneath you. “You’d like that, won’t ya?” Oh, he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. Every sentence he said in between kisses drove you up the wall, the strong desire to ride him until the wheels fell off seemed to take over, and you knew you had to prove yourself. Raphael has no idea who he’s messing with. 

His fingers then move to the hem of your leggings, dropping the hint he wants them off.

“Make sure it's locked, big guy.” Your voice hoarse from a dry throat. Looking at you one last time, Raph makes the conscious decision to listen to you. Sure, he could take you to his room and get it on, but he couldn’t wait. He wanted you now. As he makes his way to lock the dojo, you undress behind him, tank and bottoms discarded in a pile off to the side. Your red bra teasing the red-banded turtle, almost begging him to snap it off you. But before he could even think about doing so, he watched you motion for him to come over sitting on the workout bench by the dumbbells. 

“My turn,” Your body naturally gravitates toward Raphael’s sweet spots when he sits beside you. Before he can take control, you straddle his waist before he can go anywhere. Arms around his neck, your back arches in pleasure as his hands go up and down your exposed sides, heating you up as he does so. Now, Raphael didn’t expect you to take control of him that easily. If anything, he didn’t think he had it in you. But, here you were, caressing his body and grinding yourself on his throbbing cock, a wave of sinful thoughts making up his mind as he felt the pre-cum leaking onto his thigh. You must’ve noticed, because you dip a finger in the sticky substance, placing it in your mouth as the turtle’s cheeks heated up from watching you taste him. 

“Sweet,” You teased, giggling at the sight of a shy yet enticed Raphael.

You really knew what you were doing.

But, shyness aside from not being the only experienced one, he’s ready to show you just what you’re in for. With the help from you, his erection springs up after a swift movement of his lower plastron. His dick stood up with pride, begging for warmth as it throbbed once exposed to the cold air. Once in your sight, it had your own sex wanting to welcome it home. Raphael could smell it, how your pussy soaked your panties, and he couldn’t wait to take them off and make you his. 

Picking you up and laying you on the hardwood floor, you unclip your bra as Raph’s fingers find the band of your panties, throwing them to God knows where in the dojo. You’ll get them later. They didn’t matter right now. What mattered was the way Raph admired your excitement, watching you let out a submissive moan as he dipped his head in to taste you. 

“Sweet,” He comments huskily, words vibrating your cunt that sends a signal to your brain to ask for more. You didn’t just want his tongue, you wanted him inside of you.

“Stop teasing~” You murmur, your chest heaving after each and every lick your sensitive bud takes. It was enough to get your cavern dripping, and Raphael wasted no time in flipping you over onto your stomach and getting your ass up in the air, arching your back as his hands gripped your hips. You could feel his tip pressing against your tight hole, and as he took your wrists to hold them behind your back, he slowly inserted himself, your pussy squeezing him tight as he stretched you out to the max. He wanted to go crazy, but he knew he needed you to adjust before doing so. 

Your body aching for more decides to meet him halfway, your ass coming into contact with his plastron in an instant, swallowing him whole. He was so big, and he knew it, too. Your loud moan after taking him all in caused Raph to hesitate. 

“Not too loud, pretty.” His hand then frees your arms, and almost immediately you clasp a hand onto your mouth, muffling all sounds you were making. Once Raph got into the swing, his wild side came out. Before he knew it, he was thrusting in and out of you at an animalistic speed. He was a rough lover, and you loved every second of it. His praises on how good you felt and how wet you were caused shivers throughout your body and mind. The sound of skin slapping against skin was enough for you to be in a trance. You could feel how his curved dick hit you in the right spot deep in your cavern, pressing against your G-spot. How his hands continuously guided your hips and ass to back up against his plastron, and he smirked as he observed you crumble beneath him. You were practically biting your lip to keep yourself from shrieking in pleasure. The last thing you needed was anyone knocking and destroying your high. 

“You’ve always wanted me, huh?” “Fuck, you’re so tight,” All of his remarks whispered into your ear as his hand moved toward your neck, choking you lightly. Your hands went over his own, begging for his grip to tighten. He stopped for a moment, then gave into your noiseless demand. 

“Didn’t take ya as a freak, Y/n,” He chuckles, watching you turn around to face him. If the sound wasn’t enough, your flushed, fucked-out face was enough to drive him wild. 

He was close, but he couldn’t finish like this. He needed to see all of you. He needed you facing him, tits bouncing with every thrust. His hand around your windpipe and your eyes rolling back into your skull. 

So as he unexpectedly stops, your legs begin to shake. “W-wha?” You strain your back, trying to get relief. It isn’t until Raph uses his strength to flip you over as if you weighed nothing that you knew what was about to happen. 

He wasn’t done, he was just getting started. 

“I wanna see ya beggin’ fa me, got it?” Raph grips his member, placing it in between your wet folds as he churrs, locking eyes with you to make sure you understood the assignment. 

“Y-yes.” You were hypnotized by Raph. How his girth was enough to stretch you out, and was long enough to hit places you didn’t think were possible. A smirk plays along his lips, and you feel his tip at your entrance once again. He leans in, lips crashing into yours before you feel him fill you up once more. Only this time, he was hitting your sweet spot even better. You felt yourself nearing the top of the hill, waiting for just the right thrust to send you over the top and back down again. 

“Tell me how much ya wanted me, baby,” You see Raph’s focused look as his hands gripped your cupped breasts, ripping them clean off before tossing them to the side. He plays with your hardened bud, alternating from the left and the right. 

“Shit.. a-a lot! I wanted this so bad, Raph~” Your sweet voice had created the music he wanted to hear, and you felt him slam into you harder. It wasn’t until his hand left your breasts and moved down to your swollen clit. Looking up at you, then back down at your sex, he gives you a smirk before getting to work. “Oh! Fuck, Raph!” His finger quickly flicking your clit like it was a bell, making it ring in ways that caused you to reach the top of the hill. 

“Fuck, please,” Your breathy moans became uneven, and your body came millimeters away from your well-needed orgasm, “Don’t fucking stop,” Your words became slurred and sloppy, and Raphael wouldn’t want to have it any other way. “You’re doing so good, Raph, fuck.” You were copping pleas, just like he wanted. Your sweet voice interrupted by unsolicited wonton moans caused Raph to fuck you like there was no tomorrow. He studies your face, and your half-lidded eyes watch as beads of sweat litter his emerald skin, the sweet sinful smell of sex filling the air as you finally come to your senses. “Think you could fill me up?” You had asked so innocently despite the obvious whine in your voice. You sounded so needy and sexy, that Raphael couldn’t hold it in any longer. All of his senses were being simulated, and the sight of you was the cherry on top. He had you exactly where he wanted you: crumbled, fucked-out face, rosy cheeks, and begging for him to cum.

You tightened around him, a wave of pure euphoria taking over you as you came to the squelching sound of you finishing all over Raph’s member. Your body shakes as he doesn’t stop, moments go by before he slows down, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. You lean up to lock lips, and his thrusts quicken before he groans huskily into the sloppy kiss. He had reached the top of his own hill, and he couldn’t wait to fill you up and paint your insides white. 

When he’s finally ready, he puts his forehead on yours, and you watch as he becomes weak at the knees, bucking his hips to meet your pelvis one last time before you feel something warm shoot through you. The thought of Raph’s cum filling you up alone caused you to moan in ecstasy, never mind the feeling of it.

Raph shifts his weight, holding himself up with his reserved strength. It wasn’t like he was finished. No, Raph’s libido was so high and mighty, this was just the pregame. 

“I kind of feel bad…” You trail off. You felt Raph’s cum leak from your pulsating cunt, pooling onto the floor under you. Droplets of sweat littered the hardwood, “We made a mess.” But before you could get up, Raph lets out a throaty chuckle, “Ya think so? We could do bettah than this.” His accented voice teases a new idea. Maybe he was right, you guys could make an even bigger mess.

The smell of sex wasn’t leaving the dojo anytime soon, and with the way you went uninterrupted for what seemed like hours, what made you think you’d be stopping here? You sit up on your knees, pushing Raphael back onto his shell. Straddling his waist, his member jumped in response. Once again, he was ready to give it to you. As he watched you grab it at the base and align it with your sex, cum still dripping from the previous activity, you sat down on it slowly until your pelvis met his own. 

It was your turn to fuck his brains out, and you were ready to do just that. 

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[media-thots]

Coming to a piece of media years late is really interesting in how it affects your approach to it once you finally get around to enjoying it.

I'm finally playing the Portal game duology. I've been hearing about both games ever since they were released. I've been exposed to many spoilers just through internet osmosis. Because of that, my experience is likely nothing like it was for the people who played the games on release. But I don't think it ruins the horror entirely.

I've already completed Portal (1) and prior to playing that, I was aware that a robot named Glados was not to be trusted. I didn't know exactly why she shouldn't be but cake was involved somehow. Once I started playing, I was already on guard/edge, looking for something threatening related to this robot. It wasn't hard to deduce that she must be watching me though the surveillance cameras but otherwise she didn't seem so threatening, at least the first few levels.

The testing environment turned dangerous due to the toxic water, plasma pellets, and the gun turret robots, but these were all created by Aperture. This unethical company created these unsafe environments and tools, it's their fault I'm nearly dying. While I was still unsure about this robot I kept hearing through the levels, I began to chalk up her lack of concern for these hazards to the scientists who programed her. They were unconcerned/uncaring therefore so is she. This still makes her dangerous, but not malicious.

Well. I learned to my frustrated horror that she actually is maliciously out to kill me and now I'm in a 'kill or be killed' scenario. I was frustrated because I should have known better, everything I've picked up on about this game for years says Glados cannot be trusted, Glados will hurt you. And even with the warnings within the game itself by the past test subject who left messages, I still was ready to believe that this advanced robot did not have the agency to actively choose to hurt me. And yet she did, and I had to reflect on the fact that she watched me complete test after test in eager anticipation for when she would kill me. And now I had to kill her to have a chance at escape.

Once I destroyed Glados and she claimed that this collapse would kill me too, I was okay with that, knowing that if there are any other people to be "tested" that Glados couldn't torture them. I land outside, clearly hurt but Glados lies in ruins, it's okay. And then I'm dragged back inside. And I'm newly horrified by the realization that, of course, Glados isn't the only robot in this insane facility and everything I did to get out of there didn't matter. Also, Glados must have a backup somewhere because what testing facility wouldn't have a fail-safe?

I had so many spoilers and I still was taken in by the story and got to experience the horror of it. I think that just goes to show how well it was made. Very glad I finally got around to it.

I've started Portal 2, I'm already aware Wheatley is not to be trusted but I've so far avoided the exact reason why. (Please don't spoil). I'm not happy that I'm Glados' test subject again but the puzzles have been fun. I'll update with a Portal 2 reflection once I'm done.

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

I literally made a post on Tumblr about this idea but thought I'd actually share it here but decided to make a more special version:

The y/ns one day going into a throw down to see who is the best y/n...the superior y/n...like the embodiment of the song 'the ultimate showdown'...Or, if you want another version I think is also super fun...'the ultimate smash bros' lol...

And can imagine the cookies standing idly by in shock as they see things like streamer cookie throwing a left hook at alien y/n or entity y/n going John Cena on timid y/n...oooor the cookies, when they notice the y/n show down, start trying to stop it, loving all the y/ns and not wanting them to destroy each other lol!

Decided to write this bonus with the version where cookie are trying to stop the fight...just various scenarios that are happening all at once because of the number of y/ns lol:

Entity, in a tree about to jump from it elbow first onto timid y/n: AND THEIR NAME IS ENTITY Y/N COOKIE!

Regular, seeing entity jump right at them: OH DEAR WITCHES-

pure vanilla, quickly running up to push timid y/n out of the way and then catch entity so they don't take fall damage: BOTH OF YOU, STOP! WE LOVE YOU EQUALLY!!!

Meanwhile:

Streamer, holding a modified keyboard to work both as a keyboard and a blunt weapon in their hands: LET'S FUDGING DO THIS!

Alien, with a blunt alien weapon: COME AT ME, YOU COWARD!

Caramel arrow: OK, BREAK IT UP YOU TWO!

Meanwhile:

Timid y/n and shy y/n...really not wanting to fight but know this is a free for all and both immediately think the other is gonna kick their butt: .....

Both immediately start crying.

Cream ferret rushes up, trying to calm them both down: shh shh it's OK you don't have to fight, let's go for hot chocolate instead...doesn't that sound nicer?

They both go off with cream ferret.

Just pure chaos heh...sorry if this idea sounds stupid just with the y/n tag having so many different kinds of y/n cookies...having a creative mind and listening to these songs all combined really makes ya think XD

Let's- Lemme just list how many Y/N cookies I've made just to be sure what I'm getting into=

Ancient Y/N- virtue of patience

Beast Y/N- Shadow of wrath

Child ancient Y/N- Virtue of innocence

Child beast Y/N- Shadow of grief

Male batman Y/N

Entity Y/N

Alien Y/N- (No stories on them yet)

Robot Y/N

Streamer Y/N

Timid Y/N

Shy Y/N

Ghost Y/N

Merchant Y/N

Isekai'd Y/N

Baker Y/N

Tarzan Y/N

Child of White Lily cookie Y/N

Yeah- I'm gonna figure out how to do all of them T T oh boy-

Y/N cookie showdown!

On a random day of a random week on a random month in a random year, the Y/N cookies found themselves in a predicament. They wanted to be the best Y/N cookie. But what happens when everyone wants to be the best? They argue and fight to claim that title. And unfortunately for the cookies, these 17 cookies were no different.

Ancient Y/N cookie and Beast Y/N cookie are trying to stangle each other

Ancient Y/N: DIE, FOWL BEAST!

Beast Y/N: TASTE MY WRATH, STUPID COPY!!!!

Pure Vanilla cookie and Shadow Milk cookie are tying their hardest to pull the two apart.

The Children aren't exactly any better, even if they aren't fighting physically since Mystic Flour cookie and White Lily cookie are holding them back.

Ancient child Y/N: Crybaby!

Beast child Y/N: Goody two shoes!

Both stop talking for a moment, before crying to the adults.

Both: They were being mean to me!

Mystic Flour cookie: There there,

White Lily cookie: It's ok little one.

Male Batman Y/N: *Holding merchant Y/N in a choke hold* Admit your defeat!

Merchant Y/N: *Wheezing* Over my dead body!

Male Batman Y/N: That can be arranged!

Black Raisin cookie: *Trying to push them apart* No! Stop fighting! I love you both too much to lose any of you! Stop!

Streamer Y/N: *Hitting Alien Y/N with their keyboard* Be gone!

Alien Y/N: *Behind a shield* Like your father?!

Caramel Arrow cookie: No no- no insults! Stop fighting before any of you get hurt!

Robot Y/N: *Trying to shoot entity Y/N* STOP MOVING SO I CAN ELIMINATE YOU!!!

Entity Y/N: *Moving in all kinds of inhumane ways* MAKE ME, METAL HEAD!

Agent Jjajang cookie: No- don't taunt each other! Just behave for witches sake!!!

Baker Y/N: *The only sensible one at the moment* Guys- there isn't a best Y/N, stop fighting-

Ghost Y/N and Isekai'd Y/N: SHUT UP!

Isekai'd Y/N: I'm about to exorcise a stupid ghost!

Ghost Y/N: Not if I hit you with another truck first!

Pumpkin pie cookie: No! Stop fighting! You'll end up hurting yourselves! Please stop!

Tarzan Y/N: *Casually holding child of White Lily cookie (COWL) Y/N by their ankle* Hahahahahaha

COWL Y/N: Put me down you brute! Put me down right now!

Cherry Blossom cookie: Aye! put them down!- put- Hey! Put them down and stop fighting this instant!

Shy Y/N: *Thinking they're done for*

Timid Y/N: *Thinking it's over for them*

Both begin crying and Cream Ferret cookie rushes to them both.

Cream Ferret cookie: Hey hey, it's ok. You don't have to fight. You're safe. Come on, let's get you some ice cream and candy for the other two crying over there.

Both nod as they follow Cream Ferret cookie.

[notcaycepollard]

hey, I hope this is okay to ask since you’re now talking about stackie on here again.

do you have thoughts on what happened between them, like genuinely. do you think they were just friends with benefits, fell in love along the way and til this day these feelings are still there, or more? sometimes seb says these painfully sincere things about him that make it sound like he’s in love with him and sometimes he’s all snarky and says he hates him. without even too much tinhatting what do you think about them?

okay so I’m gonna lay out a range of Scenarios in decreasing likelihood/increasing tinhatting, on the agreement that we are all just foolin around thinking out some thoughts none of this is real and I do have a hold on my normal brain

1) the intense situational friendship

we’ve all been there. A workplace that puts you in constant intense contact with each other and destroys your ability to maintain normal external life while you’re in the middle of it (filming, press tour) and before you know it you’re trauma bonding over cigarettes in the back of the parking lot and swearing you’ll be bffs forever and nobody knows you like they know you

and then you quit or the film wraps or the junket is over and you make all this big noise about staying friends and catching up but inevitably your new reality begins to get in the way, plus after a year or two you can’t sustain catch ups that revolve around work gossip when you’re not in the middle of that shit anymore, and it’s not that either of you are deliberately fading out it’s just that friendships like that naturally ebb over time but u still got a soft spot for your guy your pal your best marvel bro

2) the intense situational friendship but you act a little gay about it

maybe you’re gay, maybe you’re not, some straight dudes are pretty fun about idle gay flirting for the bit, and platonic chemistry looks like flirtation from the outside anyway so you let everyone give you the side eye and keep sharing cigarettes in a way that’s a little bit too close for anyone to NOT wonder

3) the intense situational work-crush, one-sided

it’s the above but one of you is super gay about it for real not for the bit

and maybe you know or maybe you don’t, maybe the other guy knows or maybe HE don’t, as above some straight dudes will just flirt for the bit but anyway it’s more likely he doesn’t know it’s real for you or at least he’s gonna keep the facade up

so you say some weird stuff to and about each other and play it up for the interviews and it could pass for platonic chemistry but you gotta keep the yearning on lock or you wind up accidentally looking at your work friend like he’s the sun moon and stars and then you’re lying in bed that night like FUCK did I make it TOO weird

(if it was gonna be weird he wouldn’t be constantly telling you your hair is so great and touching it in a way that makes you shiver and want something you’re not ever gonna give shape to even inside your own head)

(like running his fingers through and taking hold at the nape of your neck and threatening idly to pull it for real not for jokes, and you do wonder just once before you can catch yourself, what would it be like if he followed up with a kiss or, like, setting his teeth in the side of your throat and biting down just a little)

usually it’s recoverable if you don’t admit to or talk about your feelings, it’ll pass when you’re not spending 16 hours a day in each other’s company but he’ll hug you years later at the golden globes and he’ll still smell so good and you WILL feel Something that sort of hurts but in a mostly good way

maybe years later you’ll have worked through it and gotten a secure-attachment real life boyfriend and you’ll idly refer to that big crush you had and it won’t feel like you’re choking on acid it’ll just be Haha Wow Remember That One Time When

4) the casual work friends-with-bennies

you’re both cool! you both like to kiss on the mouth and also suck a dick occasionally! you’re never gonna come out about it because it’s hollywood but it makes a film shoot a lot more fun when you can blow off some steam in your trailer

you can drop it at the end of filming and pick it back up when you get signed for a Disney plus show together and it’s fine, it’s chill, it’s a truly optimal outcome

5) the casual work friends-with-bennies but one of you caught feelings

oh bud. we’re in mess territory and you’re gonna get burned by it but you already know that and the best you can hope for is that once you’re not fucking the feelings will fade

in all honesty it’ll still burn you less than scenario 3 because an intense friendship like that takes you so much deeper into casual intimacy but on the other hand you DO know what his dick feels like halfway down your throat and let’s be real, the smart thing to do would be call it off but the sex is too good so you’re just waiting it out for the crash

and the crash is bad, obviously, you finish the press tour and go home and if you push down you can still feel the last bruise-bite but you’re back to texting once a month and hearing about each other through social media instead of in person

you’ll do it again though because you are a sucker for punishment and it’ll be just as good slash just as bad

6) the intense situational work friendship turned friends-with-bennies

[ralph wiggum voice] haha you’re in danger

and I want to tell you that you’re BOTH in danger but let’s be real, one of you is way more likely to get real feelings about it and once that happens it’s all over for you because while he’s going, yeah this is cool I like to suck a dick occasionally and I also like my good buddy so what a good combination, you’re drawing love hearts in the margins of your script and thinking about a romantic holiday to Romania

you will end filming and he will go “good game man let’s catch up next time we’re in the same city” and you will feel something catch in your heart

all I can say is that at least you entered into the fucking part of this on the basis of true friendship and the feelings didn’t arrive until after you were already fucking. it’s still not great. It’s bad. But at least there’s that.

7) intense situational work-crush (one-sided) turned friends-with-bennies

we are in the game over zone. you are not in danger you are surrounded on all sides by forest fire and there’s no way out. you have signed up for a prolonged broken heart and [radiohead voice] you did it to yourself

either you pretend forever that you did not have a crush before you started fucking and you don’t have a crush now, and you silently suffer through losing the brief joy of getting to kiss when filming ends (bad) or you admit to your feelings and your friend tells you with grace and sympathy that he does not feel the same way (worse) or you hide your feelings so poorly that you act like a total asshole and when you do eventually admit to it the entire edifice of friendship is torn down by the force of your repressed emotion (worst).

appendix: what if they both had feelings?

no I’m sorry I simply don’t think this is realistic I think AT MOST it was a love affair where one person liked the other quite a lot but the other was in it Too Deep and that was unsustainable long-term.

anyway, my only other contribution is that apparently sebstan’s current girlfriend previously dated chris pine. for four years. isn’t that interesting? chris pine, now that’s a man with some perplexingly undefinable energy. some would say, that man is a lesbian. just interesting to me that an aspiring model slash actress would date an extremely lesbian man for four years and then two months after breaking up would get together with ol sebastian, a man who was apparently spotted celebrating his 40th with said girlfriend and a passel of other pals including his long-time buddy chace crawford.

which could mean nothing, obviously. but it’s interesting. that’s all.