#sorry!!!}

[supertaliart]

I silently passed this over to my friend Kayla while we were watching House MD and she just said “How dare you.”

[favqritefemme]

i’d love to see natalie scatorccio x fem reader and they’re fwb but have feelings for each other !!! (dunno if you wanted something more specific 💔)

∘₊✧ ────── notes. tysm for ur req!! i'm still kinda getting back into writing so i thought it would be best for me to write some headcanons instead of a full fic. and honestly this is a test run for my theme and format. i'm not there yet... also this ended up a little angstier than i thought, sorry!

cw. mentions of: sex (not explicit), drug use. dealer!nat. slightly toxic nat & reader. kinda angsty?

∘₊✧ nat's definitely had fwb before (especially her junior year in hs) but never one like you. there's just something different to her and she can't yet put her finger on it.

∘₊✧ the first thing would be the way you two hang out even outside of hookups. you're at the mall? nat's carrying your bags. she's dealing outside the school parking lot again? you're waiting in her car.

∘₊✧ people think you're dating but you're both quick to correct them. you're just friends! that sleep together. and share cigarettes. and stare longingly at each other.

∘₊✧ speaking of staring longingly at each other, nat's a D1 yearner. she curses herself for it since it only makes everything worse but she can't help it. when you fall asleep in her bed, all she can do is admire you. not in a creepy way! she just misses you and hates thinking about anything outside of the present. she doesn't want to think about how your perfume will fade from her pillows in a week.

∘₊✧ nat's unreasonably softer around you but only in private. it gives you whiplash. one moment, she's laughing and making you dinner in her trailer, and the other she's pushing past you in school.

∘₊✧ ^ similar to this, she uses pet names like she forgot your name (although she never would, she etched it into her bed frame secretly).

"baby, will you hand me my lighter?" "you're gonna kill me one of these days, sweetheart." "can't you stay the night, hon?"

∘₊✧ she absolutely hates when she sees you at parties with other people. yeah, she brought a different girl too but that doesn't mean you can!

∘₊✧ nat ignores you for days after that, scoffing when you try to apologize or defend yourself. when you ask why she's so upset? dead silence. because how is she supposed to answer that? she can't confess. you deserve so much better. and maybe pushing you away is enough for you to see that.

∘₊✧ this pisses you off to no end. you suspect nat's feelings for you aren't as casual as she tries to play it off. so you decide to ignore her instead and find a baseball jock to use to your advantage.

∘₊✧ nat's finishing up practice? you're giggling and walking home with him. and when she tries to call you, you let it ring. you're not doing anything with him but nat doesn't need to know that.

∘₊✧ and nat feels terrible. god, why couldn't she have just told you what she was feeling? then maybe you wouldn't be seeing some asshole that was still in middle school-level math as a senior. she goes from ignoring you to trying to talk to you at every chance.

∘₊✧ she's calling you every night, leaving voicemails. some are angry rants where she curses out that stupid boy, some are just half-asleep mumbles about how she misses you. you never answer but fuck, you want to...

∘₊✧ after a while of this hot-and-cold game you're both playing, she finally manages to stop you in the parking lot. she's leaning on her car door, you're about to walk past when she grabs your waist and tugs you closer.

"you're ignoring me." her voice is quiet, as if she doesn't want others to hear. but she clings harder. "you've given me lots of reasons to." you hum, pretending you're not melting into her hands. it hurts you to think that she's only pulling you over in the hopes of getting you in the backseat.

∘₊✧ she finally breaks a little that day. not fully, but enough for you to stop seeing that guy. she tells you she misses you and kisses you like she means it. like she's missed more than your body. you're unsure if that's the truth but either way, you're willing to believe it.

∘₊✧ it's a torturous circle with no clear end in sight. she pisses you off, you ignore her, she begs for you back, you run back with no hesitation. you both know it's bad. but each time she begs? she's admitting a little more. she missed you. she likes having you around. she wants to keep seeing you. she wants to go out with you on a real date. she loves you.

∘₊✧ but the longer you two are "together", the more comfortable she feels. maybe you aren't going anywhere? maybe she actually does have a chance.

[cinnamorussell]

lucky taps ⸻ 𐙚 ⸻ carlos sainz x reader

word  count.   2.8k feat.   established  relationship,  fluff,  semi-long  distance,  labubu  hate author's  note.   binisainz  finally  having  a  cs55  fic  up  ??  i  never  thought  i'd  live  to  see  the  day  !!  anyways,  this  is  based  on  this  photo  of  carlos  carrying  a  popmart  bag  in  shanghai  and  i  was  like.  ok  bet.  i  am  exposing  my  love  for  popmart  blind  box  figurines…  i  have  spent  too  much  on  these  mfs  so  i  might  as  well  make  a  fic  out  of  it  !!  dedicated  to  the  lovely  kae  ( @tsunodaradio  ) because  they  suggested  the  ending  and  i  was  like…  no  ure  right  …  ure  so  right  . anyway qotd what do u think carlos sainz is collecting check out the rest of my work !!

carlos comes home the same way he always does— keys clattering into the dish by the front door, a deep sigh like he’s clocking out of being carlos sainz and back into being just yours.

“mi amor?” his voice drifts in, laced with just the slightest bit of confusion.

“yes?” you don’t look up from your phone, lazily stretched out on the couch, one leg bent at the knee, fingers absently tapping at the screen.

you hear him step closer, the shift of his weight across the hardwood, the quiet pause that comes before— “why is there a little… scarecrow on the coffee table?”

that makes you glance up, just in time to see the small furrow in his brow, the way his mouth presses slightly at the corners. you shift, propping yourself up on your elbow to follow his gaze.

“that’s my hirono,” you say simply, as if that explains everything.

carlos blinks at you, then at the figurine, then back at you again. “your what?” he asks as he bends down, takes the figurine in his hands, turning it over carefully, examining the details. he treats it like something delicate, like maybe it’ll break if he looks at it too hard.

“hirono,” you repeat, dragging out the syllables, already predicting the conversation to come. “it’s a blind box figurine. you buy it without knowing which one you’re gonna get.”

his brows draw together, deeper this time, the gears in his head visibly turning. you can see the exact moment it clicks— there’s a small flash of realization, the barest twitch of his lips. “so you just… pay for it and hope you get the one you want?” he asks, skeptical.

you grin, shrugging. “pretty much.”

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he sets the figurine back down with the same measured care. “you could just buy the one you want,” he points out, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“where’s the fun in that?” you shoot back, sitting up fully now, tucking your legs beneath you. “it’s about the thrill. the suspense.”

he looks at you, the soft tilt of his head betraying the fact that he’s still trying to wrap his head around it. “so you like not knowing?”

you hum, considering. “more like… i like the moment before, you know? when it could be anything.”

carlos watches you for a beat longer, then shakes his head again, a small, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. “you are impossible,” he mutters, but there’s no real exasperation in his tone, only fondness. then, without hesitation, he leans down, cupping your jaw gently as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, as he’s done a thousand times before.

a few days later, you come home with two more boxes, setting them down on the kitchen counter with a flourish. carlos, sitting at the island with a half-eaten banana in one hand, eyes them with mild suspicion.

“again?”

you huff. “yes, again. but this time, you’re doing it with me.”

he chews slowly, watching you like you’ve just presented him with some grand experiment. then he swallows, licking a bit of banana off his thumb. “what am i supposed to do?”

“first,” you say, grabbing a box, turning it to its side where twelve colorful iterations of the same character are drawn, “we have to pick which ones we want.” you tap one illustration, and then the next. “i want the mantel clock or the circus one.”

he barely glances at the options before pointing decisively at the secret figurine.

you snort. “that one has, like, a one in a hundred forty-four chance.”

he shrugs. “so?”

so, nothing. he’s already made up his mind. and you know him— you know he’s stubborn enough to manifest his own luck, to tilt the universe in his favor through sheer force of will.

“okay, but now we have to do lucky taps,” you say, passing him his box.

his brows furrow. “what?”

you demonstrate, tapping your fingers rhythmically along the sides of your own box. “it’s for good luck. you have to do it.”

carlos stares at you for a moment, unimpressed, then down at his box. he exhales, then mimics your movement, albeit a little clumsily, his fingertips drumming against the cardboard. “this is silly.”

“yeah, but now you’re invested. committed, even.”

you grab your phone, setting it up to record. “okay, let’s do this.”

the sound of crinkling plastic fills the space as you both peel open your boxes. you pull yours out first. a tiny alien stares back at you. your face immediately drops.

“ugh,” you groan, sagging against the counter. “literally the only one i didn’t want.”

carlos makes a sound, half-laugh, half-smug amusement, as he inspects his own. you glance at him, then do a double-take.

he’s holding the secret figurine.

you jaw drops, eyes quickly darting from looking at him, at it, at him again. “are you kidding me?”

his expression shifts slowly into that familiar smugness, the kind that makes you want to shove him. he inspects the figurine like it’s some grand prize, turning it between his fingers, lips curving into a grin. “i thought this was supposed to be rare,” he says, all false innocence.

“it is,” you grumble, crossing your arms. “but of course you would get it.”

carlos sets his box down on the counter, hand reaching out to pull you closer. “mi amor,” he murmurs, his voice dipping just enough to make something curl in your stomach. his hands find your waist, fingers pressing lightly, teasing. “don’t be upset.”

“i’m not upset,” you huff, but you are pouting, and you know it, and he knows it, and he’s enjoying this far too much.

“you can have it,” he offers. “would that make you feel better?”

you exhale, slow, exaggerated. “it’s not as good as pulling it myself,” you admit, just a little petulant, but then you soften, leaning into him despite yourself. “…but okay.”

he laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple, and just like that, the loss doesn’t sting quite as much.

at first, it’s funny. cute, even. carlos, for all his teasing, starts showing a little too much interest in your blind boxes. it begins small—offhand questions here and there, the way he lingers just a second longer when you’re opening a new one, watching your reaction like he’s pretending not to care. but then it escalates.

he gets way too into it. concerningly into it.

it’s not long before you catch him scrolling through an online store at breakfast, staring at the thumbnail images of different collections with a furrowed brow like he’s analyzing race data. another time, you hear him mutter something about “box weight ratios” under his breath while holding one up at a shop.

the moment you call him out, he waves it off, says he’s just doing it for you. “you like them, no?” he says, kissing the side of your head like that’s the end of the conversation. “i just want you to get the ones you like.”

except, somehow, the ones you like aren’t the only ones he’s getting.

the 2025 season starts, and it doesn’t take long for fans to catch on. one race weekend, he’s photographed carrying a popmart bag in the hotel lobby. the next, someone spots him in the paddock, a tiny figurine peeking out from his backpack. the internet is quick— memes start to circulate, threads pop up analyzing every single one of his figurine choices. he keeps claiming it’s for you. he really does. but you know better.

“mi amor,” he complains one night, sprawled out on the hotel couch beside you, scrolling through a list of upcoming releases. it’s one of the rare times you join him for a grand prix. “all your hironos look the same.”

you gasp, smacking his arm. “excuse me?”

“they do,” he insists, grinning when you glare at him. “little hats, little sad faces… no difference.”

you roll your eyes. “okay, mister ‘i only buy these for you.’”

he huffs out a laugh, still very much pretending he’s doing this entirely out of love for you. but you bide your time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

and it comes, two weeks later, when he’s japan, and you’re on a late-night video call together. he’s lounging in his hotel room, hair still damp from a shower, dressed in one of his old team shirts. you’re curled up in bed, listening to him ramble about his day when something on his bedside table catches your attention.

a fucking labubu box.

your eyes narrow. “oh, so you say my hironos all look the same, but you like labubus now?”

carlos freezes, eyes darting to the box behind him like he forgot it was even there. then, without missing a beat, he leans forward, grabbing it and holding it up to the camera. “but, mi amor, look! they have different colors!”

“oh, and my hironos don’t?”

he shakes his head, clearly enjoying himself. “not like these, no.”

you let out an exaggerated, scandalized gasp, dramatically flopping back against your pillows. “i can’t believe this betrayal. all this time, i thought you were supporting me, but now you’ve chosen a side— and it’s the opposing side, mind you!”

carlos chuckles, setting the box back down, his voice dropping just slightly—playful, teasing. “you love me anyway.”

and, well. he’s right.

it turns into a thing. somehow.

your comments section floods with people asking for your favorite figurines, demanding to know which sets you’re into. you give them a list, thinking nothing of it, just casually mentioning your favorites. but by the next race weekend, fans are already showing up with those exact figurines, handing them to carlos at every turn. multiple people. at different times.

there’s a video you find later of him grinning, holding up one of the boxes, murmuring a— “thank you! mi corazón would love these…”

the last part, the way his voice drops into something softer, something warm, plays on loop in your head as you scroll through tiktok later that night. you hover over the like button for half a second before giving in, adding a comment:

yourusername   i do like it! please make sure he doesn’t hog it all to himself 😀

the internet, as per usual, goes crazy.

carlos is in miami, and you’re in monaco, which means the time zone gods are, once again, are against you. it’s late— too late— but your phone rings anyway, and you already know what this is about before you even pick up.

you rub at your eyes, propping your phone up on the pillow as carlos holds up his latest haul to the camera, grinning. “look, mi amor,” he says, adjusting the lighting so you can properly see. “i found peach riot!”

you squint. “you don’t even like peach riot.”

he waves you off. “sí, sí, but they had them at the store, and i had to try.”

you groan, shifting deeper under the covers. you know exactly what this is. it’s not about the figurines, not really—it’s about the thrill, the rush of unboxing something, the chase for the rarest one.

carlos digs through the bag, holding up a single box. “okay, i’ll open just one.”

you sigh, heavy with sleep. “baby, it’s almost 2 a.m. for me. can you please just open it?”

he gasps, offended. “well, no! i have to do lucky taps first!”

of course he does. he’s fully committed now.

you watch, exasperated but endeared, as he taps the sides of the box in that almost ritualistic way you taught him— except he’s exaggerating it, dragging his fingertips along the sides with a level of precision that is, quite frankly, unnecessary. he’s doing too much. and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop him, a soft, tired smile on your lips.

“okay, okay,” he murmurs, hyping himself up before finally peeling off the plastic wrap and tearing the foil packet open. you blink, barely able to keep your eyes open, as he peers inside. his expression shifts—eyebrows jumping, mouth parting slightly before curling into an all-too-smug grin.

he flips the figurine around to show you. the secret. your smile immediately drops.

you let out a long, suffering groan before immediately hanging up the call.

curse you, boyfriend luck!

he calls back not even a minute later.

you answer, squinting at him through the screen, still burrowed under your blanket. carlos, barely holding back laughter, holds up the figurine again. “corazón,” he coos, all sweet and coaxing. “do you want it?”

you glare. “it’s not the same if i don’t pull it myself.”

he pouts, tilting his head. “but i’ll give it to you.”

you bury your face into your pillow, groaning again.

monaco feels different when carlos is home. the apartment, normally so quiet when he's away, hums with the warmth of him— his shoes by the door, his jacket slung carelessly over the couch, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. it’s a race weekend, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re both in the same city again.

it also means carlos is finally seeing, with his own eyes, just how out of hand things have gotten.

a small corner of the living room— what used to be an empty space, clean and minimalist— is now home to a shelf. a full - on shelf. dedicated entirely to the growing collection of figurines you and carlos have amassed over the past few months. rows and rows and rows of figurines now meticulously arranged by series.

you stare at it, arms crossed, lips pursed. carlos, standing beside you, mirrors your stance, rubbing his chin like he’s assessing a piece of fine art.

a long silence stretches between you before you finally say it: “…are we addicted?”

carlos tilts his head, considering. then, without missing a beat— “no.”

you shoot him a look.

he grins. “just committed.”

the blind box obsession wanes, thankfully, though it's not out of disinterest but out of practicality. the season is in full throttle now, the races stacking up one after another, and you’ve been following carlos around the last few stops, which means any new purchases would just be another thing to stuff into an already overpacked suitcase. there’s no time to carefully stack boxes into the shelf back home.

which is why, when you open your eyes on your birthday in your las vegas hotel suite and find a blind box set sitting in front of you, you burst out laughing.

carlos, kneeling in front of you on the couch, looks incredibly pleased with himself. “feliz cumpleaños, mi amor,” he says, watching you with that warm, expectant gaze of his.

“oh my god,” you breathe out, picking up the box, flipping it over in your hands. “carlos.”

it’s not just any blind box set. it’s custom. you look at the packaging, the familiar yet unfamiliar design, and then you see it—your name, carlos’ name, and little illustrated versions of you both printed on the side, mimicking the style of an official collection.

upon closer inspection, the potential figurines include versions of you in your favorite outfits, carlos in his williams race suit, casual wear, even one of him holding a miniature trophy from when he finished p1 in barcelona. there’s even a secret edition, blurred out in a question mark like a real chase figurine.

you blink at it, overwhelmed, before looking up at him. “you got us made into blind boxes?”

carlos grins.

“how?”

“i have my ways.” he shrugs.

“you have a full racing calendar.”

he shrugs, like organizing a fully custom blind box production in the middle of a title fight is just a casual side project. “i planned ahead.”

you shake your head, flipping the box around in disbelief. “you’re actually insane.”

“open one.”

you tear into the packaging, ripping the foil open with probably more force than necessary. the little figurine falls into your palm, and when you turn it over, you nearly lose it. it’s you, down to the details of the outfit you wore the first time carlos ever took you to the paddock, your hair styled just right, the tiny features painstakingly accurate, even if it's just a stylized version of you.

you stare at it, and carlos leans in, nudging your shoulder. “cute, no?”

“carlos.”

“hmm?”

you exhale, shaking your head, but you can’t stop smiling. “this is insane.”

he leans back against the couch, smug. “you love it.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “don’t act like you didn’t make yourself the secret edition.”

his expression doesn’t change. “i am a rare find.”

you shove him, and he laughs, catching your wrist, tugging you into him. “okay, okay,” he concedes, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice softer now. “but i wanted to give you something special. something just for you.”

you glance down at the box, the tiny, perfect versions of you both, and something warm settles in your chest. you shake your head, exhaling through a smile. “you really are addicted.”

carlos grins, tilting his head. you’re already leaning in, just slightly, like he’s some gravitational pull you’ve long since stopped resisting.

 he meets you halfway, his breath fanning against your lips as he murmurs— soft, smug, as he goes: “eh, just committed.”

[omelettegg000]

Sorry I haven't been posting a lot!! So much has been going on I've actually developed new art styles..? I'll show them in another artwork!

TW: eyestrain!!

[vanillarosekiss]

captain john price and his shy little bunny gf 🐰

based around this p!link (photos)

warnings: this is not a hybrid!reader fic (someone tell me how the hell you write those tho pls?), just pure filth tbh, m!oral receiving, mentions of creampie, unprotected sex, john being a little rough, read at ur own risk!!!

word count: 0.8k

— It was no surprise that John’s girl was soft and shy, a complete opposite to his demeanour.

He liked how different you were, something about you being so feminine really riled him up all the time. So much so that he would hardly be seen NOT touching you in some way or another. Lucky you.

— Now, Price is a man who knows how to keep his woman content, I think we can all agree on that. He wouldn’t ever let you go to sleep without you being fully satiated, and that was something he made sure of.

Sure, you were shy and it took a while for him to open you up properly (you were still shy sometimes now) but he managed to at least make you feel more relaxed whilst he was fucking you to sleep every night after he had come home from his shift.

He would usually stick to missionary, his body weight pressing against you as you synced up to each other, every movement becoming connected. His movements would be deliberately slow at first; he loved to work you up so much that you would be forced to beg him for more.

Finally, when he heard you utter those quiet little words from your lips, he would pick up the pace so he was moving at a steady rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last until you were gasping softly at each stroke he made.

— If he was in a particularly horny mood that day, he would still have you in missionary, but his hands would come up and press your knees to your chest, holding them there as he fucked into you deeply.

The angle let him hit your g-spot perfectly, and left you a shaking, helpless mess every time. He would make sure to ditch the condom for these fucks, ensuring that his cum would coat your walls completely, breeding you well and full.

He secretly loved having you like this, the obscene squelching sounds that made you blush in embarrassment only fuelled his desire to fill you up as you orgasmed yet again, your juices mixing with his cum and leaving a white ring around the base of his cock.

It also helped that you could barely move when he fucked you in this position, so sweet and helpless. He made sure to be gentle at times, but when he had come home for a long day, you knew you'd be in for a rough time. He would take out his frustration on you — respectfully — and make you cum at least three times before letting you go to sleep. He loved seeing how cock-drunk you would get, becoming incoherent in overstimulation as you begged him to let you rest for a minute. And every time, he would always somehow manage to pull 'just one more' out of you before he let you sleep. Cheeky bastard.

— This one particular day, he came home to see you on the couch, looking so soft and pretty in a little pink babydoll nightdress he had bought for you about a week ago. Suddenly his usual way of thinking was interrupted by the thought being able to get you taking his cock another way...

You were blissfully enjoying your quiet peace before he came in, hard outline of his erection showing through his boxers. Though you had missed taking him in your mouth as it hadn't happened in a while now, so you were willing to oblige.

John relished the way you had been struggling to breathe around him for the past ten minutes, saliva spilling down his cock as you sucked on him. The tears that eventually emerged in your eyes only threw him over the edge as he cummed in your mouth, holding your head down for a minute as he rode his own orgasm out. He wasn't finished with you, though.

He could feel how wet you were for him through your panties, his hands working you up a bit before he asked you to come and sit on his cock.

"What..?" you managed to mumble in surprise.

"You heard me, bunny. Let me feel you on top for once."

After a few minutes of gentle praise and talking you up to it, he had managed to at least get you onto his lap, his hardened cock resting nicely against your stomach.

"See? Not so bad, huh? There's nothing to be embarrassed or worried about," he said, softly reassuring you.

You took his words and reassurance well, enough to let him place you onto him, his length stretching you out in the most delightful way. You found yourself cumming even faster like this, when you could control how fast you bounced on his cock. You often found yourself going at at frantic pace, your rhythm urgent and unrelenting as he laid back and watched you get off on him, enjoying your soft little whines and the sight of your ass bouncing against his abdomen.

— It was safe to say that you two definitely lived up to the phrase of 'fucking like rabbits' .

Tag list 𖠋: @punkkture @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @goldie-221 @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnee777 @figthoughts @mlthree @cupidswan @siphon07 @decaffeinateddelusionbread

[bogcreacher]

could we see what whalefalls smile looks like beneath the mask? I think thier smile would be so silly and cute :3

I’m so sorry to give an exceptionally boring and mildly tragic answer but I do not think Whalefall would be comfortable enough without their skull to smile

[nocturnalfandomdoodles]

distracting