#LOST IN THE SAUCE IF YOU WILL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

breezy-cheezy · 5 months

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You are deep in the paint about One Piece and me and my datemate watched OPLA recently so I will tell you this thing I said while we were talking about Shanks.

He said something to the effect of Shanks is CRAZY STRONG, perhaps one of the strongest, and has some special ability that allows him to tell anyone weaker than him to GTFO, so it's a fucking mystery why he lost his arm when by all rights he never needed to lose the arm. He's still the strongest without it, but why'd he lose it in the first place if he didn't have to???

So I replied, after like a minute of thought, "Because he might not need the arm, but Luffy needed him to lose his arm". Luffy needed the lesson he was going to learn for Shanks giving up that piece of himself to save Luffy's life. He needed to see the stakes and be given that lesson of actions, consequences, collateral damage, giving pieces of yourself for the sake of your crew/family/nakama.

Furthermore, with Sanji and Luffy being connected through "my mentor/surrogate father literally gave up a piece of himself to save my life", stands to logic that Sanji also needed that lesson in the narrative sense. These older guard pirates passed along something vital, giving up something that they don't need to live fulfilling lives but would be seen as incredibly important, to teach the next generation something and give them tools with which to do better.

I don't go here (I don't have the spoons for the entirety of One Piece tbh), but I liked the conclusion I came up with and wanted to share it in the hopes that you might like it too. I don't think I'm breaking any new ground here tbh but as an outsider, it was neat to think about.

I SURE AM, BUDDY X'''D Thanks for popping in! 👀 I got thoughts (and manga screencaps since you won't read it anyway, FREE REIN:

Hm. I mean point taken, but I mean...even the strongest people aren't infallible? Even IF Shanks has Conquerer's Haki (the power in question) which is something very special someone has to be born with and trained to use to its fullest, that doesn't mean it'll fix everything. Also like. He's also been shown to kinda....lose control of it when nervous or on edge.

Like my dude did not have to do this. He mentions later he doesn't like being on different territory or something LOL (he's visiting a different powerful pirate leader here).

Anyway to rescue Luffy at that time, he had to act FAST and was probably SCARED FOR HIM so like. Maybe didn't have the time to make the Haki register? It came down to losing Luffy or bodily thrusting his own arm forward to block the bite from the sea king....and well. Shanks has 2 arms. Only one Luffy. The choice was easy. Even upon losing the arm he didn;t seem upset by it really.

For the sake of the new era he says....the face of it being Luffy himself. And yea the wording really is "I gave it up" and him clearly having no regrets.

STILL I think you do have a point, this was VERY important for Luffy to learn. This same kid stabbed his own face to prove he was "manly enough" to be a pirate (so Shanks wouldn't leave without him....like his brother Ace....like his brother Sabo, to an extent, through "death" in his case) so the realization that being a pirate....would not be easy. There would be sacrifice. There would be pain. But also in a way, it was Shanks showing how important Luffy was to him. This, and passing down that straw hat much to big for Luffy....yeah.

It's clear then he's not ready. Not yet. It's with these parting gifts that Luffy is finally able to let Shanks go, and improve himself so he's strong enough to protect others, so they don;t have to do for him what Shanks did. Luffy learned to live, and while Shanks's sacrifice was devastating to Luffy, he took it to heart to keep going and grow stronger. And yea, that Nakama is just that important, more than limbs. More than life.

NOW SANJI ON THE OTHER HAND....similar but different. Luffy and Sanji were very lonely kids, but for different reasons. Luffy was clingy to anyone who showed him anything close to kindness, while Sanji....puffed up like a scared cat. Without going deep into details, he's from an extremely abusive family that beat into him he's not worth anything because he's weak. Especially from his father. So when Zeff gives him all the food, and sacrifices his own leg....well...

"Why did you do that for me?! I never gave you a reason to be kind to me!!!" And Zeff responds with their shared dreams of the All Blue...but I also feel like it's just. Sanji is a kid. He's just a kid. Again a face of the new generation to come. Zeff had his chance to search for the All Blue and be a pirate, but Sanji's life is just beginning. I'm sure that fueled his decision too.

But unlike Luffy, this just made Sanji cling harder. In a way he gave up his dream to support Zeff, out of guilt, out of a sense of duty and kindness he'd....not really experienced and didn't know what to do with. And Zeff probably allowed it for awhile, because goodness Sanji is just a kid, and he needed someone to help him grow and learn.

But it took Luffy to come along, bringing "I will live for you" to challenge Sanji's "I will die for you" conclusion.

Which uh. Didn't really fix Sanji's self sacrificial nature, but it HELPED, lmao. Eventually he was able to let go of suppori=ting the Baratie to finally chase his dream...as long as he doesn't die for a crewmate in the process hsdhfhdsk

So YEA IDK how much their mentors/father figures knew/thought about their sacrifices, but there sure were willing choices to give up their limbs for the upcoming generation/era, no matter what. I loved Zeff emphasizing that to Garp in OPLA, I think that's extremely important and a huge theme to One Piece in general. Cycles, power, and how many conflicts rise from powerful forces refusing to let go of their power, thus suffocating the new generations (the World Government smacking down so hard on the age of pirates).

Shanks and Zeff gave their support and protection to ensure these kids could live their fullest lives, and I think that's beautiful!

#nsfi #breezy replies #one piece #meta #op #idk if this made sense I have many thoughts all the time in many directions #op manga spoilers #one piece spoilers #ageofzero #sorry if you got back more than you wanted kjHSKJDLHFKSD I SURE AM DEEP IN THE PAINT #LOST IN THE SAUCE IF YOU WILL #zeff and shanks gave up their limbs willingly because wow they're just kids #their own ways of support #they had no idea how said kids' traumas would react to said sacrifices tho LMAO #ie Luffy letting go and needing to be stronger #whiiiich only got worse with Ace heyo abandonment issues babeyyyy #meanwhile Sanji and kindness being complicated and even RARE....why would he let that go....#love these kids they got issues and their parental figures sure are trying their best lolol #thanks for the ask!!!#shanks #luffy #zeff #sanji #i understand....one piece is very long.....#I personally am super enjoying the manga tho heheheh

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adoreuoon · 10 months

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Everything was too loud, Tim wondered how Kon could even begin to function with his super hearings.

(for the fanfic thing)

thank you for the ask!!

send me an ask with the first sentence of a fic and i’ll write the next five!

The screams inside the building under Tim’s feet were growing too loud to ignore. There weren’t many stars out that night either, just the moon.

Tim’s hearing and sight were already struggling, then he started to lose his footing. Harley Quinn’s giant wooden hammer had struck his bo staff’s defense (literally) right in half, and sent it clambering to the rooftop.

“This is so gonna piss off your dad.”

Harley took a step back to get a good swing lined up. She had Tim backed up to the edge of the roof with nothing behind him but a fifty meter drop onto cold, black pavement.

He reached for his grappling hook and shot it up at the next building to his right, but before the line could reach the other rooftop, Harley’s hammer collided with his wrist and send his grapple flying.

Tim waited for Harley to start gloating again before he made his next move. He noticed that her hammer was still in his vicinity, and he knew his masked covered wherever his eyes were pointing. He grabbed his wrist and winced.

“Wah wah,” she mocked, right on cue. Tim grabbed the hammer by its head, shoved it into the ground, and handsprung off of it. The weight of the hammer yanked Harley forward.

Now, he was behind her, and dealt a strong kick to sweep her legs out from under her. She fell to the ground with an ‘oof’ and turned onto her side. She scolded for a moment, then she smiled devilishly up at Tim, which he assumed was part of her clown gimmick.

Then he felt a strong blow to the back of his head that sent him stumbling sideways. He peered over his shoulder and realized two things; one: the Joker had just clocked him in the head with a pistol, and two: that was why Harley smiled.

He scrambled. It was too loud for him to think clearly. The gunfire and the screams and sirens below were cluttering the air. He supposed Kon could probably counter these situations by flying away from them and shooting lasers out of his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be offended by a little help!” he muttered as he held his finger over the communicator in his ear.

“What was that, sport?” the Joker asked. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over all the people dying.”

Tim threw a punch at the man’s jaw and kicked him in the groin. It gave him enough leeway to grab the gun from Joker’s hand and chuck it off of the roof.

“I have to say, you might be the least entertaining boy blunder yet.” He pulled another pistol from under his purple blazer. “But you are definitely the slowest,” he said. In the same breath, he pointed it down, and sent a bullet into Tim’s foot.

Tim shouted and tripped backwards, but before he could hit the ground, he was in Harley’s arms. “Baby bird, you gotta rest that poor foot! Let me help ‘ya.”

Tim couldn’t tell if there was more fire in his foot or in his chest. He elbowed Harley in her side and managed to get his balance back. He grabbed her hammer from its spot on the ground and swung it at the Joker, knocking the wind out of him.

He used the next couple seconds of air to reach out on comms again. “Batman! Spoiler! Do you-“

He was cut off by another hit to his head, this time it was Harley’s fist slamming against his jaw from the side. For the first time that night, he saw stars.

He felt a coldness in his right ear. It sent a shiver down his spine. The next thing he saw was Harley in front of him with his communicator in her hand. Just when he thought this couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Seriously? This is your backup plan?” Harley laughed. She pressed down on the button and held the communicator uncomfortably close to her mouth. “Wah wah, I’m Robin! I’m useless on my own and my parents are probably dead!” She mocked. “Puh-lease.” With a roll of her eyes, she dropped the comm onto the ground and stomped on it. She even dragged her foot from side to side, as if she were putting out a cigarette.

Tim hadn’t been clobbered in the head for a suspicious amount of time. In anticipation, he turned around and ducked. As he’d suspected, Joker was right behind him, ready to swing again. Tim dodged the Joker’s arm and shot back with a powerful uppercut to his slim jaw.

As resilient as Tim had become, he wouldn’t be able to handle attacks coming from both sides for much longer. He was losing blood, likely had a concussion, and there was so. much. noise.

The Joker stomped on Tim’s oozing foot, which made the boy scream and fall backwards, again into Harley’s arms.

“We gotta stop meetin’ like this, kiddo.” She chuckled at her own joke and began walking backwards, ever so slowly. She stopped once her heels touched the egde of the roof.

Joker stepped closer and loomed over Tim as he squirmed. “You’re no fun at all. I hate to have to cut this short but.. I actually don’t hate to at all. At least the other failed abortions were funny.” He grabbed Tim by the fabric that attached his suit to his cape and raised him up, out of Harley’s arms.

Before Tim could reach out and do anything, he was hoisted over the edge. If he did anything to incapacitate the Joker now, it would mean certain death. With a limp right foot, he was in no position to try anything slick. He didn’t dare to look down, but he knew there was nothing underneath his feet for meters. He knew there was nothing between his body and the ground. He knew Batman wasn’t coming to save him.

“Any last words, Wonder Brat?” The Joker grinned.

With the last bit of energy he had, Tim let out the loudest, most ear piercing, gut wrenching scream possible, and pleaded for the only person he knew would never fail him: “CONNER!”

“Conner?” Harley laughed. “Is Conner Batman’s real name or is some white guy comin’ to save you?”

Tim tried to think of something smart to say to keep himself alive longer and raise his chances of Kon coming to bail him out. But there wasn’t time. Joker let go, and Tim fell.

Tim had fallen from high places before countless times, but he was never without his grapple, without batman, without help. He’d never felt his heart plummet the way it did as he flew downward through the air.

Then it stopped. It was sudden. The falling stopped. Tim felt himself breathe again. His eyes were still clenched shut, but he could feel the warm, strong arms that had caught him mid-air. For a brief moment, Tim thought he was dead.

“Hey,” a sweet voice said. Thank God.

Tim let his eyes open back up. Tan skin, blue eyes, and curly hair. Blue. Leather. Tacky hot topic spikes. Sunglasses, even though it was nighttime. Thank God.

“You okay?” Kon asked.

“Yeah.” Tim cleared his throat, trying to get his teary eyes back to normal before they could leak out from under his mask and give him away. “Thanks.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“Yeah, well… can you take me home please? If it’s not too much trouble. I got shot in the foot and I don’t think I’d make it very far on my own.”

Kon’s eyebrows shot up as he peered over to inspect Tim’s foot. “No problemo, dude. Is Batman gonna kill me for being in Gotham though?”

“He’ll get over it,” Tim snickered. He finally let himself look down, now that he knew he was safe. Then, he realized that civilians were starting to notice Superboy holding Robin in the sky. If that were to make the papers, Batman might never get over it. “We should go.”

“Agreed,” Kon said, making the same observation. With Tim tight in his grasp, he took off for the Batcave.

Kon’s superhearing was unbearable near that building, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything as long as Tim was safe.

#big whump #sorry tim :(#timkon #timkon fic #my writing #dc fic #this is way more than five please forgive me #i got carried away #lost in the sauce if you will #not proofread #be kind to me please

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midnight-coffee94 · 9 months

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No single line has ever wrecked me as hard as this one from the Good Place and I think about it constantly

#the good place #i'm binge watching it again and it just takes me out so hard #i get lost in the sauce thinking about this quote #the idea that those who hurt you are capable of being better people and then seeing them change and grow just hits me right between the rib #who am i kidding it stabs me like the senators stabbed Caesar #anyway #icy does a tag ramble

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takami-takami · 1 year

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OMGSHHA I LOVE YOUR BLOG UGHHH this has been on my mind for a little while but keigo breeding reader like crazy because baby boy is in a rut and can’t keep his hands of them he just wants to breed them so good he can’t help itt 😣😣❤️

Can't Help Myself.

includes— hawks x gn!reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— rut. breeding kink. biting. keigo getting lost in the sauce and trying (failing) to be nice. he can't help himself :(

Your doting boyfriend has always been quite handsy, but lately Keigo's been... Excessive? Desperate, more like.

"Fuck— 'M sorry," he pants above you, eyes glazed over and bottom lip quivering as the tight vice of your body just won't let him go. His tongue feels too heavy for his cotton-dry mouth, his palms clammy as he paws at your chest, neck, hips— anywhere he can get his greedy hands on.

You both know exactly what he's apologizing for, though you don't think it's necessary. He doesn't want to be too rough with his baby, his sweetheart, his lovely darling; but how can he treat you with the tenderness you deserve when wrecking you feels so good? When every backstroke sucks him in like a vice, as if you're just begging to keep him inside and fill you to the brim? Just the thought of your body responding so earnestly, of it begging and ready to be bred, sends a sharp current down his spine. It's electric.

And it goes straight to his cock.

How would you look when he's filled you, he wonders? He can't stop his attention from drifting, can't stop himself from visualizing the look of your jaw slack, his name dripping from your lips as he pulls out and obscenely fucks his cum back into you.

The sounds it would make... The ring it would form around the base of his cock as he twitches and pumps load after load inside you...

He needs it. He needs it like he needs air to breathe.

It's quite the contrast to his typical giving nature. The thoughtful, attentive Keigo who's gentle fingers would bring you to orgasm at least twice before he even thought about undressing himself is long gone.

Gone is the man who'd whisper sweet nothings in your ear as he rocked careful thrusts to the rhythm of the kisses he'd plant on your collarbone, gone is the man who took his time in breaking you down into fits of pleasure only he could provide.

He wants to be that for you right now. Honest. He is trying, you know.

His restraint doesn't go unnoticed. There's a pause in his thrusts, a pained look in his eyes as he tries so desperately to take it slow. Each time his hips cant forward, a breathy "hah" escapes his lips and his brow furrows just a bit deeper. He can't push his baby too much, no, but fuck this isn't enough. Tears of frustration burn at his eyes as he holds every cell in his body back from what his instincts scream and beckon him to do.

God help him, he just needs to breed you for all you're worth, just needs a couple loads stuffing you to make him normal. He needs to fuck you like rabbits, sweet and slow be damned.

Little does he know, you've caught on to his predicament.

His breath catches in the cutest squeak when you fist the roots of his hair and yank his head to the side to meet your heated gaze.

"You want to be a good boy, don't you?"

Eyes impossibly wide, full of fearful adoration and eager to please, Keigo nods sharply.

"Yeah, I—" he fucking whines, leaning his head into the grip you have on his scalp. "Wanna be good." He blinks away the tears sticking to his dark lashes before looking to you for orders.

Pretty little puppy, you swear to god.

"My pretty boy," you coo. He shudders in response, melting and gooey in your grasp. Pliable. "C'mon, Kei', let go for me?"

He winces, shaking his head to free himself from the places his mind is going. He begins to rock his hips again, feathers trembling with barely concealed restraint. He tries to ground himself by mouthing at your exposed chest. It doesn't work.

You roll your eyes. Of course he'd be stubborn; but you know exactly what will bring him to his knees.

Leaning into the crook of his neck, you let out an unabashed moan directly into his ear. He goes rigid.

"Keigo, breed me?" His eyes open wide, breath stopping completely, as if he doesn't want a single sound blocking his focus from your words. "I need you, please— has to be you. No one else." You run your fingers up the expanse of his back, digging your nails into the tender skin. "Fuck me, breed me, do whatever you want to me—"

He can't take any more. He plants a palm over the headrest with a firm thud and fucks you with the speed and fervor of a man possessed, a man obsessed.

"Whatever I want, huh?" The far-gone way he slurs the words out has you shivering. You grip his shoulders for dear life, high pitched, pretty little moans settling in his bones. With each punishing thrust, they seem to get louder and louder. Music to his fucking ears, he thinks.

You're close. He can feel it in the way you're squeezing the life out of his cock— greedy for it. You're the perfect little outlet for all his rutting frustrations, and he just wants to take.

When it hits you, you feel the air leave your lungs. You hook your trembling legs across the small of his back, back bowing as you wring and milk his cock for all it's worth. "That's it, dove— oh, fuck me," his harsh pace never slows, even as you squirm and hiccup beneath his grasp. The fact that your orgasm is pulling him in, like your body itself knows that he's aching to fill you breaks what little restraint he has left.

"Take it baby, need to breed you— inside, inside," he practically babbles into your shoulder, his hips losing focus. He can feel himself throbbing inside you, pumping his hips as he chases his own climax.

When he finally finishes, he can't stop shivering and snarling into the skin he's latched onto, the very skin he's sunk his teeth into.

He does good on his promise, indulgently toying with the mess he's created inside you. Mesmerized, he doesn't let you waste a drop, pushing it deeper inside.

You let out a sigh of complete satisfaction, prompting a dazed chuckle from above.

"Oh, no. We're not done here, sweetheart. What was it you said? 'Whatever I want', yeah?"

#hiii sorry i made him a bit baby gurl here #got lost in the sauce myself. thank you for the ask !! <3 #💌 asks #🖋 writing #🌶 spice #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks smut #keigo takami smut #smut mention #mha thirst #bnha thirst

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slasherscream · 3 months

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Crazy Ass Girls Gang ft. what type of yandere are they

warnings: yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Tiffany Valentine / clingy, obsessive, manipulative

You'd better be damn sure you want to be with Tiffany before you ever bring up dating her because there is no escape once you've embarked on the exciting journey of being her romantic partner.

But if we're being honest you never really had a choice. You think you met organically? Became close by fate? No, Tiffany saw you and wanted you and decided to have you.

It was love at first sight on her part.

You'll be friends for a few months as she weaves the inescapable web around you. Best friends, actually. You'll tell her absolutely everything about yourself. Learn everything about her in turn. It's pure bliss to have a friend like Tiffany. Supportive, charming, affectionate.

You can tell she loves you more than anything. Loves you more than anyone else has ever loved you before, and she isn't afraid to show it.

You probably already had a partner when you met Tiffany. She was heartbroken when you first told her. The heartbreak didn't last long. Why cry over spilled milk? She wants to take it slow with you anyways, make sure that this time every aspect of the life you build together will be perfect.

She's come in too heavy before. You can't rush perfection, her mother always told her. For you, the lesson is finally worth learning.

Everything can be a tool. In the right hands. And Tiffany's hands? Why, they're incredibly skilled. She uses your soon-to-be-ex as a diving board for your upcoming relationship with her. Even if you'd been perfectly content with the relationship until you met Tiffany, suddenly everything is awful.

Tiffany points out every mistreatment. Every cancelled date. Every strange tone they used when talking to you. Every shitty, unoriginal gift. Every moment they weren't enthusiastic enough about good news you had to share.

It gets to the point where you can't even look at them half the time. You'll end dates with your partner early just to go spend more time with Tiffany: "What do you think they meant when they said that, Tiff?" / "I think they forgot who they were talking to, sweetheart! They're lucky I wasn't around or I would've cut out their tongue."

Tiffany has you so wrapped around her finger she's not even the one who suggests the break up. She was still going to wait a month or two before she began to truly push.

But when you show up at her doorstep in the middle of the night, holding flowers and her favorite takeout, rambling about how you've been so blind and it's always been Her...

Well, she has to smile as she pulls you in, savoring the last first kiss your lips will ever gift another soul.

She almost forgot how good she is at getting what she wants.

Jordan Li / protective, obsessive, lucid

You're so sweet. It was the first thought Jordan remembers having about you. The beginning of the end. They haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that one fatal moment.

Jordan has plenty of other things to think about. Things that should outclass you in importance easily. Their ranking, Brink's careful mentoring, their grades. They tell themselves that it all still matters more than you but they know they're lying to themselves.

It scares them a little, how much they actually think about you. Not a minute can go by without their thoughts drifting to you.

Did you eat today? / Your next class is in ten minutes, let me walk you, I've got the time. / You were running out of your favorite perfume. Got you a new bottle. / You look upset. Did someone fucking say something to you?

They can't help the way they hover around you during every spare moment they can find.

Jordan knows your schedule by heart to maximize the amount of time you can spend together. It's a balancing act they have to play with their brain for the simplest of tasks: you can spend the rest of the day with Y/N but you have to finish grading these essays first.

They can't function properly when they go too long without you. They swing on their sparring partners too hard. Stare at the clock during lectures instead of listening. They rip textbooks and snap pens by holding them too tight.

Sometimes they have to give up and call you. If they can't go and see you for whatever reason the sound of your voice makes it better. Hearing you talk, the sound of you breathing, laughing. It helps. Calms the buzz beneath Jordan's skin. They dial your contact, glaring into space as they wait for you to pick up. As soon as you do their body relaxes.

They recognize that their behavior isn't normal. Always needing to know where you are, who you're with. Feeling sick when they don't know.

You're like a drug for Jordan. They know you're an addiction, the way you've crawled under their skin. No high on earth compares, and Jordan has fucking compared them all. They pull you into their lap, as close as they can get you and it's never enough. Nothing is ever enough.

"Please don't fucking go anywhere, yeah?" Jordan will mumble into the skin of your neck. Their grip on you is too tight, face twisted at the desperation they feel. It's not pillow talk. They're begging. Genuinely. They'd do anything to keep you this close, always.

"Of course not, Jordie." You coo back. They close their eyes and pretend the words are enough. Nothing ever is.

Nancy Downs / delusional, possessive, obsessive

As soon as Nancy wants you there's no other option for you besides her. You can either choose to go along with it or you can fight it.

Fighting against her is like fighting against the tide, though. You can tread water for awhile. Keep your head afloat, sure. But eventually you'll get tired. Nature wins. Besides, fighting against Nancy becomes unpleasant fast. Being hers is so much nicer. She's gentler that way, kinder.

You're allowed to have friends, she doesn't isolate you completely.

It's just your old friends sucked. They didn't appreciate you. Didn't look out for you. Selfish users just like everyone else. Moths are always drawn to the light, and she'll kill every moth that strays a little too close to you, before it ever gets a chance to singe itself on your warmth. It's a mercy, really. Living a life in the darkness and having one brief moment in the sun is miserable. Nancy should know. It almost drives her crazy when you're not around. If you ever left she'd want to be put out of her misery too.

Her coven, though? They're perfect. Her coven is a family. And you were the last missing piece of it.

Anything about your old life, the life before her, can be viewed as a threat at a moment's notice. Family. Friends. Memories you speak of a little too fondly. Even a hobby could do it. She wants your focus to be her. It's only fair, her only focus is you.

Even when she's not around. Even when you're completely alone you swear you can feel her eyes on you. Her magic drifting against your skin as if she was sitting right beside you.

Nancy's intensity can be scary but she makes anyone else's love seem dull in comparison.

Who else could love you like she does? Who else would die for you? Nancy wouldn't even have to think about it first. All she asks in return is for you to do the same. Live for her. Dedicate every breathe in your lungs to her.

It's not so hard, she'll lead by example.

Jennifer Check / manipulative, possessive, clingy

She couldn't give a shit about anyone else but you. Somehow you managed to sneak your way into her heart and she can't let go of you. Won't let go of you. You're the only thing that's keeping that small, soft, human part of her alive. You dragged that bit of her back from the grave she put it in, actually. So it wouldn't be fair for you to try and leave, after you made her weak again. Human again.

Her world revolves around you. Her priorities are her next meal and you. Of course she gets pissed off if you don't reciprocate her energy. Look at her, how could you ever put anything above her?

Jennifer wants you to be everything to each other, though she won't say it out loud. It shows in her actions.

You belong to her. Every version of yourself that exists in the world should belong to her. The version of you that you are when you're someone's best friend. When you're someone's partner. It's all hers. She won't let anyone else take root in your life in a role that she can fill. She'll do a better job anyways.

The enormity of her ego and the way she clings might seem at odds. She thinks she's a God walking amongst fucking cattle. But she sticks to you like a second skin. A hand always at your waist. Her lips always chasing yours, whining when you don't give in fast enough, when you don't melt like she does. Her grip iron clad when you hold hands. If you pull away too soon from a hug, from a kiss, she bites, she holds on with claws.

She coos at the marks she leaves on your skin and kisses all the scratches and bruises she leaves better. / "I'm sorry baby, you know I hate letting you go."

Carrie White / idolizer, protective, selfless

Not in her wildest dreams did Carrie think anyone could be as kind as you. People are cruel. Their first instinct is to cause hurt before they'll ever reach out a hand to help, to shield, to love.

But you're not like that at all. You're something ripped straight from a fairy-tale. The rare ones that her Mother let her read, that weren't hiding devil worship between their poetic words.

You're so patient with her. So gentle. You treat her like glass. You hold her close, and kiss her soft, and cup her face in your hands that are always so warm.

You say you love her in a breathless way, every time. Like even expressing how much you care makes you dizzy. As if she overwhelms you. She feels dizzy herself as she hangs on your every honeyed word. Clings to you every time you reach out your hands to hold her.

Carrie doesn't know if she believes in God nowadays, but if she did you'd be an angel sent straight from heaven. A gift, maybe, to make up for all the years of torment she endured from everyone she'd ever known.

She'd think you were some kind of God yourself, if you had any sort of abilities like her. But you don't. You walk around doing what's right, being good down to the marrow of your very bones just because it's who you are. You greet the world with your fists raised and you're only human, and it scares Carrie so much.

You're the last decent person alive and you'll throw yourself onto any pyre you see if it means doing what's right. Carrie loves that about you. It terrifies her.

So Carrie throws herself into the ring with you. Your sweet, gentle Carrie who you're always trying to protect. But Carrie doesn't need your protection. She's not the helpless little girl she used to be. She won't let anything hurt either of you, from now on. For the rest of your lives you'll be safe, happy. Together. Carrie would burn the world to ash if it meant not a scratch would befall you.

"You're an angel, Y/N. The most wonderful angel God ever made."

Ginger Fitzgerald / possessive, impulsive, protective,

Sometimes Ginger wishes everyone else in the world would disappear, besides the two of you. They're a hindrance.

She feels insane when she watches you. She feels her claws come out and makes herself bleed as she fights against the instinct to rip out every tongue that speaks to you, and every pair of eyes that's ever looked into yours.

She shivers when you claim her. The only time she enjoys being around other people now is when you're introducing her: "This is Ginger, my girlfriend." "This is Ginger, my partner." "This is Ginger, my best friend." "This is Ginger, my everything."

She loves being yours. Relishes in the way you say the word mine. She wants to lick the words from your mouth, the weight of your total ownership over her sweet and poisonous.

She wonders if you get the same pleasure from belonging to her. She wants you to. She wants to carve her name into your skin with her claws and have you moan at the first sharp sting of the letter G.

It's primal, the way she wants you. Beyond anything humans have words for. She leaves her scent on your skin and wants to growl when you wash it away with artificial soaps and perfumes. She sucks bruises into every inch of you that anyone else could see.

She wants you to do the same. Wants to roll onto her back and expose her neck, and have you bite so hard you draw blood.

Ginger's wanting comes with teeth. What she is demands she sinks her teeth into things, that she draws blood. Even when she loves you. Because she loves you, maybe. She needs to leave a mark on you. She needs to always be there. She needs the same from you.

Needs you to leave scars on her that she can touch when you're not around. Proof that you were there. Proof that you're coming back. You don't carve your name into things and then abandon them. When you own things you keep them.

When you're gone the world goes dim and cold. She couldn't survive in a world without you. She wouldn't even attempt it. What would be the fucking point?

"We're a pair. We belong to each other. Always, yeah?"

#crazy ass girls gang #tiffany valentine x reader #jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine #tiffany valentine imagine #jennifer check x reader #jennifer check imagine #ginger fitzgerald x reader #carrie white x reader #nancy downs x reader #thank you ty and oak for helping me place these guys i was in the trenches #im still in the trenches right now because im down BAD i want them all in a way that #MUST be studied by scientists this shit ain't normal #sorry if this makes me look gay it's because i am #got a little lost in the sauce with ginger HELLO???

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matchstique · 1 year

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I have not animated in a dog’s age. Forgot how you can get sucked into it while simultaneously get angry at the tiny mistakes.

#rottmnt #tmnt #rottmnt mikey #animated gif #animation is hard guys #I don’t know if you know this #but it is a labor of love and spite against time /pos #I didn’t add his little middle tassels on purpose #I was getting too lost in the sauce

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vodid · 14 days

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hey so what if i was back to drawing saucy blitzbee. this time uh uh kind of in need of a cut. vv

so anyway um um um um um

#this piece is brought to you by ourghh.... the hands........#blitzbee #suggestive #vart #lost in the sauce (sultry blitzbee art)

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basketobread · 5 months

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I love that the portal rock gale is stuck in looks like a magic weaveussy

HELP????????????????

#WHAT ON FAERUN!!!!!#WHO SAID THIS!!!#WHICH ONE OF YOU SAID THIS!!!#and why are u right 😭 FSDIFDGFDDSFYU #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #ask bob #gale is lost in that sauce #*dies in magic weaveussy prison*#what a way to go

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birgittesilverbae · 1 year

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beatrice in the background // warrior nun s2

for @karatam x

#warrior nun #sister beatrice #ava silva #ava x beatrice #I'm realizing now this isn't exactly what you requested but I got lost in the sauce #mywn #myedit #she truly spent the entire first departure scene glaring at Michael legends only #and sister beatrice proves chivalry ain't dead

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esmes · 5 months

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don't ya want to know? do ya really wanna know?

#sweeney todd #sweeney todd revival #sweenett #broadwayedit #annaleigh ashford #josh groban #IDK YALL just something about her excited little face as she daydreams makes me wanna :) scream :)#the exasperated little pat on her hand lmao this is NOT the first time this man has had to endure her flights of fancy #she's just lost in the sauce and he's like here we go again #she may be a monster but she's MY monster ok?#**#mt #otp: if you only knew

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winkle-pickers · 2 years

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HAPPY (VERY BELATED) 42ND BIRTHDAY TO KAIBA SETO. NEVER 👏 STOP 👏 LEAPING 👏 OUT OF 👏 MOVING 👏 AIRCRAFT 👏 KING 👑

#dont break a leg you crazy old fart #im fashionably late #bc i got lost in the sauce and drew an entire ass shaded comic #WHAT ABOUT IT #huh????#if i can't get carried away drawing middle aged kaibros #WHAT IS LIFE EVEN.#kaiba seto #seto kaiba #kaiba mokuba #mokuba kaiba #isono #roland #bless him #yugioh #ygo #yugioh dm #art tag

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carmybears · 2 years

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Assembly Required

or - The Inherent Eroticism of Swedish Furniture

This started as a joke and quickly spiraled out of hand

pairing: carmy berzatto X female!reader

summary: What's a new apartment without a trip to Ikea? Building Ikea furniture with Carmy and christening a new apartment

word count: 3.8K

warnings: explicit content, 18+; oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), praise kink, hair pulling, dirty talk, mentions of carmy's gold chain, established relationship

There’s nothing quite as humbling as assembling Ikea furniture.

For such a young man, Carmy had already accomplished a lot more in his life than he ever really expected he would – not just graduating culinary school but excelling in it, working in some of the finest dining establishments in the world, winning a James Beard award, and reopening the family restaurant essentially from the ground up. But god help him if the assembly instructions for this Ingolf dining chair weren’t just going to get the best of him.

Over the course of the past several months, you and Carmy had been in the whirlwind process of moving in together. Deciding to get a place together was one of the easiest decisions he had made since returning to Chicago – he already essentially lived in your apartment, so it only made sense to find a place for the both of you when his lease was up. Apartment hunting had been something of a chore, and he shuddered to think of some of the places you’d seen in listings before stumbling across a shockingly spacious 1 bedroom with a decently renovated kitchen, a surprising amount of natural light, and a relatively easy commute to both the restaurant and your office.

House Hunters, eat your heart out.

As your move-in date came ever closer, every spare moment of your time together had become dedicated to preparing for the move. Many nights, the two of you had shared stories about your own respective days at work over piles of clothes to donate or cardboard boxes lined with packing paper and bubble wrap. Not exactly the sexiest of dates, but he knew that he’d have you all to himself before long.

The day of the actual move went surprisingly well, despite the long hours you’d spent moving boxes from one apartment to the other. Carmy already had very little stuff to actually move, and you’d talked him into hiring professional movers to take the furniture and heavier items to the new place. It left the two of you with plenty of time to methodically move from room to room, unpacking as many boxes as you could before absolutely running out of energy at the end of the day, collapsing on a hastily made bed. It was only at sunrise, when the light began to stream directly into Carmy’s eyes, that you realized you needed to buy curtains.

Well, you needed more than just curtains. In fact, you needed several pieces of furniture and had planned to use Carmy’s second consecutive day off as an opportunity to drive out to the Ikea in Shaumburg and check several items off of your shopping list.

You arrived shortly after opening, and Carmy sipped a gas station coffee lazily from a paper mug as the two of you wandered side by side through the store, occasionally sidetracked by a display featuring items you most certainly did not need. If he hadn’t been with you, he wouldn’t have necessarily enjoyed the shopping process – He had always chosen his furnishings based more on function than form, which he supposed was how he had ended up with a tattered, striped couch that you deemed “fit for a frat basement” and insisted was not allowed in your shared apartment. Still, seeing your eyes light up as you strayed away from his side to pinch the fabric of a throw blanket between your fingers or inspect a set of glassware was surprisingly endearing to him as you leisurely meandered your way through the labyrinthine showroom.

You returned home that afternoon with a bounty of flat packed treasures – four ingolf dining chairs, a Fjallbo coffee table, Hemnes dresser, plus whatever other odds and ends you had thrown into the bright blue and yellow canvas bag. The rest of the day had been spent assembling furniture, a growing mountain of cardboard and Styrofoam amassing along the outskirts of the living room with each item you constructed. The coffee table and dresser had come together with little difficulty, although now Carmy was suspecting that he had met his match as he struggled to comprehend just where exactly he was supposed to be placing a screw in the first of four dining chairs that remained to be assembled.

“You look stumped. Lemme take a look,” you offer, crawling across the new area rug to him.

“Take it,” he relinquishes the instruction sheet to you readily. “I think it’s scrambling my brain just lookin’ at this too long.”

You study the instructions for a moment before pulling the miscellaneous pieces closer to you, brow furrowed in concentration as you pick up the allen wrench and begin the assembly process

He watches in admiration as you work, the chair starting to take form before his very eyes as you hum along to the song playing on the Bluetooth speaker you had set on your newly assembled coffee table. You’re dressed in an Original Beef of Chicagoland t-shirt that you’d stolen from the back office at the restaurant shortly after the grand opening of The Bear, and your crossed legs were bare, save for a black pair of athletic shorts that left very little to the imagination. For a moment, he’s entranced by your thighs, the thought flitting across his mind how he wouldn’t mind being in between them right about now, when he notices a garish mark near your inner thigh.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asks, fingers automatically reaching out to brush across your skin where an angry looking bruise has formed.

“Hmm?” you glance away from your work, down to your lap. “Must just be from moving around all these boxes. It’s no big deal.”

“Sure it doesn’t hurt?” His hand rests on your bare thigh a moment longer and it’s practically Pavlovian the way his mind starts to wander, thinking of all the ways you still have yet to christen the new apartment.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” You’re hardly paying attention to him, your eyes glued once more to the page. “Do you see a screw laying around somewhere?”

His mind is lost in thoughts of you – your skin against his, your breathy moans in his ear – when he sees you looking at him expectantly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A screw, Carm. Do you see one laying around here somewhere?”

Without waiting for an answer, you rock forward onto your knees, crawling all around the half assembled chair. He starts to look halfheartedly, idly picking up random pages and pieces of cardboard in search of the missing screw, but mostly he’s just eyeing your ass as you crawl around.

A part of him thinks that maybe he should feel just a little bad that he’s not being more helpful in your search – it had been a long weekend after all, and you still had a long way to go before you were fully unpacked and settled in. But on the other hand, he could easily count on one hand how many times the two of you had been intimate in the past two months – busy work schedules, packing lists, and the occasional bickering about what furniture to keep or sell always seemed to get in the way whenever you two had time alone. Or plain exhaustion – can’t forget about that.

Eventually, you give up, sitting back up with your palms pressed to your knees as you let out a groan of frustration. “I can’t believe we’re missing a fucking screw.”

“I think I know where you can get a fucking screw,” Carmy mumbles, not quite sure what devil on his shoulder has clouded his better judgement.

You look at him incredulously, immediately clocking the innuendo. It’s not like you two don’t talk dirty when the occasion calls for it, but damn Carmy can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck as he realizes how crude his thoughts sound when spoken aloud.

“Sorry, I’m as surprised by that as you are,” he apologizes quickly. With fidgeting hands, he starts to rifle through the debris on the floor again, struggling to meet your eye.

When he hears you start to laugh, he steals a look back over at you, noticing that the tension has left your shoulders as you melt into his side, squeezing his bicep reassuringly. He looks down at you and allows an uncertain smile to cross his face as he admires the way your eyes crinkle in laughter as you try to catch your breath.

“That has got to be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said me,” you wheeze. “Please say more.”

You don’t give him the opportunity to say another word because you place your hands on his cheeks and pull him into a kiss, still giggling when your lips first make contact. As he wraps an arm around your waist to draw you closer, you melt against him, kissing him in earnest now. Something stirs in the pit of his stomach and he wants more – especially when he feels your fingers twist and tangle into the curls at the nape of his neck. He pulls you flush against him and you groan into his mouth, planting your knees on either side of his hips. You’re all warmth and softness in his lap, and he swears the very blood in his veins turns molten as he realizes how badly he wants you underneath him.

With a swift arc of his arm, he clears the miscellaneous debris from the rug before easing your back down to the floor. His lips are working their way along the line of your jaw when you hear the clatter of something small and metallic skittering across the hardwoods. And just like that, the spell is broken.

“Do you think that was the missing screw?”

“Hmm could be,” he mumbles into your skin, pressing his lips into that spot at the base of your neck that usually makes you squirm. Instead, you’re craning your head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the screw among the small mountain of trash, saying something under your breath about how you should check it out.

He inches away from you as you begin to prop yourself up on your elbows underneath him.

“The chair’s really that important right now?” he asks, just barely leveling the twinge of annoyance in his voice.

“We need someplace to sit, Carmy,” you counter.

He snorts just a little at your reasoning. “I can think of someplace better for you to sit right now.”

His remark earns him an eye roll from you, but you pause for a moment in hesitation. He takes that moment as leverage, gripping your hips tight in his hands and drawing them up to meet his, groaning in the back of his throat as your bodies make contact.

“You feel what you do to me right?” he asks, shamelessly incapable of stopping himself from rocking his hips against yours in a desperate search for friction. A small whine escapes the back of your throat and his gaze softens as he looks down on you. “I’ve been missing you like crazy.”

He strokes your cheek, fingers grazing down your cheekbone and along your neck, where he can feel your pulse fluttering rapidly. He knows you well enough that he swears he can see your thoughts happening in real time as realization washes over your features.

“We’ve just been so busy,” you offer weakly. “It’s been hard to make the time.”

“I know, I know,” he presses his lips to yours briefly. “Just be here with me right now, baby. I’ll build you all the chairs you want after.”

You nod furiously, balling his shirt up into your first as you pull him back down to you in a searing kiss. He slips an arm underneath you, pressing you ever closer as his fingers slip underneath your shirt, gliding against soft skin until you’re breathless underneath him. He feels you clawing at his t-shirt and together you both move in a flurry to discard your clothing onto the ground beside you. He’s planting open mouthed kisses onto every accessible inch of feverish skin until he has you bare underneath him.

Your fingers are fiddling impatiently with the zipper on his jeans, pushing them lower down his hips until he kneels back on his heels to finish the job for you. You sit up too, pulling his shirt over his head in a hurried motion before grabbing his arm and coaxing him over to the couch with you.

“Floor not good enough for you?” he asks, leaving a trail of kisses over your collar bones as he presses you down into the cushions.

“I’m just already sore,” you protest, your fingers tracing idly across his shoulder blades.

“But I haven’t even done anything yet,” he croons into your ear, bringing a hand up to knead at your breast.

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

And he does know – the subtle aches in the back of his legs and in between his shoulders have been present all day after the grueling hours of moving in the day beforehand. That’s not going to stop him now though, not as your legs fall open under his hands. His dick twitches at the sight of your pussy, evidence of your arousal glistening at the apex of your thighs and he’s like a man enchanted.

“This all for me, baby?” he asks you softly, reaching out to stroke your folds, wetness gathering on his calloused fingers as you squirm into his touch.

“Yes,” you gasp, pleading with him as you grasp his wrist in a feeble attempt to guide his fingers where you so desperately want him. “Carmy, please.”

You don’t have to ask him twice as he sinks two fingers into your snug walls. He studies your face as he touches you – the way you bite back a groan as his fingers stretch you out, admiring the way you tilt your head back, baring your neck to him as the pad of his thumb brushes roughly against your clit.

“Fuck,” you groan. “Carmy.”

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this for me, baby.” It’s true, you do. He thinks you’ve never looked prettier than you do in this apartment, with your proudly thrifted couch, half-built Ikea furniture and granite countertops that he could fuck you on every night if you wanted. With his free hand, he palms heavily over the front of his Calvin Kleins and makes a mental note that the kitchen is next in line for christening. But he has something he wants to do first.

You whine when he removes his hand from between your legs, but before you can protest, he’s maneuvering your thighs closer to the edge of the couch and angling your hips toward himself as he sinks to his knees in front of you.

He can feel your thighs trembling already in anticipation around him and you’re swearing under your breath before he’s even had his first taste of you. He starts with a few furtive licks, allowing the smell and taste of you to invade his senses before delving in deeper, lapping at your drenched pussy with languid strokes of his tongue. Wrapping one arm around your thigh, he pulls your leg over his shoulder, causing a shift of your hips that has the tip of his nose nudging against your clit. He steals a look back up at you just in time for you to cry out in pleasure, hands reaching down to tangle in his hair. Increasingly frantic, you tug at the roots, guiding his mouth where you want him, hips grinding senselessly into his nose and wanting mouth.

“Oh my fucking god,” you groan above him as his lips close around your clit, humming softly. He glides two fingers back into you, thrusting them in and out of you in time with the tight circles he’s making around your clit with his tongue.

“Carmen,” you sob his full first name – not Carmy, not baby, not Chef – Carmen. “Don’t fucking stop. JesusfuckingChrist don’t stop.”

He doesn’t stop – wouldn’t dream of it. Even as your thighs clamp together around his head, he’s dizzy with the taste of you, groaning into your pussy as he pushes his tongue into you, big nose pressed into your clit in just the precise way that has you falling apart for him. You’re babbling incoherently as you cum on his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to lap up every wave of pleasure that rolls over you until you’re squirming, oversensitive under his lips.

“Too much, Carm,” you beg. “Please.”

He nuzzles a kiss into your inner thigh, lips pressed right above the bruise he noticed earlier, before crawling back up to you. Your chest is heaving against his as you limply wrap your arms around the back of his neck and he drags his lips along your throat.

“Absolutely insane that we haven’t done this in so long,” you pant, curling your fingers tightly in his hair to angle his mouth back toward yours. He swallows the groan you make when you taste yourself on his tongue and his dick twitches in his underwear at the sensation of your fingernails scratching at his scalp, raking down his back.

“C’mere,” you mumble against his lips, and in an awkward tumble of limbs, you both maneuver so that he’s laying prone on the coach with you sitting at his hips. He can feel the heat of your core so easily through his briefs that he thinks he may go insane. You drive a merciful hand under the waistband of his underwear and grab his aching cock so firmly in your hand that it makes his head spin just a bit as your thumb grazes over the tip. You pump the shaft expertly once, twice and he’s not even quite sure that he’s speaking English anymore.

“Wanna be inside you so bad, baby.”

“Sure you don’t want me to return the favor?” You’re easing his underwear down his thighs, all the while looking him directly in the eyes, your gaze heated. He knows right then and there that he wouldn’t last 5 seconds in your mouth.

“Another time,” he rasps, reaching toward you in a desperate attempt to feel your delicate fingers or the soft curve of your hips – he’ll take any little bit you have to give him. “Just want you now.”

You rock your hips against him, coating the length of him in your wet heat; a low groan in the shape of your name escapes his throat. He wants to chastise you for teasing him, but before he can find the words, you sink down onto him with a soft “Oh.”

There’s a moment of stillness and he drinks in the sight of you, eyes fluttering shut and lips thoroughly kissed and swollen. He can’t help the way the words tumble out of his mouth – “I love you.”

“But I haven’t even done anything yet,” you grin cheekily.

And that’s when you move.

You’re hot and wet around him and he’s absolutely mesmerized by the sight of his cock disappearing into you repeatedly as you move above him.

“Fuck, you ride my dick so well, baby,” he praises, cupping one breast in his hand, kneading the soft flesh there in time to the rhythm of your hips rocking against his.

There’s a slight tug at the base of his neck as the hand you’ve leveraged against his chest catches on his golden chain, your fingers curling around the glistening metal as if to tether yourself to him. Something flips like a switch then and he needs more of you.

He grabs your hips roughly on the next thrust, pulling you back down onto him so that he’s buried to the hilt. You cry out and grasp at the back of the couch for balance but let him continue to guide your hips, doing everything you can to keep up with the rougher pace he’s setting for you.

“You good?” He checks in, praying the answer is yes.

“Fuck, Carm,” you groan, digging your fingers into his arm and he can feel the stinging sensation of little crescent moons pressing into the skin. “s’good.”

He can feel how badly your legs are shaking as you match his every move. Heat pools in the bottom of his stomach and he knows he won’t be long now. Maintaining the pace as best as he can, he slides a hand between your bodies, swirling his fingertips around the swollen bud of your clit in a way that makes you swear out loud.

Your thighs clench hard on either side of him and it’s all he can do not to fall apart immediately. You’ve all but collapsed onto his chest and your breath is hot on his neck as you whine to him that you’re close.

“I gotchu,” he promises, fingertips still working in time with his hips. “Come for me.”

And you do.

The sensation of your pulsing walls around him is all at once too much and not enough as he digs his heels into the couch, thrusting erratically into you several more times, chasing his high. With a throaty groan, he screws his eyes shut as a wave of euphoria washes over him. For just a few brief seconds, it’s as if there’s nothing in his world but you.

Limbs heavy and bodies absolutely spent, you lay facing each other, just barely able to fit laying side by side on the couch. If he had the foggiest idea which box a throw blanket had been packed into, he would have pulled one up and around your shoulders. Instead, he settles for curling himself around you, skin still flushed and heated from moments before as you tangle your fingers idly in his hair, gazing at him through heavily lidded eyes. He kisses the tip of your nose and runs the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone as your eyes flutter shut.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he jostles your shoulder lightly.

“Mmmh,” you harrumph. “I know, I know. We should get cleaned up.”

“No, I was gonna say we have some chairs to build.”

The smack he receives to the chest is well deserved. Nevertheless, you allow him to coax you from the couch to a warm shower. Afterward, as you finish dressing and preparing for bed, he pads back out to the living room, sifting once again through the pile of cardboard until the glimmer of something silver catches his eye.

You step into the room just in time to see him setting the lost screw atop the coffee table.

“A project for tomorrow,” you promise.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees, pressing his lips to your forehead.

He thinks of all the tomorrows you have ahead of you – together in your shared apartment, in your shared lives. And he can’t help but be excited for every single one.

#carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmy x reader smut #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmen berzatto x reader smut #carmy berzatto x reader #mine #pardon a cheesy ending and the fact that I got lost in the exposition sauce #would you believe the exposition was longer before i made edits?

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