#hidden refrigerator

[pastelhorses]

Mid-sized minimalist galley kitchen with gray floor and porcelain tile, an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, and quartz countertops, as well as a black island, black appliances, and a black backsplash.

Core

[hayeskarlie]

Enclosed - Kitchen Remodeling ideas for a sizable transitional kitchen with a farmhouse sink, recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, wood countertops, white backsplash, subway tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island, and medium-toned wood flooring.

[daytonmorgan]

Enclosed - Kitchen Remodeling ideas for a sizable transitional kitchen with a farmhouse sink, recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, wood countertops, white backsplash, subway tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island, and medium-toned wood flooring.

[meridabears]

Enclosed - Transitional Kitchen Example of a large transitional single-wall medium tone wood floor and brown floor enclosed kitchen design with a farmhouse sink, recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, white backsplash, subway tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and white countertops

[druitts]

San Francisco Kitchen Enclosed kitchen - mid-sized mediterranean galley porcelain tile and brown floor enclosed kitchen idea with an undermount sink, recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, blue backsplash, ceramic backsplash, stainless steel appliances, no island and beige countertops

[kurare13]

Kitchen Indianapolis

Example of a mid-sized trendy galley porcelain tile and gray floor open concept kitchen design with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, an island, white countertops and paneled appliances

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

"it has an LCD and an app!" that will be so fun in 7 years when everything still works except the dead screen and the abandoned software.

"smart appliances" fuck u i want them dumb as a brick and incidentally as sturdy and enduring

[batsandbirdbrains]

Hmm okay but picture this

Every time Dick has introduced his little brothers to his friends, they get annoyed and snippy and act like they’d rather be literally anywhere else or with anyone else. They constantly treat Dick like he’s annoying and they can’t be bothered to be around him, and usually Dick can just put up with it, ignore it, laugh it off. Because he loves his little brothers. They don’t really mean it. He has to tell himself they don’t really mean it.

But after several years of this happening anytime he brings his brothers around the other titans, or some friends he made on a mission, or literally anyone he knows, it starts to get to him. He stop inviting them to things with him, thinking they must not want to go anyway. He stops asking if they want to hang out with him at all. He’ll go whenever they call him, he’ll always help them if they need it, but he’s tired of being the one to always ask first to do something.

He’s just so tired. It’s like no one wants him around at all. It’s exhausting, trying to put on a happy face all the time.

So imagine his surprise when Jason asks him to go hang out with him and a couple friends. When Jason’s face relaxes at the sight of Dick walking through the door, and he tugs Dick over to a couple new friends he’s been going on missions with and he tells them, “This is my brother, Dickie. You probably know him as Nightwing.”

And these two can’t believe they’re in the same room as Nightwing. Jason looks like he won the lottery. Dick’s just happy Jason actually called him his brother today.

Then the next weekend, Tim begs Dick to help out the Young Justice team with training. Dick agrees, because of course he does. He’d do anything to help his brothers.

“Guys! My brother’s here to help with training!”

“Which one?”

“The best one, obviously,” Tim scoffs, then he tugs Dick into the gym and looks back at him with a shy smile on his face. Dick thinks his heart might explode after hearing Tim say with actual seriousness that Dick is his best brother.

A week after that? Damian asks him to come to the manor, says it’s urgent, and Dick rushes there, only to find Damian sitting with a notepad, waiting eagerly for him.

“What’s up?” Dick asks, sitting on the couch across from him. “Are you alright? You said it was urgent.”

“I have to write an essay for school,” Damian says, his face very serious. “It’s supposed to be about my favorite role model.”

“I mean, Jason is really the one who’s good at essays and stuff-”

“Yes, but Todd is insufferable,” Damian says quickly, then looks down at his notepad. “And besides, he is not my role model. So his input would be useless.”

“Damian?”

Dick is so confused. Damian all but pouts at him.

“You are my role model, Richard. I thought that was obvious.”

“Oh,” is all Dick says, but a smile spreads across his face. “Oh, okay. Well, yeah, okay. Do you have, like, questions you want me to answer or something?”

Damian moves to sit next to Dick, and they go over the essay prompt, and Dick answers a few questions. Helps Damian figure out how he’s going to structure his essay.

A few weeks later, Damian shows off the A he got on his essay, a small smile hidden behind the paper as Dick looks on.

Dick keeps the essay up on his refrigerator with a magnet Damian got him from the zoo. It has an elephant on it. It’s right next to the postcard Jason sent him the Gotham Airport as a joke, and the punchcard for the boba place he goes to with Tim. Two more visits and they get a free drink.

Maybe his brothers don’t hate him so much after all.

[charlotteking27]

The Missing Ring

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: When you can't find your engagement ring on Monaco Grand Prix morning, you spend the entire race day desperately hiding your bare finger from cameras—but Formula 1 fans notice everything, and the internet explodes with breakup theories and conspiracy threads about your relationship with Max.

Warning: none

The morning sunlight poured into the Monaco apartment as you searched the nightstand, your heart starting to race. Your engagement ring—the beautiful diamond Max had chosen—was missing.

"No, no, no," you whispered, dropping to your hands and knees to look beneath the bed. The white gold band with its perfect solitaire diamond had been right there on the nightstand when you fell asleep. You always placed it in the same spot, a routine you had established to keep it safe.

But now it was gone.

You ripped through the bedroom like a whirlwind, checking every drawer and surface, even shaking out the bedsheets twice. Panic rose in your chest as your hands shook. How could you lose something so valuable? Max had proposed only six months ago, and the ring meant everything to you, not just for its worth but for what it signified.

Your phone buzzed, startling you. It was a text from Max's trainer reminding you that today was race day—the Monaco Grand Prix. In your panic, you had completely forgotten.

Your stomach sank. Race day meant cameras. Lots of cameras. Close-up shots, interviews, and public appearances. There was no way to hide a missing engagement ring from the sharp eyes of photographers and fans who noticed everything.

You rushed to the bathroom mirror and stared at your bare ring finger. It looked so wrong, so empty. Think, you told yourself. Maybe you could wear gloves? But it was May in Monaco—no one would believe you needed them. A bandage? Too obvious, and it would attract more attention.

Time was running out. You needed to get to the paddock soon to support Max, but every minute spent searching was another minute wasted. You rifled through the kitchen, checking every counter and drawer, even inside the refrigerator in case you had dropped it while getting water during the night.

Nothing.

Your phone rang—Max's contact photo appeared on the screen. You almost didn’t answer, scared that your voice would reveal your panic.

"Hey, liefje," his familiar Dutch accent said. "Ready for race day?"

"Of course," you managed, your voice a bit strained. "How are you feeling?"

"Confident. The car feels good. Can't wait to see you in the garage." There was a brief pause. "You sound tired. Everything okay?"

"Just… didn’t sleep well. Pre-race nerves, you know?"

Max chuckled. "You get more nervous than I do sometimes. I love you. See you soon?"

"Love you too," you whispered, ending the call before your voice could break.

You had to leave. There was no more time to search, or Max would worry if you were late. You would have to be extra careful to hide your left hand.

The paddock was buzzing with pre-race excitement. You had been to enough Grand Prix weekends to know the routine, but today felt different. Every step felt measured, every gesture planned. You kept your left hand in your pocket, behind your back, or held something to obscure your fingers.

"There she is!" a photographer called out, and you forced a smile while instinctively tucking your left hand behind your right arm.

In the Red Bull garage, you tried to act normal, but it was tiring. You found yourself sitting on your left hand or strategically placing drinks and programs to block the view. Every conversation felt like walking through a minefield.

"Let me get a photo of you and Max before he gets in the car," one of the team photographers requested.

Your heart raced as Max wrapped his arm around you. You pressed your left hand firmly against his back, hidden from view, praying the angle would work.

But you should have known that Formula 1 fans missed nothing.

Within two hours of the photos being posted, your phone was buzzing nonstop with notifications that you were too scared to check. Twitter was exploding, Instagram was in a frenzy, and the F1 community was in complete chaos.

Instagram

f1wags_official

Liked by Username1, Redbullfan, and 604K others

f1wags_official: 💔 Sending love to both Max and his (former?) fiancée during this difficult time. Whether they're together or not, we support them both individually. Sometimes love isn't enough... ❤️ #RespectTheirPrivacy #MaxVerstappen #F1Family

View all 8,427 comments

maxverstappen.updates: 📝 Remember when she missed the last two races? We should have seen the signs...

Username45: And the way he looked distracted during qualifying yesterday makes so much sense now. My heart is broken for both of them💔✨ #MaxVerstappen #F1Heartbreak

f1.memes.daily: 🚨 EVERYONE NEEDS TO STOP saying "Max is better off without her" or "she wasn't good enough for him" !!! She's been nothing but supportive and loving. If they broke up, it's nobody's fault. Relationships are complicated! #JusticeForMaxsFiancée #StopTheHate

f1.conspiracy.theories: 🕵️‍♀️ COMPILATION VIDEO: "All the signs we missed" - from their last Instagram post together (3 weeks ago) to today's Monaco footage. Set to dramatic music because we're all hurt 😭 Link in bio! #MaxVerstappen #F1Analysis #HeartBroken

max.verstappen.wife: ✨ MANIFESTATION CIRCLE ✨ He's single, I'm single, I speak Dutch (Google Translate), I love racing (Mario Kart), I'm moving to Monaco (in my dreams)... The universe is aligning 🙏�� Who's with me? #ManifestingMax #Monaco #NewBeginnings

Username2: ME!!

paddock.gossip: 🍵 EXCLUSIVE: Heard from paddock insiders that she's been house hunting... in NEW YORK. Not Monaco. Not the Netherlands. Make of that what you will... Also, apparently, Christian Horner's wife was seen comforting Max after qualifying 👀 #PaddockTea #F1Insider

Username_redbull23: OMG...WHAT!!

f1.wedding.dreams: I literally have a 47-slide PowerPoint presentation of their wedding venue options, color schemes, and guest lists... I've been planning this wedding for MONTHS. What am I supposed to do with all this research now??? 😭📊💍 Should I delete everything or keep it for when he finds someone new? #WeddingPlanning #F1Wedding #TooInvested

Fiona_care: George Russel, what are you doing here??

receipts.and.f1.tea: 📱 RECEIPTS THREAD: Screenshots proving the timeline of their relationship decline. Swipe to see: 1️⃣ Last "I love you" comment on his posts (3 weeks ago) 2️⃣ Her deleting couple photos (2 weeks ago) 3️⃣ Separate arrivals at events (1 week ago) 4️⃣ Today: NO RING The evidence was there all along 🔍 #Receipts #F1Investigation

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at most of it, but the notifications kept coming. The race was torture. Max drove brilliantly and secured P2, but you could barely concentrate on his performance. Your phone kept lighting up with calls from friends and family. They were likely wondering why the internet claimed your engagement was over.

The chaos was increasing by the minute. More accounts were picking up the story and creating elaborate theories about what had gone wrong.

Twitter / X

The worst part was how quickly it spiraled. What began as fans noticing your missing ring turned into wild conspiracy theories, relationship experts writing articles about your supposed issues, and even people claiming to have inside info about your breakup.

When Max crossed the finish line in second place, you should have been thrilled. Instead, guilt washed over you. How could you explain this? How could you tell him you lost the ring he had picked out so carefully?

After the podium ceremony and media duties, Max finally returned to you in the garage, still buzzing with post-race excitement.

"Did you see the radio message when I crossed the line?" he asked, pulling you into a sweaty hug. "I said, 'that one's for my beautiful fiancée.' The whole world heard it."

Tears filled your eyes, and they weren't happy.

"Max, I—" you started, but he was already reaching into his bag.

"Oh, before I forget," he said casually, pulling out a small velvet box. "I have something for you."

Your breath caught. Inside the box lay your ring, sparkling more brilliantly than ever.

"I picked it up from cleaning this morning," Max explained, seemingly unaware of your shock. "I wanted it to be perfect and extra sparkly for our wedding photos. I was going to surprise you with it after the race, but…" He paused, frowning at his phone. "Why is everyone asking me if we broke up?"

You looked at him, then at the ring, then back at him. "You… you had it cleaned?"

"Yeah, I scheduled the appointment weeks ago. The jeweler said they'd make it look brand new." His frown deepened as he scrolled through his phone. "Seriously, what’s all this about a breakup? People are saying you weren't wearing your ring today and—"

He looked up to see tears streaming down your face.

"Oh," he said softly, realization hitting him. "You thought you lost it."

You nodded, unable to say a word.

Max quickly wrapped you in his arms, holding you tightly against his race suit. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you I was taking it. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I never thought… God, you must have panicked all day."

"I tore the apartment apart," you managed through your tears. "I was so scared to tell you. Then all the cameras today, people noticed, and—"

"Hey, hey," Max said gently, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. "It's okay. It's just a ring."

"It's not just a ring," you protested. "It's our ring. It's—"

"It's a symbol," Max finished, sliding the ring back onto your finger where it belonged. "But the symbol isn't what makes us engaged. We do. This ring could disappear tomorrow, and I'd still be just as committed to marrying you."

You looked down at your hand, whole again, the diamond catching the garage lights and casting tiny rainbows across the wall.

"Though I have to say," Max added with a grin, showing you his phone, "the internet detectives work fast. Look at this chaos."

You finally glanced at your own phone and saw the full extent of the madness:

Instagram

broken.f1.hearts: 💔 To everyone crying in the comments: we've been through this before with other drivers. Remember when we thought Lewis and Nicole were endgame? When we shipped Seb with Hanna? F1 relationships are tough. Racing comes first, always. But it still hurts... 😢 Group hug? #F1Heartbreak #WeveBeenHereBefore

Rebull.is.life: It still hurts😭 Finethings: My favorite couple...GONE

"This is crazy," you said, scrolling through more posts. "Someone created a whole body language analysis of our photos from today. They say you were 'distant and cold' at the podium ceremony because you stood 15 centimeters further away than usual."

Max burst out laughing. "I was really thinking about tire strategy for the last ten laps." He showed you another post. "And look at this one; they say I'm 'emotionally unavailable due to my racing career' and that’s why we broke up."

"My personal favorite," you said, finding the wedding planning post, "is this person who made a 47-slide PowerPoint about our wedding. Now they don't know whether to delete it or keep it for your next relationship."

"The fans who defend you are sweet, though," Max said, pulling up more comments. "Look - 'She's been nothing but supportive!' 'Don't blame her for F1's demanding schedule!' They really care about us."

Despite everything, you felt a warmth in your chest. "They do, don't they? Even the ones who are upset - they're upset because they thought we were perfect together."

Max nodded and wrapped his arms around you again. "You know what? Let's put them out of their misery." He held up his phone. "Ready to break the internet again?"

You held up your left hand, the ring sparkling under the garage lights as Max took a photo.

maxverstappen1

Liked by Yourusername, F1gossip, and 3.5M others

maxverstappen1: Surprise! Had this beauty cleaned for my gorgeous fiancée ���✨ Sorry for the panic, internet - we're still very much engaged and very much in love. Thanks for caring about us so much ❤️ P.S. - whoever made that 47-slide wedding PowerPoint, we might need to see that 😂 #StillEngaged #CleanRingNewSparkle #InternetDetectives

View all 11,976 comments

f1wags_official: OH MY GOD WE'RE SO SORRY 😭😭😭 BUT ALSO SO HAPPY!!!

recipes.and.f1.tea: Deleting my entire thread now... this is why we don't jump to conclusions 🤡

f1.wedding.dreams: SENDING YOU THE POWERPOINT RIGHT NOW!!

maxverstappen.updates: NEVER BEEN HAPPIER TO BE WRONG

broken.f1.hearts: GROUP HUG EVERYONE WE'RE CRYING HAPPY TEARS NOW 😭❤️

"Well," Max said as he saw the comments come in, "I think we just gave them the best plot twist of the season."

You laughed and glanced at your ring one more time before settling into Max's arms. "Next time you want to surprise me with jewelry cleaning, maybe leave a note?"

"Deal," Max grinned, kissing your forehead. "But I have to say, watching the internet go crazy over us was pretty fun. They really do love us."

"They really do," you said, finally able to smile as notification after notification poured in with relieved fans celebrating that their favorite couple was still together. "Almost as much as I love you."

"Almost," Max agreed, spinning you around the garage as mechanics and team members started to figure out what all the excitement was about. "But not quite."

[lightgaswaterelectricityrent]

I have no idea why but I don't think I ever went to a single easter egg hunt as a child and my parents never hid easter eggs

[tonycries]

Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? - G.S.

Synopsis. There were two things missing in the scene in front of you: 1. The aphrodisiac chocolate your friends had given as a gag gift last Christmas that had been hidden away in the back of your refrigerator. 2. Your dear fiancé.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected sex, Satoru’s blindfold gets used, overstimulation (male + female), lots of cum, aphrodisiac sex, multiple rounds, making Gojo Satoru cum in his pants, breaking the bed, mating press, pet names (my girl), swearing.

Word count. 3.0k

A/N. Can you tell it’s ovulation week. PART 2 HERE. Art by @_3aem on x.

Ah~ It’s the 21st century, they should really make these curses self-exorcizing. 

It’s been a long day of dealing with countless curses and five droning clan meetings (all of which he missed, oops). Now, Satoru loiters around your shared penthouse apartment - waiting for you to come back home from work.

Hmm, maybe he’ll quickly drop by and see what the first years are up to? He probably didn’t have a class right now. 

But first, Satoru grins, opening the refrigerator to grab at the secret stash of sweets all the way in the back - something sweet.

---

It was odd to step into a tense silence suffocating your home - usually used to being met with whines of “how dare you take so long!” and “you won’t believe what that emo kid did today.” as soon as you walked in through the door.

Was Satoru running late on a mission today?  

It wasn’t surprising, the man had to be everywhere - it’s not like he always has the time to teleport and welcome you home. Yet, you still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off as you made your way into the kitchen.

Cursing whoever invented the work week, the cold air of the refrigerator hits you as you open it to grab a drink, wondering when your fiancé will be home.

Wait.

Tired brain distinctly noting the lack of that familiar flash of hot pink, you double-take as you glare at the back of the refrigerator - as if willing it to materialize in front of you. Where was that?

“That” being the gag gift your friends had given you last Christmas to playful wolf whistles. Some large slab of “aphrodisiac chocolate” - probably normal chocolate - that you’d skeptically thrown in with your secret candy stash for a rainy day. 

Satoru had ransacked your goods again, you sigh. But if he was home…then where was he?

“Toru? Are you home?” you call out in confusion, only to be met with a deafening silence. 

Concern etched on your face, you set the drink down to look for Satoru, footsteps thumping against the hardwood floors at each tense step. 

Approaching the bedroom, a low, unmistakable moan filters through the heavy door. Satoru.

Heartbeat racing and worry coursing through you, you cautiously push the door open - only to be met with a sight that makes your heart stop.

There, sprawled across your bed in just his boxers, a delicate flush spread enticingly along his sculpted body, was your Satoru. 

Something about this scene felt more than a simple evening nap. The air was heady and thick with something. Maybe it was that familiar hot pink wrapper lying empty at the foot of the bed. Maybe it was the way Satoru’s usually vibrant eyes were half-lidded, curtained by his tousled hair. 

Or maybe it was his hand squeezing the large outline of his achingly hard cock through his boxers. Circling the dark spot around his leaking tip. Massaging his heavy balls. Teasing. 

“You’re home‘ he rasps out, voice strangled and snapping you out of your trance. 

“Wha- yes. Toru, what happened?” you sputter out, eyes locked on the way his cock twitched animalistically at the sound of your voice.

In the blink of an eye, Satoru’s gotten up from the bed, muscled arms caging you against the wall. His rock-hard erection presses into your front, precum smearing through his boxers against your work clothes.

“You’re home.” he repeats, sounding as strained as if he were about to snap any second. Losing his sanity with each breath that fans your hair.

You could feel the pulsing of your cunt as your eyes flit from the sheen of sweat decorating his body to the blindfold haphazardly hanging off his neck. Satoru finally raises his eyes to look at you.

Oh, he’s already lost his sanity.

Pupils blown, those blue eyes you love now a lustful black - a predatory glint in them that made a carnal part of your cunt twitch. His mouth spreads into a wolfish grin, teeth bared as if ready to eat you up. 

A shiver runs down your spine.

“Toru…you okay?”

“You’re home.” he breathes out, as if a prayer. 

“Satoru.”

The simple call of his name sealed your fate.

The buttons hit the ground before you realize what he’s doing. Ripping your shirt off, pulling off your bra, fisting your clothes in his hands as if it killed him to see you clothed. 

Too impatient - too starved - to remove your skirt, he pulls it to shreds off your hips.

“Woah- slow down there.” you squeal as he drops to Satoru knees, biting down on the thin fabric of your soaked panties, tugging with his teeth. You know he’ll buy you ten more to replace what he’s torn, but jeez where was the decorum?

“Can’t” he slurs, peeking up at you with dazed eyes. Was your Satoru even here with you?

“What?” 

“Can’t stop.” he murmurs lowly, voice sending vibrations to your twitching cunt. 

And before you know it, sharp teeth bite around your panties, ripping them to shreds. Looking up at you with hooded eyes, miles away, grinning devilishly around the soaked fabric in his mouth. 

Shit, what have you gotten yourself into.

Despite your thobbing pussy, you soothe “Now, Toru. Why don’t we just-”

“Shut up.” he mutters. And he does - words catching in your throat as Satoru dives nose-deep into your dripping cunt. Hot tongue urgently lapping at your juices, as if a man dying of thirst..

Nose rubbing your pulsing clit in rough circles, he breathes you in so sinfully, letting out a throaty groan as he does. He bullies his tongue past your dripping folds, stretching you, dipping in and out of your quivering entrance. Over and over. In and out.

You were losing your mind with each rough push of Satoru’s warm tongue. Dizzying pace forcing lewd whimpers out of your mouth that mix with the squelches of his mouth on your pussy. 

You buck your hips desperately into his face, and amidst his merciless abuse on your cunt, you barely notice the way he presses his body against yours. 

Shit, so this is why he’s so fucking feral - Satoru’s cock was painfully hard, swollen and throbbing against your leg. Fuck- you weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

He grind his hips into you, precum soaking your bare legs. With a low whimper at the back of his throat, Satoru’s tongue fucks you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting.

Maybe it’s the harsh abuse of his mouth on your swollen lips, nose catching on your clit just right. Or maybe it’s the feeling of your slick dripping down the corners of his mouth, onto your thighs and mixing with the precum of his aching erection. 

Before you can even register it, you’re cumming all over Satoru’s mouth, grip tight on his white locks and hips riding his pretty face.

Greedily lapping at your quivering cunt, he moans as his eyes roll to the back of his head at the sweet juices pooling around his tongue. 

In the back of your mind, you recognize the feeling of Satoru’s warm cum smearing against your leg. Did- Did Gojo Satoru just come in his underwear while eating you out?

Sinfully, he licks at the mixture of your juices dripping down your legs, eyes closed as if tasting a delicacy. He was going to be the death of you.

As soon as your high bates, Satoru stands to his full height. Towering above you with eyes that looked like he wanted to positively eat you alive.

“T-Toru…are you okay?” 

But your fiancé stays silent, throbbing erection still straining painfully against his wet boxers as he shoves you against the cold wall. Rough hands on your hips, presenting your dripping cunt to him and arching you to his will.

A large hand smacks the wall beside your head, plaster crumbling under his strength. Shit, if he keeps going at this pace then nothing in the house will survive Satoru - including you. 

You feel the cum-soaked fabric of his boxers grinding against your ass, his hands pulling and groping every bit of skin he can reach.

“Toru, take it off.” you whine out, words dripping in lust.

You don’t need to tell Satoru twice. With grace that he wouldn’t give your clothes, his boxers are on the ground, painfully hard cock hitting his abs. 

You can feel the slick dripping down your legs as you look behind your shoulder to see one hand wrapped tightly around his large cock. Pulling in slow, languid motions up to the furiously flushed tip. His heavy balls twitch as he thumbs the prominent vein along the side.

“I want-”

You can’t even finish your sentence before Satoru’s bullying his massive cock into your snug cunt. Plush walls desperately trying to adjust to his size as he sheaths himself in your hot core. 

You moan at the delicious stretch of your pussy. It’s not like you haven’t done this before - yet, where Satoru was usually suave in sex, right now it was replaced by pure, feral need. With his tip kissing your cervix as he pushed animalistically into your cunt - you didn’t know if you’d make it out alive. 

“Hah- Toru it’s too big. Ah! I can’t-.”

“You will.” he grits out, teeth clenched and brows furrowed. 

Satoru presses into you inch by fucking inch, groaning at the tight ring of muscles trying to both push him out and suck him in desperately. It was so animalistic.

It seems Satoru’s body moves before his mind, hips fucking into your dripping pussy recklessly. Harsh thrusts, not even pulling all the way out to ram into you as he usually does - as if he can’t bear to part with your wet core. His balls sting your cunt as they smack against you at his unforgiving pace, strings of slick and cum connecting him to you.

“Ah- So good f’me, my girl. Always- so good.” he gasps out at the heavenly feeling of your dripping cunt sucking him back in at each thrust. “Hngh! Mmm more. I need more. Need it so bad.”

Hands arching your back into him now grope the expanse of your skin, before wrapping around your body to lift you off the floor. 

“Ah! Toru, what- hngh-” you choke on your words at the new angle. 

Satoru’s body bows into you, cock still slamming inside you at a feral pace midair. Not even a hair’s breadth between your bodies. 

With one hand he forces you to look up at him, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss. Pretty mouth sucking your tongue as he did with your cunt.

If you were in a better state of mind, you’d notice the slight glow tinging his lustful eyes. The electricity thrumming through his fingers. Yet you already knew - Satoru was absolutely losing it.

Your feet dangle off the ground as he holds you securely, length reaching impossibly deeper inside you. Prominent vein grazing that one spot over and over.

“Hngh- Oh my god, Toru. S’too much!” you pull away to whine. 

“Open your mouth.” he murmurs raspily. As if body on auto-pilot, your mouth opens, tongue lolling out for what he was about to give.

Satoru’s stream of spit is warm on your tongue, making you clench around his merciless cock. He lets out a drawn-out groan, eyes boring down at you, holding a glint of the same insanity he has when he exorcizes curses, “My nasty girl. Can’t get enough of you.”

You moan at his words, hands reaching behind you to grab on the blindfold dangling on his neck. “Toru more-” you gasp out, your tight grip causing him to bow his head with a groan, cock twitching ferally. 

“Fuck! More? You fucking want more?” he groans out, voice wrecked with pleasure. 

You let out a yelp as his teeth dig into your neck - hard enough that you were sure you’d have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow. Like a lamb to slaughter, he was going to eat you up. Yet, your grip on his blindfold never waves, pulling him closer as he fucks roughly into your snug cunt. 

Ass burning at the friction of his pelvis. Pussy dripping onto your bedroom floor. Unforgiving. Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. “Ah! Toru s’good.” 

You both cum with strangled gasps. A low keen at the back of Satoru’s throat, and he’s pumping hot ropes of cum into your awaiting pussy. Tears stinging your eyes at your sensitivity, all you know is a wave of pleasure as you ride out your climax on the ramming of his hips and the how full you are of his seed.

His hand still draws hurried, desperate circles on your clit. You squeal at the overstimulation, tears clinging to yours lashes. “Toru- hngh!” you can barely get out the words, his hips slamming into yours mercilessly as Satoru milks his cock desperately on your quivering pussy. 

“Shut up. You said you wanted more. You’re gonna get more, my little slut.” he mutters carnally.

Ah, you can’t do this. You were going to fucking pass out.

“One- more.” he moans.

Your thighs clench around him, pushing your plush walls deeper as he lets out raspy whimpers with each thrust. “Hah- hngh.” 

“Shit- Toru I’m-” Your climax hits you with a jolt, body twitching in pain and pleasure from the oversensitivity as your cunt flutters around his cock - not even being able to tell when Satoru’s orgasm ends and when yours starts. 

You feel a tear hit your shoulder, overstimulation too much for his poor cock as his seed coats your walls once more. It drips out of you, forming a pool on the floor as he pulls out - for only a second before you’re thrown on the bed. 

Orgasm-hazed brain barely having time to register what is happening before Satoru stalks towards you from the foot of the bed. Unhurriedly approaching you as you scoot towards the headboard.

Your pussy jumps exhaustedly at the sight of him - eyes darkened and narrowed at you like a predator that has spotted his prey. A devilish smirk stretches across his swollen lips, glossed prettily with spit and slick. 

Toru, I-I don’-” you words slur out. 

“One- one more, my girl. Please.” Satoru whimpers, throat shot from what transpired just before. His cock twitches, glistening with cum and slick, dripping onto the fresh bedsheets. 

As he looms closer, you wonder how the fuck Satoru was still holding up - was this all because of the chocolate? You have half the mind to wonder whether he was using reversed cursed technique to keep you both alive.

You mewl deliriously at the feeling of your legs being thrown on his shoulders. Eyes blown and face flushed your favorite shade of pink, he licks a long stripe up your ankles, voice cracking as he moans sinfully. 

Satoru’s flushed tip teases your entrance, dragging along your swollen folds. Fuck. Shit. Maybe you wouldn’t even mind dying if it was with his cock rammed in your snug cunt.

Barely even lucid, he thrusts harshly into you - your tight entrance readily sucking up his flushed tip. You both hiss at the sensitivity. Surely, one of you was going to pass out. 

Hand moving to grasp the blindfold around his neck, you pull him to you. Your hamstrings burn in protest as Satoru bends down to attach his lips with yours, moving down until you were folded in half. 

Tongue tangling with yours, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, fiery with an intensity that made you unsure if either of you would make it out of this alive. 

Heartbeat roaring in your ears, you don’t notice the crack! of the bed and neither does Satoru. Too caught up in desperately reaching whatever number orgasm it was this night. 

Moans incoherent, your body convulses, nails dragging down the expanse of his sculpted back as the bed creaks in protest. A strangled groan leaves his mouth, cock throbbing inside you - or maybe that was your quivering cunt. At this point you really didn’t know anymore. 

“Shit- ah! Fuck. I’m- M’cumming. M’cumming. Hngh- cumming!” he whines out, voice ragged and breathing unstable. Delicate tears streak down his face, dripping onto your quivering body below him. Salty.

You can only let out exhausted whines, too fucked out to form any proper sentences.

Hot seed gushing inside you again, it overflows out of you, cunt dripping and too full to take anymore. Yet, Satoru still fucks into you until he sees stars and his poor cock is cumming dry. You can barely even feel your climax, distant tingles and the only thing on your mind being Satoru Satoru Satoru. 

The air leaves your lungs as he collapses on top of you. Skin flushed and sticking to yours. Body twitching as his poor cock neverendingly shoots blanks inside of you. Which number was this even?

That’s when you black out.

Floating in and out of dreams of blue, blue skies and mini Satorus running around, you wake up with a start. Well, as much of a start as you could with your entire body aching as if you got run over by a truck - and then an entire zoo after.

Bleary eyes taking in your surroundings, you distinctly realize that you’re spread out on the living room couch. 

What happened.

“Hey, you okay?” a hoarse voice sounds from beside you. You could barely recognize it as your fiancé’s, words jagged from…whatever it was before.

“You…are you okay?” you rasp out, raising a brow exhaustedly. Satoru chuckles sheepishly, tenderly smoothing over the blanket placed on top of you. What a change from before - are you sure this is the same guy?

“Well…the wall is crumbling, we broke the bed, and I’m pretty sure my dick won’t work again for the next couple years.” he gets out in one breath. At your silence, he continues “And I think my favorite blindfold is out of commission.”

“...wow.”

“Wow.” 

“You lecher, you ate from my secret stash, didn’t you?”

“...”

A few days later, opening the refrigerator, you’re met with a wall of hot pink. A sticky note on top reading in Satoru’s hasty scrawl, “This time you take one too :D”

A/N. Wrote this while watching The Garfield Show.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[random-cockroach]

PLEASE SEDATE ME SOMEONE BETTER JUST PUT ME OUT OF LIFE I DON'T WANT TO SEE WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THEM I AM HAPPY AS IT IS RIGHT NOW

SPELLBOUND AU BY FLUFF REFRIGERATOR SOUL MASOCHIST MANIAC AND HIDDEN SADIST

[athenalvss]

Sorry but I saw you opened requests for Clark Kent! I was wondering if you’d mind doing a small fic for him.

I was thinking maybe Clark and reader have been actively trying to conceive but to no luck. Clark comes home one night and the reader is waiting for him in their shared kitchen. She’s waiting there to tell Clark that they might have to accept it won’t ever happen.

“Clark, we’ve trying for forever for months and still nothing-“

Clark stops her mid-sentence. He looks surprised but not for what reasons she thinks. It’s because he hears another heartbeat. Originally that night reader was gonna give up… only for Clark to be the one to reveal she’s pregnant.

HEARTBEAT — ( clark kent! )

summary: Your greatest wish with Clark was to start a family, but life wasn't on your side.

pairing: Clark kent x fem!reader

open request - clark masterlist

The past few months had felt like an eternal mix of hope and frustration. From the moment you and Clark decided you were ready to start a family, everything in your life revolved around it. You'd always wanted to be a mother, and when you met Clark, it was impossible not to imagine a lifetime with him, with a pair of children who looked just like him, with those beautiful eyes and the warmth they emanated. But no one had ever told you how difficult it could be to achieve that dream.

Doctor visits, cycle-tracking apps, calendars taped to the refrigerator with days marked, ovulation tests, pregnancy tests purchased in multipacks, increasingly hidden in bathroom drawers. Prenatal vitamins, natural remedies, recommendations from friends, changes in diet and routine.

And yet, every month that passed brought with it the same solitary line on the test, a single faint pink streak. At first, the disappointment wasn't so great; they knew getting pregnant wasn't always something that happened easily, but when you started receiving negative tests one after another, it was like taking a huge blow to your ego and your mental health. Why wouldn't life give you the greatest gift you had ever desired with all your being?

Clark had always been your rock. No matter how many times you cried secretly in the shower or kicked one of the empty test tubes in frustration, he always held you just as gently, telling you he loved you, that no matter how long it took, you were in this together.

But over time, even hugs began to feel like a blanket stretched too thin in the face of a storm. Not from a lack of love, but from exhaustion, from the weight of pent up hope that never exploded into the joy they were waiting for.

You'd stopped counting the days. The calendars were still there, on the fridge, with their little red circles, but you no longer bothered to enthusiastically cross them off. The phone app you used to obsessively check now sent you notifications you didn't even open. Your friends kept sending supportive messages, some sharing news of their own pregnancies and you responded with happy emojis as you turned off your phone to cry in the dark bathroom.

The worst thought was the one you didn't dare say out loud: What if I can't? What if I never can? What if it's me?

Everything you had once thought would bring you eternal joy was hurting you deeply, you were already tired, everything was so clear, the problem in this equation was you.

And although he insisted that you shouldn't blame yourself, that time would bring its reward, you were beginning to feel like the wait was an open wound that would never heal. Every month that ended in another disappointment felt like a betrayal of your body, a silent slap in the face.

One night when Clark went to patrol the city that seemed calm, something that you hadn't felt for a long time, every night the idea that this would never happen made you feel bad, it made you anguish to the point of shedding the few tears that remained in your body, but you were already tired of crying.

You had been thinking about it all day; it was totally absurd to continue this medieval torture of your mind and body, so you just went to the kitchen, made yourself some tea, and sat down, alone, waiting for Clark to return.

That night you decided you were going to let him go. You didn't know exactly what you were going to say to him. You just knew that you needed him. And that you couldn't pretend you were okay anymore.

You could no longer carry the hope of something that never came. You needed to breathe. To live again without measuring time in menstrual cycles. To love your partner again without thinking about ovulation dates. To laugh again without feeling guilty. To be yourself again.

And when Clark walked through the door, he found you there, your face calm but exhausted, your hands wrapped around the cup of cold tea.

"Sweetheart?" he said softly, as he approached. "Is everything okay?"

You shook your head. "I need to talk to you," you told him, and he didn't hesitate for a second. He sat across from you as always, his eyes attentive, patient, always willing to give his all to help you and be so present.

You took a deep breath, trying to find enough courage to share your thoughts. You'd already decided, you didn't want to be a burden to him either. Neither with your pain nor with your constant sadness, they deserved better. The two of them deserved to be at peace. "Clark... we've been trying for months. Doing everything in our power. Looking for every possible way. And nothing's happening."

His expression remained serene, but you could see that glimmer of concern light up his eyes.

"I know you always tell me to be patient, to take my time... but what if it doesn't happen? What if it's not meant for us?" in a tone of resignation on the verge of tears, and then you continued. "Maybe... we have to accept that it won't happen."

You felt yourself breaking as you said it, because it was no longer just a thought; once you let the words out of your mouth, it was officially a renunciation of a dream, a part of your life that you had always imagined.

But Clark didn't respond the way you expected. He didn't say, "Don't say that." He didn't correct you. He didn't try to find the right words to comfort you. He just stood there. His face hardened, not with sadness, but with something like… surprise. Or concentration.

“Clark?”

He opened his lips. He closed them. Then he knelt before you without a word. With both hands, he cupped your belly, with a reverential delicacy, as if it were made of glass.

"What are you…?"

Her expression changed, her eyes, filled with astonishment, began to fill with tears. Her lips parted. A tremor ran through her fingers. "My God..." she murmured, breathless. "There are two of them."

“Shh,” she whispered. “Wait…”

It took you a second to understand. "Two?"

“Two heartbeats,” he replied, looking at you with an incredulous smile. “One is yours. The other… it’s so soft. Barely audible. But it’s there. It’s there, my love.”

And then you felt it.

Not physically, of course. But his certainty. His conviction. That pure emotion that vibrated in his voice, in his body, as if he'd just seen the sun for the first time. "Are... are you sure? I don't want to get my hopes up," you managed to stammer, a hand covering your mouth.

"I've never been so sure of anything," he said, his voice breaking.

The emotion that came after was like a wave. Immense. It overwhelmed you.

Clark hugged you on his knees, wrapping you in those arms that had always made you feel safe, but now trembled for the first time in months. You cried on his shoulder. You cried against his neck, You cried for all the accumulated suffering and the relief of joy that had been waiting for and so did he.

You two stayed like that for long minutes. Saying nothing. Just listening to that meaningful silence. That new heartbeat.

The miracle that had arrived just when you were about to give up, how happy you were to have a Kryptonian boyfriend.

[ur-mag]

Drivers are only just realising there’s a hidden refrigerator in their cars | In Trend Today

Drivers are only just realising there’s a hidden refrigerator in their cars Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[matthewgrayguberloids]

Chicago Compact Ideas for a simple, classic wine cellar renovation with diamond bins

[lovebugism]

That Bear fic was 1000/10, dying for some Carmy/reader smut 🔥😭 getting stuck in the walk-in together maybe??

thank u for requesting !! — when you and carmy can't stop fighting, richie locks the two of you in the walk-in until you make up. (established relationship/can be read as enemies to lovers, angst, cw for swearing and smut 18+ | 2.3k)

You’re in the middle of freezing to death in the walk-in when you hear two voices outside the thick, metal door. “I just need you to go in there and look, cousin,” Richie huffs, half-muffled and already annoyed. “Can you— Can you just do that for me? Jesus…”

You sit up straighter on the large tub labelled “beef bones”as the footsteps draw closer. The broken lock, which can only be opened from the outside, clicks when it unlatches. Carmy’s voice comes next: “I’m telling you, man, it’s not in here—”

The heavy door opens with a low creak. The warmth of the kitchen mixes instantly with the cold of the refrigerator. Carmy stands in the doorway, cheeks flushed and hair wild from a long day, blinking like an owl when he finds you sitting there.

You rise suddenly to your feet and scramble for the exit, nearly tripping over yourself as you go. “Don’t let him shut the door!” you shout to Carmy as he walks obliviously into the walk-in. 

His brows pinch. “Don’t what—?” 

The refrigerator door slams shut. You vaguely catch Richie’s smirk through the crack of it when he closes the thing behind him, leaving the two of you locked inside. Anger swells within you almost instantly, in so many little prickling embers in the pit of your chest. 

Your eyes flutter shut, and your hands ball into fists. You exhale slowly through your mouth — that’s what Tina always told you to do when you got too angry to function, anyway. Only it doesn’t work so well now, because the bane of your existence is locked in here with you, and he’s breathing so loudly that you’re already overstimulated. 

At this point, Richie’ll be lucky if Carmy leaves this damn walk-in alive.

“Good job, Carmy,” you spit when your attempts to calm yourself fail.

You walk by him with a hardened glare tossed his way. He flinches when your shoulder knocks into his. “I— I didn’t even do anything!” he stammers.

“Exactly!” you huff, plopping back onto the beef bones tub with your arms crossed over your chest. “‘Cause you never do anything, do you?”

Carmy laughs. Like it’s funny. “Oh, so this is my fault now?” he asks with a sardonic grin, hands propped on his hips. “‘Cause I’m the one who locked us in here, right?”

“Yes,” you deadpan with an unwavering frown.

He chuckles at the ceiling with wide eyes, because he feels a bit like he’s dreaming. It’s what nightmares are made of, really, to be locked in a room with a girl you’ve already pissed off beyond belief. 

“Right. ‘Cause everything has to be my fault—”

“Yeah, I’m glad we’re on the same page, Carm.”

“Fuck you—”

“Fuck you—”

“You assholes are stayin’ in there ’til you kiss and make up, alright?” Richie shouts behind the metal door. “So, if you start now, you idiots’ll be outta there in no time.”

Carmy’s face screws in a silent sort of anger that makes his face glow a faint red color. He stands in front of the door with his hands propped on the frame of it. He speaks in a strangely even voice. “Richie. Opens this door right now or—”

“My sandwich is getting cold, cousin. I’ll be right back.”

“Or I swear to god, cousin, I’ll—”

“He’s gone, Carmen,” you monotone from where you’re slouched against the wall.

With his back facing you, you see his head duck and his shoulders deflate with a defeated sigh. “Shit…”

The stubborn boy gives up far quicker than you expected. He sits down in the opposite corner with a dramatic huff, half-hidden behind the containers of scallops and carabinero prawns. From your limited view, you can see his hand run anxiously through his tousled curls. He props his other on his bent knee and taps his foot rapidly against the tile. The need for a cigarette all but radiates from his pores.

“Marcus will have to come in here soon,” Carmy announces suddenly. “You know, for the eggs, so… We can’t stay in here forever.”

With your head tipped against the wall, you tell him, “Marcus left an hour ago, dumbass.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly…”

In the brief moment of tense silence, you can vaguely hear what’s happening outside in the kitchen. The conversation is so muffled you can hardly hear it, and footsteps seem to pass by every now and then. It makes you wonder if they even know you and Carmy are stuck in here, or if the constant bickering has pissed them off enough to leave you locked inside.

Carmy’s the first to swallow his pride, too high-strung to be so idle. “Maybe we should just kiss and—”

“Wow,”you deadpan.

“—And get it over with,” he finishes through gritted teeth.

“It’s always that easy for you, isn’t it, Carmy?” you scoff with a cynical squint in your eye. “Once you get over something, suddenly everyone has to get over it, too, or we’re the problem—”

“If you keep your fuckin’ voice down, we can just pretend, fuck-o,” Carmy shouts back despite himself, so wound-up the vein in his forehead threatens to make an appearance. 

He exhales sharply and slouches back against the wall, only then recognizing his faint slip-up. As if things couldn’t get any worse.

“…What did you just call me?”

“Nothing,” Carmy sighs with his head in his hand, ‘cause he can’t stand to see the annoyed look on your face. You’re much too pretty to be so angry with him.

“I’m not Richie, Carmen. Don’t call me fuck-o like I’m your fucking friend—”

“I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the whole reason we’re in this mess,” you laugh, though there’s little emotion behind it. “’Cause you get to blow up on people whenever you want, and it’s always okay, because you never, ever mean to.”

Carmy realizes then that Richie’s stupid plan isn’t going to do either of you any good. Because you’re only going to get angrier without your work to distract you, and Carmy’s inevitably going to say something he regrets — which will put both of you back at square one. 

Worse than square one. 

The want for a cigarette has already got him all jittery. He rises from the cold linoleum tile and walks towards the locked freezer door, feeling like he might just explode entirely. He tries the handle with a tattooed fist. It doesn’t budge, of course, which only makes him angrier.

“You don’t have anything to say about that?” you ask him, all but itching for a fight. You know he’s bound to say something irrevocably idiotic pretty soon. At least then you can yell at him until it unknots the tension from your body.

Carmy only shrugs, yanking uselessly at the jammed door handle. “Not really, no. But maybe if you were a better cook, I wouldn’t have to blow up on you all the time.”

It only makes you laugh. “Yeah, well, if you were a better cook, you’d be in New York right now, so… Pot, kettle.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles under his breath and tugs harder at the handle.

“But no. Not the Bear,”you lilt and rise from your makeshift seat, walking slowly over to the boy still facing away from you. “He couldn’t cut it out there, could he? Couldn’t stand the thought of someone actually being better than he is—”

“Shut up.”

“—So he had to come work with a bunch of useless idiots to feel better about himself, right? I mean, that’s what you called me, isn’t it? Useless?” you chuckle like a maniac despite the rage swimming like fire in your eyes. 

Carmy turns to face you then, tattooed arms crossed and straining over his chest. He clicks his mouth against his teeth and huffs ‘cause he knows there’s no avoiding this now. The only way out his through. Or, more specifically, the only way out is to let you yell until you decide you’re done being mad at him.

“If you think I’m so useless, then why am I still here?” 

Carmy sighs, rubbing at his tired eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. “I don’t think you’re useless,” he says through gritted teeth. Because he knows that you knowhe doesn’t really think that. He also knows that you aren’t going to let up on the subject until he’s all but groveling at your feet for forgiveness.

“Then why would you say it?” you laugh.

“I don’t know—”

“I mean, why the hell would you say something like that if you didn’t even mean it—”

“Because you piss me off, alright?” Carmy shouts back, gesticulating wildly with his hands. “Is that what you wanna hear?”

“Oh, because you’re so easy to get along with—” You roll your eyes and miss Carmy’s split-second decision to pull you in for a searing kiss. 

His hands reach for your jaw, gentle but firm still, as he presses his mouth to yours. There’s nothing tender about the way he kisses you. It’s all tongue and teeth, fueled with the urge to stamp your anger into each other’s mouths, so that each of you might finally understand where the other is coming from. 

Carmy cradles the back of your head with his palm as he pushes you against the wall, caging you between it and his body. He holds you there and trails his other down your body — past your shoulder, over your chest, and down your stomach. His fingers dip beneath the apron tied at your hips, loosening it slightly as he tries to unbutton your jeans with one clammy hand. 

Your lips smack when you pull back from him. Your smile is swollen and gleaming with his spit. “Real smooth,” you deadpan and do the work for him.

“Shut up,” Carmy murmurs and kisses you again.

“You first,” you chide knowingly against his mouth.

His fingers creep beneath the hem of your panties, inching to where you need him most, while you work at the buttons of his own jeans. You can feel him growing achingly stiff against your thigh. 

His middle and ring finger slide between the lips of your velvety cunt. He exhales a heavy breath through his nose when he finds you already more than wet — slicker than silk beneath his touch, like you’ve been getting off on making him angry.

Before he can halfheartedly scold you for it, you palm his half-hard cock through his boxers. You start to massage him gently there, and the words get caught in his throat. Carmy sighs hard through his nose. The breath fans over your cupid’s bow. The intensity behind his kiss never wavers, though, and neither do the fingers he taps against your clit, rubbing you mercilessly there until his wrist starts to burn.

The quiet walk-in fills with a most sinful chorus of smacking kisses and panted breaths. Not passionate, but rather determined to find a release — to make each other cum, until the anger seeps from your bodies like honey. It’s not slow or sweet, but eager and hungry and mean.

You whimper against Carmy’s mouth when the knot in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten. His assault on your sensitive clit is merciless — the pads of his fingers rub you there and refuse to let up, even when your legs threaten to tremble. An inevitable orgasm creeps up on you like a shiver down your spine.

You part from him, lips smacking in protest, as you tip your head back against the wall. A high-pitched moan sounds in your throat despite yourself. 

“Shh…” Carmy shushes with his mouth on your pulse.

“Not fair,” you whimper in response.

“I’m close, too, baby,” he confesses quietly against your skin, face screwed and wrist aching. “Cum for me. Now. Before Richie comes back.”

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth, finally allowing yourself to succumb to the overwhelming pleasure. Your body tenses between Carmy’s and the unforgiving wall behind you. His teeth scrape your pulse point; his fingers press hard against your clit. The knot in your stomach unravels in a blink, and your orgasm racks through your body in so many merciless waves. The heat radiating from your body glows in the cold air.

You work at Carmy’s cock with an absentminded hand, moving almost on autopilot as you blink away the haze of your high. He lets out panted breaths against your skin while you massage him through his boxers with an expert touch. It’s too much, yet not enough — and the contradictory feeling makes his head swim. 

His fingers against your cunt slow to a stop, but never part from your warmth. His hand just lingers there — a much-needed pressure while your sensitive pussy clenches around nothing. He exhales a grumbled breath, and you smile.

“You close, Bear?” 

He nods wordlessly, curls brushing your temple.

“Tell me before you cum,” you instruct in an unenthusiastic whisper.

Carmy swallows hard. He tenses over your body, eyes squeezed shut. He prays for his encroaching orgasm to come before someone needs something in the walk-in. He’ll never hear the end of it if the two of you are found like this — the only thing that’ll make it that much worse is if it was all for nothing.

“I’m cumming…” he pants in a whisper against your neck. “Fuck, I’m cumming—”

When his clothed cock jerks against your palm, you pull your hand away entirely. Carmy’s knees threaten to buckle as a pained whimper sounds in the back of his throat. The building pleasure ebbs just as quickly as it came.

It’s so damn sadistic that he can’t help but exhale a delirious laugh against you. “You’re evil…” he sighs.

He can hear the smile in your voice when you tell him, “No, what I think you meant to say is, we’re even.”