#they said something to me and I was like ‘uh huh’ and left

[kisses4themissus]

Fourth Of July | M.R X Reader

a/n: HAPPY 4TH YALL, BE SAFE TONIGHT!! pairing: michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!Reader wc: 2.5k

series masterlist | send me a love letter ♡

Loading his truck up with coolers, lacey’s toy car and more robby sighed, turning to see lacey walking towards the car, a small backpack on her, her tablet in one hand and a stuffed animal in her other.

“Need help?” Robby asked, amused as lacey walked to the truck and stopped at the truck door. She turned to him and nodded, her little pigtails bouncing in sync.

“Jakey is bring more!” She told robby as he picked her up and placed her into the back of the car. 

Robby let out a sigh and just nodded, watching as lacey shrugged off her bag and began to settle in for the car ride to the lake. 

“Keep up, slow poke!” You teased jake as you both carried towels and the inflatable tubes. 

Lacey popped out of the truck and squealed. “We’re going swimming!” 

Robby smiled at lacey’s excitement from her car seat as he helped jake and you loaded things into the back before putting the gate up.

You all quickly got into the vehicle, jake sitting in the back with lacey while you sat in the front with robby, watching as he began to drive away from the parking garage.

Minutes into the three hour drive, robby had noticed in the rearview mirror lacey had put on a show from herself and jake, bluey themed headphones over her ears as she kept looking over to smile at jake who had pretend as if he could hear the dialogue from the tablet and just laughed whenever lacey would giggle and look over.

You smiled as robby’s right hand found its way towards your lap, he held your hand firmly.

“We have a fun day ahead of us huh?” You spoke, making robby glance over at you for a brief second before back to the road. “Uh huh, lacey is excited about the lake.” He gave a half smile.

As you held his hand you noticed the light sheen of sweat and laughed, raising it to the AC to cool off.

“You’re like a little boy holding hands with a girl, your hand is all sweaty!” You laughed, making robby chuckle, “Sorry about that, just nervous we forgot something..” He brushed it off, going to take his hand away from yours but stopped as you held his wrist tightly and shook your head before placing his hand onto your bump.

“I think we overpacked to be honest, i think i saw a pair of pj’s in lacey’s bag.” You giggled making robby nod.

“Had to stop her from packing up her whole closet this morning..” He sighed, chuckling to himself.

Lacey bobbed her head around to the music from her show before tapping her tablet some more, pulling up her games, mindlessly kicking her feet.

“Are we there yet daddy?” 

Her question made both you and robby laugh, two hours left in your drive to the lake.

- - - - - - - -

Standing in the gas station, lacey sighed as she looked over each bag of chips, her little hands hovering over a bag of cheetos before moving to potato chips. Her tiny purse on her shoulder.

“Pick one lace.” Jake encouraged the five year old who froze for a second before grabbing cheetos, as she clutched her chips she held jake’s hand as they walked to the fridges to grab drinks for the ride up.

Not far form the pair, you and robby stood.

You have bent over to grab a drink and turned to see michael fanning himself. “You getting anything babe?” You asked, noticing the light sheen of sweat over him. Laughing you fanned him with your free hand.

“No i’m good, i’m just gonna — go check on the kids…” He said quickly before leaving you alone in the soda aisle.

Michael walked over to the kids and chuckled as he noticed jake carrying lacey’s chips and drink while lacey held onto a bag which held two taquitos, her little cheeks full of the food.

“You good man?” Jake asked, smiling at his stepdad.

“I’m alright, ready to get back on the road?” He asked, quickly picking up lacey who chewed her food before nodding. “Ready for swimming!” She smiled widely making robby nod.

“Jake, buddy could you go get mom..” Robby asked, the teen nodded and walked off to find you as robby and lacey approached the counter to pay.

Lacey laid out her food on the counter for the cashier, smiling as she pulled her purse around, digging through it while you and jake placed your things up.

“It’s gonna be 38.84…” The cashier announced, robby nodded and went to grab his wallet from his short but stopped as he didn’t feel the leather.

You quickly noticed his panic, “what’s wrong?” You asked, laying a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “I left my wallet, it’s not in my pocket..” He groaned. 

“It’s alright, i have money.” You tried to calm the situation.

“No, because that means i left something at the apartment, we need to go back!” He groaned, shaking his head. You turned to the cashier to apologize but was stopped by lacey.

“I got it daddy, it’s on me!” She smiled and pulled out a debit card. Robby had his head down, his nerves high. “Michael…look at her...” You laughed, robby did so and stopped.

There was his debit card in lacey’s small hand as she gently tapped it on the card reader.

Jake held a hand over his mouth as he held in his laughter. The teenager cashier just smiled and handed lacey the receipt.

Robby sighed and dug through her purse, sighing as he spotted his leather wallet surrounded by a melted chapstick, a single crayon, two happy meal toys and a toy phone.

Grabbing your things, you all walked back to the truck where robby took back his wallet and checked through his cash and his cards.

“When did you take daddy’s wallet?” You asked the five year old, who happily munched on her taquitos.

“Gas.” She muttered through her bites, turning to jake to have him open her juice.

You turned to robby and let out a laugh, He sighed and placed his forehead against the truck’s side. “You doing alright now?” You asked, amusement clear in your tone.

He just nodded and rubbed a hand over his heart. “Heart’s probably not, but i’ll be fine..” He sighed, smiling as he thought over the story.

You nodded and got into the car.

“Why do you have — AHH MY CHIPS!” Lacey was stopped by her cheeto bag falling off the center consol and into the makeshift trashcan for the car ride. She yelled in shock

Pulling up to the lake; You smiled as robby and jake began to unload everything from the bed of the truck.

You had joined lacey in the backseat and rubbed sunscreen over her face, she pouted but held still, once finished she popped her carseat open and waited for you to pick her up.

As you went to hold her, a voice stopped you.

“Woah, careful there!” Frank yelled, quickly running over to pick lacey up, placing her on the gravel.

“I could’ve got her langdon..” You sighed, smiling at the man. “You could’ve but should you…” He reasoned, motioning towards your nine month bump. You just scoffed out a laugh and shook your head before greeting him in a hug.

“Happy 4th to you too langdon..where’s abby and the kids?” You asked, smacking his hand away from him holding your tote bag. “Oh, she’s spraying down max before he gets a sunburn.” Frank pointed a bit away, you nodded and turned to see lacey attempting to hold up a tube with her strength.

“Yo hercules, you still need more sunscreen!” You called out, making robby point to himself.

You snorted and waved him off, walking over you helped lacey and grabbed the spray from your tote bag, lacey took a big breath before letting you spray her down.

“Alright you’re clear, who’s next?” You asked, jake sighed and pinched his nose.

- - - - - - - -

You had set up your little tent area next to frank and where dana’s family was. Shuffling through your bag you sighed as you grabbed your cream sunscreen, as you opened the top, you stopped and turned to see robby leaving lacey and jake with frank and abby.

With a smirk you sat up and fixed your hair before smiling at robby.

“Could you help me with something?” You asked, robby gave you a tight lipped smile and nodded, taking a seat beside you. “What do you need honey?” He asked, mindlessly scratching his beard.

“Will you help me with the sunscreen?” You asked, blinking at him slowly, making sure to bat your lashes.

He nodded and took the bottle from your hands and gave himself a dollop on his palm. You quickly stood up and took off your swimsuit cover up; your cover up being a pair of shorts and one of robby’s shirts.

He chuckled at the sight and motioned for you to sit back down.

You leaned back on your forearms, he gently rubbed the cream onto your exposed baby bump. “How’s she doing?” Robby asked as he gently rubbed over your belly button. You smiled as his thumb ran over a side the baby had been prone on kicking.

“Sleeping mostly, she was kind of active on the drive up.” You responded, carding your fingers through robby’s hair, he sighed and melted under your fingertips, you smiled as he slowly rubbed sunscreen on your stomach.

You smiled at the sight, looking up you took a sigh and admired the sights.

Lacey was holding dana’s hand as she kept her in the shallow end of the lake, they both chatted, not far from them was jake holding frank’s youngest while talking to abby.

“Ooh look at this rock aunty dana!” Lacey squealed as she picked up another smooth rock, dana nodded and had lacey place it in a tiny bucket before moving on. As you watched, a light sound came from your lap.

You let out a chuckle, robby had rested his eyes against your bump, you softly scratched his scalp mindlessly and enjoyed your time in the shade, watching jake and lacey’s shenanigans.

Thirty minutes had passed when you felt shuffling from your lap. Robby looked around him before realizing you were under him, reading through the book you had packed earlier. He shot up and groaned, “Why didn’t you wake me?” He asked, rubbing his eyes to adjust to the sunlight.

“You looked peaceful, and besides this has to be the longest we’ve gone without hearing lacey call out for one of us.” You noted, making him nod in agreement.

“Jake and lacey are eating if you wanna go get something..” You motioned to where dana’s set up was, her husband finished plating the food, not far from the dock lacey sat with a life vest on, happily eating a hot dog as if she hadn’t ate the car ride to the lake.

“You want something?” Robby asked, sitting up from towel, brushing off his shorts. You nodded and pointed to the coolers. “I left a lemonade in there.” You told michael as he dug through the ice before pulling out a bottle, he handed it over with a quick kiss on your cheek before walking towards dana.

“There he is!” Dana announced, smiling at robby who sheepishly nodded and rubbed his forehead, looking over to check on lacey.

“Thank you for watching her.” Robby thanked, stretching his back.

Dana wordlessly nodded, she looked over her should one last time before leaning in. “You still doing alright?” She asked, making him nod.

“Just the racing heart and empty stomach feeling..” He sighed, watching as lacey got up and walked over to dana’s daughter and began chatting.

“Does the little one know?” Dana asked, smiling as he shook his head. “Got no clue, jake knows..” Robby informed the blonde.

“When do you plan on doing it?” She asked. 

“Sunset?” He proposed, making dana nod. “Sounds perfect, want us to watch the kids?” Dana offered, robby just shook his head and smiled as lacey walked past the pair to grab her bucket of rocks. “I want them to be there.” He sighed, planning everything.

The rest of the afternoon had been spent, playing in the lake, visiting with the others while splashing in the lake. Frank and robby teaching lacey how to swim on her back. Floating on the inflatable tubes you had brought with.

As the sun began to set, frank and dana had shared a look, robby held onto your tube as you leaned back and enjoyed the breeze.

It hadn’t been till you all gotten out of the water and dried off that everyone in the group gathered for a firepit. You sat next to robby, lacey tucked beside you, drifting in and out of sleep as she struggled to hold her marshmallow over the fire.

Leaning your head against robby’s chest, you sighed and cuddled into his warmth. Robby smiled down at you and placed a kiss on your head.

“Love you.” You told robby who smiled and mumbled “I love you so much..” 

You lifted your head up as his heart rate picked up. “You ok, handsome?” You asked, placing your hand over his.

“I’m ok, just internally losing it..” He sighed, making you raise a brow at him.

“What’s the matter?” 

Robby sighed and rubbed your back. “You don’t understand how much I appreciate you in my life… you saved mine and jake’s relationship, you gave me stability, you’re carrying my child, gave me a daughter…I just…thank you.” He spoke up, catching jake, dana and frank’s attention.

“Thank you for being a good man.” You responded, squeezing his hand.

“Um—” robby wiggled out his wallet, you watched him confused, lacey now leaned over watched robby fumble something in his wallet. He stood up from the bench you three sat on, kneeing down in front of you

“I don’t want to let you get away, leading me to my next question…will you marry me?” He asked, holding out a ring towards you.

Everyone watched with a smile as your eyes watered up at the sight. You let out a sob, covering your mouth in shock.

“Yes! Of course!” You laughed, hugging robby the best you could. Lacey smiled widely at the scene. 

The group began cheering, once her stood up you hugged robby and kissed him, ignoring the minor look of disgust on lacey’s face. 

“I love you so much mrs robinavitch.” Robby mumbled to you as you both held onto each other. 

“I love you more…i hope you realize the pitt is gonna have a field day when they find out..” You both laugh at your words.

“Lacey, how are you doing baby?” Dana asked the five year old who wiped her tears away. “He’s gonna marry my mommy?” she asked, sniffling making you and robby nod at her, lacey nodded and smiled, running over to join the hug, motioning for jake to do the same.

Langdon smiled and pulled out his phone to took a photo of your little family.

To you the fourth of july solidified your little family; finally adding the matching last name to it.

[mugsywrites]

Randomly posting part of the "Eddie Goes to Therapy" fic I started after 8.17 but will probably never finish. It's technically a crossover with Apple's Shrinking, because I think the only way to help this man is to put him on a different network in a different genre, but you don't need to be familiar with the show, just watch this to familiarize yourself with Eddie's new therapist.

The drive to Pasadena is long. Eddie almost turns around twice on the way there, and again when he pulls into the shady parking lot of the Cognitive Behavior Therapy Center. Sunk cost is the only keeping him from turning around when he walks into the living Anthropologie catalog the is the interior. Eddie can too easily imagine the sort of people who usually walk into this place—older, whiter, and wealthier than he is, who sit down and pay some shrink north of three hundred bucks an hour to whine about how they’re just not happy.

Eddie, of course, is not paying that much. Even if he had that kind of money to spend on this he wouldn’t; but Frank was apparently able to call in a favor and work out some kind of deal. Which is what he says when Dr. Rhoades (“Call me Paul”) asks what brings him in today. “I guess I’m too messed up for my former therapist. Or anyone else within reasonable driving distance, so he referred me to you.”

“Yeah, that was my fault,” Dr Rhoades—Paul-says, “Should have been more specific. What brings you back to therapy in general?” He has sharp eyes that peer out from his rugged, craggy face, and a low, gravelly voice. He sounds like if Salvador Sanchez, the boxer mix Helena Diaz used to keep for protection while Ramon was away, could speak human words.

“Same shit. Different day,” Eddie says. He may be sitting down but he’s holding himself-mentally and physically—at attention. Face blank, so that the drill sergeant can’t pick out any weakness to grip onto and exploit.

“And by ‘same shit’, what exactly are you referring to?”

“I thought Frank sent you my file,” Eddie says, staring at the space just behind Paul’s left shoulder.

“Yeah, I have Frank’s notes. But I’d like to hear it from you.”

God, this is why he hates therapy. The shrink just never comes out and says what he thinks, just tries to make you say it in your own words. It reminds him of when he was a kid and his mother would ask if he lost his sense of smell or something, rather than just say flat out he forgot to take out the garbage. “PTSD. Survivor’s guilt,” he pauses, “Anger issues.”

“Uh huh,” Paul says. He has a little black notebook that he pages through, takes a moment to write something, then looks back at Eddie, “You were seeing Frank for about a year, right?” Eddie nods, “Did you find it helpful?”

Eddie has to admit that he did, “Yeah. I was having panic attacks, and Frank was able to teach me how to get them under control.” 

“Uh huh,” Paul grumbles again, sounding more like Sancho than ever, “Why did you stop going?”

“Like I said, I was able to get my panic attacks under control. Didn’t seem like the most effective use of my time.”

“But you’re back now. What changed your mind? Was it a specific incident, or just general feeling?”

Eddie feels the control of his Staff Sergeant Diaz at Attention mask slip for just a second. He wonders if Paul Rhoades catches it. Probably. The guy is old as fuck, white-haired and needs to whip out reading glasses to write in his little notebook, but those eyes were sharp when he first took in Eddie Diaz. “I got into a fight with someone. It got pretty ugly.” Then, because he knows Paul will ask, “With my uh. With my best friend’s boyfriend. Or maybe former best friend, I don’t know. Buck, my…he’s taking Tommy’s—he’s taking his boyfriend’s side on this, so.”

“When you say fight,” Paul says, “Do you mean an argument, or did it get physical?”

“Both,” Eddie admits, losing control of Staff Sergeant Diaz again.

“How’d this fight start?”

“Well, he started the verbal portion of it. But I am the one who threw the first punch, so I guess I get why Buck is taking his side.” Not just Buck, he reminds himself bitterly. Everyone his taking Tommy’s side on this one, from his Captain to his coworkers to his own son. Christopher doesn’t even know the details, but he’s still team Buck and Tommy. Or maybe just team “My Dad is an Asshole”, the team he’s been on since they moved back to LA, the team he’s about to be voted MVP- 

Paul interrupts his increasingly frustrated train of thoughts, “I didn’t ask who started it. I asked how it started.”

“Man, I don’t even know!” bursts past Staff Sergeant Diaz’s tight control, “The whole thing, it just came out of nowhere. Tommy just started unloading on me, saying this fucked up shit to me…”

You think Evan’s just fucking great when you need free therapy or childcare or a free fucking punching bag—

Fuck you, Kinard. What are you implying, that I’m some kind of abusive monster, or-

Oh! Gosh no, Diaz! Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I meant to unambiguously state you’re a shitty friend and selfish user. Not just when it comes to Evan. You use anyone who tries to be your friend, you use your own family, including—

You need to be very fucking careful what you say to me next, Kinard.

Or what? Because if you put a hand in my face I will mail it back to you. As I was saying, you use your own fucking son as carrot and a stick when you fuck up with Evan-

“Tommy said some pretty unforgivable shit, including bringing my kid into it. I think I’m entitled to take a swing at anyone who throws Christopher in my face. Besides, he practically dared me to.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he winces, knowing how they sound. He doesn’t even need to look directly at Paul’s one judgmental eyebrow. “Tommy is a firefighter too. Former military, plus has three inches and thirty pounds on me, knows Muay Thai, and I may have started the physical part of the fight but he definitely finished it.” Weeks later and there’s still a lingering tenderness in Eddie’s shoulders from Tommy practically twisting his arms out of the sockets in the process of pinning him to the ground. 

But what Buck had said to Eddie when he tried to explain himself was, You don’t get it, Eddie. I…I’m not…I am never going to forgive you for this. We’re done, we’re not. W-we, I can work with you, and I s-still. Chris can always come to me, but I don’t want to talk to you, or see you for a minute more outside of that. We’re not friends, not anymore.

We’re not friends anymore. Like they were in fucking middle school. 

We’re done, like Eddie was the one who was Buck’s fucking boyfriend, and he was breaking up with him. 

I am never going to forgive you for this. Like Eddie was a fucking monster. Like this one (admittedly fucked up) incident was enough to erase almost a decade of friendship. 

Although really, should Eddie really be surprised by that? Buck had been distant for months before the confrontation with Tommy. Eddie hadn’t noticed it at first, chalking it up first to lingering grief over Bobby, then to his confused situationship with Tommy rotating to “on again”. Eddie was in El Paso for a long time, maybe Buck just got used to being without him. Maybe it was easier to be friends with someone like Ravi, someone younger and easier to impress. 

Jesus, now I’m the one who sounds like we were fucking boyfriends.

“We’ll go back to that,” Paul says, “But I still don’t have a clear idea how this fight started. Where were you? Was it just you and Tommy, or was anyone else there?”

“It was just me and Tommy,” Eddie says, “We were at Tommy’s house.”

“What were you doing?”

“I was looking for Buck. I needed to talk to him about something, and Buck’s…well, it’s not official, but. That’s where he lives now,” Eddie’s mouth twists, “Buck practically moved in with the guy like, a week after they got back together.” Eddie’s hit with a fresh wave of anger and betrayal. Tommy dumped Buck out of nowhere, broke his fucking heart, Buck spent months baking away his feelings while Eddie did his best to stop him from spiraling. Even after all of that, Eddie was nothing but supportive when they decided to give it another try. And the guy had the balls to say Eddie was a shitty friend. “You know, up until that night, I thought…I thought Tommy and I were cool. We were friends before he and Buck started dating the first time. I thought we were still friends. So when he said Buck was out with Ravi—another friend of ours, I asked if he wanted to hang out for a bit while I waited for Buck to come back. Have a few beers, shoot the shit. He said no, that he bad shift and he quote unquote ‘literally can’t deal with Diaz Drama on top of it.’” 

“That’s kinda harsh,” Paul says.

Eddie snorts, “I actually thought he was joking, at first? His sense of humor is like that, deadpan, kinda dark. I even laughed. But he told me he wasn’t kidding, and wanted me to fuck off. Stuff escalated from there.” 

“I see,” Paul says, with a thoughtful grumble, “What did you need to talk to Buck about?”

“Nothing. Just some stuff,” Eddie says, back in Staff Sergeant Diaz mode.

“‘Just some stuff’? That’s why you went to his house instead of calling or texting, and why you decided to wait until he got back?”

“Nothing that’s important to the fight I had with Tommy,” Eddie replies. Nothing that warranted being accused of using his son.

“Humor me,” Paul says.

“It’s really not why I’m here,” Eddie says, jaw tightening. He is here because Tommy fucking Kinard picked a fight with him and Eddie went too far in response. He apologized, to Buck and to Tommy, and he won’t do it again. But then Buck said they were done, not friends any more. Then everyone else found out and had to throw in their two cents, draw lines and take sides. Now Eddie is the one who has to take at least three hours—probably closer to four, he’d being going in the wrong direction when he went home—out of his day to drive to fucking Pasadena and sit in this bougie office spilling his guts to a guy who looks old enough to have been around when lobotomies were cutting edge psychiatric treatment. 

“When I asked what brought you back to therapy,” Paul says when it becomes clear Eddie isn’t going to say anything else, “You said ‘same shit, different day’ in regards to you PTSD and anger issues. Have you ever gotten violent with anyone in the past?”

“I fought in Afghanistan. What do you think?”

“How long did it take you to get here?”

“Sorry?” Eddie asks with a jolt, as though Paul had read his mind.

“You implied earlier that my office wasn’t within reasonable driving distance. So. How long did it take you to get here?”

“An hour and fifteen minutes,” Eddie says.

“Probably be worse on your way back into LA,” Paul says.

“Definitely,” Eddie says. Traffic will be bad enough, if there’s a fender bender or something worse…

“So why are wasting even more of your time dancing around why you’re really here? Because this whole thing will go a lot faster and be a lot more productive if you answer my questions.”

[wormholxtreme]

A part of him didn't want to move. Didn't want to change the feel of her wrapped around him. He could stay in this divinity for all of eternity if she let him. That feeling of being seated so fully inside of her, where their bodies intertwined in a way that it felt like he was gifting her his very soul.

I love you.

She had said it last night. Words that made him elated beyond reality, words that drew his climax from him unexpectedly. This time though was different, while he words still sent shivers down his spine and could be felt in the twitch of his member inside her, there was something beyond needing just her love.

It was a carnal, passionate, driven heat that made his blood boil. It was primal, something that even Peeta with all his words could not describe. No book, no poem, no song could ever describe the way he felt about being intertwined with Katniss.

He didn't count the seconds he waited. Didn't know if it was even a full minute. But the pause as he seated himself inside her to the root and didn't move felt like an eternity. It was long enough that she whined and writhed on him but Peeta had one arm keeping her secure and another hand on her hip to keep her from moving without his permission. Instead he smirked at her, tilting his head up with a sense of pride and playfulness.

"What else do you feel about me huh?" he asked, pressing another kiss to her mouth to stop her from whining.

He pulled back, waiting for an answer. Staying buried inside her without moving until she answered him satisfactorily.

"List them?" he offered as a suggestion.

As Katniss spoke, rough but mewling at the same time, Peeta rewarded her. He withdrew his hips until his tip was all that was left before plunging forward again with a groan. "Uh huh, what else?" he asked her. Each response from her punctuated by a thrust of his hips.

His pace quickened until her words fell apart, until he couldn't focus on her actual answers and only the way she felt around him.

He dipped his head, mouthing her breasts as his hands were currently preoccupied.

Without him, there was absolutely no way she’d be able to stand on her own. Cool gray eyes met his, and her stomach flipped at the wanton need that was reflected back. Peeta stole every sound from her throat, every kiss that held a moan. She never knew Peeta Mellark to be greedy, but if there was one thing she’d allow; it was him being greedy for her. With the way he’d pinned her against the door, Katniss had very little control over how fast or rough their hips met. Instead, Peeta was the one in charge. Katniss felt a whine building in her throat. She needed more, needed all of him. 

For a woman who never actually voiced what she wanted, she’d pleaded with Peeta enough to know he’d hear her. She never outright asked for anything usually, but right now? Between his thighs and this door, Katniss was willing to spill every need and want that she felt for him.  

Katniss sighed with relief the moment he began to shimmy out of his clothes. Her forehead momentarily dropping to his shoulder as that building sound finally escaped her. A breathy whimper, her thighs pressing together as if it wasn’t obvious that she was soaking wet for him, because of him. Peeta continued to keep her up right, but she ignored the soft laugh from him. She couldn’t focus on the reason, couldn’t verbalize it. Instead, Katniss again mouthed against his skin a breathy “please, peeta” as if another second would fully break her. His response was a welcomed kiss, her throat vibrating as he pressed against her. She wanted to scream, to be loud, but again, the train wasn’t exactly a secluded spot to do so. Instead her gaze lifted, bottom lip trembling as Peeta finally began to slip into her. Her knees wobbled, a leg lifted to settle around his hip as he sank further into her. Katniss was seeing spots in her vision, her head lulling to the side as she felt him stretching her back out to fit him. Peeta swallowed the moan on her lips, and her breath uneven as she tightened her hands around his neck. “I love you” 

[gracie-eilish]

9 and 13 PLEASE for smut I beg of you 🙏🙏

9. you just want attention, huh?

13. on your knees

prompt list requests have been closed

“baby please,” billie pleaded in your ear, leaning further into your side. the music was loud enough that no one else could hear your baby’s whimpers and pleas.

“billie, i said be patient.” you turned your attention back to the little dinner party you two were attending to celebrate claudia’s new body care line. it was small and quaint at her’s and finneas’s shared home. small enough that if a certain couple disappeared, everyone would know.

she grumbled in her seat, something about being horny and patient. lucky for her, you’d had enough. it had been maybe a half hour of her squirming and wandering hands.

“excuse us for a second,” you politely said to a close friend sitting next to you with whom you were chatting with.

billie giggled as you grabbed her wrist and practically dragged her into the house, finding the guest bedroom you two were staying in this weekend. you softly shoved billie into the bathroom and locked the door behind yourself before zeroing in on her. suddenly small and sheepish, back bumping into the bathroom counter as you slowly stalked closer to her.

“you just want attention, huh?” you purred, trapping her.

she whined and nodded, her hands making their way to the hem of your dress.

“uh uh, baby. patient. you wanna be a good girl for mommy, yeah? or do you wanna go back out there and wait some more?” her eyes went glossy, shaking her head furiously. you smirked.

“that’s what mommy thought.”

quickly you spun the two of you around so your back was against the counter. you jumped a bit, pulling yourself on top of the counter, spreading your legs.

“on your knees.” you demanded so strictly yet warm like hot honey.

she gulped a bit before slowly descending down, her eyes on the obvious wet patch between your legs. she whimpered at the smell of your wetness and warmth.

“be a good girl. you know what to do.” you leaned back on your hands, letting your head fall back a bit, revealing your neck and collarbones, making billie drool at the sight of you from below.

carefully, she pushed your thighs further apart, before reaching up beneath your dress and grabbing the waistband of your panties, inching them down ever so slowly, watching your wetness cling to the fabric as she dragged them down your thighs.

once they were off. you moved closer to the edge, your heat directly in front of billie, making her eyes widen.

she couldn’t hold back, grabbing your thighs and stuffing her face between them, licking a long stripe from your dripping hole to your clit making you cry out.

“fuck bils, don’t stop baby.” one of your hands flew to her hair, leaving you in a similar position to one of her “mediocre” poses she does on tour…

she moaned, leaving kitten licks on your clit in rhythm with your hips quickly bucking towards her face.

she moaned even louder after looking up at you through her lashes, watching you smile and bite your lip, eyes closed, head thrown back.

god you were a sight.

she pulled away from your clit, plunging her tongue straight into you, thrusting in and out, leaving you a whimpering, gasping mess.

“keep going billie baby, doing so good f’me, god fuck you’re so good at this.”

she replaced her tongue with two fingers, moving up to suck on your clit. you were in paradise.

“baby, fuck babygirl i’m gonna, bils don’t stop oh fuck i’m gonna cum,”

your walls were sucking her fingers in, leaving a squelching sound with every thrust. she sped up her movement, knowing you were close.

your moans rose in pitch with every breath, walls closing in, before it all stopped.

your eyes flew open, jaw practically on the floor, watching as billie stood up, daintily wiping her mouth and fingers.

“what?” she asked, feigning innocence. “kept me waiting all night lovey. you think i’m just gonna give it to you like that? oh mama… you’re cute.” with that she left a warm kiss to your cheek, winking sinisterly, before making her way back to the backyard, leaving you a complete, breathless mess.

billie covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as she made her way back downstairs. she wanted attention, and when you two got home… god would she get it.

[sleepytopia]

Hihi againnn. I have yet another request. You are officially my favorite writer on this app 🙏.

Anyways the request is: “Dare You to Say It Again” (Verbal Tension, Slow Burn)

Y/N calls him a “pretty boy” during a class dare game, fully expecting him to explode. Instead, he stalks toward her, eyes burning.

> “You think I’m pretty?”

“I—uh—”

“Say it again, but slower this time.”

This prompt has been in my note for literally ever lmao

AHH YOURR BACKKK AGAINN !! I gott youu !!! :3

Dare You to Say It Again

Denki Kaminari x reader

Summary: A dumb class game leads to a single phrase—"pretty boy"—falling from your lips. You meant it to embarrass him. Fluster him. But Denki Kaminari doesn’t flinch. He stalks toward you with fire in his eyes, lips curved, voice low. And suddenly, you’re the one flustered.

The dorm common room was a mess of pillows, soda bottles, and the sound of Kirishima laughing so hard he choked on his drink. Truth or Dare had started as harmless fun—but it had rapidly spiraled into chaotic, borderline incriminating territory. It was Denki’s turn now, and of course, he had chosen dare.

Sero had grinned wickedly. “Okay, Denks. I dare you to ask Y/N to rate your looks—honestly.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “You’re seriously fishing for compliments?”

Denki turned to you, lounging back against the arm of the couch like he was posing for a promo shoot. “What can I say? I know I’m hot. Just wanna hear you say it.”

Cocky bastard.

You looked him up and down with exaggerated boredom, then shrugged with venomous sweetness.

“You’re a pretty boy, I guess.”

The room howled—Mina gasped dramatically, Kirishima did a spit take, and even Todoroki raised an eyebrow. Denki blinked… then something in his expression shifted.

He didn’t laugh.

He smirked.

“Pretty boy, huh?”

You froze.

His tone wasn’t teasing.

It was low. Curious. Dangerous.

He rose slowly to his feet, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants, and stepped toward you.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Your throat went dry. “I—I mean, not like just pretty, I—”

“Say it again,” he said, voice a soft command, “but slower this time.”

You backed up half a step instinctively—right into the couch. Denki kept coming, golden eyes dark with something hungry. Not anger. Not embarrassment.

Something much worse.

Confidence.

“Say it,” he murmured, now toe-to-toe with you. “You called me pretty. Was that a slip, or do you say that to all your little classmates?”

Your heart pounded. “What if I do?”

He leaned in. Close enough for you to smell the citrus of his shampoo.

“Then I’ll just have to prove to you I’m more than pretty.”

Silence stretched tight between you. The rest of the class had gone suspiciously quiet, probably watching like it was a live drama.

But Denki didn’t care.

He tilted his head, lips brushing your ear.

“Say it again.”

Your breath caught. Your cheeks burned.

But your voice came out steady. Defiant.

“You’re a pretty boy.”

He exhaled a soft laugh, pleased and triumphant.

“Damn right I am.”

Then he stepped back—grinning like a cat with cream—and plopped right back into his seat like nothing happened.

You were left standing there, blinking, heart pounding.

You were supposed to fluster him.

Instead, you were the one unraveling.

Slowly.

Just like he wanted.

© sleepytopia do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works

[eviemonroeer]

The Monroe Effect: Chapter 27

Set during Season 6, Episode 10 of ER. Spoilers if you haven't seen the show.

Warnings:

WC:

ER story belongs to original creators, just adding on my own original charter.

Taglist: @pleasecallmeunhinged, @rainmg, @arigoldsblog, @queenslandlover-93, @hagarsays, @antisocialfiore, @snowflames-world, @guiltypleassure243, and @omgbrianab

Main Story: prev | next

Snapshots: prev | next

“Oh my gosh! Deb?!” 

I couldn’t believe my eyes as I walked into the admit area from the lounge and saw the familiar woman standing with Carter at curtain two. She left County five years ago and I hadn’t heard anything from her since, which really did stink since she was one of a few women around my age that worked here. I waddled over and she thankfully met me halfway. 

“Evie!” I hugged her as best as my belly would allow. “Would you look at you? Congrats! When are you due?” 

“A month, thank God. I’m ready for this baby to be out of me.” 

“Who’s the lucky guy?” 

“That would be me.” Carter quickly walked by, giving me a kiss, before walking away. The other woman’s mouth opened in shock. 

“Carter? Really?” I nodded in confirmation and a ran a hand over my bump. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You two were pretty flirty back in the day.” 

I scoffed and shook my head. “Everyone likes to tell me that.” I turned heading back for the admit desk so I could sit down.            

“What are you having?” 

“A girl. We’ve kind of had a baby boom around here recently. Carol Hathaway had twin girls at Thanksgiving.” 

“Seems like you guys are just trying to restock nurses.” 

I laughed as I sat. “I guess you could say that. Whatever she becomes, I hope she comes soon. I’m stuck helping at the admit desk until I go on maternity leave. I’m so glad you’re back. Means there will be someone here to keep Carter in line while I’m gone.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. I can defiantly do that. Speaking of, I should probably go find him now.” 

“Have fun.” 

Around lunch time, Carter came and got me to go grab something at the Roach Coach. I was happy for the walk on the way there, the fresh air nice after being stuck in the stuffy and over sterile air of the ER. But my feet were screaming at me as we came back across the street. “You okay?” Carter asked, noticing my struggle. 

“Just walking around with a bowling ball here. Just need to get back inside and to sit down.” Carter put his fork back in the ramen cup and put a hand on my back as we walked in the cross walk. 

“Hey Dave, what are you doing?” He called out when he noticed the doctor in the familiar green vehicle. “Stealing Weaver’s car?” 

“Just taking a look.” He said, getting out. “Couldn’t get it started.” Dave walked around the hood, which was open and exposing the engine. “So, uh.... Carter did you know this new resident Jing something-or-other?” 

“That’s great Dave.” I said sarcastically. “Screw up her name. That’ll impress her.” 

“I heard she was a medical student here. Is that right?” 

“Yes, she was.” Carter confirmed, taking another bite of his ramen. “Yes, I knew her.” 

“And?”

“And? Nothing.” 

“Ah, it didn’t work out, huh? Well, I guess it’s for the best considering Carter Jr.” He pointed at my belly. 

“Dave, I did not try and go through every medical student.” 

“Just the nurses.” Dave joked, winking at me. I rolled my eyes, partly at Dave and partly at Carter, knowing full well his history. “Why not?” He paused and smirked. “I’m just kidding, my friend. If you want me to back off, you just say so.” 

“No, I think you guys would be great together.” I scoffed at Carter's encouragement, the two men looking at me as I turned and went to go back inside. “Go for it.” I heard Carter say. 

“Consider it done.” 

I shook my head as Carter ran back up to me, putting his hand back on my lower back. “You know if he does go after her, she’ll eat him alive, right?” 

“That’s exactly why I told him too.” 

The rest of the day was surprisingly calm in consideration with how the ER normally was. Aside from a constant flow of teenagers coming in asking if I was a doctor or taking pictures with Andrew, I’d say it was pretty tame. After work, Carter and I met up with Jing-Mei. I wanted to be updated on how her first day back was as we walked outside, but instead we met up with Dave on the street. 

“Hey! So, how was your first day?” He asked her, forgetting Carter and I were even there. “Everyone treat you alright?” 

“Uh, yeah, feels like I never left.” She offered up, not really wanting to talk to him. 

“You guys want to go get something to eat?” 

 "No thanks.” 

“No.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, you working tomorrow?” 

“Me?” She asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, what a coincidence. So am I. See you, Carter. Evie.” He yelled out before going back inside. 

I hip checked Chen. “Do we have to warn you about him?” 

“Oh please.” She scoffed. 

“So how was your first day?” Carter asked. 

“Uh, well, I wish I could have done more for Alyssa.” 

“At least you did somethin’.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Why did you come back?”  

“I told you. Uh, my program in New York closed.” We stopped at the news stand so Carter could grab a paper. 

“No, no, I mean, uh, I mean to medicine.” 

“Oh well, four months after I quit, I was on the subway and this guy, pretty young, in his 40s, went into cardiac arrest. He was dying and everyone was just standing there, staring at him.” We started walking away. “So, I suddenly realized, hey, I know what to do. Jumped in, saved his life. It’s a great feeling.” 

“Yeah, it can be.” 

“And then I figured, I’m pretty good at this. Why waste it?” 

Carter smiled. “Deb, you haven’t changed a bit.” 

“It’s Jing-Mei.” 

He nodded. “Well goodnight, Jing-Mei.” He said and put a hand on my back to lead me to the car. 

“Goodnight, John. Evie.” 

“Goodnight.” I waved. 

“Oh, and Deb,” Carter added, a smirk on his face as he looked over his shoulder. “Welcome back.” 

[werezmastarbucks]

U N20: spring wedding

U N7 masterlist

word count: 1439

warnings: yoongi is a marvel villain; it’s so sappy! 🤢 i am only good at writing angst

you pull Yuri to yourself and lick your thumb.

"ew, stop", she says in your native tongue you both practice from time to time, not to lose it completely.

the day has been symbolic: you keep fixing everybody around yourself. first, Taehyung nearly got smothered with the lace flowers on his collar. then Namjoon spilled juice on himself even before you made it to the restaurant. now, Yuri has smeared the mascara on her bare shoulder. she is pregnant again. there's something insidious in their ability to pop out children one after another. they all stare at you expectantly, like they are blaming you for making Yuri bear again, like it was supposed to be your turn.

you don't mind, really. you never brought it up so far. you decided to act normal for once. and it landed you here, today. rubbing the blue mascara off your best friend's shoulder, as she sobs, because her hormones act out this time around. she said when she was pregnant with Taeyang, she felt awesome and looked awesome. the sweet boy barely provoked any morning sickness. she didn't suffer and worry like Yuna who went through hell in the first three months.

you stop in your tracks, trying to count how many Bangtan children there are now, exactly. you've drank a glass of champagne already, to soothe your shaking hands. all of a sudden, you have tremor. you get nervous. once you see the reflection of yourself in the mirror, you freeze like you don't recognize the girl. why now? after all that's happened, your throat gets dry like you're about to meet him for the first time. you exhaust me, y/n, you think, with adoration. restless forever.

Jungkook enters the designated dressing room looking like he's about to kidnap Yuri, jump with her from the roof and then french-kiss someone. he is leading Taeyang by the hand and keeps the door open, looking at his little fingers on the doorframe.

it feels like it's been a long time, a lifetime. but the little Tae always shakes you back to reality. he is just about to turn three.

Yoongi is efficient.

"you are unholy for skipping the church", Jungkook pounds busily, pursing his lips. you look at him handling his family; he bends his knees to bow to his son and push him gently towards the mother because Taeyang stops her from crying this quick; he puts his arm around her at the same time. Jin, Yoongi and Namjoon should be so proud of the boy they have raised. who knew Jungkook would turn out to be so homely? the boy who...

his eyes dart to you and he smiles.

"wow, you look really cool".

"Koo, this is not what you're supposed to say", Yuri helps, her voice still feeble with tears, but she is forgetting her sadness already.

"mmm, you look great".

you shake your head slowly, urging him to do better.

"you look almost as beautiful as Yuri", he finally guesses. you chuckle and give him a thumbs up. Yuri sniffles suddenly, loudly,

"uh-huh, stop lying. i look puffy today..."

Yuna shoves herself through the door exactly when Tae and Jungkook snuggle closer to her to console her. if she cries a lot, her foundation will get smeared, and nobody's going to have a good time.

Yuna handles it. she takes away the two who have snot coming out of their noses, and you are left with Jungkook alone.

he rubs his hands, exhaling shortly. it's a small break for him. there's pressure on his lower lip.

"so, how is it?"

you spread the shimmer better on your forearm. this is one thing you don't fail to take with you to weddings, and it doesn't matter who's getting married.

it's quiet, the door is so thick like it's a tavern. all noise of the celebration that's about to start is shut out. you know in concept Yoongi is somewhere out there. but you have no idea what he looks like today.

you put out your palm to demonstrate the tremor to him. Jungkook slides his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and takes out a flask.

"no, i already drank some".

he shrugs. then walks over to the beauty table and presses his hip against it.

"you know what", he says suddenly, "we never spoke about Prague".

your nostrils flare as you quickly look at him.

"what about Prague?"

he frowns.

"Prague, we met there, remember?"

you roll your eyes.

"of course i remember, Jungkook. what about it?"

he rubs his neck, pondering.

"i just need to tell you this. it's just, it- feels like i have to tell you this".

"god dammit, Jungkook, don't even think about it-"

"i kinda liked you for some time after".

you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

"what's the point?" you nearly yell at him. your hands fall back onto the chair and you grab the edge of it hard.

"what's the point of saying it now?"

his boba eyes look so innocent like he's about to gaslight you.

"well, you knew it, didn't you?"

"i've been told about it", you respond after measuring your breath.

"it was over quickly", he says, "but it's better that you know".

"why?" you whine. seeing his face that's laughing at you, you almost get a fainting episode. the heart rattles in your chest. like it's a nightmare.

"because you always thought you weren't good enough", he replies, calmly. the direction in which it takes you, sobers you up. oh. oh. he isn't trying to stir shit up. he is being... an adult. Jungkook saying wise stuff is so rare that it hasn't crossed your mind.

"and literally half of us were head over heels for you. you had to choose Yoongi huyng, of course..."

the chuckle knocks the air out of you. your fingers relax.

"and you look fantastic", he says, pleased. the ease in his voice is from the lack of infatuation with you. it's just, love.

you hold him in your arms, relieved, shaking. Jungkook makes you gulp from his flask anyway.

"why are you so nervous?" he whispers, as he opens the door for you.

"i am marrying my bias", you mutter, and he chokes with laughter. he's probably forgotten all about it.

Yoongi looks like the dream you've had all your life. like the gentle waves brushing over sharp grey rocks, and like Seoul trees in bloom, like redemption, like peace. you know he might never understand how you see him, and that's okay.

you watch his plump mouth open slightly as he looks above and hums,

"these yellow flowers, they..."

"they were at Yuri's wedding, yes", you nod. you asked for them for this very reason. "Jungkook informed me about it".

it felt like the right thing to do.

there's a strand of hair on the side of his face, and you laugh internally at the dead loser girl who once dreamed to be able to hold his hand every day. Yoongi throws a look at you and then away, pursed smile on his lips. small dimples on his cheeks.

"what?"

"you're too pretty".

"let's not be funny now".

he cranes his neck and makes it exactly to the spot on your neck under your ear. his lips place a kiss there, where people will never find it again. you close your eyes for a second, trying to memorize. he smells like cedar and citrus, and your shimmer: it has subtle tuberose undertone. you look into his face and he looks back, the same way Namjoon looks at Yuna. quiet, ready to listen, eyes softly fixated on your features. like he is memorizing, too.

"tell me something", you ask. he nods backwards: lifts his chin slightly, asking, what?

"did you really not know what a carrier oil is?"

that makes him chuckle. his mouth slowly lopsides in a smirk, then it transforms into a real smile.

"i am not that stupid, y/n. i've been doing hair treatments since i was twenty. of course i know what a carrier oil is".

he chuckles again, putting his arm around your shoulder. the room is blurry. you only see the full plate in front of you, only feel the pull of him, how he lures you,

no matter how many traps you'd set for him, he never seemed to fall into one, huh? instead trapping you, again and again.

someone comes up and snaps a picture of you, and it reminds him.

"oh. i printed it out", he winces, lifting his butt, and takes out something from his pants pocket. you look. it's the shot of Yuri and Jungkook, dashing, with red noses, at the doors of Seoul church on the day of Jimin and Nari's wedding.

"do you want to give it to them?"

he leans in when you try to place a kiss on his cheek.

"no", you say, "this one's for me".

he sighs warmly, content, he can’t eat anymore, not after the cake. Yoongi is full, unapologetically happy, and the cat-like corners of his mouth make you think for a second this is all just a dream. but then his finger tickles your shoulder. and the muscles in your stomach contract.

taglist: @ktownshizzle , @benyhime , @ryryvna , @amarawayne , @mar-lo-pap , @kiki-zb , @hanaohreally

[cloveroctobers]

STAY FOR AWHILE | CARMY BERZATTO (The Bear) — summer prompts

A/N: oh carmy carmy carmy!!! I can respect him acknowledging that he needs to do better for his own well-being in order to be better to others and that it’s going to be a process. What is that going to look like though? I can also understand him trying to find himself outside of what he thought he was most passionate about. He’s human (even when he became unlikable at times) yet when you look at it all?? It’s like what was that for if you’re just going to leave a mess? The desire for perfectionism is a killer. I would be open to a season five—to see HOW Carmy is going to right his wrongs. I guess all of that inspired this.

S/N: Also this is coming to you earlier than expected, thanks for voting on the poll if you did 💜

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: ¹⁾ a nettle-stung palm + ²⁸⁾ broken fishing rods + 16 ⋆ outdoor shower

WARNINGS: language + established past.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅

“So…tell me exactly how you planned to do this life changing exercise with a broken fishing rod?” You say, sitting on a log, fingers pressed against your forehead as you block out the sun.

You knew you should have brought your bucket hat with you, it was probably laughing at you right now, relaxing in the cool room on the bed you left it on, while you bared the sticky hot air.

Carmy scoffs with his back to you, curls were in tact compared to how unruly they could be, his hands still fumbled around with the rod as if it’ll magically become fixed. “I uh, dunno. Maybe that’s the exercise in the first place by them giving us broken rods? To teach us patience or some shit.”

“Pretty sure the rest of the group didn’t pull the short straw,” you say, nodding toward the others farther down the bank, all of whom seem to be in the meditative trance of waiting for a tug. “Maybe it’s just karma.”

Carmy briefly runs a finger over his lips in thought, “You still believe in that huh?”

“Look what’s happening!” You point, “You’ve been trying to fix the thing for fifteen minutes, forgetting that I am a fisherwoman’s daughter. And while we wait, I’m pretty sure this nettle-stung palm of mine is also triggering my psoriasis so yeah! Karma.”

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath you don’t catch.

“What? Speak up, Carmen.”

Carmy throws his head back, “I said! I can’t believe you had a kit this entire time. Would’ve been helpful.”

“I tried to offer it to you about five minutes in, and you ignored me.” You argue, resisting the urge to scratch at your irritated skin before throwing in with a softer tone, “Like usual.”

Carmy shakes his head, “I’m not trying to ignore you. I just didn’t hear you. There’s a lot of shit going on up there.”

“Have you had a one-on-one session with the lead here yet? Since you’re not vibing with the open discussions.”

Carmy exhales, letting a silence flow afterwards that’s rough to listen to. The guy’s got to lay off the cigarettes, like you told him back then, which was ironic since once upon a time, you both lived in Paris, full of pretty night lights that kept you both awake, a causal comfort the both of you brought (at times) after class, with Carmy healing the pressure with cigarette buds and you with espresso cups.

Years have passed, but something in the rhythm remains.

It moves like the lake behind him—small ripples that vanish if you blink too fast.

“…which is also okay if you’re not there yet.” You add, “I’ve been in this bitch—sorry that’s one of the words I said I was learning to kill. Twice now. Whatever the weight is…it was always easier for me to write it out opposed to verbally saying it. You’ll get there.”

Carmy swallows, jaw tight, “What if I don’t?” Just as the rod creaks in his grip, then finally snaps in half with an exhausted crack. He stares at it.

You’re on your feet now, standing beside him as you take the completely broken rod from his grasp to analyze before tossing it to the side.

A lost cause.

“Then you’ll be back at this circus, or some other retreat with possible psychos—until it finally works,” you tease, earning a crooked smile from the blue eyed man, “We all end up learning something along the way, regardless.”

Carmy dips his head, “Like you having a strong stance on karma?”

“I’ve got my evil eye’s all around me, tatted on my chest, and crystals that’ll give me nothing but good energy in a pouch back in my room.” You inform, “As for you, you definitely need another sesh in the steam room.”

Carmy crosses his arms, his tatted arms began to buldge underneath his stance and you make sure your eyes stay only on his face, “Well shit, I didn’t know you were employed here too?”

So you thump his collarbone, smiling when he flinched a little.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ

You both silently agree that fishing wasn’t for you, with you grabbing your plaid shirt to tie back around your waist, and Carmy shoving his baseball hat back over his head.

“I’ve got a uh—shit relationship with fishing anyway.” Carmy tells you as you both fall into step together, climbing up the incline of a sandy hill.

“Really?” You give faux surprise, “Could’ve sworn it was a healthy one with the way you almost thought about lunging the broken rod into the lake.”

Carmy snickers, bumping his elbow with yours.

One of the retreat leaders, who was lurking off to the side with a pretty good view of everyone else, almost makes you latch onto Carmy’s arm in fear as they chirp, “Now there’s a duo! Wrapping it up a little early today I see! Good effort out there.”

They give an exaggerated thumbs up before scribbling against their clipboard again.

Once distance was put between the two of you and one of the workers, you send Carmy a crossed eyed look. “Think we’ll get a sticker for participation?”

“I’m countin’ on it.” Carmy feeds into your sarcasm, shoving his hands into his pockets.

And then the smell of algae rides the air and the sun seems to shine a spotlight on you two, like you’re meant to be center stage.

Holding up your bumpy hand, you announce, “I’m gonna head to med before I end up like a blow fish. Wish I could send a pic to my mom to scare the shit out of her though.”

Carmy actually smiles, a honest but quiet one, “I could keep you company if—if you need it? You could even use my hand as a stress ball.”

You pause at the mention, “You remember those?”

He shrugs, “Yeah I do. You used to carry the uh, scented ones. A citrusy one? Smelled like lemongrass and orange. And you had a death-grip on them before and after class.”

“Should’ve stuck with it, then maybe I wouldn’t be on pills for high-blood pressure,” you wink, “But I think I’ll be alright, Carm. Thanks though. I’ll catch you at dinner?”

Carmy dips his head in acknowledgment, trailing slowly after you before you split paths, with you heading the longer path down to med, and his carrying him back to the cabins. You don’t look back, focused on what’s in front of you, humming to yourself, whereas if you had, you might’ve caught Carmy watching your frame disappear between the trees.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ

At dinner, you’re the last to show up—no shock there—as you squeeze Carmy’s shoulder on your way by, catching him off guard as he seemed to be deep in thought, doodling in a journal at the table, mind elsewhere, instead of engaging with others.

Classic Carmy.

The evening is structured with the founder of the retreat and head leader giving vague feedback on the fishing exercise, mostly keeping his evaluation for a later date, before informing that tonight they would all be served a Moroccan fish stew (substitution for anyone allergic, dietary restrictions, etc) as a peace offering for the night.

“This taste like anything you’ve ever made, Chef?” One of the other attendees, Lui, a former linebacker with a booming voice and the appetite to match, asks with his mouth half-full, devouring the dish like it’s an appetizer.

Carmy blinks, coming back to the present while he savors the dish, spoon moving through the meal.

It’s been about a month since he left Chicago, where homemade meals started to feel…foreign.

You’re on the other end of the table but he feels your gaze on the side of his face.

To anyone else, Carmy appeared to be dissociating but he hears it all and he pinpoints what he can taste and see.

A firm white fish—sea bass. Colorful bell peppers, fresh garlic and tomatoes, onions and ginger to build flavor, chickpeas for texture, a hint of salt from the olives, cumin and something with heat?

“Harissa.” Carmy swears he heard you whisper but it’s not said towards him.

Mediterranean mixed with a French technique.

Your specialty.

You knew he’d hear you.

Carmy finally manages to answer for what may have felt like some time, his eyes settling on the athletic man’s across from him. “Pretty close.”

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ

He left dinner before you, retreating early while you stayed behind with the other night owls, mingling with the ones still clinging to conversation and horrible cleansing drinks.

Carmy earned some points for sticking around as long as he did, even if he barely said a word. The both of you didn’t get a chance to talk much more. Which was fine and didn’t bother you. He wasn’t the social type anyway, preferring to fade into the background, especially here, where people might poke at the idea of him being that chef.

Carmen Berzatto was trying to find himself outside of cooking. But there was no way he could fully escape it.

He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to.

Maybe he just needed to see the other side.

He wondered why you didn’t bring it up since you got reacquainted.

Blow up his spot.

And why weren’t you on stage for your own culinary experience?

Perhaps it had to do with you already being here more than once but each person that attended this retreat definitely didn’t stay here for forever? Right? They eventually got cured or found some new approach to combat their issues on a daily and went on with their life?

Would this place become some sort of routine for Carmy too?

Sure it’s been years and Carmy didn’t have much of an idea of what you’ve been up to, even when you spoke at the discussions, you’ve always been a daydreamer, a writer, and at the time, you had dreams of having your own cook book line, so this was all still unreal to Carmy.

When he first spotted you at orientation, his stomach was fucked again. Part of him hoped you wouldn’t notice him. He could still bail if he wanted to.

Despite the fact that he was one of three that caught a shuttle here.

Of course you noticed him. You just didn’t approach. Maybe it was pettiness, maybe restraint. But he watched you anyway. Those opaque blues followed every move you made.

It wasn’t until you both realized you would be bunking neighbors, with your cabins side by side, that you spoke first.

Now you find Carmy some time later, journal tucked underneath his arm, strolling around the property full of greenery instead of completely tucking himself away for the night.

“Stargazing, are you?” You call out from behind.

He pauses.

“Thinking, actually.”

Your smile is faint, “Pinch of salt for your thoughts? Or are we officially blacklisted from talking about food?”

Carmy sighs, dropping his head from the navy sky that filled with fireflies more than stars, then he turns in the looped pathway to face you.

Your eyes trail over his face. There’s still a faint knick of a scar on his cheek and his curls are back to wild with the newfound summer breeze. Those eyes still resemble something between tropical waters and wildfires.

His voice wavers but he has to ask, “What happened to you? Us. Rather?”

A frown appears on your face, “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, Carmen.”

“Why are you here?”

Sharply exhaling you reply, “Have you been listening to the group discussions or—everyone’s fucked up enough to be here.” You state, “That’s kinda the whole point.”

Carmy nods, blinking rapidly, “I just…didn’t expect for you to be here.”

“But we are.”

“…Do you ever think about Paris?” He questions.

Humming, you get a sense of where this is turning. “I did, for a while, yeah. Then you went to Copenhagen. I went to Egypt. Met my ex-husband there. Then we tried to live a life in North Dakota—total isolation. Eventually I ended up back living with my mom in New Hampshire. Paris became this…lost recipe, I guess.”

“Okay but…what does that mean?” His fingertips fidget at his side, the other tightening around his journal.

Your eyes tighten, “What do you want it to mean? The days don’t just stop.”

“For some it does…” Carmy mutters.

You’d overheard him once, telling Sharon, the sweet older woman who reminded every one of a grandmother, about Mikey. About the way grief ate at Carmy’s ability to talk about anything else for a long time. To feel anything else. She’d nodded gently, placing a wrinkled hand over his. She said her godson had been a fan of Carmy’s dishes at The French Laundry.

She’d meant it as comfort.

Sharon was probably a fan herself.

“And I’m sorry about that, truly.” You say with your hand on your chest, “Which I’m sure you’re tired of hearing. Someday…you’re gonna be more than sure of what you really want out of this life.”

Carmy’s jaw clenched, his free hand going up to massage the muscle, he didn’t want to know how you knew that so, he doesn’t say more but it’s clear his mind is going.

The air is heavy now but not hostile.

Not like it could have been.

Eventually, you both move. One trailing after the other but keeping a distance so familar between you.

A recipe waiting to be rewritten or remembered.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ

Skincare, journaling before bed, and an eye mask pulled over your eyes to block it all out was usually enough to get you to sleep.

Not tonight.

Instead you were sitting up wide awake, chest beginning to tingle with heat, despite you keeping your head propped up by two pillows.

“Carmy.” You mutter to yourself, throwing your covers back as you collected your things to head to the one shower only you knew about.

Or so you thought.

“What the hell? You pervert!” You yell from around the open cedar outdoor shower.

Carmy nearly jumps out of his skin, he’s shirtless, gold chain still on, he’s sitting on the chair that’s tucked in there, staring down at his hands.

“Okay, no, no. I was here first!” He bolts to his feet.

Your fists dig into your hips, “And how exactly did you know about this spot without following me? Weirdo.”

Carmy scoffs, “I go on walks okay! How was I supposed to know you ended up here too? I didn’t and that’s a promise. I’m not some fucking creep.”

Sighing you calmly say, “I know, Car. I’m just messing with you.”

He slowly exhales, shoulders relaxing, hand going to pinch the bridge of his nose, “You’re unbelievable.”

“You almost sound like my ex.” You tease, tossing your towel over the ajar door.

Carmy feels his eye twitch at that, freezing as you step into the shower to turn the knob so the water begins to spray down, “…How long were you married?”

“Four years too long.” You mumble, crossing your arms, “You?”

“Huh?” Carmy nearly choked, “That’s uh—never happened for me. Didn’t have time for that part of life.”

You nod, “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Carmy stares at you and the look you share says it all.

How you worked up the nerve to ask Carmy out on a official date, despite the amount of time spent together outside of class, how you took it on the chin, played it cool, until you met up with the rest of your classmates at some club, finding Carmy locking lips with one of the other chef’s, height of a supermodel, with mean girl tendencies, right by the bar.

If he didn’t want that with you he could have just said that.

But he didn’t.

And you shouldn’t have given him that much credit back then.

That was the past. You remind yourself of that.

Graduation was the last time you saw him in person.

Until now.

Although if anyone took a peek at old journals, back in your twenties, they would realize that you always saw Carmen Berzatto for who he is.

At least—in your eyes.

Your voice if half-lost under the sound of water, “You ever think about what would’ve happened if we’d just…addressed things differently?”

“Back then?” He asked with a rub to his brow.

“Yeah.”

He lets out a breath, not quite a laugh. “Only when the pressure really sinks in.”

You grin faintly. “So…all the time, then?”

Carmy scoffs, looking off to the side. You reach out to test the temperature of the water, letting the water hit where it needs to.

“What’s the pressure look like for you?” He inquired.

Your hands go back to your hips, “Doesn’t involve culinary, that’s for damn sure.”

“Yeah?”

You explain, “Yeah. I mean—I loved it. Still do, maybe. But I don’t think I was ever in love with it. I flip houses now. With my childhood friend out in Cleveland. Less fire, unless we’re hammering down drywall. That’s a big stress reliever.”

He gives a small smile, trying to picture it.

“I’m also still into poetry, if you were wondering and if you need me to get all sentimental on you.” There’s humor in your tone and Carmy takes it because he knows, laughter was rare on his end but an essential, apparently.

Carmy snorts, “Oh like sonnets, elegies, and shit?”

You grin at him, doing a superhero pose that sparks another core memory together, how you stood in the middle of a chaotic kitchen, a bunch of hungover culinary students ready to drop pans, throw them, or crash out in French while you gave a wince of a smile (think Pearl) in this exact same pose.

“Shits getting too real in here,” you would call out to the rest of the students that looked like they were ready to launch a pan at you next, “Gotta keep our shoulders back, head up, chests out, like conquerors.”

Another student, Moira, Carmy thinks her name was lets out a scream that would crown her as a scream queen in a horror film. She used a meat tenderizer to pound into what was supposed to be duck confit before picking it up with her bare hands, and chucking it towards a open flame another chef had started.

You keep the wince of a smile on your face, witnessing that, as the two chefs started arguing in French, you and carmy’s eyes briefly meet as he walked around you, tempted to tell you to move out of his way, “Or…we could continue being unhinged walking croissants with deadly tools that can be found at the scene of the crime.” 

A trend you started, like a joke that quickly became serious. Carmy wouldn’t replicate but some other chef’s also pulled the same move, either mocking you, or they eventually gave in. Passing it along when they would see another starting to crack.

No matter how kiddish it appeared, it gave some sort of strength to keep on going, if the learner really wanted this bad enough.

Carmy wonders if you’re still doing it intentionally or was this just part of your ritual.

“Some shit.” You repeat, moving your fists from your hips as your eyes begin to have a far away look in them, “As for the pressure? It’s wrapped in a lot of things…but I’ve learned to put a red bow on it instead of letting it sink.”

Carmy lets out a slow exhale, as if he was getting rid of the smoke inside of him that no cigarette provided.

He raises his hands. One tatted fist goes to his hip and the other pressed against his head.

Saluting?

You hold his stare.

A crooked smile appears on his lips,“Chef.”

You say it back.

A mutual respect and for the first time in a long while, there’s no hollow feeling in your chest when you think of Carmen Berzatto. You see in between the tropical waters and wildfire that are his eyes.

He plans to see this through, even if at the start, there was a part of you that didn’t want him here.

It wasn’t about you, never was.

And that’s okay too.

The shower hisses quietly, light steam floating up above your heads.

Somewhere nearby, a wind chime clinks once.

Nothing else needs to be said.

For once, Carmen could be more than just one thing, and see it for himself. He could step out of his designated corner, find new ones, and hold those spaces without saying behind.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅

Continue with my summer anthology prompts here.

[tonycries]

F*ck You! (Literally) - T.F.

Synopsis. Of course, you hated your ex-husband. Of course, you found yourself in bed with him on your wedding anniversary.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, exes to lovers, angry séx, spítting, degradation, y’all are both mean, rough, jealousy (Toji’s side), bréeding, smackíng, arguíng during it, cúmplay, overstím, oral (female receiving), mentions of Megumi and Shiu, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.7k

A/N. Gojo next week because I miss my man smh.

It’s not often that you contemplate something that would definitely end up with a night in jail - but it seems that somehow whenever you did, your ex-husband Toji was always sure to be the cause of it.

Like that time he had the audacity to ask you out to dinner right outside the divorce attorney’s office, mere moments after signing those papers. Or when he “accidentally” sent you some mouthwateringly shirtless photos - through email, of course, because you had him blocked otherwise. Although, you’d saved those pictures - a secret you’d take to the grave.

And now. 

Standing right outside your front door, on the night of what would’ve been your fifth anniversary. His imposing figure filling the frame, that tiny scar you loved and hated so much quirking up ever-so-slightly as he shoots you a sly grin. 

He’s here.

Looking as devastatingly handsome as the day you left him.

“Happy anniversary, ex-wifey.”

And just as irritating, too. 

That snaps you out of your traitorous little reverie, and before long you’re sputtering out a shaky, “Y-you. What do you think you’re doing here?” Not even waiting for his response before moving to shut the door in his face.

“Oh, believe me,” Toji lets out a humorless little laugh, reaching up a sculpted arm to stop the door in its tracks. “I wouldn’t be here even if I wanted to.”

That was a lie - and Toji knew that. He had half the mind to think that you knew that. But it didn’t matter when you’re glaring up at him so prettily. The confusion evident on your face as you grit out a shrill, “Then why am I seeing your stupid face tonight?”

“Chance? Luck? A blessing?” 

Scoffing, “A curse.”

“That mouth’s still as sharp as ever, huh?” He cocks his head in amusement, “Did you not see my email?”

“No, I uh-” you mumble, face burning. And oh you wish you could stop yourself from thinking back to those photos - stop yourself from wanting to smack the smirk off Toji’s face that told you he was, too. “-blocked you on…that…as well.”

“Mhm.” he hums, eyes lingering too long on your comfy pajamas - his favorite ones -  and the way you’re squirming so adorably under the intensity of his gaze. “Well, m’just here to pick up one of that brat’s toys. Won’t take long n’ I’ll be out of your sight, doll.”

And you can’t say anything about that familiar little petname, because it hits you with a pang - oh, how you missed Megumi. 

He’d thrown a tantrum until he was allowed to visit you occasionally, of course. But still, it was nothing compared to how inseparable the three of you were before your relationship with Toji soured. His line of work too dangerous, the fights more frequent until you’d had enough.

“Ah, yes. Megs probably won’t even leave the house without it.” you chuckle, opening the door wider. “I was surprised to find it the other day since he said that lil’ plushie was his best friend. After me.”

“After me.”

“Liar.”

“Gorgeous.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fitting for our anniversary, huh?” And oh how Toji enjoyed riling you up. To spy that little furrow between your brows as he strides inside your apartment like it was his own - he did know it like the back of his hand. “I already know where the bed is, after all.”

“Yeah, and you know where the door is too.” you mutter, acting like it didn’t make your head spin to think of Toji - in your home. With you. You and Toji. In your home. You and Toji in your home. 

You hadn’t seen him since the divorce just four months ago, and here he was looking so unfairly like he fit right in. Taking up much more time than necessary as he walks towards that little wolf toy on your couch. Eyeing up the sappy romance movie paused on-screen, and those familiar photographs on the wall. 

You still had that one of the two of you from that beach getaway two years ago, he noted with delight. 

“Heh, for someone that hates me so much, s’funny you have my face hung up here.” he smirks, words just dripping with that familiar dark tone that has shivers running down your spine. “Knew you were still into me.” Defiant - challenging, even, because he always did like to push all your buttons. 

Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fall for-

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, walking towards where Toji stood. “I jus’ use it to scare off clingy dates in the morning.” 

And you loved to push his buttons even more. 

“Oh? Dates, huh?” And something about those words make you feel like something’s too-tense. Exciting, even. Especially as he repeats - more to himself than you, “Dates.”

“Jealous?”

“Heh, of whatever scrub took you out? In your dreams, doll.” Maybe it was the way Toji was joking - but didn’t sound like he was at all. Or maybe it was the way he didn’t move as you stepped closer, enough that you’re almost toe-to-toe with him. Probably it was the way he murmurs out a strangled, “M’not jealous.”

Oh. 

You watch the way his body stiffens, darkened eyes flitting between you and the picture and you- Smirking “Good, because m’having one over soon.”

“Oh, you little bitch.” He spits out the words, gaze hardening in a way you knew did not bode well for your - or down there. Hitting it where it hurts, “This is why I’m so fuckin’ glad we divorced.”

“Fuck you,” you tilt your head, anger simmering beneath your skin - and you didn’t know who was pissing each other off more. “So then you can get out before my date gets here.” And the emphasis on “date” isn’t lost on him.

“Such a liar.”

“M’not lying.” You were - but you didn’t care if Toji could tell because it was ticking him off just the same. “You could say he’s an-” Now close enough that you could feel the heat of his proximity. A finger stabbing right in his pecs with each word, “-upgrade.”

Suddenly you’re being pulled to his rock-hard chest, all the dips and curves of his body so sinfully obvious against your skin as he questions, “How so?”

“Well, for starters he’s-” you gasp, casting a sidelong glance at the way the muscles in his arms ripple. And it takes everything in you to try and keep your voice steady, “-bigger.” Thighs pressing together at the tiny grunt of disbelief that leaves your ex-husband, too-aware of the strong hand wrapped around your waist. “And sexier.”

“And?”

“And what?” you gulp, raising your head to blink up at him in confusion and oh- 

Oh, shit. You weren’t going to make it out alive. 

Toji’s eyes were wide, a mirthless smirk spreading across his face, jaw tensing as he leans down to whisper hotly against your ear, words hoarse - stilted, like it pained him to even speak them into existence. “And what other lies are ya gonna make up?”

And you might be a genius - you might just not know what’s good for you. 

Because you’re batting your lashes just the way you knew he liked, the words - saccharine sweet, and falling from your lips faster than your whirling brain could even register them. “And he makes me cum so much harder.”

Toji’s lips are crashing against yours - and you knew it was coming. You wanted them to. Bruising, angry - like he was telling you to just shut the fuck up, another word of your imaginary date and it would kill him. 

He tasted the same as he did all those months ago. Sweet, like those cheap lollipops he would buy you and that absolute sin of his scar rubbing against your lips. 

“Fuck-” he lets out a guttural groan into your lips. Only a sloppy mix of teeth and spit as he kisses you with the collective desperation of a little over four months. “Hate how you’re-” Like he didn’t even care if it left your poor lips swollen and bruised - at least that might give whatever loser coming here a hint. “-still addictive.”

With that, he picks you up like it’s just nothing, your traitorous legs easily wrapping around his toned waist. Letting you pull off that sinfully snug t-shirt to feel the smooth planes of all his muscles. Soft. Warm. 

You gasp at how he manhandles you so that your thin pajama pants are just above his achingly hard cock, throbbing, and so so angry against your core. Trousers already so damp with- precum? Your slick? 

“Hah- not jealous my ass-” you hiss, grinding down on his bulge.

And Toji’s parting mere millimeters, chuckling darkly at the disappointed little whine that escapes you. “Yeah, well, does he ever get you like this?” He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, purposely not giving you what you want. “Does he ever get you this-” Grinding you against his straining erection, two fingers sliding down, just teasing the drenched front of your shorts. “-this fuckin’ wet?”

“Nah,” you pull on Toji’s silky locks, nipping at his collarbone. “He gets me wetter.”

“You little-”

It’s like something snaps - whatever’s left of Toji’s sanity, your patience, possibly you by the end of this. Anything but the thick, suffocating - tension in your living room. Now too small. Too hot. 

Before you can react, your back  is hitting the soft cushions of your couch. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw as Toji looms over you. 

“Thought you knew where the bed was?” you manage to get out, in the heat of it all. 

“Thought you hated me?”

“Gonna kill you if you break this cou-” but the rest of the retort on your tongue dies as Toji’s hands are suddenly everywhere.

Groping your breasts - your waist - your ass. Barely giving you time to even think before fisting your shirt in one hand. Too impatient - too starved - to do anything other than pull down, down, down until it-

RIP!

“Oh you fuckin’ slut.” Toji’s jaw drops into a soft little oh! at the sight of your heavenly breasts before him. No bra - exactly how he liked it. “How I missed these.” Massaging them under his hands, “Is this for him or ya really had no idea I was coming?”

“You’re t-too fuckin’ hah-” you whine as he immediately takes one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your sensitive nipples. “-full of yourself.”

And you don’t even know if Toji registered the insult - looking like he was on cloud nine as he rolled your other nipple between two fingers. Pulling off with a lewd pop! only to say, “Wonder if you’re the same down there.”

You are - Toji discovers, with wonder. 

Hooking a finger underneath the hem of your already-soaked shorts to pull them off. And, hey, Toji hasn’t had this view in months - so he really can’t help himself from bringing them up to his face. Your jaw drops at his pure audacity as he breathes in the scent of your dripping pussy with a strained, “M’keepin’ these, doll.”

“You’re sick.” 

“And you’re soaked.” strong hands spread your legs so shamefully. You can’t fight it - how fucking wet and glistening you were for him under the dim-lighting. Toji grins cockily, “Who’s she this wet for, huh? Me or him?”

“Not- not you-” you whine, despite how your sloppy cunt was leaking all over your legs - such a mess. A mess that Toji was shifting down the couch to lick up. Slow, lazy circles right at your inner thighs. Sweet - so sweet, his favorite. Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste and oh, how Toji missed this. 

Missed teasing you until you broke. 

Which, it turns out, happens fairly early.

“Y-you’re just fucking talk.” you hiss, but it comes out more breathless than you intended. Your voice betraying how badly you wanted him. Needed him to do something - anything. “He-”

Toji doesn’t even let you finish your sentence - and you don’t need to - because without another word, he’s surging forward until he was nose-deep in your messy cunt.

Licking one, long stripe up your swollen folds - up and down, up and down, up and- He murmurs into your cunt, “Do ya still like when I-” Hot tongue flicking roughly against your clit. Just barely, and you’re bucking wildly underneath him. “Ah, you do. Old habits die hard, huh?”

Of course, the only response that Toji gets is a wet, pathetic murmur of something - maybe a plea, probably a curse at him to shut up. 

But it’s something that has all the blood rushing to his aching cock, something that has him biting down lightly on your inner thigh - just a little punishment. 

“What was that?” he purrs, “Didn’t seem to hear you right, wifey.”

It takes everything in you to gasp out, a barely-audible determined little, “I-I said-” fingers threading through Toji’s hair, pulling up his face. Hard, so that he’s forced to meet your eyes instead of admiring your pretty lil’ cunt. “-fuck you.”

And you don’t know what you expected - maybe an insult back, maybe for him to get up and leave you all high and dry right then and there.

But oh you should’ve known your ex-husband better, because he has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh. Laugh, more to infuriate you than anything as he promptly spits on your quivering pussy. 

Once. Twice.

You flinch as some splatters against your thigh, and you both know it’s on purpose. Because Toji Fushiguro always had perfect aim - but when it comes to you, well, he had to knock his bratty lil’ wife down a few pegs. 

Throwing your legs over his shoulders to lick all over your sloppy pussy once more. “Fuck me, huh?” he groans out little profanities into your cunt, “Fuck me fuck me fuck me-” 

Smack!

You register that delicious little sting on your ass far before the realization that Toji smacked you - and even later do you realize that you liked it. Slick beading through at the painfully good feeling.

Liked the way his rough palm was soothing over the sting, words strangled and slurring together as he smacks his lips against your swollen, sensitive ones. “I’d rather you fuck me than some hah- other loser.”

“S-so fucking mean-” you moan.

“So what?” His thumb draws tight little circles on your throbbing clit, the other hand looping around your waist - bruising - as he drags your sloppy pussy all over his hot mouth. “No one else could do this.” Soft tongue going all the way up from your base, “Get you this wet-” Just dipping into your clenching hole. “-taste you like this.”

“Hngh- fuck-” you groan, as he alternates between flicking your clit so mean and squeezing his tongue into your tight cunt. “Fuck fuck fuck- s’too much-”

Too much? Toji wanted to laugh - if he wasn’t so addicted to the feeling of your gummy walls stretched out so obscenely on his tongue, anyway. He knows you can take it - you always did. 

And he tells you that - a little over ten times, actually, as the hand on your waist arches you deeper and deeper onto Toji’s tongue. Fucking you so harshly - merciless. Unrelenting. Like he was taking any and every shred of anger out on your ravaged cunt.

Bucking your hips wildly, you tipping your head down to look at the sight below you and oh-

You gasp at how sinfully blissed out Toji looks between your thighs. Eyes glassy and hooded, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. Your slick glossing his lips so prettily - and if you angled your head just right you could catch the way it drips down his jawline. Yeah, maybe you really did like his face between your legs. 

“Always knew ya did, doll.” he echoes against your glistening lips and shit, did you say that out loud? 

It doesn’t matter, because Toji has his lips smushing against yours, such a filthy mess of spit and fingers and tongue - everywhere. Like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to taste more. “Knew your pussy missed me, even when you’re such some other bastard. She’s still so sweet.” Thrusting in and out faster past that first, feeble ring of resistance. “So messy f’me. Fuckin’ my tongue so good for s-someone that hates me.”

And you have half the mind to wonder whether it hurt - how his fingers weren’t cramping up yet, lips aching. Letting you push his face deeper into your pussy, ankles locking around his broad shoulders in a desperate attempt to shut him up. Close. 

“Y-you talk ngh- too much.” Blood roaring in your ears, feeling his smirk against your cunt. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

“Nah, I know you ah- love it.” Smack! Another handprint on your ass that has you stuttering and jolting on his face. “Can feel you clenching all around me because I-” Toji gives you such an infuriating wink from below,  “-eat this pussy the best.”

 And you would be mad at how cocky he was being - if you weren’t cumming all over his pretty face. 

Stars behind your eyes with each little lick of Toji’s tongue as he fucks you through your high, lapping up all your sweet sweet juices. 

“W-wait oh-” you were letting out such delirious little whines. “S’too sensitive- too- hngh-”

“No-” he grits out, voice shot. “No no no no- wan’ it. Need it.” Scrambling to pull your hips back onto his mouth. Fingers just bruising on your skin. 

He was like a man possessed, and you can only lay there and take it as Toji tips his head back to let your slick slide, down, down, down his throat. Voice shot, as he grits out, “Oh fuck, been holdin’ out on me.” Eyes unfocused and miles away as he comes up to squish your cheeks together in an embarrassing little pout. “Open that fucking mouth.” 

And you barely even realize it when you are - tongue lolling out so sinfully. The only thing jolting you back to whatever senses you have left is Toji spitting in your mouth. 

A steady, angry stream of saliva before his lips are clashing once more with yours. Purposefully letting your juices smear all over both your lips, tasting yourself and him and how desperate you were on his tongue-

“O-oh my god.” you break the kiss at the feeling of something so hard against your cunt. Delicate strings of spit snapping as you whirl down to look. Shit, when did he even take off his-

Ah, how Toji loves the breathless little whimper that leaves your lips at the sight of his too-tight boxers, the insults failing you now. Humming, “Like what ya see?” 

As if to prove his point, he tugs them down just enough that his rock-hard cock springs free. Fuck, you think you’ll never get used to it, even after so long - Toji was so fucking massive. Flushed red, soaked in beads of precum that drip down, down, down all the way to the tufts of black at his toned pelvis. 

So thick and angry that your legs were clenching together just at the mere sight. And Toji notices - how could he not?

“Yeah…” he murmurs, as if continuing a conversation from before. Muscled arms pushing your thighs apart to watch how your sloppy pussy was drooling all over the couch. “She definitely missed me, look how much she’s gushing.” Pooling your juices on his fingertips, “Clean your act up, doll”

“Shut up.” you squeal, embarrassedly, giving Toji a glare that makes his balls squeeze so painfully. Smirking, “You’re not even as big as him.”

Oh. 

Well, Toji didn’t like that - not one bit, in fact, as he shoves his dripping wet fingers in your mouth - pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knows will have your pretty eyes welling up with tears.

“Then why aren’t you with him, you little bitch. Think I like you better when you’re f-fucked dumb.” he spits dangerously against your lips. Fisting his cock to lazily drag up and down your puffy folds. “Don’t you hah- agree?”

He doesn’t get to find out if you agree - and he doesn’t care, either. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to give an answer even if you wanted to. Because his swollen cock was too thick, the stretch too sinful, too dizzying as Toji splits you apart on his unforgiving cock. 

“Mmmpf- fuck! Hah-” you mewl, torn between running away from his cock and bucking down for more more more-

“More?” he laughs, “Ya ask him for more like this too?”

And oh how so very cute and pliant you were being stuffed full. He barely gives you the time to adjust because - why would he? Toji has his mouthy wife all breathless and splayed out so shamefully, desperately trying to milk his cock for all he’s worth. 

Barely even halfway in, yet he rocks into you in shallow, teasing little grinds just to fit himself inside your tight pussy. So mean. Not giving a fuck about those teary whimpers leaving your mouth.

“They ever ngh- fuck you like this?” he rasps, dropping his head to leave little bites down your tender neck. “Ever h-having you crying for his dick like ngh- this?” And despite all his confidence, Toji didn’t want to hear the answer - didn’t want to know the truth. “Such a slut.”

Your nails rake angrily down his sculpted shoulders - a warning, and it’s about the only thing you can do as Toji speeds up. Faster. Deeper. 

“Heh, what? Markin’ me up for others to hah- see?” he cooes, mockingly. And you could just cry as his grin widens, finally - finally - pulling his fingers out. “Why don’t you ngh- use your words instead?”

And you should probably breathe, probably tell him to fuck you exactly the way he wants to - to confess to him that this is all you’ve ever wanted on those lonely nights these past four months. But the both of you know that it’s more fun this way.

So instead, you smile sweetly, “F-fuck you. They do - a lot better, too.”

If only your voice hadn’t cracked so unconvincingly at the end - if only you hadn’t let out such a pornographic moan as Toji pulls your face to meet his. Kissing you over and over and his hips-

“I’m the one fucking you, doll.” he bites down on your lower lip, tugging and pushing at a senseless little rhythm - the complete opposite of his hips. “Remember that.” And that’s all that’s said before Tojis finally bottoming out all the way to the hilt. Heavy balls smacking sinfully against your ass, fat head just kissing your cervix. “It’s me. I don’t give a hah- shit if it’s been f-four mouths, it’ll always be ngh- me.”

The couch creaked in protest as Toji fucked you like it was the last thing he’d do. Like he was trying to fuck every thought of whoever came after him right out of you - along with those silly little thoughts about the divorce.

“B-but-” your eyes widen as Toji runs his mouth - as hasty and urgent as his movements now. Fingers snaking up to toy with your still-sensitive clit, not even drawing circles anymore - just messy, little patterns just to get you off. “We’re already-”

“You s-still think we’re oh- nothing but exes?” he questions, sounding as surprised as you felt. “We can’t stay ah- God, we can’t stay apart and you fuckin’ know it. So…”

You gulp, already knowing the answer to the question he was just goading you into asking. “So?” 

“So…” Toji muses, giving your swollen lips a short, chaste peck. Whispering against them, “M’gonna hah- fuck you till everyone knows you’re mine.”

A promise that Toji Fushiguro was well and fully intent on fulfilling. And you didn’t doubt that he’d have any trouble with it, in fact. 

Because he’s rutting into you so animalistically now, so so sloppy. Torn between savoring the feeling of your plushy walls squeezing him to insanity and abusing your poor cervix. Prominent veins making you feel a maddening little thump thump thump as he roams for that one-

“Ah! Hngh- Toji!”

Found it. 

And Toji had everything he needed - you, his wife, spread so sinfully and stuffed to the brim with him. Hitting your sweet spot over and over- 

“No loser’s gonna fuck you like this.” he breathes against your ear. “Have you ngh- feeling this good.”

“I- ngh- fuck fuck fuck, Toji-” you let out, hips mindlessly bucking down in a pathetic attempt to meet his rough thrusts. “S’too- hah- oh my god. S’too good-”

“Shut up.” Oh he sounds so absolutely wrecked. Sanity crumbling away bit by bit every time he’s plunging his cock - so painfully hard - into your wet pussy. “Do you even ah- realize how sexy you look right now?” Toji throws his head back, eyes still locked on you like it killed him to look away. “Never lettin’ anyone else s-see ya like this. They’re gonna look at you and see me-”

You don’t even know what he’s babbling about anymore. Just that his achingly hard cock was making such a mess of you, pulling back only to go deeper. Massaging all the right spots as fucked you harder into the couch. 

“Me-” he gasps. “That date is gonna fuck- know,” Hips stuttering and absolutely filthy, “That cashier d-down the ngh- street that eyes you up every time is gonna know-” Angry. Desperate. So, so needy. “Your fucking lawyer- ngh- s’gonna know. They’ll s-see you and see me me me me-”

At this point you can only nod deliriously, letting out a broken little, “Hngh- yeah, wan’ that, Toji. Wan’ you so bad.”

Toji presses another chaste kiss - this time to your forehead. Whispering a quiet, “Then cum f’me, doll.”

You do - the hardest you ever think you ever have in your entire life. Thighs shaking, vision spotty, sparks of white-hot electricity going all the way from your hazy brain to where Toji was fucking you through it.

Muffling your moans with his mouth as he gives one, harsh thrust. Then spilling into your gummy walls, painting it all an obscene white with rope after rope of hot cum. 

So wet and hot - with him. All him. 

And you look so cute taking it all like the good little wife that you are, that he can’t help but press down on your lower stomach. Awe-struck at how your cunt gushes around him, coating his twitching cock as Toji fucks his seed deeper and deeper into you. 

But, hell, that wasn’t his favorite part - not by a long shot. Instead, it was probably when you pulled him into his arms, whispering sweet little nonsense in his ear about “how you missed this” and “that date wasn’t real anyway” as he fucks the two of you through your highs. Sweet. Familiar. 

“Oh, God-” he mutters into the crook of your neck, slightly calmer now. Much more clear-minded than the two of you were mere seconds before. “We broke the couch.” 

And it was true - one side was sagging much more than the other. Though you can only let out a giggle in response. Doesn’t matter, the two of you’ll pick out a new one tomorrow - he always hated this new one, anyway. “Happy anniversary, wifey.”

---

“Damn kid, that ol’ dad of yours sure is running late.” Shiu crosses and uncrosses his legs with slight nervousness. Eyeing the small, dark-haired boy playing with blocks a few feet away, “Maybe we should-”

“It’s okay. He’ll be back.” Megumi deadpans, sounding like the absolute last thing on his mind was why his dad was taking way too long for what should’ve been a half an hour errand. Shiu - on the other hand - had his mind whirling with imaginations of traffic accidents or murders or- what if the two of you killed each other- “And he’ll bring back mama too.”

You could almost hear the record screech to a halt. The older man stared wide-eyed at a slightly-smiling Megumi. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Wait- no, what did you-”

“Nothing.”

Because, hey, Megumi might’ve had to go without his favorite wolf plushie for a bit - but a magician never reveals his tricks, right?

A/N. So how does it feel to be played by a kid, hm?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[cowgiri]

content warnings: maintenance man!toji, stuck in dryer trope, public sex, dubcon, creampie, slight breeding, unprotected sex, oral (f!recieving)

this wasn't how your sunday was supposed to go. you'd just wanted your favorite dress—the one that always disappeared into the dryer's depths. one overextended reach, one slippery sock on wet tile, and suddenly you were folded like origami into the machine.

somehow, your hips got wedged at the perfect (or rather, horrific) angle, leaving you folded in half, ass in the air, legs dangling out but unable to get enough leverage to pull yourself free. you flailed, face burning as your shirt rode up, the cold metal pressing against your bare stomach.

three attempts to wriggle free only wedged you tighter. the position left your crop top rucked up to your ribs, your shorts riding up dangerously high.

at least you were able to wriggle one hand out to grab your phone from your pocket. the number for maintenance has never looked so tempting. because you knew exactly who would answer.

the door creaked open exactly seventeen minutes later.

"maintenance."

that voice. like gravel and honey. your stomach swooped. silence. long, agonizing silence.

then, a low whistle. "ain't this a sight."

“well,” toji said. you could hear the amusement in his tone. “this a new kink? or just bad luck?”

“it’s… not what it looks like,” you stammered.

"now this," toji mused, boots scuffing against concrete as he approached, "is a first."

"it's not—i didn't—"

"uh huh." a calloused finger traced your exposed hipbone. "dryer eat your clothes, sweetheart? or just hungry for something else?"

he smelled stupidly good for a guy who supposedly spent his days fixing garbage disposals. his palm landed warm and heavy on your ass. you jolted, the metal vibrating with your movement.

"easy," he chuckled, fingers slipping beneath elastic. "wouldn't want you getting... stuck-er."

the tear of fabric was obscenely loud. cool air hit bare skin as your shorts gave way.

"toji—"

“fuck,” he muttered.

“already dripping for me?” his voice was dark. “is that why you called? wanted me to find you like this?”

"maybe," you quickly replied, your body still tense.

“relax, sweetheart,” he murmured. his fingers tightened on you and you shivered. “gonna get you out.”

except, he didn’t.

“i’ve always wondered,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a low growl as he roughly gripped the flesh of your ass, “how that pretty little cunt would look, all used and stretched.”

“please,” you gasped, his fingers fondling your puffy pearl. “just get me out.”

“i will,” he mused. “but maybe i want a taste first. is that okay, sweetheart?”

his fingers were still working your clit, sending sparks up your spine. “just a taste. i’ll stop if you don’t like it. i’m sure you’ll like it though.”

his free hand smacked your ass, hard. you gasped, but the sound was swallowed up by the clatter of his belt being undone.

“should i?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “no, i shouldn’t.”

the metal rattled as he gripped your hips, tugging you back even further, and his mouth pressed to you. you let out a strangled sob as sucked on your swollen clit. it was too much, too intense.

he hummed, the sound vibrating through you, and pulled away, licking his lips.

“fucking delicious,” he purred.

“look at you,” he said. “all spread open. so fucking perfect.”

“please,” you moaned. “it’s not… i didn’t—”

you felt the head of his cock press against you and tensed.

“relax,” he murmured, “i’ll take care of you.” he delivered a sharp slap to your ass and you whimpered. he was hot and heavy, pushing you further into the cold steel.

your breath hitched as he slid into you, your body clenching down.

"fuck." he bit through his teeth. "tighter than i dreamed."

you panted, overwhelmed by the stretch. “wait—”

“just a little more,” he said, pulling back to press in even further. “just… fuck, you feel perfect.”

he was big, too big. you gasped as he bottomed out, the dryer rattling violently as he pulled all the way out and slammed back in.

“so good,” he grunted. “just knew you’d be so good.”

you could only hold on as he pounded into you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. your body jolted with every thrust, the metal rattling and creaking ominously. but he didn't slow, just kept fucking into you with powerful, relentless thrusts.

“gonna cum,” he warned, one hand sliding around to find your clit. you were too overwhelmed to do anything but take it as he rubbed tight, fast circles. “gonna fill you up—”

you came with a cry, clenching down around him as he slammed deep one final time, his cock pulsing inside you as let out a low groan.

the only sound was your panting and the hum of the machine. you felt his cock slip from you, followed by a sense of emptiness. his hands gripped on your hips sightly, before pulling you out, your legs like jello against the hard concrete floor.

“there,” he said smugly. “all fixed.”

"receipt's in the office," he said as he delivered a final pat to your dripping cunt. "be sure to... rate my service and leave a good tip, sweetheart."

note: i love me a good toji crack fic, the way i giggled so hard while writing this. it was supposed to be really short but i got carried away >.<

[jaesblogstuff]

Not again

That one awful time you got a UTI because you didn’t pee after and it ruined both you and Simon for days...and the future.

Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore.

It’s distant. Slow. Boneless and heavy and floating at the same time—like you’re made of liquid, spilled across the bed, soaking into the mattress where Simon left you.

Everything’s sensitive. Your thighs are trembling. The inside of you feels warm in a way that shouldn’t be possible—so full, so sore, still twitching from the way he held you down and ruined you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. it’s all Simon.

You might’ve fallen asleep. You’re not sure.

Then you hear him shift.

You don’t move.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble into the pillow.

He exhales slowly through his nose, amusement crackling under the surface of his voice.

“It’s been thirty.”

You groan, long and dramatic, and turn your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “You said you’d wait.”

“I did. And I have.” He leans in, mouth brushing behind your ear. “But you’ve got to get up now.”

“No, I don’t,” you mumble, lips barely moving.

“Yes,” he says, not unkindly. “You do.”

“Fuck off.”

“You need to pee.”

You sigh with a full-body shudder. The last thing you want is to move. Your thighs still twitch with every shift, every reminder of how hard he’d been in you—deep and rough and mean, the kind of mean only Simon can be when he knows you like it.

And now?

Now your brain’s caught somewhere between satisfaction and irritability.

You squirm an inch and hiss at the soreness. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I literally can’t feel my legs.”

He hums again. Not arguing. Not pushing. Just present.

And then you snap, just a little. Not angry, just done.

“God, why are you like this?” you bite. “You get off, and suddenly I’m a project.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, with that same frustrating calm “I get off because I wreck you, sweetheart. But I also remember what happens when you don’t move after.”

You're quiet.

“Yeah.”

You groan again. “Don’t bring it up.”

“I am bringing it up.”

He shifts beside you, moving the hair away from your damp cheek.

“You remember what happened last time.”

You do.

Unfortunately.

That time when you’d passed out immediately after sex—sore, blissed out, perfectly used—and slept the whole night through. Didn’t pee. Didn’t think to. And the next morning?

UTI. Full force.

Your insides were on fire. You couldn’t sit down without wincing. Couldn’t even have him look at you, let alone touch you.

You were grumpy. Snappy. Miserable.

He was worse.

Because not only were you suffering, but he couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fuck you. Could barely cuddle you without getting a sharp “Don’t touch me, Simon.”

He was all but climbing the walls by day two. You'd heard him mutter “This is hell” when you snapped at him for putting the wrong tea in your mug.

And even then, he never said I told you so.

He just brought you cranberry juice and heated pads and ran you a bath and kissed your temple like he didn’t feel half-insane.

Now?

Now he’s not risking it.

“You were a nightmare,” he mutters, rubbing your lower back. “And I didn’t get to fuck you for a week.”

You roll onto your side to glare at him. “It was your fault too.”

“Exactly why I’m carrying you.”

You pout harder. “I’m not talking to you.”

“You’re literally talking to me right now.”

“Simon—”

He sits up and leans over, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. “I'm not doing this again.”

You huff, but you don’t fight. Your limbs flop against his chest like dead weight. You nuzzle into his collarbone, still grumbling.

“You’re annoying.”

“Mm.”

“Bossy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I still can’t feel my legs.”

He chuckles and carries you across the room, his big palms smoothing over your bare skin as he holds you close.

Once in the bathroom, he sets you on the toilet like something precious.

And instead of stepping back or giving you space, he stays.

Right in front of you.

He’s standing tall, bare chest in your face, warm hands on your shoulders—guiding you gently forward until your cheek rests against his stomach.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter.

“And you’re soft,” he says. “All bark.”

You don’t respond.

Your body’s buzzing. Your thighs are still trembling. But when you finally relax enough to pee—

“Oh—oh my God—”

You jolt.

The pressure. The release.

Your muscles seize instantly, twitching with overstimulated nerves. It’s not just peeing. It’s like a second, slow-burning orgasm. Your body shakes with it, cunt fluttering around nothing, your legs twitching like Simon’s still inside you.

You gasp against him, trembling. It's not even about the release—it’s the aftershocks. The sudden emptiness as your muscles unclench. The way your cunt spasms around nothing as your body reacts to being let go.

Simon holds you tighter.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of his sweatpants.

His hands drop to your back.

“Easy, love. Just let it happen.”

Your knees buckle where they’re spread. You squeeze his sweatpants for balance, forehead still pressed to his stomach as you twitch through it—little pulses, flutters, everything still too much.

Your voice breaks. “Feels like—feels like I’m coming again.”

“I know.”

“Still—God, it’s still in my spine—”

You twitch again. His arms stay firm. He pets down your back, anchoring you, holding you upright as your body finishes unwinding in slow, shaking pulses.

And you do. You feel everything. His hands rubbing your back. The warmth of his chest under your cheek. The way he steadies your thighs when they jerk.

And when it’s over—when your breath evens out, and the spasm finally dies down, you just stay there. Arms weak. Legs numb. Whole body ruined.

Simon strokes your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “You did perfect.”

“I’m mad at you,” you mumble, voice muffled in his skin.

“You always say that.”

“You didn’t have to go so hard.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘don’t stop.’”

You groan. “I was lying.”

“You were begging.”

You slap his thigh half-heartedly. “I hate you.” He grins and helps you stand, supporting you like your knees might give out again—which they might, honestly.

You lean on him as he cleans you up, wipes you with practiced tenderness, and carries you back to bed without another word.

Once there, he slides one of his shirts over your head, tucks you under the blanket, and stretches out beside you with one arm around your waist.

Your face is buried in his chest. His heartbeat is slow, steady, solid.

[pucksandpower]

Drunk in Love

Max Verstappen x fiancée!Reader

Summary: in which Max gets drunk, forgets that the two of you are literally engaged, confesses his love for you, and then gets reminded that his ring is on your finger … in that order

Based on this request

The lights from Jimmy’z spill out onto the sidewalk, a dizzying kaleidoscope of reds, purples, and blues. You stand just outside, arms crossed, as your phone buzzes for the third time in five minutes. It’s Daniel this time.

“Hey,” he says, voice just slightly too cheerful to be innocent. “So, uh, Max is-”

“I’m already here.”

“Oh, perfect. He’s …” Daniel hesitates, and you can practically see him scratching the back of his neck. “He’s just a little … spirited tonight.”

Spirited. That’s one way to put it.

You hang up before he can add anything else and glance toward the club entrance. Max stumbles out a few seconds later, propped up by Lando, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Max’s head lolls to the side, and when he spots you, his entire face lights up like you’ve just walked out of a movie.

“Hey!” He yells, voice loud enough to make a couple passing tourists glance over. “It’s you!”

You sigh, stepping forward to take him off Lando’s hands. “Thanks,” you mutter to the younger driver, who just grins.

“Good luck,” Lando says, clapping you on the shoulder before disappearing back into the club.

Max leans heavily on you, his arm slung over your shoulders. “You came for me,” he says, slurring slightly. “You’re like an angel. My angel.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, guiding him toward the car. “Let’s get you home, Max.”

He stops abruptly, digging his heels into the pavement. “No, wait.”

You look up at him, exasperated. “What?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Can it wait until we’re in the car?”

“No!” He insists, voice rising. “It’s important.”

You glance around, feeling the curious stares of a few people lingering nearby. “Okay, fine. What is it?”

Max wobbles slightly, gripping your arm like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes are glassy but serious as he looks at you. “I’m in love with you.”

You blink. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats, louder this time. Then, almost conspiratorially, he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Like, really love you. You’re … you’re perfect.”

“Max …” You hesitate, unsure how to respond.

“No, listen!” He says, pulling back to look at you. “You don’t understand. I’ve been in love with you for … forever. But I didn’t know how to say it, and now it’s too late, because you probably think I’m some idiot who-”

“Max,” you interrupt, placing a hand on his chest to steady him. “We’re engaged.”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“We’re engaged,” you repeat, holding up your left hand where the ring glints under the streetlights.

Max stares at it like he’s never seen it before. “No way.”

“Yes, way.”

His face splits into a grin so wide it’s almost childlike. “No. Way.”

“Yes, Max. We’re literally engaged. Have been for months.”

He takes your hand in his, squinting at the ring. “Holy shit. That’s a nice ring.”

You snort despite yourself. “You picked it.”

“I did?” He looks genuinely astonished.

“Yes, you did. And you cried when I said yes, remember?”

“I cried?”

“Like a baby.”

He lets out a delighted laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and bubbles all the way up. “I’m a genius,” he declares, throwing his arms in the air. “I got you to say yes!”

“Yes, Maxie. You did.”

He pulls you into a hug, nearly knocking you off balance. “I’m so lucky,” he mumbles into your hair. “Like, stupid lucky.”

“You’re also stupid drunk,” you point out, but there’s no bite to your words.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes wide and earnest. “Do you love me?”

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “Of course I love you, you idiot.”

He beams at you, his happiness so pure it’s almost contagious. “Good. That’s good. Because I’m going to marry you.”

“Yes, Max. You are.”

“And I’m never going to mess it up.”

“Not if you keep calling me to pick you up from clubs at two in the morning.”

He looks horrified. “Wait, did I call you?”

“No,” you admit, “Daniel did.”

Max groans, burying his face in his hands. “That traitor.”

“Come on,” you say, tugging him toward the car. “Let’s get you home before you pass out on the sidewalk.”

As you help him into the passenger seat, he grabs your hand again, his grip surprisingly firm. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says, his voice softer now.

“I know,” you reply, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

He closes his eyes, a contented smile playing on his lips. “I’m going to marry the hell out of you,” he murmurs as you buckle him in.

You shake your head, climbing into the driver’s seat. “You already are.”

And as you pull away from the curb, he’s still grinning like he’s just won the championship all over again.

[inkedtension]

Toji’s shirtless again.

Well. Toji’s always shirtless.

You think he only owns like… three shirts. Two of which are permanently crumpled on a chair somewhere and one he only wears if he absolutely has to go to a convenience store. Even then, he complains. Loudly.

Right now, he’s standing in the middle of the crappy excuse for a kitchen in grey sweats, stretching like he’s not fully aware of how that motion exposes all those tight cords of muscle and his stupid V-line you want to sink your teeth into.

You’re lying upside down on the couch when you ask it.

"Tojiiii~" you whine, kicking your legs up against the wall like a child. You look ridiculous and you know it. “Can you go grab my charger? It's alllll the way in the bedroom, and I’m dying.”

“Use your legs, sugartits, they work”

“They don’t,” you say dramatically, flipping over and crawling off the couch like a ragdoll. “I’m in a fragile emotional state. You wouldn’t understand.”

He lets out a long, exasperated sigh through his nose. “You’re always in a fragile emotional state.”

“But this time it's terminal,” you mutter, flopping onto your stomach and pounding the floor weakly. “Please, Toji. I’ll give you a reward.”

That gets him.

You hear the faint rustle of movement and peek up through your arms. He’s squinting at you, suspicion radiating off him like heat. “What kind of reward?”

You smile like a little shit.

“Come back with it and find out.”

“There. Where’s my goddamn reward?”

You sit up with a pleased grin, coil the wire around your fingers and crook one at him.

“Come here.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“I said, come here, Toji.” You pat the couch between your thighs. “Sit, boy.”

He scowls. “I should’ve left your charger in the toilet.”

But he comes. Grumbling, looming, all six feet of muscle and irritation settling between your legs like it's some kind of punishment.

You reach out with both hands and start gently patting his head. Ruffling his thick black hair, scratching lightly at the nape like he’s something fluffy and manageable. He blinks once. Then twice.

He looks like he wants to toss you off the balcony.

“…The hell is this.”

“Your reward,” you say sweetly. “Look at my good boy doing chores.”

He tenses, as if the words hit a nerve. “Not your damn dog, doll”

“No,” you whisper against his temple, “you’re my big, bad, muscle-y man who still comes crawling for head pats.” You pause. “And other head—”

“Stop” he says flatly, but you can feel the way he’s melting against you.

You grin.

From then on, you swear he starts doing things on purpose.

Takes the trash out. Fixes the leaking tap with a wrench that you’re 96% sure isn’t his.

You watch him with squinty eyes. “You did something.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just cleaned up a little.”

“Uh-huh.”

He sits next to you. Clears his throat.

You blink.

He tilts his head. “Well? No rewards?”

You smirk and crawl into his lap like a puppy in heat. Run your fingers into his thick black hair, kiss the spot right above his ear.

He scoffs, but you can feel him relax, hands wrapping around your waist. “You’re gonna give me a complex.”

You straddle him, nose to nose. “Only good boys get spoiled like this.”

“…Shut up.”

You boop his nose. “Make me.”

He does, later. With his mouth.

And when he finally lets you go—arms still wrapped around your waist like he forgot how to be separate from you—you bury your face in his neck and murmur, “I love my broke, shirtless king.”

He growls. “Say that again and I’ll leave your ass in the street.”

Later that evening, he kills the cockroach you screamed about. Doesn’t even complain this time.

Doesn’t even speak. Just stands there in front of you, arms crossed.

You squint at him. “What now?”

“My reward” he says simply.

You pat the couch. “Leg’s open, daddy.”

“I swear to God—”

But he’s already walking over. Settles down between your legs like it’s second nature now. You start petting him again, your fingers tangled in his messy black hair.

“Such a good boy,” you whisper. “Good boys get spoiled. You want a kiss, baby?”

His voice is gravel when he replies, “Tch. You call me good boy again and I’ll bend you over this couch.”

You tug his hair gently. “Say please, I've been a gooood boyy, baby.”

He groans, but then—so low it’s almost a threat—he mutters, “Please, I've been a good boy.”

You smile like a devil. Pull his face up and kiss him. Long. Slow. Filthy.

When you pull back, he’s still scowling. But his hands are gripping your waist like you’re something he’ll never give up.

“…You’re such a damn brat” he mutters.

“And you’re such a pettable little babyboy,” you purr. “Look at you, doing chores and everything.”

“You want me to stop?” he asks, cracking his neck.

You kiss his jaw. “Nope.”

You pause. Then whisper like you’re telling a secret, “I’m gonna pet you forever. Even if you hate it.”

“…Fuckin’ menace” he says, hugging you tighter.

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID (2/2) | being lifted onto a counter

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon 🫐) : your f1 boyfriend picking you up on the counter... or maybe even vice verse for shits and giggles ;)

୨ৎ : genre : comedic romance & slightly suggestive (for some drivers) ୨ৎ : tws : suggestive if you SQUINT ୨ৎ : word count : 1774

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : who do you guys think is going to get podium this weekend >.<

ʚ・lando norris

lando was up to something.

you could tell from the way he was grinning like an idiot, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stood in front of you in the kitchen.

“i bet i could lift you,” he announced suddenly, arms crossed like he was about to prove some great athletic achievement.

you raised an eyebrow. “uh… yeah? you literally train every day?”

lando smirked. “okay, okay. stand still.”

you complied, waiting for him to make his move. he bent his knees, placed his hands on your waist, and then—absolutely nothing happened.

he grunted. groaned. dramatically wiped his forehead. even pretended to struggle as if you were a literal boulder.

you blinked. “are you serious?”

lando huffed, shaking his head. “damn, babe. you’re, like… heavy.”

silence.

you narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms.

lando’s grin immediately faltered.

“wait—no, that’s not what i meant!” he panicked, waving his hands around like a madman. “i was JOKING—”

“oh?” you glared, stepping back. “i’m heavy?”

lando’s brain short-circuited. “no! i mean—well, yes, but not like that! i mean, like—you’re the perfect weight! no—wait, i don’t mean perfect weight, i mean—”

you stared, watching him dig his own grave.

“lando.”

he froze.

you tilted your head. “if i’m so heavy, maybe you shouldn’t try again.”

that was all it took.

suddenly, his hands were on your waist again, and before you could even react, you were lifted into the air with complete and total ease.

you gasped, hands gripping his shoulders. “HEY—”

he smirked up at you, holding you like you weighed nothing.

“huh,” lando said smugly. “guess you weren’t that heavy after all.”

you smacked his arm. “i hate you.”

he grinned, leaning in slightly. “no, you don’t.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

lando’s smugness disappeared instantly. “no, no, wait—babe, please—”

and that’s how lando norris learned there are some jokes you just don’t make.

ʚ・oscar piastri

it was the kind of quiet, cozy evening that made everything feel just right, no race weekends, no flights to catch, just you and oscar, home together.

you were standing by the counter, absentmindedly stirring your tea, wrapped in one of oscar’s hoodies that hung far too big on you. he was leaning against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching you with that small, lazy smile that only appeared when he was truly relaxed.

“what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes playfully.

oscar shrugged, pushing off the counter and walking toward you. “nothing. just thinking about how nice this is.”

you smiled, setting your spoon down. “you mean me making tea while you do absolutely nothing?”

he smirked. “exactly.”

before you could roll your eyes, his hands found your waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you onto the counter.

a surprised laugh left your lips. “oscar!”

“what?” he stepped between your legs, his hands still resting on your thighs, thumbs tracing slow circles. “you looked like you needed a change of perspective.”

you huffed, but couldn’t fight the warmth spreading through your chest. “and you just had to lift me?”

he hummed, leaning in slightly. “well, yeah. it’s my boyfriend duty.”

you scoffed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “oh? and what else does your ‘boyfriend duty’ include?”

oscar pretended to think, his fingers still absentmindedly tracing patterns on your skin. “making sure you’re always warm. stealing your snacks, just to test them for poison.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “how noble of you.”

he grinned, his nose brushing against yours. “and, of course, making sure you never forget how much i love you.”

your heart stuttered. even after all this time, he still had that effect on you.

you softened, threading your fingers through his hair. “you’re doing a great job, then.”

oscar smiled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, “good. because i’m never quitting.”

and in that small, quiet moment, with the rain outside and his warmth surrounding you, you knew, you never wanted him to.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

kimi wasn’t big on public affection. not because he didn’t love you, he just wasn’t the type to put on a show.

so when you tugged at his hand in the middle of a crowded paddock, laughing as you challenged him, “bet you can’t lift me,” you thought nothing of it.

kimi, however, didn’t hesitate.

he simply stepped closer, hands settling at your waist, and you barely had time to react before you felt your feet start to leave the ground.

that was when he realized.

the moment it hit him that you weren’t alone.

that, in fact, several people were watching.

kimi immediately froze, muscles going tense. his grip slackened slightly, and you could practically see the internal debate happening in real time.

“…df, pdf… vdc…” he mumbled under his breath, his brain quite literally short-circuiting.

you blinked at him. “excuse me?”

kimi exhaled sharply, dropping his hands as if you had suddenly become radioactive. he took half a step back, eying the people around you with suspicion.

“i’m not doing this here,” he muttered, shaking his head.

you burst out laughing. “what, you’re embarrassed?”

he gave you a flat look. “no. i just—” he gestured vaguely at the people around you. “why are there so many witnesses?”

you grinned. “ohhh, i see. you can win races, but lifting your own girlfriend in public is too much pressure?”

kimi scowled. “that’s not—”

before he could finish, you took a step closer, lowering your voice. “so… if we were alone, you’d do it?”

he hesitated for one second too long.

“ha!” you pointed accusingly. “you would!”

kimi rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away. “fine. come with me.”

you blinked. “where are we—”

the moment you turned a corner, out of view of prying eyes, he lifted you effortlessly, hands gripping your waist, placing you onto the nearest flat surface—a low counter, a bench, whatever he could find.

“there.” he smirked slightly, stepping between your legs. “happy now?”

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “you’re ridiculous.”

he hummed, leaning in just a little closer. “mmm. and you’re lucky i like you.”

and just like that, the kimi antonelli no-public-affection rule was officially broken.

ʚ・ollie bearman

ollie bearman liked to pretend he was smooth.

emphasis on pretend.

he was confident on track, composed when it mattered, but when it came to you? all bets were off.

which is how he ended up in this situation—standing in the kitchen, staring at you like he had just made the most genius decision of his life.

“i could totally lift you,” he announced, randomly, like he had just thought of it and immediately decided it needed to be said out loud.

you raised an eyebrow, setting down your glass. “and why exactly do you feel the need to prove that?”

ollie grinned. “because i just know i can.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “have you been thinking about this?”

“…no,” he said, way too quickly.

you sighed, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

but before you could argue any further, ollie had already stepped closer, his hands firmly gripping your waist.

“wait—”

too late.

in one effortless motion, you were off the ground, lifted cleanly into the air like you weighed absolutely nothing.

your hands immediately gripped his shoulders, your laugh bubbling out before you could stop it. “ollie!”

he grinned up at you, looking way too pleased with himself. “told you.”

you rolled your eyes. “okay, fine, strong guy, put me down—”

his smirk widened. oh no.

“hmm,” he pretended to think. “maybe i won’t.”

you gasped. “ollie bearman, do not—”

before you could even threaten him, he spun you in a circle, his laugh mixing with yours as he effortlessly twirled you in the air before finally placing you onto the counter.

you stared at him, breathless, eyes wide. “you’re unbelievable.”

ollie brushed imaginary dust off his hands, still grinning. “you can admit you’re impressed.”

you tilted your head, crossing your arms. “okay. now you let me lift you.”

his cocky expression immediately dropped. “uh—”

“you were so confident a second ago.”

ollie laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “i—look, that’s different—”

you raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “oh? because i think i can totally lift you.”

“…can i at least finish my snack first?”

“nope.”

and just like that, his ego was officially on the line.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

yuki tsunoda wasn’t the biggest fan of public displays of affection.

it wasn’t that he didn’t like affection—he actually enjoyed it quite a bit when it was just the two of you. but growing up in japan, where pda wasn’t exactly the norm, meant he was always hyper-aware of who was watching.

which is why, when he effortlessly lifted you off the ground in the middle of a very crowded paddock, he immediately regretted it.

at first, he was smug about it.

you had teased him about his height one too many times, so he had proved a point—his hands firm on your waist, your feet leaving the ground before you could even react.

“see?” he said, grinning up at you. “stronger than i look.”

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “okay, okay, you made your point—”

that’s when yuki realized.

you weren’t alone.

the second he turned his head slightly, he was met with several amused, wide-eyed faces.

a few team members. some journalists. and worst of all—pierre and lando.

pierre’s jaw dropped.

lando’s smirk was pure evil. “ohhhh, this is adorable.”

yuki’s entire body locked up.

he froze, mid-lift, realization hitting him like a freight train.

he had just done this in front of everyone.

you could see the exact moment his brain malfunctioned.

“…oh,” yuki muttered, voice flat.

pierre grinned. “don’t stop now! give them a kiss too!”

yuki immediately set you down, face burning red. “shut up, pierre.”

lando was laughing so hard he could barely stand. “mate, what happened to ‘not in public’?”

yuki scowled, grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you away. “i forgot, okay?!”

you, barely containing your laughter, let him pull you along. “so, lifting me was fine until you realized you had an audience?”

yuki groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “i swear to god, i’m never doing that again.”

“you love me, though.”

he sighed dramatically. “yeah, yeah. i do. but next time, we’re doing this in private.”

pierre called after him, voice dripping with amusement. “are you sure, yuki? maybe next time you can dip them too!”

yuki’s entire body tensed.

“keep walking,” he muttered under his breath. “i’m gonna kill him.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[curseluvr]

ONE LAST TIME (AGAIN)

You broke up, but they’re not done with you yet. When you sleep with your ex, they bring love, lust, and delusion to the table.

ft. satoru, suguru, kento, toji, sukuna, choso

wc: 3.8k

content: fem!reader, p in v sex, unprotected intercourse, fingering, oral (f receiving), face sitting (suguru), riding (toji), crying, degradation, possessiveness, spitting, pet names, break up/make up sex, exes-to-lovers(?), lowkey emotional manipulation, toxic dynamics, creampie, light choking/breathplay, overstim, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, foot on head (sukuna lol), heian era sukuna smoking (toji), dubiously romantic, “what are we?” girl idk

SATORU

Satoru laughs, but the sound is void of humor. He fucks you deeper, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you nice and open for him.

“Hope your next boyfriend can rearrange your guts like I do,” he pants. “Actually, no I don’t. I hope he cries after. I hope his dick’s pathetic.”

“Shut up,” you gasp, trying to hold onto whatever pride you have left.

He smirks, blue eyes flashing like a dare. “Make me.”

You try—God, you try—but your body is betraying you, shivering under every thrust, slick soaking down your thighs as he ruins you all over again.

“You said we’re over,” he growls in your ear, “but your pussy’s saying otherwise. And honestly? I’m inclined to believe her.”

His hand snakes between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, mean circles. The kind that sends your legs trembling, your mouth falling open.

“Gonna cum already?” he teases, voice infuriatingly sweet. “That’s so cute. Did you miss me that much?”

You scratch at his back, biting your lip to keep from screaming. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums, kissing your cheek. “And you’re still letting me fuck you raw. So what does that say about you, princess?”

It says you’re still his, no matter what you tell yourself. You hate how good it feels, and you hate that he knows it as well as you do. Satoru leans back just enough to spit in your mouth, unprompted and messy, eyes locking with yours as he does it.

“Swallow. ‘Atta girl.”

You do. Of course you do. And when your orgasm hits, Satoru leans back down and kisses you breathless, swallowing your moans. You can feel Satoru smile as your body jerks beneath him. 

It’s all teeth and tongue and hunger, like he needs to mark you from the inside out. A mix of your saliva surrounds both of your mouths.

“Tell me no one else gets to have you like this,” he whispers against your lips. “Tell me this is mine.”

You hesitate.

He fucks you harder, lips brushing your ear as he speaks again—lower, darker.

“Say it.”

“…It’s yours,” you admit, barely able to breathe it.

“There we go,” he grins. “So fucking pretty when you admit you’re mine.”

You fall apart again seconds later, cumming hard around him, clenching and gasping as your body gives out. And he keeps going. You push at his hips, weak and shaking, a pathetic attempt to give your body a break. 

“You know the safeword,” Satoru gives you time to speak up, but you don’t. “I’m gonna make you cum ‘til you forget why you left.”

“Ngh! Please, Toru—fuck,” you babble, completely fucked out, body going limp as he uses you. 

Satoru coos at the pitiful sight beneath him. His heart swells with pride, possession, and something dangerously close to devotion. Your fragile state, entrusted to him, even after everything. He wants to give you the whole world, but for now, he’ll start with his cum.  

“Gonna give you every drop,” he groans, holding you still as he pushes himself in as deeply as possible. 

When he finally cums, it’s with a long, guttural moan—hips twitching, his hand gripping your jaw to make you look him in the eyes as he fills you up.

He stays there for a moment, forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your chest still heaving beneath him.

Without a single ounce of shame, Satoru rolls off the bed and grabs the hoodie you’d come to return. He slips it back over his head, looks at you, ruined and blinking on the mattress, and smirks.

SUGURU

He'd left you a voicemail:

“Left your necklace. Might drop it off. Might keep it. Might wear it while jerking off to the sound of your voice.”

The second you walk into his place, Suguru raises an eyebrow, leaning back on the couch with the kind of smirk that makes you want to slap him (or ride him, but you wouldn’t admit that).

“What happened, baby?” he says smoothly. “Get tired of pretending you can stay away?”

You glare. “Do you have amnesia? You literally called me.”

“Mm. I might recall that.” He pats his lap. “Now come sit on my face and lie to me again.”

That was all it took for you to find yourself on top of your ex-boyfriend.

“Still tight,” Suguru murmurs against your inner thigh, stopping right in front of your pussy. 

He inhales deeply. “Still smell so sweet. ”

“Fuckin’ do something,” you demand, pushing your hips towards his face.

His teeth graze your clit before he dives in. 

You arch, panting. “Suguru—”

He doesn’t stop. He speeds up, and your words melt into moans.

Then he pulls his mouth away and spits on your clit, rubbing it in with his thumb as you squirm.

“I should block you just to humble you,” he says casually over the wet sounds. “But then who’d fuck you like this? Your poor pussy would be miserable without me.”

You slap his shoulder. He laughs, genuinely delighted.

“You want someone boring?” he goads, flipping you under him. “Someone soft? Respectful?”

He drags the head of his cock through your slick folds, taking delight in how soaked you are for him. He leans down until your noses almost touch, voice dipping into a whisper:

“Or do you want me—the one who knows how to split you open and make you thank me for it?”

Your hips try to move, but he holds them down. 

“Beg for it.”

“Fuck you,” you spit out, looking him dead in the eye.

Suguru grins wickedly. “Fine.” 

And he pushes in with one long, slow thrust, groaning in your ear as your walls clench around him. You gasp, nails digging into his back.

“Fuck—Suguru!”

“Yeah, I know, baby.” He kisses you hard, deep, possessive. “You missed me.”

He fucks you with a calm, brutal rhythm. There’s no rush, no hesitation. Just deep, hard, confident strokes that make you feel like you’re unraveling inch by inch.

“Still pretending this means nothing?” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face.

You nod weakly.

He laughs again, low and mean this time. “That’s okay. I’ll fuck the truth out of you.”

You try to keep quiet, but the pleasure is blinding. He grabs your throat, gently tilting your chin up so your eyes stay locked with his.

“Are you ready to come back yet?” he asks, breath hot against your lips. “Or should I just keep making you cum instead?”

You whimper. He grins.

“I’ll take that as keep going.”

He fucks you harder, mouth latched to your throat, praising you through every twitch and cry and broken moan.

“Such a good girl for me,” he pants. “Still mine. Still fucking mine.”

You cum around him a second time, legs shaking, vision white.

He follows shortly, groaning your name like a brand, gripping your hips as he fills you like a promise he has no intention of breaking.

Afterward, he doesn’t even pull out. He stays right there—cock twitching inside you, knuckles stroking your cheek like you’re already home.

“You can stay the night,” he says lightly, kissing your collarbone. “Or move your stuff back in. Your call.”

You roll your eyes.

Suguru’s smirk deepens. “Just trying to be a good ex-boyfriend.”

KENTO

“Tell me to stop,” Kento growls, breath ragged against your neck. “Say it, and I'll stop right now.”

You don’t say it. You pull him closer, digging your nails into his shoulder like you’ll die if he lets go.

He groans, carrying you effortlessly to the bedroom. His tie comes off with a violent tug, the silk slipping to the floor. The dress shirt stays on, because he knows what it does to you. His slacks are half-undone when he bends you over the bed and pushes two fingers into your dripping core. 

His movements are deliberate and unforgiving, like he wants you to feel every twitch of his fingers. You gasp, hips jerking as he curls them inside you.

“Already soaking,” he mutters, breath hot against your spine. “You walked in here knowing exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?”

You try to deny it, try to bite your lip and hold your ground, but the sound that escapes you betrays everything.

He adds a third finger, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Say it,” he demands, voice low and rough. “Say it so I don’t have to pretend this isn’t exactly where you want to be.”

You cry out his name, and Kento thinks it’s enough. That’s all it takes for him to pull his fingers out and replace them with the thick, aching length of his cock.

He pushes in from behind—no teasing, no mercy, just a stretch so deep it knocks the wind out of you.

“Fuck,” he pants, gripping your hips. “Feels like you were made for me, angel.”

You cry out, white-knuckled on the sheets, body already shaking as he rocks into you with ruthless precision. He leans over you, body draped along yours, one hand sliding up your chest to wrap around your throat. It’s not choking, but just enough to make your heart stutter as he makes eye contact with you.

“I haven’t touched anyone else,” he growls, voice hoarse. “No one else could get close. Couldn’t even kiss someone else without wanting to tear my skin off.”

You whimper, shoving your hips back against him in desperation. “Me neither,” you whisper. “Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He curses under his breath like that admission breaks him. His hand moves to your jaw, turning your face toward him, and he kisses you from the side—messy, wet, frantic—like he needs to taste you to breathe.

Then he flips you over and pins you flat to the bed, gaze burning. He hesitates just long enough to look at you, really look, and remember everything.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters, before he fucks you like he wants to erase the space that ever existed between you. 

It’s rough, obsessive, borderline feral with how deep he hits. Kento’s hands won’t stop moving—stroking, gripping, holding you open like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. But never careless. Kento’s not clumsy in his desperation. He’s calculated. Precise. Like a man who’s gone mad with longing and still knows exactly how to break you down.

“You were always mine,” he snarls, thrusts growing sharper. “Even when you hated me. You belonged to me the second I laid eyes on you.”

Tears slip from your eyes, but not from pain. From the unbearable way he’s holding your hand, fingers interlaced, anchoring you while he fucks you senseless. From the way he kisses your temple like it’s a fucking farewell.

“Never hated you,” you gasp. “Love you too much.”

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, “even if I can’t have you.”

His confession does it for you. You fall apart on him, crying out his name as your orgasm tears through you. Kento fucks you through it, never slowing, until his own release breaks out of him with a low, guttural moan. Cum spills deep inside you as he buries his face in your neck.

You're both trembling when it's over—sweaty, breathless, quiet. Then he lets out a long exhale and mutters against your skin, “Well. That was deeply irresponsible.”

TOJI

You came to get your stuff, all the pieces of yourself still lingered in the mess of his apartment after the breakup. But the second Toji opened the door, low sweatpants slung on those hips and half-lidded eyes raking over you like meat, you knew you’d lost the fight. Again.

You don’t remember how you got to the bed. Just the way he grabbed your throat and kissed you like he was pissed you ever left. Like he wanted to punish you for walking away.

Now you’re on top of him, straddling his hips, riding him with shaky thighs while his hands rest behind his head like this is routine. Like he’s letting you get it out of your system. His cock’s buried so deep inside of you that it aches. 

“We’re still done,” you spit through gritted teeth, taking him deeper with each bounce.

Toji laughs, low and dark, before delivering a loud smack to your ass.

“Then why are you dripping all over me? Try again, mamas.”

You glare, but your hands press to his chest for leverage as your pace quickens. His cock drags perfectly against your walls, hitting that spot that makes your breath stutter, your resolve crack.

“Keep running your mouth,” you pant. “See where it gets you.”

“Gets me here, doesn’t it?” Toji mutters, gripping your hips now. “Every fucking time.”

He plants his feet flat on the bed and starts thrusting up into you, taking control even while you’re on top. The rhythm turns punishing, filling the room with vulgar noises of skin on skin and wet squelches. Toji fucks you real loud and nasty, the mattress shaking under you both. You collapse forward with a moan, forearms braced on his chest, head bowed as your body clenches around him.

“You break up with me every week,” he pants against your jaw. “Still come back to this dick like it’s rehab.”

Your lips part in a moan—half denial, half surrender—as his cock drives into you like he’s trying to reach your fucking soul. You try not to say his name.

“You like this?” he taunts. “This is all you needed, huh? Some sense fucked back into you?”

You tighten around him on instinct, and he grins—that filthy, cocky grin that used to piss you off so much you’d ride him just to shut him up.

His hand wraps lightly around your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. The pressure makes your head swim.

“I should’ve never let you leave,” he growls. “You’re mine.”

“Toji—fuck—”

“C’mon, mamas. Say it.”

You shatter on him, orgasm ripping through your core as you ride it out helplessly, body convulsing in his grip. He fucks you through it, filthy and relentless, until his thrusts turn erratic and his hips are twitching against yours.

“Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside,” you tell him shamelessly. 

For once, Toji listens to you. He bites your shoulder as he lets go, breathlessly moaning into your skin. He stays like that for a second—still buried in you, breathing hard against your shoulder—before he pulls out with a slow drag and a satisfied groan.

Then he leans over, grabs the half-crushed cigarette off the nightstand, and lights it like nothing happened. Toji takes a drag, smirks at your limp body on the sheets, and exhales smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“Should I move back in now?”

You glare at him, chest still heaving, legs sticky and spread.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” he mutters, straddling you. Your eyes drop to his cock—he’s already hard.

He shrugs, smiling with the cigarette in his mouth. “Still have a lot to say. Thought I’d let my dick finish the conversation.”

SUKUNA

Walking back into the throne room destroys the last of your dignity.

“Came crawling back again, eh?” Sukuna gloats, red eyes filled with amusement. “I’d say it’s cute, but it’s really just pathetic.” 

Your chin tilts up, masking shame with bite. “Not as pathetic as how easy you’ll give it to me.”

That earns a laugh, and the sound is cold. Cruel. Excited.

“Stupid girl,” he growls, already in front of you, gripping your hair and yanking you to your knees. “You belong to me. There is no leaving.”

His fingers press into your throat before he forces your mouth open and shoves his fingers in, eyes locked on yours.

He drags you to the floor like prey, strips you with no gentleness, and folds your body beneath him into a mean arch, like you were made to break. He doesn’t warm you up—doesn’t need to. You’re soaked already, shamefully so.

“Fucking knew you’d come back. You need me, don’t you?” he taunts, grinding into you, teasing the tip against your folds before slamming in hard enough to knock the air out of you.

Your gasp is lost beneath a strangled moan. He fills you like he owns every inch, as if he’s branding you from the inside.

“You always say you’re done,” he chuckles, voice thick with venom and heat, “then come crawling back with your needy little cunt dripping for me.”

You claw at the floor, unable to answer as he fucks you deep, merciless. Every stroke is brutal and precise. But that’s not enough for him.

With a sneer, he plants one foot on the back of your head, pressing your cheek to the floor as your cries shake the walls. “That’s it. Cry for me. Let them all hear who you belong to.”

Tears smear down your face, not from pain, but from the overwhelming fullness, the humiliation, the filthy goodness of it all.

“S-Sukuna—”

“Shut up,” he growls, slapping your ass so hard it stings. “Just take it.”

He doesn’t let up—not until your thighs are shaking and you’re begging for mercy he’ll never give. Not until your body gives out and he holds your hips up anyway, forcing you to take everything he gives, even when you’re sobbing into the floor.

“You’ll never leave,” he pants against your neck, fucking you through your second orgasm. “Because no one else can fuck the brat out of you like your king can.”

You lose track of time, barely awake after your fifth orgasm. When he cums inside you, it’s with a growl and a bite to your shoulder—marking you as his.

You don’t move even after he’s done. You just lie there, used and full, heart thudding with something that feels too much like belonging.

He strokes your hair mockingly, almost like you’re a pet. 

“Sweet little thing,” Sukuna hums. “You can crawl back to your chambers. I’ll see you next time you feel like lying to yourself.”

CHOSO

You show up at his door, arms crossed, trying to act like this isn’t what it looks like.

“You gonna let me in, or just keep staring at me like a sad puppy?”

Choso blinks once. Twice. Then he grins.

“Oh, you wanna fuck.”

You feign offense. ���I—”

“Don’t worry, baby. I do too,” he hums, tugging you inside and kicking the door shut with one smooth move.

“You broke up with me,” he says, mock hurt. “You don’t get to be mean and horny.”

“Oh, I can be both,” you challenge, and he groans into your neck like he’s obsessed.

Choso can’t even wait to get to bed. He turns you around and pushes you against the door, already dropping his sweats. The second he thrusts two fingers into you, the teasing stops—just for a moment. Because fuck, you’re so tight. And warm. Choso moans, deep and breathy, burying his face in your neck.

“God, I missed this. Missed you.”

You claw against the door, breath stuttering. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

“I’m gonna make you cry in five minutes,” he growls. “And then I’ll get sappy.”

He replaces his fingers with his cock and starts slowly. It’s sweet, almost romantic. But that doesn’t last.

Choso’s cocky, but he’s also needy. He starts grinding into you deeper, faster, desperate to feel you fall apart, hear you whimper his name in that way that always made him lose it.

“You still take me so good,” he pants. “You didn’t let anyone else fuck you, did you?”

You roll your eyes, even if he can’t see it. “What if I did?”

He slams into you, cock twitching.

“You didn’t.”

“…I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he grunts into your ear. “Didn’t think so. You’re still mine.”

Choso drags you to the bedroom in a blink of an eye, throwing you onto the bed and entering you once more. You arch under him with a moan, and his mouth is on yours, kissing you hard, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to mark his territory.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he mutters, reaching down to pinch your clit. “Gonna soak me like you always do. Be good and let me make you feel perfect again.” 

And you do. There are stars behind your eyes as your back arches off the bed, and Choso doesn’t stop once. Your legs are still trembling from the first round, chest heaving as you lie flat on your back. Choso hasn’t moved far—just leaned over, brushing kisses down your collarbone, hands trailing gently over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it all over again.

You groan. “You’re staring.”

“You’re pretty,” he says simply, nuzzling your jaw. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

You try to snort. “Naked?”

He laughs into your neck. “No. Relaxed.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s tugging at your lips anyway. You gasp softly when Choso licks at one of your nipples, pinching and tugging at the other one. 

This time when he pushes in, it’s not a rough snap of hips—it’s slow. Deliberate. Deep enough that you both sigh at the same time. You blink up at him, and he looks so soft in the moonlight. Heavy-lidded, sweat-slick, eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch every second.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” he murmurs, rolling his hips into you with an almost lazy rhythm. “Of you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, body already pulsing with heat again. “You gonna get sappy on me now?”

He smirks. “Only a little.”

He keeps it slow, letting you feel every inch of him. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, but he’s gentle about it this time—more coaxing than claiming.

“Missed how you sound when it’s like this,” he says, voice low. 

You grin, tipping your hips up to meet his thrusts, breath hitching when he brushes deep inside you.

“Choso…”

He cups your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “There it is.”

It’s easy to fall into this rhythm with Choso. Bodies rocking together in sync, breath ragged and warm. You cling to him when your high crests, face buried in his neck. You cum slower this time, legs wrapped around him, hips rolling with his like you’re moving in sync. You cling to him tighter when you cum, burying your face in his neck, and he groans right in your ear like he can feel how much you still want him.

When he cums, his voice cracks, but it’s quiet—intimate. Just a broken moan as he presses his forehead to yours and lets it all go. He stays inside you this time, body slumped over yours, his arms wrapped around your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

“So,” he says, breathing hard. “Still broken up?”

You stretch under him, muscles sore but satisfied. “You gonna let me go this time?”

Choso pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “You gonna ask me to?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t leave either. And then he collapses next to you with a smug little grin. 

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[pseudowho]

"Yuuji-- if you don't mind, can I ask you something?"

Yuuji looked up from his phone, feeling so grown up to be in the Jujutsu High staffroom with Kento. He raised his eyebrows, the scar across his lip tugging up.

"Uh...yeah, sure. Go crazy."

"What is scary dog privilege, exactly?"

"Scary dog privilege? Huh, well...let's see, uhm...so it's like..."

Yuuji explained, all peaches and wide eyes and animated hands. Kento nodded occasionally, listening intently. His mind, naturally, strayed to you; you were what this was all about, after all.

As with any thought of you (you being his blossoming latent obsession), Kento's stomach flipped, his grip tightening fractionally around his coffee.

Kento remembered.

He remembered when he dropped you home. You checked over your shoulder, again, and again, and again, before you unlocked your door and hurried inside.

He remembered how he had once walked up behind you without much thought, and you spun with panic in your eyes. Kento recalled how quickly you had relaxed, to see it was him, and how high his hope climbed as a result.

He remembered how you had spilled the contents of your bag. You snatched your pepper spray up in the hope that his keen eyes had missed it.

He remembered how you headed to the subway after a staff night out. Your keys had been curiously gripped between your fingers, a weapon that wasn't a weapon.

He remembered, how just the day before, he and you had walked together through central Tokyo to get lunch. You had sat on a park bench together, and Kento had been so overwhelmed by the need to hold it together, Kento, keep it together, that he barely registered the relief written on your skin.

You had eaten in comfortable silence, then leaned over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek on the way to the bins.

"Thanks for the scary dog privilege, Kento. It's the first time in a long time that I've relaxed in public."

Kento's eyes had drifted closed for just a few moments too long, with the warmth of your lips on his skin, and he stuttered, fumbling, unlike himself.

"Ah...scary...dog privilege?" He asked, quiet. But you were already gone; throwing your crumbs to the ducks.

Yuuji's voice snapped Kento out of memory, and back to the staffroom.

"Dunno if that makes sense, Nanamin?"

A molten pit of spite and rage ignited in Kento once he put two and two together. Scary dog privilege. He gave you scary dog privilege. Why was walking the streets in safety a privilege? Shit. Kento kept his voice level, patting Yuuji on the shoulder as he left, his steaming coffee abandoned.

"Thank you, Yuuji. Stay safe out there this afternoon, and call me when you're finished, please."

If Kento hadn't already felt dirty enough with the knowledge that he pleasured himself to thoughts of you every night, he felt worse, now. He stalked through the corridors of Jujutsu High, calling Ijichi, calling Shoko, determined to find you.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Once you noticed how one man's gaze lingered on you, you noticed them all. To you, almost all seemed to do it, and to every woman, be they 18 or 80, tall or short or curvy or lithe or gay or straight or anywhere in between. Then, when you began to notice the gazes on 16 year olds, or 12 year olds, or--

You had nauseated by the time you turned the corner to grab lunch. Simultaneously built up and dragged down and accused, you were a madonna and a whore and a bitch. You wondered, vaguely, how deeply, how incurably the disease ran, as you entered the bustling café. You didn't want to think about it. You'd just grab food, and go, and--

"Ah. Good afternoon."

You blinked, to see Kento before you in the queue, and felt a warm burst of joy from your tummy to your toes.

"Kento, I'm...happier than you know, to see you, actually."

A satisfied hum. "I had a feeling you might be. Now...about something you said yesterday...."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento didn't immediately strike one as a scary dog. He was built, yes, but his suits hid it well, and he was only a little taller than average, and really quite mild, but--

-- oh.

The way his glares could frost a soul. The way other men bounced off him, a stone wall, when a shoulder 'accidentally' hit his. The way his eyes found wayward gazes like a sniper, with the dulcet loading of a bullet behind his sneer. The silent commanding respect. The dares that other men would not dare.

It was no wonder, then, how you and Kento, became you and Shoko and Kento, became you and Shoko and Maki and Nobara and Kento. While individually able to fight your own fights, feeling Kento's scary dog privilege melt threats with acid, was a burden blissfully relieved.

With Kento's protective Midas' touch, your daily lunches turned to gold, unsullied and unmolested. Still...he was there for the whole group.

So why, then, in such a large group, did you look up to find his gaze on you, and only you? How could his eyes caress without staring? It was sorcery, surely.

Kento sequestered you one day, throwing his crumbs to the ducks alongside yours, as the others chatted on the benches behind you. You looked up, shooting him a sideways smile, and wondering how you could ever be good enough for him. He spoke quietly.

"I always believed a dog to have just one owner."

You felt your stomach twist with insinuation. You laid the thread.

"...oh?"

"And while I'm happy to offer my privileges to the benefit of a group, I...would like to be in the position to make such a privilege exclusive."

You swallowed hard, looking sideways again with hope against hope against hope against--

"Are you...saying you'd like to be my scary dog?"

"Very, very much so."