#Not as many as scarlet though somehow...?

[theultimateultimateweapon]

Jules and her 1,573 children

(aka: what happens when you perfect the Gligar entry early in the game and proceed to hunt in the highlands for a few months)

[voyter]

MATCHPOINT — part one.

pairing jeon jungkook x fem!reader x kim mingyu genre tennis au. college au. smut. love triangle.

while tennis was your priority, the two boys who couldn't stop competing both on and off the court somehow were too.

word count 8k words warnings for this chapter threesomes and tennis LMFAO. they are SIMPS. a bit of crack, i love writing funny moments. my attempt at describing a tennis match even though i know jackshit. SO MUCH FLIRTING. smut. three way makeout sesh yummy. fingering. male masturbation. BIG DICK KOOGYU. oc got that wap.

★ publishing this an entire day early bc i am impatient :p anyways, i know the smut wasnt much in this chapter but it gets more and more explicit within each part hehe. let me know what you think so far, your feedback is very important and keep your comments positive or say nothing at all xx

SERIES MASTERLIST

Mingyu and Jungkook shared everything.

They shared a childhood, swapping toys and creating endless adventures out of thin air. During sleepovers, they were mature enough to share a bed without fuss, laughing at the idea of one taking the floor. On school days when one left their lunch sitting on the kitchen counter, the other would split theirs without hesitation. They borrowed each other’s clothes so often that no one could remember whose was whose. When it came time for college, they applied to the same universities, and when both were accepted to the same one, they became roommates, sharing a dorm like they had shared everything else in life.

They were inseparable, always found together — so much so that when one was absent, people immediately asked, "Where’s the other?" They were two birds of a feather, yin and yang, brothers in every sense but blood.

One of the many things they shared was a deep love for tennis. It became their outlet, a way to escape the pressures of life and channel their competitive spirits. The rush of adrenaline they felt during a match was unmatched, and while they had fun playing, they took the game seriously, analyzing every serve, every backhand, every forehand with laser focus. They’d sit side by side, watching matches with an almost religious reverence, eyes glued to the ball as it zipped across the court, mouths slightly open, bodies leaning forward as if they could will the players to win.

If there was anything they loved more than each other (and their families, of course), it was tennis.

And that intense, unwavering focus they had when watching a tennis match? It was the exact way they were both watching you.

A scarlet dress clung to your body, black stilettos elevating your stature. But of course, they were red bottoms. And to top it all off, you weren’t complete without the striking shade of red on your lips.

Mingyu had found out about your upcoming tournament from fellow students at the college, along with word that there was going to be a little party on the tennis courts in honor of it. That’s how the two boys ended up there tonight. Mingyu had his eye on you ever since he caught you practicing on the courts one day. There was something about the way you moved in red, a fiery aura that stuck in his mind like a persistent dream. He couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The upbeat rhythm of a Nelly Furtado track thumped through the air — an early 2000s throwback that had everyone nodding along. Jungkook knew the song too, but if you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was. The music had faded into the background, drowned out by the sight of you. Everyone else was a blur, just shifting figures in his peripheral vision. His eyes, however, were locked on you, following your every movement like the moon that seems to chase you no matter how far you drive, or like the gaze of a painting that never lets go, no matter where you stand. 

His focus was relentless. He just stood there, mesmerized, as if time had slowed just for him to take you in, every detail etched into his mind. He didn’t even blink — he wasn’t about to miss a second of you. His body was rooted to the spot, eyes tracing every flicker of movement you made. Even when Mingyu nudged him in the arm, he didn’t react, completely frozen in place. He’s got it bad.

“Dude!”

Jungkook blinked, snapping out of his trance. He looked at Mingyu beside him, startled, before immediately returning his gaze to you, as if afraid you’d disappear the moment he looked away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, distracted. “You say something?”

Your hair bounces with every move, catching the low lights of the party as your hips sway in perfect rhythm with the beat. There are plenty of people dancing, but to Jungkook, you're the only one who matters. Every gesture you make, from running your fingers through your hair to the way your body moves effortlessly with the music, leaves him entranced. Your hair falls right back into place, teasing him with how flawless it looks despite your movements. He gulps hard, his throat dry even though his mouth waters at the sight of you.

“I was going to tell you she’s over there, but looks like you found her already,” Mingyu scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Told you she was hot.”

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief, “No kidding.”

Mingyu leans in, his lips hovering close to Jungkook’s ear. “I’d let her fuck me with a racket.”

Jungkook lets out a low snicker, rolling his eyes. Crude words like that were normal from Mingyu, but even so, it never failed to make him laugh. He’d heard worse over the years.

From across the court, you’re blissfully unaware of the way the two boys are watching you — like lost puppies, completely captivated. To anyone else, they probably look ridiculous, just standing there with wide eyes. In fact, a group of girls lounging on the cushion chairs by the side of the court had already noticed their ridiculous fixation, shooting you dirty looks, their jealousy plain as day. They’d been hoping to catch the boys’ attention, maybe even snag their numbers, but their plan had backfired since you already caught their eye.

The song fades, and you're left breathless, cheeks flushed as you tell your friends you’re going to grab a drink. They nod, barely hearing you over the music.

Jungkook watches you cross the court, eyes following your every step as you approach the drink table. He feels the weight of the moment — this is his chance. He nudges Mingyu, almost nervously.

“Should we go talk to her?” he asks, his voice low as you pick up your drink, unaware of their plotting.

Mingyu doesn’t even respond to Jungkook’s question — he just heads straight toward you. Without thinking, Jungkook follows, legs moving before he can process it. Approaching girls has never been his strong suit, and a jittery feeling builds in his stomach as nerves rise. But there’s no way he’s going to let Mingyu have you all to himself.

“Hey,” Mingyu says confidently, and your eyes flicker to him. Jungkook steps up beside him almost instantly.

“Hi,” he blurts out awkwardly.

You pull your lips off the straw, leaving a red lipstick stain behind, and Jungkook cringes internally. He feels like an idiot, convinced you must think he and Mingyu are embarrassing themselves.

“Hello,” you greet, your tone light as you swirl the straw around in your drink.

“I’m Mingyu, and this is Jungkook. We just wanted to wish you good luck for tomorrow,” Mingyu says smoothly.

“Thanks,” you giggle, clearly amused. “You two gonna be there?”

Mingyu’s eyes glint mischievously. “If I say no, will you invite us yourself?”

You raise a brow, a smirk playing on your lips. “Depends. Are you coming to watch tennis or just to watch me?”

Before Mingyu can come up with something overly flirty and blow their chance, Jungkook jumps in, his voice steady despite his nerves. “Mingyu and I have been playing since we were kids. And from what I’ve heard, you’re pretty good. We’re coming to watch some good tennis.”

Your gaze shifts to Jungkook, studying him for a moment. Mingyu, feeling the shift in attention, begins to grow envious, trying to think of a way to steer it back toward himself.

“You being pretty is just a bonus,” Mingyu adds quickly, trying to regain control of the conversation. “That’s twice the enjoyment.”

You snicker, amused by the playful banter.

Before you can respond, a friend calls out your name from across the court. “Join us when you’re done. We’re going to take Polaroids!”

You give a quick nod. “Okay, I’ll be there in a second.”

As she walks off, you turn your attention back to the two boys. “Make sure you’re there before the game starts. I’ll see you both then.”

Mingyu’s lips curl into a grin. “You don’t wanna ditch your friends and have a drink with us by the beach instead?”

You let out a playful laugh, already walking away. “Come to my match first, then maybe ask me out on a date, Mingyu.” You glance over your shoulder, throwing a teasing wave. “Bye, Jungkook.” You punctuate it with a wink before turning away fully.

Jungkook raises his hand in a dazed wave, completely spellbound, still processing the fact that you winked at him. His eyes stay glued to you as you walk toward your friends, even when you’ve blended into the group, laughing and chatting.

“Fucking hell,” Mingyu mutters under his breath, still staring at you.

Jungkook finally snaps out of his trance and turns to Mingyu. “Let me have this one?”

Mingyu shoots him a look, his voice dripping with competitiveness. “In your fucking dreams.”

“If it isn’t Thing 1 and Thing 2,” you tease as you walk up to them, a playful smirk on your lips.

It was almost amusing how obedient they were, like two loyal dogs waiting eagerly for your next command. They’d arrived before your game, just as you’d requested — 15 minutes earlier than necessary, clearly hoping to steal some extra time with you before the match.

“Little red,” Mingyu greets with a playful smirk.

You smile, warmth flickering in your chest at the nickname. “Cute,” you respond, letting the moment settle in.

Before you can say more, Jungkook cuts in, his voice hurried and a little flustered. “Just came to wish you good luck before your game,” he says, his tone soft yet sincere, eyes full of warmth.

“No, no — he came to wish you good luck,” Mingyu teases, flashing you his trademark confident grin. “I came to see what you’re doing after this,” he adds, his words dripping with flirtation.

Turning to Jungkook, you raise a brow, amused. “Does he flirt with every girl like this?”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. “Pretty much.”

Mingyu places a hand on his chest in mock offense, letting out an exaggerated scoff. “I’m offended.”

You laugh softly, eyes still sparkling with mischief. “I’m just messing with you. I wasn’t actually planning on doing anything after.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up, clapping his hands together. “Perfect! How about you come to our dorm later tonight? We’ve got beer.”

The offer still lingers as you mull it over, your expression thoughtful.

Jungkook glances at Mingyu, brows furrowed. It’s not that he didn’t want you there — he did, desperately — but he worried Mingyu might push too hard and ruin it for both of them.

“Hate to break it to you, Mingyu, but whether I come or not depends on my mood — and if I win or not.”

“Oh, so you’re coming tonight,” Mingyu grins.

“Confident in me, huh?” you ask, eyebrows raised.

“Been watching you play for a while now,” Mingyu replies smoothly. “Whoever you’re up against today is going home with tears and a broken racket.”

You smile, clearly flattered. “You sure you’re inviting me over just to drink beer, stalker?”

“Guess it’ll depend on your mood after the game,” Mingyu says, mirroring your playful tone.

You pause for a second, then ask, “What’s the room number?”

“97,” Mingyu says quickly, excitement flashing in his eyes. “Be there by 8?”

"I'll think about it," you reply with a smirk, locking eyes with Mingyu in a silent exchange of flirtation. The tension between you two is thick, like neither of you is holding back, completely ignoring the fact that Jungkook is still standing there, feeling more and more like a third wheel.

Jungkook shifts awkwardly, unsure what to say, as he watches you and Mingyu practically undress each other with your eyes.

Then, someone across the court calls your name, reminding you it’s time for warm-ups.

“Duty calls,” you say, giving them both a final look. “Lucky you two — front row seats. Be my little cheerleaders.”

As you walk off, Mingyu can't help but call after you, "Be there by 8!"

Jungkook, desperate to contribute something, shouts, "Break a leg!"

You blow a playful kiss toward Jungkook, and he swears his heart drops straight to his stomach, nearly falling out of his body altogether. Both boys watch as you walk away, eyes glued to your every step until you’re completely out of sight. Then, as if waking from a daze, Jungkook snaps out of it and smacks Mingyu on the arm.

“Ow!” Mingyu yelps, rubbing the spot where he was hit.

“Why would you do that?” Jungkook hisses, his face a mix of frustration and panic.

“Do what?” Mingyu asks, genuinely confused.

“You made it sound like we wanna fuck her in the dorm!” Jungkook blurts out, voice low but sharp.

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, his tone casual. “We do wanna fuck her in the dorm.”

Jungkook stammers, “Well yeah, but… I don’t want her to think we only want her for sex.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, clearly unfazed by Jungkook's concern. “Dude, you’re overthinking. If she didn’t want it, she wouldn’t have entertained the idea.”

“She didn’t say yes,” Jungkook mutters, more to himself than to Mingyu.

“‘I’ll think about it’ is basically a yes,” Mingyu grins, clapping Jungkook on the back. “In my book, at least.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, unsure. Mingyu’s confidence might be contagious, but Jungkook wasn’t sure he liked the way things were being assumed. He wanted more with you — he just didn’t know if Mingyu understood that.

Just then, the bleachers start to fill, and the boys claim their front-row seats, buzzing with excitement. The crowd is a colorful mix — older spectators, middle-aged parents bringing along their younger children, and students around Mingyu and Jungkook’s age, all eager to catch the match.

Mingyu has watched you play many times, making frequent trips to the courts at the university ever since that first day he saw you. But for Jungkook, this is his first real glimpse of your talent.

“Is she actually good, or were you just saying that to get in her pants?” Jungkook asks, a teasing grin on his face.

Mingyu leans back, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “When I saw that backhand, I couldn’t leave the bleachers until my dick got soft again.”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. Just as he’s about to respond, the referee’s voice booms through the speakers, introducing you to the crowd.

That’s when you walk out onto the court. 

Everyone erupts into a fit of cheers, but not all of them are supportive. A group of boys a few seats away is particularly aggravating, barking and whistling in a blatant display of disrespect. Mingyu feels the urge to tell them to shut the hell up — not just for your sake but for the rest of the crowd, too — but he holds back, wanting to keep the focus on you.

Red skirt, red shoes — your signature look. Just like Jungkook loves to wear everything black, you embody confidence in your vibrant red ensemble.

As you step onto the court, you give the crowd a wave, and your eyes meet Jungkook’s. You shoot him a sly wink, and his stomach flutters with that familiar tingle, the same one from last night. He straightens his back, suddenly aware that he’s sitting there with his mouth agape like a total idiot. He quickly clears his throat, trying to regain some composure.

You head toward the chairs to set your duffle bag down, the wind catching your skirt and making it flutter. The crowd cheers again, particularly loud from that group of boys. Mingyu shoots them a dirty glare, wishing they’d show some respect.

Once you and your opponent, Camila Cane, take your positions, the energy shifts. Everyone knows Camila — she’s notorious for her brash attitude and over the top confidence, thanks to her wealth. And then there’s her infamous botched lip filler, which has become a running joke among the students.

If Jungkook wasn’t excited before, he certainly is now. Not only does he want to see if you’re as good as Mingyu claimed, but he’s also eager to witness Camila get humbled. He remembers the time he accidentally bumped into her, politely apologizing, only to be met with her disdainful scoff. To which she just scoffed in disgust and told him, ‘Watch where the fuck you’re going.’

Mingyu sits beside Jungkook, his eyes glinting with mischief as he watches his best friend shift anxiously, perched at the edge of his seat. He can’t help but snicker quietly to himself, eagerly anticipating Jungkook’s reaction as the match unfolds.

“First set, Cane to serve. Ready? Play.”

The ball moves fluidly from one end of the court to the other, back and forth in an exhilarating dance. You swing your racket with precision and grace, darting around the court, keeping track of the ball’s every movement. The crowd’s heads pan side to side, captivated by the game, but Jungkook’s gaze remains fixed solely on you.

It’s as if time has frozen, echoing the enchanting moment from last night when you danced, effortlessly catching his attention. He can’t look away. In a sea of spectators, it feels like it’s just you and him, and he’s watching you in your element. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

You play with everything — mind, body, soul. The intensity is palpable, almost intimate, and Jungkook can’t shake the feeling that he’s witnessing something deeply personal. It’s an erotic kind of magic that makes his heart race. He knows he should look away, that he shouldn’t be so mesmerized, but he’s too captivated by the way you move, the way you feel the game. There’s a strange pleasure in watching you find pleasure in your sport.

Just as Camila lunges to hit the ball, it bounces out of her reach and rolls lazily to the wall.

“Fifteen, love!” the referee calls out.

The crowd cheers.

As you quickly redeem yourself after losing the toss, Camila’s irritation grows palpable. Jungkook can’t stand sore losers; he appreciates a player who knows how to keep fighting instead of sulking about a loss. It adds to the thrill of the game, the excitement of watching someone pour their heart and soul into every point.

You’re fully concentrated now — eyebrows knitted in determination, your form impeccable as you prepare for the next serve. Jungkook can’t help but think how attractive you look at this moment. You’ve always been beautiful — your pretty face, that captivating smile, the way your laughter dances in the air. But watching you play tennis? That’s something else entirely.

The competitiveness radiates off you. It’s not just about the game; it’s about your fierce determination to win, that fiery desire to conquer whatever challenge lies ahead. The way you move, how you chase after each shot, it all sends his heart racing. There’s something undeniably magnetic about you in this element, a raw intensity that makes him feel alive.

As he watches you — focused, relentless, and unyielding — Jungkook realizes that he might just be falling in love.

You won.

Obviously.

Just as Mingyu predicted, Camila Cane left the court with a broken racket and a trail of code violations for her verbal tirades. The victory cheers echoed in your ears as you basked in the glow of your triumph, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. 

After the tournament, you were swarmed with congratulations and eager fans, so you didn’t get a chance to seek out Mingyu or Jungkook immediately. But Mingyu had every intention of congratulating you later that night. Jungkook, however, was skeptical, his mind racing with doubt over whether you’d actually show up at their door.

“Dude, she’s not coming,” Jungkook said, rubbing in his facial oil. He had already changed into his comfortable white t-shirt and blue plaid pajama bottoms, his hair pushed back with a headband, ready to call it a night.

While Jungkook settled into the routine of getting ready for bed, Mingyu remained fixed in front of the door, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He was the picture of unwavering confidence, convinced you’d come to celebrate your victory with them.

“She won her fucking match,” Mingyu mumbled against the cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he stared at the door, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “What better way to celebrate that than getting laid later in the night? Times two!”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, glancing over at Mingyu. “You’re really set on this, huh?”

“Hell yeah, I am. You saw the way she looked at us earlier. She’s interested.” Mingyu’s voice was full of conviction. “And besides, who wouldn’t want to celebrate with two guys like us?”

“And if she’s not that type of girl, what do you think is gonna happen if she chooses one?” Jungkook asked, leaning against the bathroom door frame, arms crossed. “She’s in here getting piped by one of us while the other sits on the other side of the door listening and waiting?”

“If it came down to that, then yeah,” Mingyu replied, his confidence unshaken. He took another drag from his cigarette, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jungkook threw his head back, shutting his eyes in frustration. “She’s not fucking coming, Mingyu!”

Just then, a sound echoed through the apartment — knock, knock, knock.

The two boys exchanged wide-eyed glances, their earlier banter abruptly silenced.

A few seconds passed, the tension hanging thick in the air. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”

Mingyu scrambled to extinguish his cigarette, the last puff of smoke escaping his lips as he hurriedly tossed it into the nearby trash can. His eyes darted around the room, landing on the clothes he had carelessly thrown on the floor. In a flurry, he began scooping them up, trying to make the place look somewhat presentable.

Meanwhile, Jungkook ripped the headband from his hair, running his fingers through the mess to tame it. He hastily tidies up the bathroom counter, determined to avoid looking like a slob. Out of the two, Jungkook is the cleaner one; that’s why his side of the dorm is in decent shape.

On the other side of the door, you pressed your ear against the wood, curious about why they were taking so long. You could hear muffled voices and shuffling, the anticipation building within you. 

Abruptly, the door swung open, and there you were, face to face with the two boys. They wore wide, welcoming smiles, the kind that made your heart skip a beat.

“You came!” Jungkook exclaims, surprised because he honestly didn’t think you would.

“I did,” you reply, crossing your arms playfully. “Are we gonna chat out here or are you gonna let me in?”

“Right, sorry.” Mingyu mutters, stepping aside to open the door wider.

As soon as you step inside, the lingering scent of Mingyu’s cigarette greets you. Surprisingly, it doesn’t smell as bad as many other male dorms you’ve visited; seriously, are most guys in their early twenties this messy?

You take a moment to observe the room. On the left, everything is neat and organized — posters hung up in an orderly fashion, a bed perfectly made, and even the floor is spotless. The right side, however, is a different story. The bedspread is a mess, half the blanket hanging off, with clothes and random items clearly shoved under the bed in a poor attempt to hide the clutter. The wall is barren, almost as if its occupant couldn’t be bothered to put in any effort.

Once you finish your silent judgment of the chaotic side of the room, you turn your attention to the boys. They stand there, watching you with expressions that blend hope and anticipation, like patient little puppies waiting for their owner to issue commands. Jungkook leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, though there’s a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. Mingyu, on the other hand, bounces slightly on his heels, clearly eager for your approval — or maybe just hoping for a laugh at the mess he calls his side.

“Well,” you exhale, letting the tension dissipate with a playful grin, “this is definitely… a room.”

Jungkook snorts, while Mingyu lets out a relieved chuckle. “We honestly weren’t expecting you to show up,” Jungkook admits, his eyes scanning your face for a reaction.

You shrug nonchalantly, “I did say I’d come if I won. And I did whoop Camila Cane’s ass, didn’t I?”

They both chuckle, the tension breaking further as the playful banter kicks in.

“So…” you draw out, raising an eyebrow. “I was promised beer.”

After a brief back-and-forth over seating arrangements, you three finally settled on the floor. You’d quickly discovered that Mingyu’s bed was the one on the right side of the room — the less organized side, which explained the state of it. No way you were sitting there; you had no idea when those sheets had last seen a wash. Meanwhile, Jungkook’s bed on the left, neat and perfectly made, was off-limits because of his germaphobia to ‘outside clothes.’

To your mild surprise, the promise of beer wasn’t just an excuse. Mingyu reached into the mini-fridge and pulled out the last two bottles, cracking them open with ease.

Settling in with them was surprisingly easy. They couldn’t seem to stop talking — about everything and nothing at the same time — and for that, you were grateful. It was fascinating getting to know them better, simply by how they interacted.

“So,” you ask, accepting the cold bottle from Mingyu, “how did you guys meet?”

“Well, we were neighbors at first,” Mingyu replies, settling comfortably as he recalls their past. “We played outside almost every day, and we’ve been attached at the hip ever since.”

His casual tone holds a hint of nostalgia, but you're curious now, intrigued by their dynamic. “So, you two share everything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and leaning in slightly. Your voice is teasing, but there's a playful challenge behind it.

Mingyu’s grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Basically, yeah,” he answers without missing a beat.

You pause, letting your gaze flick between the two of them before the next question leaves your lips, a bit more daring this time. “Even the same girls?”

The atmosphere shifts instantly. The room, once filled with light banter, falls into a brief silence. Both boys glance at each other, then down at the floor. You notice the slight twitch in Jungkook’s jaw, the way Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, as if buying time to formulate an answer.

Jungkook clears his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It… it actually doesn’t happen as often as you think,” he stammers, his voice quieter, almost hesitant.

You smirk, sensing the awkward tension. “Really?” you press, wanting to know more.

Mingyu steps in, his voice confident as ever, trying to regain the playful mood. “Jungkook and I don’t usually have the same type,” he says, his tone light but firm.

You can’t resist pushing further, the teasing smile still playing on your lips. “And me?”

Mingyu falls silent, his confident demeanor faltering for a moment. He looks at Jungkook, almost like he's seeking backup, his uncertainty clear in the shift of his posture.

“Well… aren’t you everyone’s type?” Jungkook finally blurts out, his voice soft but laced with hesitation, clearly hoping to diffuse the moment.

Mingyu smirks, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. Jungkook, on the other hand, offers something entirely different — his sultry smile, the kind that’s both charming and unsettling in its intensity. His gaze lingers on you, the way his doe eyes shimmer under the dim light making the room feel suddenly smaller and charged with tension.

You feel your cheeks flush, a smile blooming on your lips as you return his gaze, caught up in the moment.

“So, I assume you guys have never had a threesome,” you say, shifting your longing gaze to Mingyu, relishing the way their expressions shift.

The sight in front of you is downright amusing. They both look like deers caught in headlights, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape. You tilt your head, savoring the anticipation as you wait for a response.

“I- uh-” Mingyu stammers, clearly flustered. “It- it was never really something we thought about…”

You let the silence hang in the air for a moment, then ask, “So should I just go then?” You can’t help but tease them, enjoying the power you have in this playful game.

“No!” they shout in unison, their voices rising in a mix of panic and urgency.

You giggle softly, thoroughly entertained by how flustered they seem. Their awkward chuckles only add to your amusement as the energy in the room shifts. The quietness that the room falls into isn’t just a pause — it’s a promise of something about to unfold, and you can feel their nervous energy as they settle into the moment.

Without breaking eye contact, you tap the two spots next to you, silently beckoning them. The gesture is casual, but the meaning behind it carries weight. Your voice softens, yet commands attention as you murmur,

“Come.”

They exchange a quick glance, a silent message passing between them. Then, almost in unison, they move quickly, Jungkook taking the spot on your right, and Mingyu settling on your left.

Though their movements were swift, the atmosphere between you all slows as soon as they sit. Jungkook's leg gently grazes yours, a subtle touch that sends a ripple of awareness through you. Mingyu shifts closer, his presence more assertive, his body angled toward you. The warmth from both of them is impossible to ignore, their proximity pressing in, heavy and undeniable.

There was no denying that the two of them were incredibly attractive — after all, you wouldn’t be here hinting at a potential threesome if they weren’t. Jungkook, with his quiet, almost bashful demeanor, had a certain charm that pulled you in. His shyness only added to his appeal, making you want to peel back his layers and see the side he rarely showed to others. And, of course, there was the added bonus of his tattooed arm, ink swirling across his skin in intricate designs, and the lip piercings that gave him an edgy twist (though he always took them out before tennis matches). That mix of boyish charm and rebellious edge was impossible to resist.

Then there was Mingyu — tall, confident, and utterly captivating. He had the kind of self-assured presence that drew your attention immediately. His confidence wasn’t just attractive — it was the kind that made every girl weak in the knees, leaving them hanging on his every word. While Jungkook’s quiet intensity worked its way under your skin slowly, Mingyu’s bold, magnetic charm hit you all at once.

You glance over at Jungkook, noticing how his eyes are fixed on his lap, his fingers nervously fidgeting in his hands. His uncertainty is almost endearing. Then you shift your attention to Mingyu, who is the complete opposite — bold and unapologetic, staring directly at you, his face just inches away, body almost pressed into yours. He’s clearly used to getting what he wants, but you’ve never been drawn to arrogance. Mingyu would have to wait his turn.

You turn your focus back to Jungkook, your hand moving slowly under his chin, gently lifting his face until his eyes meet yours. His surprise is obvious, but he doesn’t pull away. His gaze drops to your lips for a brief moment before flicking back to your eyes, and just as he’s about to react, his eyes close instinctively at the feel of your lips softly pressing against his.

As Jungkook leans into the kiss, you feel him slowly relax, his body softening against yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gentle but firm, deepening the connection between you. His hand hesitates for only a moment before settling on your waist, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

On your left, Mingyu remains silent, his usual bravado replaced with something quieter, though not passive. His eyes flicker with jealousy, but there’s admiration there too, a sort of begrudging respect for the moment unfolding in front of him. It’s strange seeing him so quiet, especially after all the confidence he’d shown.

As you pull away from Jungkook, a soft, almost disappointed sound escapes his lips, and his pout deepens, the swell of his pink lips and furrowed brows betraying his desire for more. You can’t help but smile at his expression, brushing your thumb tenderly across his bottom lip as if to comfort him. His hand slides reluctantly off your waist, making way for Mingyu, who wastes no time in taking over.

Mingyu’s large hand rests confidently on your thigh, his touch firm and sure, a stark contrast to Jungkook's more tentative approach. The difference between them is palpable — Jungkook’s gentle uncertainty versus Mingyu’s bold, unspoken demand. It was a clear reflection of their personalities. You feel the heat from Mingyu’s palm spread across your skin, his presence suddenly more imposing.

Mingyu’s lips crash against yours with a fierce urgency, leaving no room for hesitation. His grip on your neck is firm, pulling you into him as if he can’t get close enough. His kiss is demanding, rougher than Jungkook’s soft, tentative approach, and it has a wetness starting to pool in your panties. You feel the intensity of his desire in every movement — the way his lips devour yours, his hand clutching at your neck like he’s afraid to let go.

There’s a stark difference in how Mingyu claims you, his kiss full of hunger, no patience, no softness. It’s intoxicating, a whirlwind compared to the gentle warmth of Jungkook's touch. Mingyu's presence dominates the space around you, making everything else fade as he pulls you deeper into his embrace.

You press your hand firmly against Mingyu's chest, pushing him back with just enough force to break the kiss. His grip loosens reluctantly, and though his dark eyes are still heavy with want, he lets go. You sit back, catching your breath, the room now filled with nothing but the sound of you and Mingyu trying to steady yourselves.

Jungkook shifts across from you, and you don’t miss the way his breath has quickened, his pants tightening as he grows more eager for another chance. His eyes flick between you and Mingyu, a mix of anticipation and impatience building up inside him.

“Take your pants off,” you command, unzipping your sweater. “Both of you.”

Mingyu falters, his usual confidence wavering as uncertainty crosses his face. For the first time, he's hesitant, not wanting to cross any lines with Jungkook, who’s been like a brother to him. But the moment Jungkook starts sliding his pajama pants off without a second thought, letting out a soft moan of relief, Mingyu relaxes a little. He watches Jungkook, and with that unspoken permission, he begins to unbutton his own jeans.

Jungkook's chest rises and falls rapidly as he palms himself through his boxers, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out silent gasps. His brows furrow, and his parted lips move with barely audible moans. You notice, and with a playful smirk, you tilt your head toward him.

“Take those off, Koo,” you say, your voice teasing as you pull off your shorts. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

It’s surprising, especially from someone like Jungkook, but with little hesitation, he slips off his boxers and wraps his hand around himself, starting with slow, deliberate strokes. His tip, flushed a deep shade of pink, matches the color of his soft, pouty lips, and the sight of his length is impressive. There’s truth to the saying that the quiet ones pack the most. The way his hand moves, his chest rising and falling in sync, makes it impossible to look away.

Mingyu watches, a mix of shock and intrigue flickering across his face as Jungkook unfolds before him, completely at ease in this intimate moment. Sure, he’s seen Jungkook’s dick before — they’ve been best friends for years, comfortable enough to brush off the awkwardness of locker rooms or casual nudity. But this… this is different.

Mingyu has always been the one to take the lead in their more adventurous escapades, steering the dynamic with his bold confidence. But now, as he sees Jungkook so focused and vulnerable, he realizes… his best friend’s got it bad for you. 

Feeling a surge of confidence, Mingyu follows suit, sliding his jeans and boxers off in one smooth motion. He mirrors Jungkook’s actions, his own hand wrapping around his length, joining in the intimate display.

While Jungkook's cock stood impressive in length, Mingyu's wasn’t too far off, though thicker, more girth to it. His cock was a deeper brownish-pink compared to Jungkook's softer, lighter shade. The contrast between them was striking, each appealing in their own way, both undeniably captivating. Their eyes flickered between each other and back to you, tension building as they stroked themselves, the sight enough to make your pulse quicken.

Clad in nothing but a matching white lacy set, your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth as you take in the sight before you. Jungkook and Mingyu, completely entranced, their hands stroking their lengths as their gazes hungrily trace every curve of your body. The heat in their eyes ignites a rush of confidence through you, sending a wave of satisfaction at the way they're both coming undone with just the sight of you. You relish in the power you hold over them, knowing that your mere presence is enough to leave them breathless and wanting.

Moving closer on your knees, you snake each arm around the back of their necks, pulling them in. Their hands continue stroking themselves, but their eyes flicker with confusion, unsure of your next move. Then, without warning, you lean in and pull them both toward you, initiating a heated three-way kiss. Their lips crash into yours and each other's, hesitant at first, but soon they melt into the moment, the taste of you and the shared heat between the three of you intensifying everything.

The intensity between you all builds, the space around you shrinking as things get more heated. Jungkook seizes your lips, deepening the kiss, your tongues moving together in a heated rhythm. Mingyu, on the other hand, doesn't seem to mind. His focus shifts, and you feel his fingers fumbling with the latch of your bra, finally managing to unhook it. The fabric slides away, and in no time, his large hand cups your breast, squeezing the soft flesh as he picks up the pace, stroking himself faster, more eagerly now.

As your lips are locked in a heated kiss with Jungkook, you reach for Mingyu's hand on your chest, guiding him downward with a firm grip. He follows your lead, sliding his hand into your panties without hesitation. The moment his fingers brush against your sopping pussy, you can feel the shudder that runs through him. His breath hitches, and the words spill from him in a low, husky tone.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans, the arousal thick in his voice. “Feel her, Kook.”

Jungkook, eager to take control, pulls his lips away from you, his breath ragged as he swiftly replaces Mingyu's hand with his own. The instant he makes contact, he lets out an audible moan, the sound vibrating between you. His middle finger moves up and down your slit, exploring you with slow, deliberate strokes, as if savoring every moment.

But the teasing touch drives you wild — their fingers are too light, too gentle. A whimper escapes your lips, your body trembling with need. You're much too sensitive for this kind of play, desperate to be touched properly. Every slow pass of Jungkook's finger sends ripples of frustration through you, heightening your arousal yet leaving you wanting more.

"Do you usually get this wet?" he asks, his finger lazily teasing your entrance, the pressure maddeningly light.

"J- just touch me more, please," you whine, your body arching toward his hand, desperate for more.

"Answer me first," he demands, his voice low and commanding, leaving no room for negotiation.

Jungkook was much different in moments like these, a sharp contrast to his usual self. Outside the bedroom, he was shy, even gentle, but when it came to intimacy, he transformed — his assertiveness both thrilling and intimidating, making your pulse quicken under the weight of his dominance.

"Yes!" you exclaim, practically begging. "Yes, I do!"

Both guys chuckle at your outburst, their amusement adding a teasing edge to the already charged atmosphere. Jungkook finally relents, slipping two wet fingers inside your dripping pussy with a slow, deliberate thrust, making you gasp sharply. Your back arches, head thrown back in a mix of pleasure and relief, while your fist tightens around Mingyu's shirt — the one that frustratingly still clung to his body. Mingyu smirks as he pulls away the last barrier between you and them, tossing your soaked panties to the side, now completely ruined with your slick. 

Wanting to give you just as much pleasure as Jungkook was, Mingyu’s hand finds its way to your clit, his fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles that send sparks of heat through your core. The dual sensations make your body tremble, your mind barely able to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure as both men touch you, their combined attention making you feel utterly claimed.

In perfect sync, not even a millisecond behind or ahead, both of them reach for your neck, their lips pressing gentle kisses against your skin. Jungkook's kisses quickly turn into soft, teasing bites, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh as he leaves a trail of red marks that bloom beneath his touch. The slight sting only adds to the heat swirling inside you, each bite more possessive than the last. Meanwhile, Mingyu's kisses travel upward, brushing against your jaw before he finds your cheek, his lips warm and soft. He bites down lightly on your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth with a playful edge, his breath mingling with yours as he watches your reaction, the two of them in perfect harmony, each claiming you in their own way.

You moan into Mingyu's mouth, your voice shaky as you whisper, "'M so close."

Mingyu only hums in response, his lips still pressed against yours, the vibration of his deep voice sending a shiver through you. His hand is busy, stroking his cock with a steady rhythm, each movement becoming more desperate as his own release builds. He's close too, his breath growing heavier, but his focus never strays from you. Jungkook, though just as turned on, remains focused on your pleasure. His fingers plunge in and out of you at a quicker pace now, curling inside you with precision, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. Your moans grow louder, the room thick with the sounds of pleasure as both men work in sync, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

A few more seconds, a few more kisses, and a few more strokes — then it happens. It’s like fireworks exploding all at once as the three of you reach your peaks in perfect unison. Your body seizes up, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your moans, raw and uninhibited, sound almost pornographic, echoing through the room as you ride the high of your orgasm. Jungkook groans deeply, his voice rough and strained, the sound of his release vibrating in the air as he watches you fall apart beneath his touch. Mingyu, however, is quite literally growling as he cums, his body tensing beside you, chest heaving. The three of you, tangled together, create a symphony of raw pleasure, each sound feeding into the intensity of the moment as your bodies give in to the overwhelming ecstasy.

Completely spent, your body falls limp as you lean onto Mingyu, who instinctively wraps a strong arm around you, holding you close to his chest. The warmth of his skin against yours is comforting, grounding you in the aftermath of the intensity. Jungkook, equally exhausted, leans his head against your shoulder, his damp hair sticking slightly to your skin as beads of sweat drop from his brow. You don’t mind at all. Instead, you reach up and run your fingers through his raven hair, gently combing through the soft strands as the three of you bask in the quiet, intimate aftermath, your breathing slowly syncing as the room fades into a peaceful lull.

"Think you'll share the same girl again?" you tease, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

For a moment, there's silence before all three of you erupt into a fit of snickers and chuckles, the tension melting away. Mingyu shakes his head, still catching his breath, while Jungkook leans in closer, a lazy grin spreading across his face. The laughter fills the room, light and carefree, as the intensity from moments before dissolves into something more familiar, more comfortable. The air is filled with an easy camaraderie, the teasing making it clear that despite the heat, there's still room for laughter.

Suddenly feeling as if the room has grown too intimate, you gently push Jungkook off you and rise from Mingyu’s side, creating a little distance. 

“Well, you two have a match tomorrow. Get some rest,” you say, glancing around until your eyes land on your soaked underwear. You pick them up and put them back on, the wet fabric uncomfortably clinging to your skin as you do.

“Where’re you going?” Mingyu asks, his eyes roaming your naked figure, a mix of admiration and longing on his face.

“To my dorm?” you laugh, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, trying to keep the mood light despite the heaviness of the moment.

“W- will we do this again?” Jungkook stutters, his voice a mix of hope and uncertainty.

You hook your bra behind your back, chuckling softly at his eagerness. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back here again.”

“Didn’t you have fun?” he asks again, his tone turning whiney, as if he’s desperately trying to hold onto the moment.

You exhale slowly, a hint of regret in your voice. “Yes, but I don’t do throuples.”

Jungkook sighs, his gaze dropping to the floor, disappointment washing over him. Meanwhile, Mingyu looks up at you with a spark of hope in his eyes, clearly not ready to give up just yet.

“Alright,” you finally concede, a playful grin creeping onto your face. “I will be watching your match tomorrow. Whoever wins… we can do it again. Alone.”

Mingyu’s face brightens instantly, a wide smile breaking through, but Jungkook just looks even more defeated, the weight of competition resting heavily on his shoulders.

“You can beat him, Jungkook. I know you’ve got it in you,” you encourage, trying to lift his spirits.

“Are you saying you want me to?” he asks, his voice laced with both challenge and eagerness.

“I’m saying you can beat him,” you reply, a teasing smile on your lips.

“But what do you want?” he presses, his gaze searching yours for the answer.

“I want to watch. Some good. Fucking. Tennis,” you say, emphasizing each word with a playful wink.

Gathering the last of your things, you leave the room with a smile, the laughter and teasing lingering in the air as you step back into the hallway, leaving behind a charged atmosphere filled with possibilities.

“Let me win?” Jungkook asks, turning to his friend with wide, pleading eyes that could melt anyone’s resolve.

“Don’t look at me like that when your dick is out, bro,” he replies, a look of disgust written all over his features, unable to suppress a smirk.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, kissing his teeth in annoyance. “Come on, you always win!”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, considering it for a moment. “Fine, I’ll let you win if you let me shower first.”

“For real?” Jungkook’s face lights up, a grin stretching ear to ear as he processes Mingyu's words, excitement bubbling in his chest.

Mingyu nods, getting up and grabbing a towel, making his way toward the bathroom. Once the door is locked behind him, a playful grin spreads across his face as he calls out,

“I was fucking with you, stupid ass!”

© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.

[aniharas]

𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥

pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

summary: on your first day back at spider society hq, your male colleagues are inexplicably drawn to you. your boss, miguel, seems to be affected more than anybody. surely there's an explanation and solution, but who were you to resist?

warnings: explicit language, sexual tension/content, use of pheromones (please let me know if i need to add more!)

wc: 9.6k+ oneshot

a/n: apparently there was a rumor that a body butter named Delícia Drench (hence name of the fic) attracted wolf spiders! somebody on reddit said it's because there might be two ingredients that imitate the pheromones of a female spider and it'll bring all the thirsty boy spiders to your yard. and with miguel being 50% spider, how could i resist writing? (shoutout to scarlet for the wonderful prompt!) however DISCLAIMER! these claims are unfounded, i just thought it was a fun prompt to write off of. anything i say in the fic referring to the butter is purely fictional and im just talking out of my ass. with that being said, enjoy!

Just before the sun began to rise over the city line of Earth-766’s New York, your hand shot out to slam the snooze button of your annoying alarm clock before it could even go off. The silky sheets you were laid in were far too comfortable, reluctant to release you from its dreamlike embrace, but alas, duty was calling. The holidays had come to a close, and your peaceful vacation back in your home dimension was a bliss escape away from your tiring job.

You didn’t hate your job; in fact, it was just the opposite. Since you were in middle school, you always had an unrivaled passion for chemistry, as many Spiders were. Your life before getting bitten by that spider was mainly winning science fairs, calibration rooms, and working towards your Ph.D. Even after becoming your New York’s one and only Spiderwoman, your academic pursuit never ceased, eventually landing yourself at the prestigious Alchemax. However, it was because you had secured such a high-profile job that you caught the attention of the Spider Society, in the form of its leader, Miguel. He somehow knew that you were on the path to creating a more stable version of Rapture, and because of this, he was persistent in roping you into his ranks.

At first, you had declined profusely, briskly walking away from where he had approached you in Central Park. The brisk walk eventually turned into a full-on Spider chase, although the uniqueness of his abilities seemed to distract you. The talons that protruded from his fingers that tore through metal like paper, the neon-red nature of his webs, and his fangs. His fangs were what intrigued you the most. Eventually, you were pincered by him and another Spiderwoman named Jessica, who would later become one of your best friends.

Alas, you accepted, although not until being lured in by the offer of all the technology and scientific advancements you could imagine in Nueva York. The first time you had entered the HQ’s lab, you were like a kid in the candy store. You loved your job, which involved tailoring different types of chemical equipment, unique for each Spider that came by, as well as equally unique medicines and antidotes for the medical ward. 

Your main job, however, was developing the Rapture injection, the one you were recruited for, almost daily. And for who other than your broody boss? Even though he hadn’t left the best impression after chasing you like a madman in your hometown, you were required to work with him. And in the beginning, it would be an understatement to say it was challenging. Miguel was a whirlwind of sarcastic remarks and impatience who constantly nagged you for any updates. And to make it worse, each morning, you would make your way to Miguel’s office and inject him with your experimental Rapture of the day. Then in the evening, you would return to observe the effects. The days consisted of constant complaints that you were late, that the injection didn’t have the intended effect, and that Rapture was your top priority, all of which were grating on your soul. 

Since your daily routine started and ended with Miguel, your relations grew slightly amicable over time. It started with silent gestures of gratitude: a cup of steaming coffee left in your office in the lab, bringing extra dinner for him during the end-of-the-day check-ups. After 3 months of your stay at the Society, you both started communicating with your watches (He was insistent that you call the watches gizmos, to which you adamantly refused). At first, it was only about work and your Rapture progress. The conversations then slowly changed into more casual ones, topics ranging from your pets back home to him venting his frustrations about the shenanigans of whatever Hobie was up to that day. Sure, he was slightly more friendly (which wasn’t a feat considering who he was), but his irritable nature was still a turn-off for you, and the sarcasm leaping into every evaluation didn’t help either. You considered him lucky that he was quite the eye candy. He was actually pretty attractive whenever he shut his mouth.

This particular morning was your official return to Nueva York after two weeks, so you decided you would put a bit more effort into your routine. Reluctantly, you rose from your bed and stumbled towards your bathroom, wincing at the harsh cold of its floor underneath your feet. You allowed yourself a moment of bliss under your hot shower, trying your best to wash away any stress you were anticipating that day. Once you had finally stepped out of the shower, you quickly dried yourself off and wrapped a plush towel securely around your body, trying your best not to slip as you trudged over to the bathroom counter. Admittedly, you weren’t the most graceful Spider; you were on the smarter side.

Then it was the usual sequence of your routine. Brushing and blow-drying your hair, skincare, and makeup. Just as you were about to make your way to your closet, you realized that you had forgotten your lotion, which you would’ve considered disastrous. Nothing bothered you more than your own dry skin. By habit, you were about to reach for the usual bottle until an unopened box tempted you from the corner of your eye. As you turned it around in your hands and delicately unpackaged it, you silently chastised yourself for almost forgetting. It was a body butter, given to you by Jessica during a surprise visit on Christmas day.

“This is from Lyla. She says to thank her later,” Jessica had said on that day vaguely before giving a brief hug.

Unscrewing the lid from the jar, you smiled to yourself. If there was anyone other than Jessica that you truly missed over your break, it was Lyla. The hologram assistant never failed to make you smile with the many ways she’d tease Miguel, but she also never failed in constantly bringing up asking him out. “I don’t care if he’s your boss,” Lyla would say. “I’d know more than anyone if he has the hots for you, and he guess what? He does!” Which was hard to believe, considering his persistent stubbornness in your day-to-day interactions.

Once the lid was finally off, a waft of vanilla with a hint of sandalwood drifted into the air. Inhaling the scent of the butter deeply, you felt oddly touched. This was undeniably a scent that was up your alley, and it was very thoughtful. As you worked it into your skin, you made a mental note to thank Lyla. It was when you were just about finished that you noticed something peculiar. You had caught a subtle whiff of another note, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was elusive, teasing your senses as you racked your brain for what it could possibly be. Figuring it was just an ester you smelled in your various experiments, you left the bathroom to get dressed, with a more confident aura around yourself.

–

Your first day back couldn’t have started any more peculiar.

You had barely gotten the chance to take in the surroundings of your beloved HQ before you were instantly greeted with Hobie swinging in as he called your name, landing just in front of you.

“Evil genius. Heard you’d be back today,” Hobie greeted with his signature half-smile, his lanky arms immediately opening to embrace you. Which was weird, considering he was more of a handshake-y/shadowboxing type of greeter. But he was a joy to have around in your lab (despite him not particularly having too much interest in your work), so you didn’t refuse.

“You’ve gotten taller,” you replied with a grin on your face, happily accepting his embrace. While it was comforting, you noticed that it was taking a while for him to pull away. Passing it off as mere affection, you pulled away and looked up at Hobie’s face. He seemed almost bewildered as he stared down at you, almost in some sort of trance. Was he looking at your lips? Was he looking further down?

“Uh, Earth-928 to Hobie? Helloo?” you called out, snapping your fingers in front of him repeatedly in an attempt to wake him up. It wasn’t until the 5th or 6th snap that he finally seemed to jolt awake, although still fixated on you.

“Oh. My bad, fam,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. You raised a brow at his mannerisms; it was extremely unlike him to act so nervous. You then gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder, and you swore you saw him slightly tense at the feeling.

“So, you got a new cologne or somethin’ like that? Hold on, not cologne…what’s it called? Perfume? Toilettes?” Hobie began rambling, seemingly in a desperate attempt to cover up his uncharacteristic awkwardness.

“Oh, Lyla got me-”

You were cut off by another voice shouting your name to your left. It was one of the many Peters. “How’s my favorite scientist been? How was your vacay?”

“Just stayed at home,” you answered, a bit startled as you tried to split your attention between Peter and Hobie. “Anyways, Lyla-”

Another voice chimed in behind you. “I heard your universe is one of the most beautiful. You were definitely up to something.” Then another. “It’s been forever since I last saw you!” Another. “Wanna come eat with us at the caf?”  You even heard Ben’s voice, to which you were surprised he had taken a break from his usual moping to join the ever-growing commotion around you. “You smell nice!” Soon, all the greetings and compliments became a garbled mess in your ears, your view obscured by a wall of Spiders.

You tried your best to force on a polite smile as you tried to weave your way through the oncoming traffic of people. To you, this was completely unexpected and foreign. Sure, you had made lots of friends in your time at HQ, but people weren’t exactly buzzed to see you. At most, you’d get a friendly wave as you passed by each other in the twisty pathways. Now, they acted like you were an oasis in a desert.  As you whipped your head around, you noticed something in the ever-growing crowd around you: it was all Spidermen. That irked you slightly; you had made many Spiderwomen friends as well. Where were they? Becoming slightly dizzy with the growing clamor around you, you were just about ready to web yourself up to the ceiling and swing your way to your lab.

As if your prayers were miraculously answered, the familiar rev of an engine overpowered the clamor of the Spidermen, and they immediately parted ways down the middle to reveal Jessica, staring at you with an amused grin as she sat on her motorcycle.

"I’ll take you to HQ if you tell me what the hell’s going on!” Jessica offered, her voice raised so that you could hear.

Instant relief flooded through your body as you nearly sprinted your way to Jessica, planting a grateful kiss on her cheek before hopping on the back of the motorcycle. As you both sped away, you still waved goodbye to the Spidermen, despite how weird you had felt mere seconds prior. As if things couldn’t get any weirder, you noticed that the crowd you had left behind had almost immediately dispersed, with only some lingering around to chat.

“God, Jess. I’ve been here for two minutes, and I think I’ve already had the weirdest day out of everyone here!” you remarked loudly with a heavy sigh. You linked your arms around Jessica’s waist to remain stable on the motorcycle, eyes squinted from traveling at such a high speed.

Jessica only seemed to chuckle in response as she steered through the complicated structure, towards your lab. “Yeah? Try being pregnant!” she called out over the wind, her curls tossing about in the wind.

Your eyes widened immediately upon the revelation. “You’re lying, shut up,” you scolded, immediately feeling over Jessica’s stomach to verify it. Lo and behold, your hands smoothed over the beginnings of a bump, which caused you to squeal out in excitement. “Oh my god, Jess! When is it due?!”

“6 months! So don’t hold on so tight!” Jessica chided playfully as she effortlessly navigated her way through the building, shouting at countless Spiders to move out of her way. You held on for dear life, but of course, not too tight.

Eventually, you reached your beloved lab, to which you both entered. The door hissed closed behind you, and after you had set your bag down, you immediately sprung into action. This was simultaneously your sanctuary and your training, where you were at your best. Jessica watched from a nearby stool, gently holding her stomach.

“So this is where you cook up the good stuff, hm?” Jessica quipped, her eyes glued to the liquid that was poured into an instant syringe.

“Somebody’s gotta keep the boss alive,” you chuckled, your meticulous hands carefully measuring out just the right amount of Rapture before sealing it closed. This was the new batch that you had been working on at home, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t eager to show Miguel. “Speaking of which, I’ll need a lift there.” Packing the syringe into a box, you motioned for Jessica to come with you as you began to walk toward the sealed doors. That was until you were stopped by your pregnant friend’s hand in your face.

“Hold up, hon. You still never explained what was going on out there,” Jessica reminded you in a stern tone with an equally stern look.

“Jess, I wanna know as much as you do.” You paused, taking a deep breath as you recounted the event. “Maybe it's just a…welcome committee thingy.”

Jessica gave you a pointed look as a scoff left her lips. “Welcome committee, my ass. Those guys were like pirates, and you were a siren. It was more like a…’Welcome Back, I Would Die For Your Attention’ committee.”

As much as you wanted to bite back, it was unfortunate that she was right. While most of the Spider-folk were kind, as they tended to be, they were never that eager to see you before. People you thought you could never shake were in the crowd. Did it feel nice? You were ashamed that it did, just slightly, but perhaps for a different reason than you thought.

Perhaps Miguel would be the same.

Noting your silence and your brows creased in thought, Jessica gave you a reassuring smile as she stood to pat you on the back. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop messing with you,” she chuckled, giving you a gentle push toward the door. “But something’s up, and I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, let me know when you figure it out. I’d like to know too,” you said as you narrowed your eyes at her, although you could never keep a serious face with your best friend as you broke out into a smile.

With that, you both stepped out of the lab, only to be immediately greeted by another crowd of Spidermen that had gathered outside the entrance. Your face twisted into annoyance as you looked to Jessica for help.

“Move, people!” she shouted out above the onslaught of chattering Spidermen. “Unless you want to work with Miguel for a week!” With that, the crowd easily dispersed, scattering like…well, spiders. Despite the situation you were in, you were glad that many of them felt the same way about working with Miguel. Outside of work, he was bearable, but his free time was rare.

After another short ride on Jessica’s motorcycle through the complex, you reached Miguel’s office. You took a deep breath, giving your friend a firm nod as you prepared to walk through the automatic doors. As soon as you were about to take a step, Lyla apparated in front of you, sliding down her heart-shaped shades to get a good look at you.

“It’s been forever! Just know I’d hug you if I could,” the assistant exclaimed with the widest grin you’ve ever seen on her. Her playful antics were infectious, and her cheery tone seemed to wipe away the stress the day had accumulated so far. “Sooo, how’d you like your gift?”

“Oh! Right, uh, I’m wearing it right now,” you stammered out, feeling terrible. The morning had been so hectic that you forgot to seek out Lyla and thank her properly. Your response made Jessica raise a brow and lean over toward you, taking a whiff. You looked at her. “What do you think?”

“You smell sweet,” Jessica remarked, then paused, as if analyzing your scent a bit more. “And…womanly.”

Lyla seemed to nod eagerly at this statement, her virtual eyes glinting with curiosity as she prodded at you further. “And what’s it like?”

Perplexed by the wording of the question, you hesitated to answer. What on earth did either of them mean? Everyone was acting strange today. “Um, the vanilla is really nice, I had no idea you knew that I liked that sort of stuff. It was very thoughtful, Lyla.”

Lyla continued to stare at you a bit more intently, seeming to wait for another answer from you until she seemed to give up. “That’s good, I’m glad you love it,” she replied, though there was a hint of something enigmatic in her response. As if she were physically standing in front of the door to the office, Lyla stepped to the side, gesturing for them to go in as the doors slid open. “You can come in, but consider yourself warned. Miguel’s cranky at the moment.”

“When is he not?” You muttered, mostly to yourself, but you could hear Jessica snicker at your side as you both strolled in. The familiar hum of Miguel’s futuristic machinery filled your ears, the metallic interior of his office coldly greeting her eyes. When you first spotted your boss up on his platform (which was redundant, in your opinion), he was already wearing his suit. You swore he always wore it to show off his physique. He had his back turned to the both of you, seeming to intently stare at the screens and holograms in front of him blankly.

“Does he ever not do that?” Jessica muttered under her breath to you as you both stared ahead. It was so simple for her to break your resolve, pressing your lips together in a tight line to prevent yourself from letting out even the smallest sound.

“Are you ever not late?”

Miguel’s sharp voice immediately cut through the playful nature that surrounded the two of you. The smile immediately dropped from your face, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. How could somebody already be so irritated? The day hadn’t even started.

You glanced toward Jessica briefly before answering, trying to keep your voice steady. “I was just stuck in the lobby-”

“Yeah, I saw,” Miguel interjected coldly as he turned his head toward the hologram-screen that displayed the security feed. With a simple flick of his hand, the screen swiped out of view as he turned to face you, his face twisted into an unfamiliar emotion, albeit clearly not a pleasant one. “Really glad you had the time to mingle. Not like we’re on a schedule or anything.”

If Miguel hadn’t been 6’9” of almost entirely pure muscle, you swore you would’ve swung up and lunged at him like a rabid animal. Would it have killed him to be just a bit understanding? He was watching you through the feed, how was any of that your fault? His mockery and grumpy attitude were things you’d grown used to, but today, it was particularly biting. It seemed…personal.

Jessica seemed to feel the same way as you heard her snort audibly in response. This directed his attention towards her, his glare unwavering. “And you,” he began, pointing a finger directly at her. “What did I tell you about riding that thing through my building?”

“ Our building,” she bit back, her posture nonchalant as she lazily examined her nails. “How about you yell at the people who got in her way, smart guy?”

Miguel rolled his eyes at her remark, seemingly ready to go back and forth until he glanced down at her stomach. He then shook his head, gesturing to shoo her away. “I…I don’t even wanna get into it with you. Just…get out.”

Elbowing you lightly, Jessica leaned closer to you with a smirk. “See? Pregnancy perks,” she joked. “But I would’ve preferred a vacation.” You clamped a hand over your mouth to stop the fit of laughter you felt rising.

“¡Oye! Are you even listening?!” Miguel hissed at Jessica, pointing towards the doors. Genuinely, you admired her patience, as she didn’t even flinch. Giving you a look that clearly meant “good luck”, your best friend gently patted you on the back before taking her leave. You stared until her figure disappeared behind the automatic doors, and then you became all too aware that you and Miguel were alone. The air in the room grew tense as you attempted to quell the irritation rising within you.

Once you turned back to look up at Miguel, he was running his fingers through his hair, pushing it back in somewhat of a stressed manner as he was fixated on another screen. Without sparing you another glance, he spoke up again, the words barely even louder than the quiet buzz of the hologram projectors. “The Rapture. Get up here,” he muttered, slowly pacing back and forth on his levitated platform.

Tucking the box securely in your (thankfully) deep pockets, you made sure to secure it tightly, the contents too delicate to leave dangling so carelessly. Mentally preparing yourself for the incoming 5 minutes you had to spend with Miguel, you flung your wrist towards the edge of his platform, a silky web instantly connecting the two. Pulling on the tensile web, you gave yourself enough momentum to fling yourself up onto it, landing opposite to where he was standing—one of your more graceful landings.

His back was still turned to you as you pulled the box out of your pocket, carefully extracting the syringe with your latest creation. Staring down at it proudly, you stood on your feet and cautiously approached Miguel. “Worked on this one during vacation,” you said, not necessarily caring if he had anything to say about it. “Think it’s my best one yet.”

Miguel’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep exhale, intent on reading the details of his upcoming mission. “It better be,” was all he muttered, holographic nature of his suit fading away in a patch on his left shoulder, his usual injection site. Placing your right hand tentatively against his shoulder blade, you held the syringe up to his skin, ready to administer until you noticed something. You gently pressed a finger against his skin, and it was almost as if the muscle was made of rocks.

“You need to relax your shoulder, boss,” you remarked, your focus beginning to trail across the expanse of his back. It almost seemed to ripple constantly from how tense they were. Usually, this process was the easy part, and you both had done this dozens of times. 

“Yep. Got it.” A muscle in his neck flexed slightly.

“Is something bothering you?” you asked cautiously, observing his odd behavior. Seriously, him too? What was up with everyone today?

“ Mierda , just get on with it,” he grumbled, an obvious strain in his tone.

“If you say so,” you whispered, injecting the green liquid into his system. Once again, it was different. A sharp inhale escaped his lips as he winced; you caught a glimpse of his eyes flashing a bright red in the reflection of his monitors. The eyes were normal, it happened every time. But it never caused him discomfort before. Concern was etched across your features as you took a step back, your eyes scanning over his body. 

“Seriously, Miguel. Is there something I should know?” you asked with a huff, placing a hand on his other shoulder to turn him around. However, when you were finally able to his expression for the first time, it was nothing like you had ever expected. His eyes were clouded over as they locked onto yours, a rawness in his gaze that made you shudder. His jaw was clenched, muscles taut, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed deeply. You even noticed the cadence of his exhales, each one sounding as if he was barely in control. Was this an adverse reaction to the Rapture? Uneasiness began to settle into your skin. Was this your fault? You worriedly placed a hand against his forehead to feel his temperature, now noticing the sweat that had begun to dot across his forehead. 

He wasn’t even stopping you or making any snide remarks. Something was definitely wrong.

“Lyla?” you called out into the void of his office as you retracted your hand. “Show me his vitals.”

“No, Lyla, don’t even think about it,” Miguel objected through gritted teeth. You both were only greeted by Lyla’s familiar giggle as a hologram screen materialized behind Miguel, displaying his various vitals.

“You’re supposed to work for me ,” he grunted.

“Misclick! Oops, gotta go-” Lyla taunted, the sound of her program shutting off following. You swore you heard him mutter “chinga tu madre” under his breath.

As you read through the different stats, you only seemed to confuse yourself more. His body temperature was slightly elevated, but nowhere close to a fever. No production of histamines, so no allergies. Nothing from the injection seemed to affect any aspect of his body. His heart rate, however, was through the roof. Surely Spider-people don’t get heart attacks, right? You were about to instruct Lyla until a certain statement in his vital report caught your eye.

Elevated levels of oxytocin present.

Those words seemed to knock the wind right out of your stomach, struggling to find the words to say as you froze in place. Was there something you missed when you were gone? Miguel just suddenly had a thing for you? Racking your brain, you tried to think of any way this could have developed. Maybe distance does make the heart grow fonder. Would you be disrespecting yourself if this was fine with you? 

Suddenly, images of your time with him began to pop up in your mind, but they were now corrupted. You thought of the way his quadriceps flexed as he carried boxes into your new office, the hitch of his breath every time you gave him a new injection, and simply how large he was in comparison to you. Your free hand began to fidget with the hem of your shirt, letting your gaze fall anywhere but him. You were certain your cheeks looked like they had been pinched. The both of you stood there, unsure of what to do, an awkward silence engulfing the room.

As if unable to endure this situation any longer, Miguel muttered a curse under his breath before he moved swiftly, hopping down from the platform. He seemed eager to escape his office, which was strange; this was where he usually holed up before and after missions. The sound of his footsteps rang in your ears, finalizing the fact that you were now standing alone, your mind a whirlwind of chaos. But with each step he took, the more you felt your heartbeat in your ears, the steady rhythm urging you to follow him. To demand one ounce of clarity from him. He couldn’t just leave you here.

“Miguel, wait,” you called out, shooting a web to the floor and flinging yourself after him. Once you had landed, you kept pursuing him, but he quickened his pace. Your mind flashed back to when he had chased you through Central Park, and a smile snuck its way onto your lips. It only made you even more relentless, your gait quickening.

Once you were close enough to him, you reached out, your hand gently tapping the broadness that was his back, a silent plea for him to acknowledge what had just been uncovered between the both of you. After receiving no response, you sighed in exasperation. “Miguel, please,” you implored. “Could you tell me-”

Miguel pivoted abruptly, the intensity in his gaze disorienting as you felt him tightly grip your wrist. Despite not having done much, his breaths were almost ragged. His eyes were glazed over, dropping down from yours just for a moment, stealing a glance at your body before returning it to a respectable place. 

“What the hell are you doing to me?” he grunted through his teeth, his voice low as it wavered with a hint of vulnerability. Despite his efforts to keep it down, the question echoed throughout the confines of his empty office.

As you tried to wiggle your wrist away, you realized it would be a waste of effort to try, so you let him. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stared up at him with wide eyes. You knew for a fact that he could feel your heartbeat with the way he was gripping it, and you were certain it beat like a rabbit’s. Hopelessly caught off guard, you stammered, “I…I don’t know. It isn’t the Rapture, I promise, I did every-”

“Don’t you give me that,” he cut you off, his words seeming to slice through whatever resolve you had left. “I know it’s not the damn Rapture. It’s you. I know it’s you. You’re in my head.”

The admission hung in the air between you two, another thing that only seemed to confuse you further that day. Miguel’s eyes bore into yours, its murky depths desperately searching yours for any answers. But he was only greeted by ones who were as clueless as he was. As he stared down at your wrist that was so easily enveloped by his hand, it seemed to spur him on. Impulsively, Miguel gripped you by your frame and whirled you around, pushing you against the metallic wall, his arms forming a cage around you.

You felt like you were caught in the eye of the storm of emotions that were building up inside him. You were utterly dwarfed by his figure. Sure, you always knew that he was tall, but you never had been this up close and personal before. As you glanced over at the arms that had caged you in like an animal, you fought the urge to run your hand over the ripple of his biceps that were almost staring at you right in the face. Realizing you were definitely focusing on the wrong thing, your eyes met his once again, each time becoming more difficult than the last. Whatever he had to say, you had no choice but to hear it.

“I can’t control it,” he continued, the words escaping like a reluctant exhale. That part was obvious enough. “The moment you stepped into HQ, every damn thought is you. Coño , I can’t even read one sentence of the mission brief with you right behind me. I’m doing things before I even think. I want to hate it.”

The weight of his words settled over you, sinking deep into your skin as you felt yourself burn up again. His sudden infatuation made you realize all the flirty comments and gentlemanly gestures that had been following you all morning. Sure, it was similar, but none of them seemed to be affected more than Miguel. What was it? Swallowing thickly, you mustered the courage to speak, to test the waters. “But you…don’t hate it?” you breathed, your chest seizing with regret as soon as the words left your lips.

Miguel’s brows furrowed, and you had trouble discerning what emotion was causing it. “I don’t,” he choked out, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So fix it.” “What?” His demand hung in the air, a fervent and pleading demand. “I said, fix it,” he insisted, his words taking on a rougher tone. One of his hands slid down from the wall, and he poked accusingly at your chest, just at the top of your sternum. “Whatever you’re doing, fix it,” he persisted, his voice akin to a low growl that sent pleasurable tingles down your spine. “Or I will.” “I don’t know how,” you shamefully admitted, your words laced with sincerity. Your eyes were blown wide upon seeing how intense he was up close, you could hear his labored breaths. The silence that followed your answer lingered between the both of you, both searching each other’s expressions just for one hint, a clue as to how to proceed from that moment. Miguel had always made the decisions, not you, and seeing him at a total loss for words had also stumped you. “I– um, you said that it was when I arrived, right?” you sputtered out, desperate to say anything to ease the heavy tension that was beginning to crush the both of you. Your eyes tried to lock on anywhere that wasn’t Miguel, but it proved difficult when his figure loomed over you. “I can just, uh…go home? Yeah! I can go back home for the day, and I–” And then, with a suddenness that left you without your words, Miguel’s hands retracted from the walls at your sides, cupping your face. Without letting another beat of your heart pass, he surged forward, all too quickly, then his lips were on yours. 

At first, your mind tried to make sense of what was happening. This was Miguel O’Hara, your boss, and a rude one at that. The same guy who always scolded you for the smallest of reasons. Not only would it be inappropriate to continue, but a blow to your self-respect. Yet, in the moment that followed, you felt his tongue gently graze against your bottom lip, and all logic seemed to dissolve and wash away, surrendering to his kiss. You should have been embarrassed that you had to reach up so far to wrap your arms around his neck, but he hunched over to make it easier on you.

He seemed to have been waiting for any sort of response from you. His hands moved with purpose, falling from your face to claw at your body, exploring the curves of your back as if he wanted to burn every detail to his memory. The fevered kiss he gave you ceased for a moment, a curse just barely able to escape from his lips before he began to bury his head into your shoulder. He began to leave openmouthed kisses to the smooth, delicate skin of your neck, his canines gently prodding at the skin. The sting seemed to tease you, to ask you how far you were willing to let him go.

“So you are a vampire,” you remarked breathlessly, whining softly at each slow, tantalizing kiss.

You aren’t able to see it, but you feel the way his lips curve up into a smirk against you. The laugh that followed was mind-bogglingly euphoric, the vibrations rippling against the expanse of your neck so deliciously that the heat building between your legs became nearly impossible to ignore. Your hands trail down from his shoulders and smooth over his chest, an action that you found to elicit the prettiest sounds from your boss. You didn’t even know he was capable of such a thing. You wanted to know what else he was capable of.

“You want it here?” you asked, your hands gently pushing against his chest in an attempt to make him pay attention to your words. But it was like he couldn’t pry himself from you. You were given a mere grunt in response, and you felt his calloused hand hold the back of your neck, stroking your nape tenderly. With his face still buried against your skin, he inhaled the scent of you deeply. That alone seemed to make his yearning nature worse, his words barely escaping past the low whine that resonated in his throat.

“Wherever I can fucking have you,” Miguel said as he grasped you, hands cupping just beneath your jaw as his thumbs smoothed over your cheeks. The way he looked at you, half-lidded, pleading, and absolutely drunk off of your body, sent your mind reeling and melted your limbs as you pushed yourself into him. Your eyes darted around for a suitable place, but Miguel’s office wasn’t necessarily 5 stars when it came to comfort. Raising your head, your gaze locked onto the platform you both were just on. Meekly, you point up towards it, unsure if he would satisfy your request. His head followed as you reached out, and he vaguely scoffed.

You were about to suggest another place until his strong arm secured its way around your waist, and suddenly, you were being hoisted into the air alongside your boss. A yelp escaped your throat out of shock, desperately gripping onto Miguel’s body despite knowing you wouldn’t fall. The gesture made him chuckle in a way you had never heard before, the sound hearty and resounding deeply in his chest. And it seemed to drug you and fill your veins with such an unyielding desire; it made you wonder how something so simple as a laugh further fueled this indecorous addiction to him.

Before you even knew it, you were seated in the middle of the platform with him kneeling beside you. As you stared up at him, you were unsure of what to do. But it was like he had read your mind, resulting in a roll of his eyes and his sarcastic nature making a brief return. 

“You planning to just sit there?” Miguel huffed as he dragged you closer to him. “Lay down.” His tone is so enticingly irrefutable, so you comply, your back hitting the platform, the cold metal making you shudder. You stared up at him, curious as to how he was going to do this.

Slotting himself in between your legs, his fingers desperately tugged at the waistband of your pants before doing away with them entirely, barely noticing that he had taken your underwear with it. He marveled at what he had revealed, carefully tugging your legs apart as if he wanted to worship it further. His eyes flicked up to your face for just a painstaking moment, and it was hot from anticipation, worsening as he hovered between your legs, pressing kisses along your inner thighs.

“You want this?” he murmurs, his words deep and gravelly. You eagerly nod, fighting the urge to shiver from the coldness that overtook your lower half.

Suddenly, you didn’t have to worry much about the cold the moment you felt his warm breath graze you in just the right way. He pressed a wet, languid kiss to your heat, the saliva his tongue was slathering you with mingling with the arousal that began to pool. You were amazed at how effortlessly his ministrations manipulated your body, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each pleasured exhale. When did he have the time to be so good at this sort of thing?

Soon, you were introduced to his fingers, so lengthy and thick that they had your eyes rolling into the back of your head as they plunged inside you. Each call of his name seemed to spur him on, increasing his tempo and the lewd, obscene noises that echoed across his office. Before you even knew it, all of it was too much; the subtle curling and pumping of his girthy fingers, the flick of his tongue; it was like a wave had crashed over you, sending your thighs into convulsions. He slowed his movements as each thrust of his fingers grew more wet, easing you down from your high. The delicate touches lasted for a mere second before you were flipped over, your hips being dragged back as you felt your behind press against the outline of the stiff, rock-hard muscle at his crotch, a testament to how much he had been craving you.

What followed was a sweetly painful, visceral blur. You had heard the sound of his holographic suit retracting itself, and you turned your head, curious as to what you’d see. He smiled smugly at your doe-eyed expression upon seeing his goods, and the only thing occupying your mind was if he could fit at all. It wasn’t like you weren’t expecting it, he was a behemoth of a man after all. But seeing it up close, anticipating its entry was an entirely different beast.

But Miguel was experienced, having dutifully prepared you to take him, making it a more easy experience as his tip prodded your entrance gently, slowly easing himself in. The stretch was undeniably painful, your fingers clutching at the floor, desperately looking for something to hold onto. But as he pushed in further, the feeling transformed into a euphoric ache. He had been trying his best to remain silent to not attract any attention from the outside, but your name managed to fall from his mouth in a hoarse groan, harmonizing with the pathetic whines that you had been letting out. His hands pinned your wrists against the floor, the freezing nature of the floor beneath you contrasting with the heat that bounced between your bodies.

His vigorous pace slightly rocked the platform beneath you, threatening to tip over if Miguel had a mind to get rougher. However, he seemed to know his limits, effortlessly filling you up in a way that could satisfy you for lifetimes. Crude phrases left your swollen lips, each one a way to praise the man that was fucking you like his next mission was his last. The sound of your skin colliding with him was growing filthier with each second, more carnal. For a fleeting second, your mind filled with worry, anxious about anybody that could have been waiting outside his office. Anyone who stood within a 5-yard radius from the entrance could hear just about anything that was going on inside. But his fingers then came up to slither their way into the roots of your hair, yanking your head back far enough so he could whisper in your ear. “Keep talking, say you want me. Say it.”

And soon enough, you were begging for him, arms shaking as you struggled to hold yourself up as ripples of your orgasm traveled throughout your body, your slick absolutely drenching the both of you. Your pleas were what had done him in, his rhythm stuttering and his length pulsing inside you, unsheathing himself as he emptied himself all over your ass, the viscous liquid dripping slowly down its curve. For a moment, the both of you stayed where you were, worn-out breaths being the only thing you both could exchange as you tried to wrap your head around what you had done.

Surprisingly, Miguel had a thought for aftercare. He had retrieved a gym towel and cleaned you up, wiping away his release and your sweat as best as he could. “Still think you have to shower, though,” he commented, the smug undertone in his voice not going unnoticed.

“Back at you,” you quipped, though the smile never left your face as you redressed yourself.

You never thought you would have to try to sneak your way out of Miguel’s office, but considering how disheveled you were after your tryst with him, it was the only way to keep your dignity intact. The air outside was cooler, freezing against your skin that still burned with the residual warmth of his hands all over you. You shuddered. You definitely needed a cold shower.

After grabbing your spare clothes from your office, you found yourself in the ladies’ room. Stripping off your sweat-ridden clothes (you had a mind to scold him for not taking them off), you hopped into one of the showers and slid the privacy curtain shut behind you. The warm water was comforting, easily washing away the feeling of sex away from your body, but what remained emotionally was unexpected. The thought of seeing him again.

A nervous energy gnawed at your heart as you mindlessly lathered soap all over your body. The both of you just had a steamy hookup, but what would happen now? Your insides seemed to twist as you remembered the fact that seeing him at the end of the day was inevitable. The water from your showerhead seemed to pelt down at your skin now, creating an atmosphere perfect for overthinking. Was it a one time thing? Did he want more? Did he like you? Would he fire you? Thankfully, Miguel was due for a mission today, so you wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him before your scheduled time. That would give you enough space to cool your head. 

“Relax,” you told yourself, barely able to hear your thoughts over the pitter-patter of water droplets around you. “You just screwed your boss. Tough it out. Forget about it. Act like it didn’t happen.”

However, the memory of his hands tracing the contours of your back seemed to follow you like a ghost, sending shivers down your spine no matter how much you cranked up the heat of your shower.

–

Enclosed in the white, sterile walled haven that was your lab, you buried yourself in work, hoping that the hum of calibration machines and the countless lab tests were enough to get your mind off of your tumultuous morning. You decided that it wasn’t enough, sliding your headphones over your ears and blasting your favorite playlist on repeat just so you wouldn’t have to hear your inner turmoil.

And it worked, the hours effortlessly passing by in a blur. Holographic displays and paperwork filled your visions, the very tasks you used to complain about becoming a solace on your first day back at your lab. You didn’t expect to get much done considering the crowd you had easily amassed earlier that morning, but strangely, that stopped, and you were thankful. Your usual visitors came in: Gwen, a few Peters, and even Hobie, who apologized profusely for how much of a “halfwit” he was being earlier, all while simultaneously swearing that you would never tell another soul. You agreed, stifling a laugh, knowing you could never be upset with him. Despite feeling confused for what had seemed like the millionth time that day, things seemed to be falling back into place, and it would have been comforting if it hadn’t been for one thing. You couldn’t exactly unfuck your boss. You chastised yourself quietly for thinking about it again; you were doing so well.

Once again, he was consuming your mind to the point where you couldn’t set your mind straight as you tried to come up with a new substance for one of your Spiderwoman clients. She had asked for a chemical that could help her easily attract and control actual spiders in her vicinity. You had a vague idea of how to bring her idea to life, with cetyl acetate sitting in one of your beakers, but you couldn’t quite remember the other component no matter how hard you racked your brain.

You retraced your steps, checking and double-checking the labels of the countless chemicals that sat preciously in your lab. You felt frustration coil up within you as you consulted your reference binder, embarrassed that you even had to look such a simple thing up. By the time you had located the constituent, many a Spider had begun to leave, the chatter outside of your lab winding to a hush. After squeezing a few drops of farnesyl acetate into your beaker, you gave the substances a quick mix, noting how nice it smelt. And how familiar.

Everything building up in you had left you seeking refuge in your dainty office that sat in the corner of the lab. As you closed the door behind you, temporary relief washed over you, and it was then that you decided it would be best if you went home for the day. Retrieving your bag, you sighed as you sank into your chair, weariness finally settling in after hours of constant work. Fishing around your bag for your office key, your fingers brushed against a jar-shaped object. You brought along Lyla’s gift for retouching throughout the day, but it slipped your mind amidst the chaos of the day. Hoping the vanilla scent would ease your thoughts, you unscrewed the cap with purpose, hoping it would ease the tension in your skin.

Just as you were about to apply, the sound of the entrance doors hissing open disrupted your serenity. Ready to tell off whoever was disturbing your peace, you set down the jar, twisted the doorknob open, and stormed out of your office, only to be frozen in place as you were greeted by the one and only Miguel, his expression uncharacteristically sheepish. A new cut adorned his face, already in the process of regeneration as it had already scarred over. Different parts of his holosuit were damaged, leaving behind a glitch-like static; were those claw marks? He definitely had a rougher day than you.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up. “You alright? That looks like it hurt,” you remarked, tentative as you were unsure what the conversation would lead to.

Miguel simply shrugged, his eyes unable to find yours. “I, uh…the anomaly was more intense than I thought. Was a bit distracted, got roughed up,” he said, his voice a rare mix of honesty and humility.

Your brows furrowed together in sympathy despite the unspoken words between the two of you. “Did you need me to whip something up for you?” you offered, moving towards your box of plastic gloves.

It was only then that he looked up at you, his hand coming up, gesturing for you to stop in protest. “No! No, it’s okay. I’ll live.” He met your eyes, and you immediately knew that he was just as unsure as you were, the uncertainty giving way to a hint of vulnerability.

After a hesitant pause, Miguel finally spoke, the moment you were waiting for finally happening. “Look, about earlier…I’m sorry,” his words stumbling out. “It was unexpected.”

Although you had anticipated this answer, you couldn’t help but deflate upon actually hearing it. You weren’t expecting him to fall on his knees and ask for your hand, but you would’ve at least liked to hear him say that he enjoyed it. “You’re sorry? Would you rather have not done it all?” you accused, much to his chagrin.

“I– no, carajo , that’s not what I meant at all,” he sighed in irritation, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s just…it caught us off guard. I’m not sorry it happened, I’m sorry that it was just…sudden, that’s all,” he huffed, not wanting to get into it with you.

For a moment, you pondered over his words. So he wasn’t opposed to sleeping with you. With impulsive thoughts bubbling up inside you, you were prodded to take the leap again. “Would you do it again?” you asked genuinely, an offer to him.

Miguel’s eyes widened in surprise, an exhale of relief shortly following, a chuckle mingled with his words. “Yeah, I’d do it again,” he answered, moving to step closer to you, and you didn’t mind. Just as it seemed as if he was about to sweep you into his arms again, he stopped in his tracks, his head turning to your lab bench as he fixated on the beaker, the one that was carrying your latest project.

Initially, you thought that Miguel was some sort of a stickler for cleanliness, so you felt embarrassed, reaching for your disposable gloves once again. “Oops, I’ll just put that away–”

“No,” he ordered with a familiar intensity in your voice, making you retract back to your original spot. He inched closer to the workbench, nostrils flaring as he sniffed at the mixture in the fragile glass. “What is that? Tell me,” he demanded, the urgency in his voice increasing tenfold.

Although you were weirded out by how much this seemed to matter to him, you answered earnestly. “Some…strange project one of the Spiderwomen wanted me to work on. Something to attract spiders, but just the males to prevent them from fighting. Synthetic pheromones, essentially.”

“Huh. Smells like how you did this morning,” he remarked almost immediately, raising a brow in confusion.

You stood there, utterly winded by his words, unsure of what to say. Was he saying this figuratively to flirt with you? But judging from the look in his eyes, he was deadly serious. As your eyes locked onto the concoction that you had made that morning, your mind went to the jar that was sitting on your desk, opened. Without another word, you rushed to your office, taking the jar of body butter and inhaling its aroma deeply. You felt your heart drop to your stomach in terror, the scents were strikingly similar. Turning the jar around in your hands with haste, your eyes scanned for the list of ingredients, silently praying you weren’t rubbing what you thought you were rubbing into your skin.

As you searched, you felt Miguel’s presence right behind you, leaning over your shoulder as he examined the jar with you, inexplicably drawn to it. “What’s that?” he inquired, the strain in his voice from before making a return.

“The lotion I put on this morning,” you said dreadfully, turning your head to look up at him sheepishly. Still confused, he met your gaze only for a moment before he searched through the neverending list of ingredients.

“What did you put in that beaker?”

“Farnesyl acetate and hexadecyl acetate. If it doesn’t say hexadecyl, try cetyl.”

After a minute of searching, Miguel hunched over you to point at a specific spot on the jar. Following his finger, you sighed, laying your eyes on the very thing you didn’t want to see.

“So…” you began awkwardly, unable to wrap your mind around the information bouncing around in your brain. It started to connect like dots: how you attracted the Spidermen in the morning by the dozen, Jessica’s remark about you smelling like a “woman”, Miguel’s sudden lust for you. Then the notable absence of your eager Spider-crowd after your shower. “As your head chemist, I can conclude that spider pheromones can work on…us.”

“Evidently,” Miguel responded, visibly dumbfounded. Seeming eager to prevent more chaos from occurring, he took the jar and its lid from your hands, screwing the lid tightly shut before placing it on your desk carefully. “Where’d you even get something like that?”

“I didn’t. Lyla got it for me,” you confessed. Your mind went to that mischievous hologram. Did she know? Was this a clever attempt to kickstart something between you and Miguel?

“Lyla, that minx...” Miguel trailed off, and you caught a glimpse of his eyes rolling before he squeezed them shut, pinching his nose bridge in an attempt to quell what presumably was a string of curses toward his assistant. Immediately, he swiftly turned around, muttering quietly to himself as he made his way towards his exit. “I ought to give her a piece of my mind…”

You stared after him, about to leave him to his own devices before a thought crossed your mind. You remembered Miguel’s biology, the very thing that made him Spiderman in the first place: his DNA was spliced with one of a spider, effectively making him 50% arachnid. The pheromones you had been unknowingly emitting would affect him more than anyone else, and it proved to be true. An uneasiness settled into your stomach, was that the only reason why he wanted you?

“Wait,” you called after him, your voice betraying your attempted nonchalance. Miguel paused at the doorway, leaning against it as he turned to look at you with an arched brow. His eyes silently asked you to proceed.

“Is it… just the pheromones?” you asked, feeling your stomach twist and turn into knots as you awaited his reply. “You know, about everything, uh, earlier.”

Miguel pushed himself off of the door. “Well, it definitely gave me the push I needed,” he admitted, sauntering over to you with a grin so smug you wanted to smack it off his face. “But, if we’re being honest, I would’ve done it eventually.”

You blinked, processing his words.”You mean that? But you’re kinda mean.”

He sighed loudly, stopping just in front of you. “Idiot. Yes, I mean it,” he muttered, leaning down to cup your cheeks in his hands, his face levelling with yours. “You drive me crazy.”

And the kiss that Miguel left on your lips afterward was more gentle than the hungry, needy one he gave you before, dispelling any doubts you had about the true nature of his feelings. His lips were like heaven, slightly chapped from the labor of his mission from earlier, but you didn’t care. When he pulled away, there was a soft playfulness in his eyes you had never seen before.

“You got it?” he teased, his thumb smoothing over your cheek.

You managed a nod, resulting in Miguel gently patting your cheek before releasing you and turning to leave, still insistent that he give Lyla a piece of his mind. Giggling at his antics, you were about to grab your things to leave until you saw his head pop in the entrance once more. “Yes?” you called out.

“Bottle that thing up and label it as a hazard,” he ordered in response, pointing toward the open beaker on the bench. “It’s damn near chemical warfare,” he mumbled before disappearing again.

“Yes, boss,” you complied, unable to fight the grin that was now plastered to your face. As you bottled up your concoction, you made a mental note to thank Lyla. Again.

originally posted on ao3! first fic i'm ever posting on tumblr and i'm so excited! feedback and suggestions for more stories are more than welcome!

[chimielie]

sun seeker

summary: you are a princess, a future queen. somehow, this is still not enough.

word count: 1.5k

cw: fighting, oikawa’s an asshole (sorry), arranged marriage/royalty au, fake history stuff, angst to fluff (i guess), i’m not telling you who the love interest is but like. Guess, misogyny, ambiguous ending

a/n: if i tell you that i imagined a whole other side for oikawa will you forgive me? also this was supposed to be a short drabble related to between lightning strikes but it very much was not. my bad

Your betrothed is unexpectedly quiet.

It had only been a few days since you met the crown prince, having been sequestered in your father’s court in the country for most of your life, learning to fill the seat of someday-Empress. The capital is huge, bustling with people, always noisy—or so you surmised from within your veiled carriage. You had thought, as you bowed before the Emperor and Imperial Heir, that your life was finally beginning, finally growing beyond the narrow confines of etiquette training and religious rituals.

Instead, you felt your dreams shrivel and die as your daily routine proceeded exactly as it had for close to two decades. The only difference was time mandatorily spent with Tooru, who seemed… less than enthused by your match.

You had dreamed of someone who chafed against authority as you had, who felt as bound by propriety despite the privilege of your positions. Alas, you found him to be both sullen and arrogant, eager to rule but in denial of his own dissatisfaction with a noblewoman such as yourself. It made you want to scream. You had not chosen the circumstances of your birth, the path which you had been led to walk. It was not your fault that fate had pushed you two so forcefully together without regard for your desires, ambitions, or personalities.

“I was told you visited the temple this morning,” you say, watching your fiancé pause a long sip of tea, his brown eyes temporarily widening. Your face slips momentarily into a frown; you cannot conceal your frustration with his clear disdain for such small talk but unwillingness to bring anything more engaging to your table.

“Yes,” he says finally, setting down his cup. Light brown liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his fingers; he wipes them on his robes without care for the expensive fabric. “There are many rituals that must be done to ensure the most auspicious wedding possible.” His voice catches noticeably on the word wedding. You take a sip of your own tea to hide your grimace.

It is lukewarm. How long have you been sitting here, trying to force civility?

“Did it go well?” You ask in turn, your pitch straining. Behind you, one of the imperial guards snorts. When you try to discern which of them broke character, they have all returned to a stoic, uniform position. You straighten your posture.

“It was satisfactory,” Tooru says. You hear the snort again, and the crown prince’s lips twitch, just barely.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, though, bound by heavy fabrics and scarlet ribbon. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere for the air to go.

“What did you do this morning?” He asks, and you throw the cup at him.

His Imperial Highness is athletic beneath his aristocracy, and he dodges it easily. It bounces off one of the silk screens behind him and lies, cracked in two, in a puddle of lukewarm tea on the floor. You bury your face in your hands and scream through your teeth, a short, guttural noise that carves a little more space in your chest to breathe.

When you look up again, he stands over you, his perfect brows pulled into an expression of concern. You know without looking that two of the Imperial Guard are standing behind you, hands on their weapons.

“You have asked me that,” you say slowly, fighting to push the words out through the red haze of rage, “twice now. And you asked what my plans were yesterday. And the answer is always the same: wait in my rooms for you to call, because I am a painting of a woman waiting for you to walk in and criticize my form and decide that I am satisfactory.”

“I didn’t—” he says, and for a moment you become a fairytale heroine instead of a scorned princess, sitting on the floor looking up at him with despondent eyes that betray your desire to be loved. “This is what we are,” he decides finally, expression no longer concerned. “I think perhaps you need some rest.”

“You cannot be serious,” you seethe, pushing yourself to your feet. One of the guards puts a hand on you, ready to restrain you.

Tooru turns, his back facing you. He glances back as he exits, tone bored, eyes cold.

“Do not worry yourself,” he tells you, “I still find you satisfactory.”

You lunge after him, but two strong hands clamp down on your arms, hauling you back. You writhe and kick, but when you look up at your guard, his face is impassive, his eyes distant.

“I hate you,” you snarl, and watch as his eyes flicker down to your face. Seeing you. “I hate you,” you say again, but it sounds much more like a sob.

You can’t sleep that night.

The moon is full, high and bright, and every time you close your eyes, you see visions of your future. A glorified concubine, living in an expensive sanitarium, surely to be driven to insanity before your husband can ascend the throne.

You sit up, wild-eyed, and throw your door open with more force than you realize.

“Princess,” says your guard, startled.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your heart thrumming in your chest. “Hajime, please, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t let you out of your quarters,” Iwaizumi Hajime, head of your security detail, says.

“I don’t want—” you start, and he gives you a knowing look. “I know. Please just come and—talk with me. A little.”

He sighs, deeply, a rush of wind through cypress trees, and follows you into your room.

“Sit,” you order him, and the moonlight affords you the ability to see his green eyes flash with panic. “I am your future queen. Sit.”

He sits, trying to maintain his stern, professional face, even as you peel his helmet off and run your hands through his flattened hair.

“You lied to me,” you hum, and he jerks under your touch, façade breaking. “You told me Tooru never shut up.”

“I knew him a long time ago,” says Hajime. One of the few who had come with you to Kyoto, he had been raised here and come to your father’s court as a youth to learn to fight. “He’s not—he’s stubborn. He’ll soften eventually.”

“I don’t care,” you say bitterly. “Why did you hold me back?”

“He’s the prince,” Hajime says, his voice rasping with exasperation.

“I am the princess,” you say, and his lips press together into a straight line.

“My princess,” he murmurs. Hajime has always run warm, much more suited for Kyoto’s climate than your hometown’s. When he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, you can feel his body heat through his armor.

“You let him say horrible things to me,” you say. His hold on you tightens.

“He is my oldest friend.”

“I am your—” you sigh heavily, pushing away from him, looking out at the moon. “I am nothing to you. I will live, though I am ungrateful. Many would say I am the luckiest woman in all the land.” The air is very cold without his touch.

“You are not nothing to me,” Hajime says, and you smile wistfully at his selective hearing.

“At least I am satisfactory.” You don’t see what happens, but Hajime’s helmet clatters loudly on the floor a moment later. “What—”

“He is my oldest friend,” he repeats himself, but his voice is low, so deep in his chest you can barely hear him. It does not matter; you can feel his words. “I wanted to kill him.”

Your lips part on a silent gasp, and he leans in close, so close that you can nearly taste him. You’ve always loved the way he smells, something base that relaxes you instantly. You haven’t been this close to him since you left home.

“He’s the Emperor,” he continues, “I can’t hurt him. I held us back.”

“Us?” You ask, his fingers suddenly tightly intertwined with yours.

“Ask me to help you leave,” he says, and you shut your eyes against his gaze, frightening and familiar all at once. “Ask me to take you away from here. I had—I have plans, and you will not be happy with him, Princess. You will be more than satisfactory, satisfied—you will be loved.”

Something knotted tightly unspools in you, red threads laying themselves out in perfect lines. You duck your head and nod against his shoulder, face rubbing against the metal of his armor.

You aren’t likely to succeed, you know, no matter how thoroughly Hajime has planned. Your fiancé will look for you: a stubborn man, like he had said. You do not know if his disdain for you or his love for Hajime will protect you. You could both die.

“Take me away,” you say, voice ringing out like a queen’s.

The moon, at its fullest cycle, chases its estranged wife into the day. The crown prince wakes without his betrothed. The world only spins forward.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I request this. A dancer reader with pokemon scarlet and violet. Reader has meloetta, oricorio, scream tail, primarinna, hoopa and toxtricity.

If you want the lore on this reader. They are a singer whose family was said to be the descendants of a siren.

This reader has never caught a pokemon with a pokeball. The pokemon that join reader just travel with them. This reader uses sign language or writing to communicate as their voice is dangerous as it can charm anyone ho hears it if they aren't related to reader from their dad's side.

Reader went to this school was near to her mom's childhood home.

Meloetta and Primarinna (who ia an alpha pokemon) were able snap people out of Reader's voice and joined reader so they don't hurt anyone with their voice.

Toxtricity is protects reader from being kidnapped and overprotective and is resistant to their voice because punk rock.

Hoopa follows reader as reader is interesting.

Scream tail was a pokemon her grandma asked to protect reader.

As a dancer, you've made quite a name for yourself in the Paldea region--almost rivalling celebrities like Ryme and Iono.

People everywhere find your performances stellar, especially when your Pokémon provided backup dancing and singing.

A year prior to the Treasure Hunt, you did a show for the Festival of Masks in Kitakami, telling a moving story about the "Loyal Three" and Ogerpon.

Ofc you regretted it after learning that was a false narrative.

Speaking of your team, it was quite peculiar...consisting of an Alpha 'mon with menacing red eyes, two mythicals, an Ancient Paradox 'mon that somehow got out of the crater, and a perfectly normal Toxtricity and Oricorio.

However, you don't speak much, preferring sign language and/or writing as ways of communication..and your friends wondered why...

Although after becoming close with Arven, Penny, and Nemona (and eventually Carmine and Kieran), you wrote them all messages detailing your past.

You're a descendant of sirens, appearing entirely human yet having the alluring voice of one.

You basically know Hypnosis..but it wasn't something you were proud of, because you've charmed people into following your voice, and...it almost always ended badly.

Unfortunately, that made you a prime target in several kidnappings from evil organizations in other regions.

They falsely believed your family could somehow learn Pokémon moves and became obsessed with harnessing that same power..even though it had nothing to do with Pokémon at all.

Since moving to Paldea, it's become your safe haven, especially since your mom's childhood home was here and you could retreat to it whenever you wished.

After your grandma gave you Scream Tail to accompany you during your many journeys, the rest of your team sorta formed itself.

You never believed in using pokeballs, and thus they followed you wherever you went (ofc as long as it was allowed).

Oricorio was always perched on your shoulder to scout out high places and be your number 1 cheerleader (in the case of the pom-pom variant).

Amped!Toxtricity became your bodyguard and a friend you could rely on after learning its Punk Rock ability made it quite resistant to your voice. So you'd make small talk with it, although you still don't say too much.

It's ready to throw hands wherever and whenever you're being bothered--by students, staff, and tourists alike.

Alpha!Primarinna was a lass you discovered at the Wistful Fields one summer day, having come a long way from Hisui (like Bloodmoon Ursaluna).

Normally Alphas are belligerent, but she felt a sudden connection to you and obeyed you right on the spot. A giant and loyal protector.

Hoopa travelled through space and time to meet you, finding you quite interesting...and grinned deviously after you managed to win its prison bottle at an auction.

It almost caused chaos at the mart, tricking you into opening it, but even you were able to tame its Unbound form and convince it to become Confined again.

Finally, Meloetta was lured to one of your performances and provided beautiful backup vocals, and ever since then you two have done many duos as dancer/singer.

Her and Primarinna are the only ones who can snap people out of your spells. They know you hate to hurt others but sometimes humans just push your buttons and...well...next thing you know, the two ladies are scrambling to save them from walking through hostile territory to greet you.

Fortunately, those events happen rarely now and you've been able to form meaningful friendships.

Since nobody in your team is stuck in a pokeball, they usually hang out at your mom's childhood home or in your dorm--but Toxtricity and Oricorio insist on being with you in-class.

As far as everyone's reactions go...

.......

Nemona is PSYCHED to see you have a team specifically themed around music and song (except for Hoopa, although it knows Throat Chop yet seldom uses it), always wanting to battle them.

Also converses with you in sign language. I hc she learned it so she could communicate with deaf/HOH trainers so they can battle with her, too, free of judgement.

Penny is both impressed and terrified tbh--especially with the Alpha who has looks that could kill if it weren't for your unique connection with the giant water/fairy. But her Sylveon gets along with Primarinna surprisingly well.

Arven almost didn't believe you were a descendant of sirens until he witnessed you hypnotize a substitute who thought you weren't answering their question..nearly falling into the trance himself until Meloetta showed up.

He's never doubted your power since.

Carmine did tease you in the beginning for being even quieter than her little brother, but felt guilty after reading your letter...wanting to learn sign language herself to own up to her mistakes.

Kieran saw your performance at the festival and couldn't believe you returned to Kitakami as a student, wanting to challenge him to a battle.

You? A celebrity? Against him????

But after the ordeal with Ogerpon, he felt betrayed by his two biggest idols...and so your letter went unread, although it remained in his bag and he finally looked at it post-Indigo Disk.

He showed up to your dorm at BB Academy that same day, a bagful of candy apples and berries as another apology.

Least to say, your team adored the treats.

Even Toxtricity--who genuinely thought he was being an annoying brat this entire time--finally softened up around him.

[andypantsx3]

ANDY U CANT LEAVE US HANGING I NEED MORE DRAGON SHOUTO?,!?.!. please… i think ill die if u dont elaborate WHAT DO U MEAN WE’RE FACE TO FACE WITH HIM… what does he say… what does he DO… i need to know more omfg

Riffing off of @mhathotfic's tags on my original post, which I absolutely loved.

It happens on a cold January evening, just a few months after you've reached your majority.

You escape out into the frosty winter evening to join Shouto, unable to bear your family's increasingly-regular discussions of your marriageability now that you're of age.

Once you dragged home a dragon fledgling, you'd always sort of imagined that the question of your eligibility would be somewhat moot. Not many men wanted a wife who came with little dowry, and even fewer might want one who came with an enormous fire-breathing lizard who barely let her out of his sight.

You thought Shouto would sooner burn down your husband's house than listen to any sounds of discomfort on your wedding night—you didn't think many men would be willing to consummate a union with that threat lingering just beyond the window.

Not that you wanted to be married to any of the village men. Ever since you were little, you'd always had this feeling—a feeling like there was someone out there for you, just out of reach, like they were just a step beyond the next corner. Close, but somehow impossible to catch. So you'd never wanted a husband from the village, and you certainly don't now.

So once the discussion turns towards the topic of your being married yet again over dinner, you excuse yourself, and go out into the night to find Shouto, who is never more than a few hundred meters away.

You find his enormous form easily, his red-and-white patterned scales glittering in the light of a fire he's set, out in the fields you'd found him in as a child, as if he'd somehow anticipated you'd be coming out to him.

He cracks open a fiery blue eye, watching your approach, and lifts a wing as you near him, crowding you between the fire and his warm scales, creating a sort of tent with his wing to keep the heat in, and keep you close to him.

You absently pat his side, sinking down against him, sticking your hands out to the fire.

"They're talking about husbands again," you say, and Shouto cranes his neck around so that he can rest his head across your lap, nearly as large as you are, heavy and warm. You reach out to rest a hand across his snout, petting the glittering scarlet scales there.

You've always known he can understand you, given his reactions to the questions you ask, the way he sometimes watches you with knowing eyes. But how much of what you say to him he truly understands will forever be a mystery, as you'll never be able to ask him.

You think he understands enough, though, to know you're displeased.

"A husband," you repeat in disbelief, scratching over his scales again, listening to the rumble that builds up in his chest almost like a purr. He always likes to be petted, though you get an intentionally blank look from him whenever you dare to bring it up, as though he does not like to be made fun of.

"When they should know you're the only boy for me," you tell him, teasing.

Shouto's eye blinks open again, and you lean back to watch him watching you, something curious in his gaze. You begin to recognize the look for what it usually is—the precedent to some type of mischief—whether that be digging up a garden when he was still the size of a particularly fat cat, to accidentally setting a man's pant leg ablaze when he'd whistled after you, the evening of your sixteenth birthday.

You make a curious noise, and you're just about to ask him what he thinks he's up to when there's a crackle like lightning, and the hot, burning scent of ozone reaches your nose.

There's suddenly a rush of cold air over you, Shouto's massive form gone from around you, and the weight in your lap is suddenly much smaller and lighter.

When you look down, Shouto's head is no longer across your legs. Instead, your gaze meets the perfect pale skin of a very strong, very naked back. You realize belatedly that there is a stranger in your lap, a man with a mop of red-and-white hair, scarlet and snow, who has one warm, muscular arm curled around your waist.

You let out a scream, scrabbling backwards, but the stranger's arm locks around you, and the man's face tips up to yours, blinking curiously.

You freeze, your gaze meeting eerily familiar grey-and-blue eyes, set into the most utterly perfect face you have ever seen. The man's features are careful and exact, the slope of his nose blade-straight, his jawline strong, his mouth pretty and plush and weirdly captivating in the flickering firelight. You cannot help but feel you know him, though you are incredibly certain you have never seen him before.

There would be no forgetting a man as beautiful as this.

"Who the hell are you?" you demand, shock rendering you frozen and dumb.

The man blinks, slow and catlike and so hauntingly recognizable. His eyebrows scrunch, as though something's confused him, and then he speaks, slowly and carefully, as if he's just getting a feel for the shape of words in his mouth.

"I am...Shouto," he says, his voice so deep and smooth. It reminds you so much of the deep, rumbling purr Shouto had just been letting out moments ago—your mouth drops open, disbelieving.

"You're Shouto?" you echo, thrown. Though you're beginning to realize that this devastatingly handsome, distractingly naked man is horribly familiar in hundreds of different ways—from the timbre of his voice to his eyes to his hair to the way his arm suddenly curls even more possessively about your waist, the way Shouto's tail sometimes does to keep you pressed close to him.

And with Shouto the dragon suddenly gone...

"You're my dragon? My Shouto?" you demand.

The man blinks, shifting in your lap so that's he's fully turned towards you. He props up on one hand, his face drawing alarmingly close as his other arm presses you into him. He looks very much as if he likes the sound of that.

"Yes, your Shouto," he purrs, pupils going darker. Your heartbeat suddenly kicks back to life in your chest, stuttering and tripping over itself as his large, hot palm presses proprietarily at the small of your back, as he leans in to bring his mouth close to yours.

"And you..." he says, his tone going rich and smoky and dark, like dragon fire. "You have always been mine."

[agatharkn3ss]

Black Heart (spoilers)

I love the reveal that Teen/Billy/William is the "black heart" name. It just makes SO MUCH SENSE.

There are so many consequences of that, I'm only starting to process this, but here are my initial musings.

The Coven List

For one, Lilia drawing black heart on the list was finally explained - it was not because she ran out of time or anything - it was because she literally didn't know the name as her own sigil redacted it.

I expect this is Lilia sending the list of names from the future, after the sigil is broken, but the past Lilia could not decipher it because the sigil was still in place in her time.

But I wonder if they will ever explain how the coven names were actually put together in the first place? Is it somehow influenced by the fact that when Lilia first saw Billy Kaplan's hand, she might have seen every witch he came across in the near future and so that's what she concluded the coven shall be?

Will we see the reason why Lilia put the sigil on him? Because just hiding him from Agatha doesn't make sense, since she clocked him straight away. I thought it could be to protect his identity from Salem Seven (who hated Scarlet Witch as the Harbinger of Chaos)? But the sigil is destroyed now, so would it make sense?

So maybe he needs protection from Death? Maybe not now, but at the time of the accident? The sigil was the one thing that HELPED Billy Maximoff enter Kaplan's body because it had no known identity? And that's why Death couldn't find him to reap the soul/body in time?

2. Summoning the Road

He wasn't in the basement during the summoning and he didn't sing though. He was very much preoccupied with Salem Seven. We could presume that just his proximity caused that "magical spark" that Agatha spoke about... But then in one of the promos, there is a scene where we see Billy alone standing inside the blue pentacle. I am very intrigued by when exactly this happens - if in the past, then my theory is that his first Road attempt was what triggered Agnes' O'Connor persona. But if it happens in the future from now, then maybe this is him realising he needs to add his element to the summoning moment and send it in time. Though this seems quite a convoluted way. Maybe, if this is a future scene, this is instead him trying to open the door to exit Road. OR even - he managed to get out of the Road but Agatha is still trapped in there so he summons the gate for her to get out?

3. Is he aware?

Did Billy know he was the Black Heart? Lilia finally tells them the fourth "name" in Agatha's living room. But did he catch it? We never see his reaction when Lilia says it was a black heart. But Billy knew his abilities and must have thought of himself as a witch and not a familiar. Could a familiar even get any "prize" from the Road if only the witches were tested? He always seemed to hate whenever the witches referred to him as pet or familiar. He also wears this black stud in his ear, which is more of a triangle, but could be interpreted as black heart and that's why Eddie calls him that - so it must be a known nickname to Billy.

Because if he knew, then he purposely let Agatha bring Sharon into this, knowing it wasn't right. Would the sigil prevent him from telling them it was him? Would he even care at this point or tried to interfere with Sharon's mind? But then again, I don't think he's nowhere near as quick-witted as Agatha, so perhaps he didn't know to start with.

Sidenote: it would be interesting to see how well he can read other witches' minds. It seems to happen when other people are stressed. And not just the people he cares about, because he was able to read Ralph too. I don't think he can read Agatha's - even Wanda wasn't able to do that. But what about others?

4. The Trials

So after all that, Billy is a full witch member of the coven and it's Sharon who's the familiar. He's not the Earth element, but his powers are so vast, that he doesn't need to be. We almost have two Spirit elements? I think we will still get "Earth" trial though, but it will be Billy's - after all it is in a morgue and Agatha has her hands on his head - trying to find Tommy? Unlock some memories?

It's interesting that the first trial depended on the size of the group. There were exactly 5 glasses around the wine and the solution to the challenge was the blood of the un-poisoned. So technically, Sharon didn't have to drink, because she wasn't meant to be tested - Billy was. The group was very adamant that the whole coven had to drink and forced Agatha to do it, but it seems that maybe she really didn't need to after all? And Billy didn't seem to experience any nightmares because of it, even though he should have.

We knew this already, but clearly Sharon wasn't at all equipped to deal with the trial. What if she was so distressed by the trial, maybe still hallucinating her Wanda nightmare, that Billy heard it in her head, felt guilty that it should've been him, and tried to help/interfere? She did have her eyes open in the end, even though when they carried her into the oven she was out of it.

Because Agatha did notice something on Sharon's body. Was it her blue eyes, somehow vaguely similar to Lilia and Jen's eyes when Billy controlled them? (Not saying Billy killed Sharon, at least not intentionally. She was probably already dying and there was nothing anyone could do and so he eased her pain?)

5. Rio

So many questions! It does not seem coincidental that Rio specifically mentions having a black heart to Agatha. It could be entirely plausible that Rio was just being Rio and just wanted her feelings known? But what if she was intentionally misleading Agatha? Why? And how could she have already known about Billy and Lilia's list? Or could it be a play on words? Allusion to Billy as the "black heart" who seems connected to Agatha?

She wasn't at all surprised by Billy breaking in, and while he was searching for the locket, she randomly asked Agatha if she was hiding any evidence. This could be a spell somehow twisting Agatha's perception of what Rio was actually saying, but it seems like she was actually there, with Agatha, sharing the spell experience. It also seems to be confirmed that Rio wasn't actually physically there.

So what if she's somehow connected to Billy because of his "near-death" (but really, "actual death") experience. So that now death is always near him? Does she think of him as a ghost? Did the sigil prevent her from reaping Kaplan's body? So she needs to do "her job", but feels "cheated" and wants to put things back in order? It will be interesting to see what she does now, that the sigil is destroyed. She certainly seem to be interested in him on the Witches Road. It could be that it was her who threw Billy into the sound booth window in the fire episode? (it would be funny if it was because Billy was trying to access her mind and she got angry). If she's connected to Billy, what about Tommy?

Can Death traverse time? Or is she somehow just linked with Lilia, because she's Fate? (you know, the inevitable Fate is that all roads eventually lead to Death) She seems to know what Lilia was about to say about Salem Seven when she woke up in ep.5. And Lilia saw her in her nightmare vision in episode 3. With Lilia predicting all those tragedies, she must have seen her fair share of deaths.

I must admit, I love this enigma. Now that Billy's puzzle has been revealed, the Wiccan fans have had their share of fun and we can fully shift attention to theorising about Rio and building hype around her - and that's even when we 99.999999% know who she is! I also love seeing Agatha being back to her delicious character, not holding back any more. This is why I started watching in the first place, so I'm very excited for what's to come.

[fortunekookie07]

Before you start reading this one, I'd just like you to know that Chryssikyu is 100% responsible for this one. All it took was one thought and I had to write something. Also I'm not capable of writing smut, it's beyond my capabilities. This is as far as I can go. So sorry. Without further ado I present to you

Call Me

You huff looking down at your phone for what feels like the hundredth time that day. Rafayel has once again ignored your phone calls. Answered text messages? Keep dreaming!

This is the same man who got super pissy and dramatic when you didn't answer his call right away. It was always something like, "I guess I'm not important enough for you to take my calls." Or something of the like. Yet somehow, you managed to find his dramatic pouty self adorable.

Today, though? Not so much, you were sorely tempted to let a cat lose in his studio for not taking your calls all afternoon. He'd know it was you, though. You were the only one he'd admitted to of his extreme dislike (read fear) of the furry creature. Revenge would be had. Thus, you just didn't have the heart.

After another hour and still no response, you decided to pay him a visit. So you take the twenty minute trip over to his private art studio/home.

Walking up the path, you see nothing out of the ordinary, the same plants and pathway as always. Just as you reach the door, you hear music. You pause, Rafayel certainly liked music. He'd recommend some artists to you before. It's just that he'd never played any in his studio before. It was usually quiet. That was how he preferred it.

Hesitantly, you turn the knob slowly and carefully so as not to make a sound. Thank god Rafayel had regular maintenance done on his doors. They never squeaked or creaked. He detested that sound.

You remove your shoes and leave them in the doorway. Something just telling you not to make any sounds. Carefully searching the downstairs studio reveals that he's not here, but the further you venture in the louder, the music is.

You realize you hear two voices, one coming from a female and the other, definitely male. You freeze, oh my god, is Rafayel singing?!? The male voice is amazing. You've never heard anything like it, so you keep going almost as if his voice is luring you in.

At the top of the stairs, the living room is situated, a wide space. Rafayel had personally designed the room, and it reflected him greatly. The huge wall to the back was his own painting of the sea. One of his greatest works. Sadly, not many would ever see it. He rarely had company over, and even fewer of them were invited up to his living quarters upstairs. You were one of two people to be given that privilege.

This wasn't the most amazing thing, though. There, in front of the large sofa, was Rafayel singing and dancing using his paintbrush as a microphone. He was completely oblivious to your presence.

You quickly took out your phone and snapped a few photos before recording. The song ended then, and he turned around, seeing you holding your phone and trying not to laugh.

His ears instantly went red as a scarlet blush bloomed across his face. "How long have you been standing there? It's rude not to announce your presence." He partially covered his face, his eyes darting away. Then he saw that you were holding your phone camera pointed at him. "Are, are you recoding me?!?!?" He asked Incredulously his blush, deepening as he made to grab your phone.

"Delete it!" He swiped for the sleek device, but you managed to dodge his frantic hands. "Nope! This is all mine now. " You wagged the phone in his face before stuffing it down your shirt. Rafayel would never be so bold to get it now. You poked his cheeks, and he swiped at you again.

"Do that again, and I'll spit bubbles at you." He said, rubbing his face and trying to hide his red face. "What have you been doing? I've been trying to call you all day." You put your hands on your hips and raise a brow.

"I was trying to get inspiration and then decided to listen to some music. You know the rest." He crossed his arms and turned away from you in a humph motion. Still embaressed at having been caught.

When you asked what song and he gave the title, you frowned. "That song is like twenty years old. Why are you listening to that?" You'd heard the song before, just not in a long time. "It came in the station I was listening to." He defended.

"Next time, don't ignore my calls. Did you forget you wanted me to go with you to buy supplies for your painting?" Rafayel's face brightened, and his eyes were almost twinkling. You thought you had him until realization hit him.

"Hand over your phone first. You took pictures. If they aren't perfect, I'll delete them." He held his hand out expectantly.

"Nope! These are all mine." You grinned at the pout on his face, certain he would not venture to get it. You were about to find out how wrong you were

He reached towards you going for your shirt. Swatting his hands away, you "No touchy!" He only grinned in response. "Oh, I'm going to touch alright." The wicked glint in his eyes sent your heart racing. "Rafayel!" You say in warning backing up. The only escape is the stairs behind you.

You turn to dash down them to another room below. We'll that was your intention anyways. Right behind you is that blue fish. You stop short. That was all the time he needed. His arms snake around, you pulling you into his firm chest and holding you tight.

One of his hands plays with the bottom of your shirt, his fingers tapping your bare stomach underneath. His head burries into your shoulder, and he whispers your name against the bare skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. A groan escapes your lips.

"I've got you now." He says, and you feel his grin before he is kissing your neck and making you squirm. You through your head back and sigh, leaving your mouth at his attention. His fingers are drawing patterns lightly on your stomach, and shivers shoot down your spine.

"This will end if you give me the phone." His voice is low and husky against your neck. "No-o." Your rebuttal is more of a moan at this point. Your brain is hazy as Rafayel starts on your buttons. The first one comes open with a pop, and his fingers are quick to trace more patterns on your stomach.

"Are you going to give me your phone?" He asks, nibbling on your ear. "Ahhhn," is all you manage to get out. The second button is popped, his fingers part your shirt, and the cool air makes you shiver against his heat. "How about now?" You manage to shake your head. The third button is undone. His fingers are just below your bra now. "Rafa...!" Your voice is breathless as he takes the last three buttons in one go.

His seeking fingers quickly pull your shirt open, exposing your chest and the stashed phone. "I'm taking it now." His voice is low and husky as he nips your ear again. His hands slide up your sides slowly. He's definitely teasing you now.

With your mind in a daze, you try to grab your phone, but his nimble fingers are faster. He grabs your wrist and then laces your fingers together. He kisses each of your fingers and the back of your hand before turning your head towards him and pinning you with a piercing stare.

Rafayel's blue-pink eyes are so heated and deep, you're about to fall in. Like you are looking at a quietly raging sea. He slowly leans in, dragging the moment out, and you let out an impatient whine. With your free hand, you wrap it around the back of his neck and draw him in closer. He brings your joined hands down lower, wrapping them around your waist and drawing you closer back. And then finally, finally, his lips press against yours.

You're so lost in his kiss that you don't even notice him delicately drawing your phone out of its hiding place in your bra and slipping it into his pants pocket. He lets go of your arm and then turns you around before hooking his hands around your knees and hoisting you up to his height. Your legs go around his waist, and then he's kissing you again as he walks to his bedroom.

****************************************************

As you lay in the bed with only a thin sheet covering you and Rafayel's arm for a pillow, you finally remember what started all this. "My phone! Rafayel, where is my phone?" He hums not fully paying attention. Just laying beside you with his eyes closed. You pink his arm as you sit up. "You stole my phone!" You can't even be mad at him. You fell for his distraction.

Sitting up, you look around the room for clothes. Spying his black pants, you leap off the bed and dash over to it. Sure enough, your phone is in his pocket. As fast as you can, you email a copy of the video you took and the pictures to yourself before looking at him triumphantly.

He's just sitting up resting an elbow on his knee, supporting his head with his hand, watching you. "Do you want a picture of me so badly?" He asks in a provoking tone. Deciding that you've had enough of his games, you walk over and grab his face with both hands. "I prefer the real thing." You say stealing a kiss before slipping away again.

"I've got to go now, I have a mission. I'll be gone for a few days. Don't forget to call me this time!" You hurriedly dress yourself and turn to leave the bedroom before he's grabbing your arm and pulling you back. "Come straight here when you're done." He says a serious look in his eyes. "I miss you when you're gone." You turn and hug him. "I'm just a phone call away." You kiss him again and then head out the door.

[sufferu]

So I’ve been working here and there on bits and pieces of a reaction fic of my own, and here’s a bit of a ficlet that kinda shows what I’m going for lol.

Reaction Fic Excerpt: A Stroll Through The Capital

____

“This is it! This is my chance!“

In the present moment, Subaru’s face turned scarlet.

Julius snorted loudly, quickly moving to cover his mouth with his hand as Subaru’s antics quickly escalated onscreen. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I just— forgot about that part of what you are like.”

“Shut up,” Subaru muttered.

Ferris was making no such effort to hide his mad cackling. “I didn’t forget!” he crowed. “Aw, this is gonnya be so much fun. I’m nyever letting nya live ANY of this down—“

“Shut uuup—“

Ferris was having fun teasing him. Many of the more naïve members of the audience were giggling right alongside him — but on the other side of the theater, Wilhelm had a darker look on his face.

Beside him, Rem was sporting a similar expression. “Wilhelm-san, is it?” she said quietly.

“That is correct,” Wilhelm said, not unkindly. “How may this old man be of service?”

“That boy…” she chewed her lip. “He got dragged into an entirely different world,” she clarified. “Without his knowledge and against his will. He was left entirely alone on the streets of a strange city where he did not know the language, with no understanding of the world around him, no means by which to defend or provide for himself, and with nobody willing to help a stranger like him out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“That…is correct.”

Rem didn’t say anything more. She didn’t need to: Wilhelm had already come to the same conclusion as her — as had most other individuals throughout the theater, if the looks on all of their faces was any indication. Even Ferris had a subtle air to his movements that hinted at his teasing being more of an attempt at a distraction from that horrifying revelation than a genuine source of amusement — though perhaps it was both.

Emilia was not one of those individuals. Neither were Beatrice or Garfiel, both of whom she was attempting to shush. “It’s reeally not nice to laugh,” she scolded. “Subaru didn’t even want us watching any of this, so be nice. And we promised not to make fun of him for anything embarrassing we see here, remember?”

“Subaru makes it difficult not to laugh, I suppose,” Betty giggled.

“N-Nah,” Garfiel sucked in a breath, his mouth twitching. “Princess’ got a point,” he agreed. “This is already — kinda private. My amazing self wouldn’t want anyone laughing at my memories either, no matter how embarrassing. Captain deserves — at least a little grace —“

Everyone watched as onscreen Subaru was gently shoved away from a demihuman-only bar, somehow tripping over his own two feet and falling over the railing and into the river of the Capital.

Garfiel burst out laughing all over again. This time Emilia gave up on trying to make him stop.

“Is this really how it was supposed to be?” The Subaru onscreen muttered to himself, sitting in an alley, absolutely drenched. “Wasn’t I summoned into a parallel world?!”

Anastasia watched with interest as Subaru rifled through his things, grumbling. “That’s the metia you used to find the White Whale, ain’t it?” she pointed out, eyes flashing greedily. “How did that work if it was from another world? Did ya have a bunch of mabeasts there, too?”

Subaru shifted nervously, embarrassment being taken over by something resembling unease. “N-Not exactly,” he admitted.

“Hmm…” Anastasia watched the caged Subaru for a moment longer before turning back to the screen.

“The truth is,” onscreen Subaru was saying, “I have no idea what to do next, and I still have no idea how or why I was summoned. I don’t remember stepping into a mirror or falling in a pond —“

“Wait, so.” Julius frowned. Oddly enough, he seemed to be relaxing at the sound of this statement. “Is this sort of occurrence normal, then? For castaways from beyond the Great Waterfall.”

“…N-No,” Subaru admitted, his face burning. “I kinda just — i-it was a popular book trope back home, so…” He hunched in further on himself. “I just assumed things were like that?”

“Oh.” Julius looked uncomfortable all over again, perhaps even moreso now than before. “I see.”

“— and if I’m to believe this is the otherworldly summoning format I’m used to, where is the beautiful girl who summoned me?”

Julius choked, hastily coughing into his fist. Everyone else had no such restraint. The room burst into laughter once again.

“I think I knyow what kinds of stories Subaru-kyun likes to read!” Ferris teased.

“Can it!” Subaru retorted, face almost as red as Reinhard’s hair.

“You know,” Julius attempted to soothe, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I do have a number of romance novels in my collection. If you would like to borrow—“

Subaru buried his face in his knees and screamed, the sound muffled.

[orqheuss]

Insatiable Gravity (Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/F!Reader SMUT)

Summary:

You tried to shove your way through their body blockade, annoyance seeping into your words. “What is this nonsense all about? No one’s sleeping on the floor, don’t be daft.” Seeing that their embarrassed stumblings were getting them nowhere, the Slytherin’s hung their heads and stepped aside so you could get through. Seeing the full extent of the room now, you were able to understand their trepidation. “Oh…” There was only one bed. *** When it rains, it pours, and when you and your two Slytherin boys get trapped in a downpour far away from the castle, your only hope at salvation is the little inn down the road. The problem, though? They only have one room available for the night, and the room only has one bed.

Word Count: 8k

Is this a shamelessly self indulgent piece where i let my mind go absolutely feral and write every conceived notion i had about the boys' physical appearance into existence? yes. yes it is. Enjoy.

Rain poured from the sky in thick sheets of water, coating every inch of the small muggle town the trio of students ventured to earlier in the day. The three of you found yourselves stuck under a shop awning, huddled away from the freezing cold droplets, scowls decorating each of your faces like the world had slighted you. The night cast an eerily blue opaqueness on the buildings, the only bits of color spawning from the illuminated windows of the cottages lining the streets. It had been Sebastian’s idea to travel to the muggle village in search for some possible remedies for his sister's curse; he had read something about herbal medicine in one of the many tombs littering the Hogwarts library. In your long search for a cure the sun had quickly set across the horizon, casting a slight glimmer of stars across the sky and bringing forth an onslaught of ink black cumulonimbus clouds and a diamond toned shower. The students knew that they would be stuck there until they were able to apparate away in the morning— it was forbidden to use magic where it could be possibly spotted by one of the muggles milling about. 

You cast your eyes to the boys next to you, taking in their forms against the pounding rain. Sebastian’s hair was slicked back for once, the tresses sopping wet like a sponge and curling slightly at the ends. He had pushed it back once you got out of the downpour, leaving his eyes to be on full display, shining even brighter under the low lamplight. His clothing fared just as well— cloak hanging off his shoulders like a heavily weighted blanket and his white button down near translucent under his green corduroy suit jacket. You felt color creep up your neck and onto your cheeks at the sight of his broad chest peaking through the slits of cloth. It was no secret that the brunette was attractive, many of the girls in your year had made that fact explicitly clear. There was an air about him that drew people in, a moth to a flame in his own way. He was the charismatic, mischievous type that somehow would become your fathers best friend. You can’t help the soft look that takes over your features; a small smile tweaks at the corners of your lips as you admired him in all his glory. His hand was resting on his head, his palm pressed against his hair and pushing back the curls so he could see through the inclement weather. As if feeling your gaze, he turns in your direction and the pools of amber that melt in his irises meet yours for a moment. Caught in the act, you quickly looked away and stared hotly at the stone floor below, your cheeks flowing a startling scarlet out of embarrassment. He snorted at your obvious admiration, turning away to look outwards into the storm once again with a toothy grin pulling at his mouth, his cheeks coloring his own shade of a light rosy hue. 

Risking a glance yet again, you look up through your eyelashes at the second boy, drinking in the form of a disheveled Ominis Gaunt. The normally prim and proper Slytherin looked quite similar to a drowned rat as of late, but much to your chagrin it somehow still suited him. His normally quiffed hair fell across his forehead, significantly longer than you had imagined, and cascaded into his eyes like a blond waterfall. The orange lights that lined the streets glowed in his eyes like brilliant little fires, blazing against his cornflower shaded irises and catching the streaks of lavender lightning that zigzagged in them. Even in the cloudburst that threw itself against the pavement, he still had an air of regality about him— the type of boy your parents hoped you’d marry one day. He oozed old money, from the intricate chained decals that clipped his cloak together to his silver snake cufflinks. The boy may not believe it— he was terribly modest— but he caught the female gaze just as much as the brunette he kept as close company. Your gaze locked on his taut shoulders, trailing from their curvature towards where his collarbones jutted out under his skin and created a lovely shelf atop his chest. The starry birthmarks that lined his body shone through his perfectly pressed shirt, also merely nothing more than a thin sheet thanks to the precipitation, and created a smooth trail down his fair skin from neck to wrist. You were stuck for a particularly long time on his biceps, the muscles that you very rarely saw straining against the satin fabric in a show of wry strength. He had shucked off his robe not long after the rain began, complaining of its weight, leaving him in just his button down and paisley embroidered forest green vest. You gulped deep in your throat, mouth suddenly very dry as you stared for longer than was deemed socially acceptable. The blond did not meet your gaze, unlike his counterpart, but you knew he could feel the heat of your ogling. Looking down once again, you could see a small smile turn the corners of his mouth and tips of his ears blush a soft rosacea out of the corner of your eye. 

You cleared your throat, casting your gaze back to the stout building across from you. The little inn’s windows were frosted over from the cold, the thick water droplets that raced down its panes leaving thin trails of clarity and light. Braziers lined the walls inside, glittering in the autumn night and flinging a radiant apricot-toned light along the puddles lining the streets. You shivered under your layers of drenched clothing, heavy vibrations wracking through your body and drawing the attention of the two boys flanking you once again.

You hesitantly spoke, teeth chattering and voice barely carrying itself into their ears because of the pounding rain. “We should turn in for the night— get out of the rain before we freeze solid. The inn looks like it still has some vacancies.” 

Sebastian made an unsure noise in the back of his throat, mouth stretching into a thin line. “I would prefer we just go back to the castle. It can’t be that far away, we made it by foot earlier.” 

Ominis spoke up from your other side, eyebrows knitted together in annoyance and tone scathing. “Are you the blind one, now? It’s pouring, you dolt. We wouldn’t be able to make it back if we tried, even in the daylight. Not to mention none of us know how to apparate yet, so we’d likely be stuck on bedrest for the next week sick as dogs.” He sighed heavily, milky blue eyes closing as he let his head fall backwards towards the roof. “I think the inn would be our best bet. Let’s just hope they’ll rent to us.” 

The brunette huffed to himself, arms crossing over his chest as he was out voted. The three of you steeled yourself to go back into the downpour, pulling your cloaks tightly around your bodies and hoods over your heads to try and avoid getting more wet. On the count of three, you all sprinted across the large courtyard separating your shelter from the inn. Ominis grabbed tightly onto your sleeve, letting you pull him along since he couldn’t use his location charm. The rain felt like tiny sharp stings against your cheeks; your cloak was unsuccessful keeping out the wet and the chill. 

Sebastian made it to the entrance first, throwing open the door with a loud bang and ushering the both of you indoors. The sudden temperature change once you crossed the threshold sent a shiver down your spine. A large ornate fireplace was tucked against the wall, swirling radiating heat throughout the whole bottom floor of the building and kissing your damp cheeks with a pleasant warmth. You were sure the three of you looked like a right sight— strange clothes hanging from your bones like you were draped in countless, very wet blankets, and dripping onto the wood floor below you. You tried to fix your appearance slightly, pushing your hair out of your eyes and attempting to straighten your top and skirt. The cloth stuck to your skin, making the task near impossible, and eventually you relented in your quest for proper etiquette. You pulled your cloak tighter against your body, shielding your surely see-through shirt from the ravenous eyes of the male hotel patrons. As if sensing your unease, Sebastian leveled his gaze into a glare and took a minute step in front of you, Ominis doing the same but to your rear. Shuffling like a conjoined unit, the three of you approached the front desk with a hope of sanctuary. 

The man in front of you was older, probably about the same age as Professor Weasley, and looked inviting enough to speak to. He smiled hesitantly at your trio, his eyes wracking up and down your sopping wet forms and taking everything you had to offer in. He spoke confidently, but with a question obviously lingering on the tip of his tongue. 

“How can I help you three?” 

Ominis took the lead, subtly shifting into his more prim and proper nature. “We would like to rent two rooms, please. We are traveling through and got caught in the rain; it would be unwise to continue on foot at this time.” 

The innkeep leveled a suspicious stare at the boy, letting his eyes roam from his milky, unseeing eyes to where his shoulder brushed against yours, then across your own form, sticking for a moment where your other shoulder touched Sebastian’s, and then finally up to the brunette’s stoic face. You certainly were an odd bunch. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. “How old are you lot?” 

Ominis straightened his shoulders, standing to his full height and twisting his face into one of the most serious expressions you had ever seen cross his visage. “Old enough to rent a room for one night, I would think. Now, are you going to let my wife, her brother, and I rest after a very long day, or shall we turn our business elsewhere?” 

You fought the blush that threatened to creep up your neck. His wife? Oh Merlin, you were in trouble. Of all the lies to tell, why that one? Of all ways to try and make you seem older…

To your left, Sebastian’s face contorted more into a scowl. 

The blond reached into his cloak and pulled out a small satchel, tossing it onto the countertop before the hotel owner. It jingled as it fell— copper money clinking together in a rich little symphony. 

“I assure you, our coin is good.” 

The man looked shocked, eyes now flickering between the tall boy and the bag of riches. You could see the cogs turning in his mind as he thought about the best course of action— he tended to speak more with his eyes, you noted to yourself. The thought of money seemed to outweigh his qualms about renting to three very obvious teenagers as he reached forwards and grabbed the tiny bag. 

“Only got one room available. Take it or leave it.” 

The two boys stiffened at your sides, their minds filling with similar images of the three of you huddled close together for warmth. You could tell Ominis was about to object, and as hesitant as you also were you knew that there wasn’t another inn for miles. You quickly jumped into the conversation, to hell with what was normally deemed proper. 

“We’ll take it, right boys?” 

Quite frankly, you didn’t really care if they didn’t agree with sharing a room with you. The sweet song of a warm bath called to you like a siren, and you wanted nothing more than to dive deep under the water and let it envelop you. 

Grumbling under their breath, they both nodded their heads. You reached your hand out, taking the key from the kind man and followed in his footsteps as he led you to the room. 

After thanking the kind man again, you could barely make it two steps into the cabin before running into the strong backs of Sebastian and Ominis. They both stood stone-still in the entryway, eyes locked on something in front of them like a doe under the watchful eye of a hunter. Your eyes could only just peek over their shoulders, and upon placing your hands on their forearms as you stood on the tips of your toes, you could feel the heated blush creeping up under their clothes. Your eyebrows crested together in confusion. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

You could only describe the atmosphere around you as awkward as both boys cleared their throats and began stuttering out various forms of explanations and decisions about…sleeping arrangements? 

“I-it’s nothing! Don’t worry about it, w-we can figure something out—”

“We can sleep on the floor, i-if that would make everyone more comfortable. It’s only proper that the lady g-get the bed—” 

Merlin, you’d never heard them so shaken before.

You tried to shove your way through their body blockade, annoyance seeping into your words. “What is this nonsense all about? No one’s sleeping on the floor, don’t be daft.” 

Seeing that their embarrassed stumblings were getting them nowhere, the Slytherin’s hung their heads and stepped aside so you could get through. Seeing the full extent of the room now, you were able to understand their trepidation. 

“Oh…”

There was only one bed. 

Ominis spoke up from your side, his hand rubbing at the back of his very red neck. “As I said, we can sleep on the floor if that would make you more comfortable…” His sentence trailed off at the end, nervous about your possible reactions. 

Sebastian nodded his head to your left before catching your eye, causing him to turn his face away and admire the painting on the wall like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. You caught sight of the intense rouge on his cheeks before he was able to hide it, though. 

You sighed to yourself, closing your eyes tightly and fighting off the blush that threatened to color you from the top of your chest to the tips of your ears. You willed away the unseemly images that swam in your mind at the thought of the three of you tangled together on the very small bed. It was barely enough room for two people, let alone three— you’d be pressed as close as possible for the whole night, warm bodies linked together like an intricate knot. Heat pooled in your stomach at the thought of being in the middle of both boys, one pressed against your backside and the other against your front like a tantalizing sandwich. 

You cleared your throat, your mouth suddenly incredibly dry as you schooled your expression into one of neutrality, praying that they couldn’t read your ulterior motives on your face. “I-I’m fine with sharing if you both are. We’re friends— friends can share a bed for a night.” 

You didn’t think it was possible for Ominis to get any more red; any darker and he would resemble a fresh tomato. 

Sebastian heaved a shaky sigh, like he was trying to expel all of the uncouth thoughts and sheer nerves from his system, and cleared his throat again, already turning towards the en-suite bathroom down the tightly packed hallway. 

“I’ll follow your lead. Now, I would like to take a bath and get out of these wet clothes if that’s alright with you.” 

Your reply bounced harmlessly against his retreating form. “O-Okay!” 

Mere moments later, the sound of running water reached your ears. 

The remaining two of the trio stood there in a statue-like pause, stewing in their own personal wet dream for a moment with an uneasy, awful silence. You’d given up trying to shut your mind up by this point, instead trying to adopt a laissez faire attitude about the whole thing and ignoring the ache between your legs that screamed to be taken care of. Merlin, you had never been this worked up before, even in the comfort and privacy of your own room. One measly setback and you’d transformed into a prepubescent school boy!

Ominis was the first to break himself out of his stupor, shuffling around on his feet and dropping his jaw open and closed like a dying fish as he searched for the right words to say. He breathed deeply through his nose, steadying himself before gesturing with his hand towards the rest of the room.

“After you.” Always the gentleman, that one. 

You nodded, whispering a quiet thanks before stepping out of the cramped entryway. The room was scarce, just a single full bed and a rug adorning the wood floor. Some paintings were hung on the wall to make it seem more homely, but the effect honestly just made it seem even smaller. You sat on the mattress, testing the feel under you and the softness of the sheets. They were slightly rough against your hands, but nothing that would deter you from sleep for the night. The bed barely gave way to your weight— the thing had to be made of stone with how hard it was. Maybe the floor would actually be better, you mused to yourself. 

The blond cleared his throat for the upteenth time that night, drawing your attention towards where he leaned against the opposite wall. There really wasn’t much room in the space, if you stretched your foot a little bit further you could touch his. He looked away again, feeling your eyes on his skin— the attention from you felt like a million tiny hot pokers. 

“You should get out of those clothes.” Color flooded his face again once he realized what he said. “I-I mean because your clothes are wet! You could catch a cold— oh Merlin, I am so sorry, that came out entirely wrong—” 

His sentence pittered out at the sound of your giggle. The blond let his shoulders relax slightly, grateful you weren’t offended by his blunder. You stood, beginning to peel layers of your clothes from your body and letting them fall to the floor with a wet plop. Sitting back on the bed, now sans your cloak, blazer, vest, tie, and tights, you smiled mischievously in the boy’s direction, lightly teasing him.

“My, Ominis, if you wanted my clothes off all you had to do was ask nicely.” 

The blond laughed heartily, pushing off the wall and striding the small distance towards the bed, sitting down next to you and crossing one of his legs under him. He fell easily back into the playful banter you’d adopted since your first unfortunate meeting outside the Undercroft. 

“You’d like that, you vixen.” 

This time, his teasing had a different effect than normal— the intimacy of the situation not lost on your subconscious in the slightest. The air around you felt fraught with tension; he was suddenly much closer to you than what was normally deemed appropriate. He seemed to sense this as well, and his body tensed under your watchful gaze. You had jokingly flirted before, both with him and with Sebastian, but this was incredibly different. It felt different. Your hands were nearly touching on the bed, your knees brushing against each other from the angle of your bodies. Ever so slightly, you slid your hand along the bedspread, grazing your pinky against his, listening to his breathing hitch at the shock of your cold skin against his. Not a single breath could be heard in the space, all the blood rushing to your head and your pupils dilating at the barely concealed look of what you could only describe as want in Ominis’ eyes. 

Gods, did he want this as much as you did? Need you as much as you needed him? 

His hand inched the rest of the way, sliding over the top of your fingers and gripping them between his much longer ones. Your breaths mingled in the space between you, the warmth brushing across your freezing cheeks and curling around your pounding heart— the organ could rocket out of your chest at any moment, and you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care; you just didn’t want him to move away. On the contrary, the opposite happened— Ominis began to move closer. His breathing stuttered in his chest, a soft shaky sigh falling from his open mouth when he felt you do the same.

He licked his lips, eyes half lidded in desire. “We shouldn’t… Sebastian is in the bathroom.” 

You shifted closer, resting your other hand on his knee. Your voice was nothing more than a breath in the wind. “Of course…it wouldn’t be right of us.” 

Your faces inched closer and closer together, noses nearly brushing at this point. The pulsing in your ears muted everything else in the room, not alerting you to the sound of water draining out of the bathtub. What was startlingly loud, though, was the creak of the bathroom door slowly swinging open and Sebastian stepping into the room. The both of you jumped apart like the idea of your skin touching burned you. You quickly stood from the bed, ignoring the very confused brunette who was standing there in only his undershirt and boxers, and nearly sprinted to the washroom, mumbling that you would be taking your turn in the hot water now. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, you threw your face into your hands, groaning as quietly as possible. Why did you do that? You’ve been in love with those two idiots for a year at least, and now you choose to do something about it? Good lord, why now, why you, why them? You wanted to kiss Ominis in that moment more than anything else in the world, it was like his lips were calling to you in the sweetest voice you had ever heard before— curse Sebastian and his terrible timing! You wanted to throw something at him— a chair, yourself, you weren’t picky. 

The thought of the other boy sent your heart into even more of a tissy, thinking back to how scantily clad he was when you ran like a bat out of hell past him. Merlin, his shoulders, his arms, his thighs. Don’t even get you started on that slutty little waist of his. You were burning inside with arousal at the mere thought of him leaning over you, his tanned, heavenly freckled arms caging your head in on either side. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

You quickly shed the rest of your clothes from your body, taking the time to fold your underwear and slip dress for later and placing them on the sink— everything else you kicked away into a pile next to Sebastian’s things. There was something so…domestic about your clothes mingled together on the floor. Stepping into the scalding hot water sent a lovely shock through your system, heating your freezing skin back to a normal temperature. The moan that left your throat was damn near sinful. You soaked in the water for a good while, letting the stress of the evening shed from you like the droplets of rain smacking against the windowpane. It was complete bliss, being alone with nothing but your thoughts and the sweet smell of the lavender soap that the inn provided. Your thoughts began to wonder again, thinking about what Ominis’ lips would have felt like against yours. They looked so incredibly soft, and you wondered if they would feel like kissing little tiny clouds— if they would be just as pillowy pressed against the rest of your skin. You closed your eyes and let your mind drift, allowing yourself the smallest bit of indulgence in your insatiable appetite. The picture behind your eyes shifted to Sebastian, how the rain ran down his neck, dripping down his pulse and pooling in the tiny dips of his collarbones under the translucent fabric of his collar. You wondered what the water would taste like on his skin. Would it be salty, like sweat? Mild, like rain normally was? Sweet, like the promise of more to come? You bit your lip against the small whine that threatened to leave your mouth, quickly pulling your hand away from where it began to bury in your naked core. No! You couldn’t do that right now, they were just outside the door! 

With the last little bit of self control you had left, you stood from your watery paradise and dried off with the towel hanging on the rack closest to you. You just had to get through this night, then you could go back to the castle and have as much solo fun as you wanted. 

The universe must have truly wanted you to die of embarrassment, because as soon as you left the sanctuary of the bathroom you ran into the scrumptiously sturdy chest of Ominis, causing him to grab you roughly by the hips so you didn’t go tumbling and press his entire body flush with yours. His heavy panting breaths were perfectly level with your ear at that angle, filling your mind once again with the tantalizing thoughts that you fought so hard to keep at bay. Your spine dug harshly into the door jam as you fell back from the velocity of the crash, your heart skipping a beat at the feeling of his fingers tightening against the silk of your shift and the look of intrigued confusion turning down his face at the unfamiliar feeling fabric. Merlin, his face was so close again. His hands glided up your waist, feeling each and every one of your curves like a ship captain charting out the stars, ever so lightly grazing the sides of your breasts before finding purchase on your bare shoulders. Only when his fingers dug deliciously into your skin and you gasped against him did he realize exactly how scantily clad you were. The blond made a noise very similar to a strangled kneazle and lept back, nearly crashing into the other side of the room. If eyes could speak, his would be screaming. Only now with him at arms distance did you notice the absolutely breathtaking pink that took over his entire face and neck, making his beauty marks stand out against his skin like brushstrokes by the finest painter in all the land. You shamelessly trailed your eyes down his chest again, watching it rise and fall from the sheer desperation of his lungs fighting to get air to his brain. Speaking of brains, your eyes made one last jump down to his trousers, finding the fabric pulled taut against his hips and silhouetting a quite lovely shape against his thigh— something you vaguely remember feeling against your own thigh moments ago. You swallowed the moan that threatened to tumble from your throat, your thighs clenching together slightly. You’d drop to your knees and pray at the church of him at that very second if you weren’t so damned shy. 

Ominis scrambled upright fully, dancing from foot to foot out of embarrassment before tripping into the bathroom, only turning slightly in the doorway to throw an apology in your direction. “Oh my— I just— I’m terribly sorry— I’m just going to— oh, Merlin—” 

The door closed with a slam, the lock twisting with a resounding click soon after. 

A dark-colored chuckle from your left drew your attention, twisting your neck towards the waiting Slytherin now man-spreading on the bed, a pillow pressed just so across his lap. The devilish smirk stretched further across Sebastian’s face at the barely concealed arousal that grew in your eyes. Your pupils flickered from his face down to the feather-down cushion, imagining the treasure that you could find underneath the layers of cotton and tuff. 

Somehow you were able to gulp against the Sahara Desert levels of dry that your mouth was at the current moment. 

The brunette patted the bed next to him invitingly, shifting slightly over out of courtesy as you stumbled over, your legs feeling like gelatin from a mix of the lust and exhaustion that mingled in your veins. His eyes never left yours as you sat, feeling him drink in the sight of you in nothing but your underclothes, dangerously dehydrated. 

“How was your bath?” He asked, a smugness you were very familiar with teasing knowingly in his voice. 

You giggled nervously, smoothing your hands down your thighs to wipe the sweat from your palms. “It was nice— very comfortable.” 

Sebastian chuckled again, his face leaning in closer to you like he was whispering a secret. “It certainly sounded like it.” 

It felt like your heart was beating at a mile a minute. Where did this confidence come from all of a sudden? What happened while you were in the bathroom? 

You thought back to the tent in Ominis’ trousers, casting your gaze back down to the pillow adorning Sebastian’s lap. 

There was absolutely no way. Surely not? 

Sebastian answered that question for you when he rested his hand on your thigh, smoothing his fingers up and under the silk fabric slightly and rubbing his thumb against your sweltering skin. “I can say with complete honesty that we also enjoyed your bath.” 

You’d drowned in the bathtub, that had to be the answer for this fever dream— that was the only answer to this sudden shift in personality by your ravenous brunette friend. He looked like he wanted to eat you alive, lick you down to the bone and suck the marrow from inside like a perfectly cooked t-bone steak. You could tell he still had some restraint about him from the way that he fisted the bed sheets he was leaning his other arm on, keeping his body upright and stopping him from all but throwing you onto the mattress and devouring you like his favorite meal. Heat continued to pool more and more in your core, your abdomen tightening against the pleasure pulsing in your lower stomach. 

“S-Sebastian—”

He plowed through your sentence, his niceties and manners giving way to the carnal desire throbbing under his skin. “That being said, I’m sure we could have even more fun out here, couldn’t we?” 

His hot breath fanned across your face like a delectable fire, turning your insides to mush and threatening to do the same with your rational thought. You placed your hand against the center of his very toned chest— Merlin— and pushed him away slightly, inhaling air into your shivering lungs like it was your job. 

“Sebastian, Ominis is right there. We can’t—” 

He scoffed, dragging the hand on your thigh the rest of the way under your slip and wrapping it around your waist, pulling you closer to him harshly, causing you to lose your balance and press as close as possible to him. He leaned his face upwards, something unfamiliar but dangerous glittering in his irises as he whispered in your ear— his sinful smile pinning against the edge of your jaw. 

“I assure you, he liked it too, lovely. I don’t think he’d be opposed to some…” He bit lightly at your earlobe, a soft moan breathing from your lips at his intrusion. “…auditory stimulation.” 

Fuck it. Restraint never did you any favors, anyway. 

He leaned his head downwards towards where your neck met your shoulder, nosing at the soft skin there before letting his teeth run gently against your pulse point. You moaned in earnest this time, not caring one bit if the blond behind the door mere feet away could hear you. 

Good, you thought. Let him hear. 

A loud crash came from the bathroom, startling Sebastian enough that he thrust his head upwards, catching on your chin painfully. You hissed, cradling the bruised bone in your hands as he quickly apologized, turning his full attention to the closed door just beyond. Ominis threw the door open, not even flinching when the door handle violently slammed against the wall, creating a dent in the drywall. 

The blond stood there in all his glory, his chest heaving even harder now and a color closer to a ripe dragonfruit covering every inch of his skin. He had obviously just gotten out of the bath; his hair hung low in his face and dripped water steadily on the shoulder of his white undershirt. He too had taken everything off except his underclothes, his boxers hugging his hips in an absolutely scandalous way that made you want to rip them off then and there and get to the appetizing muscle tenting the fabric— Gods, he can never wear clothes around you ever again. Fighting your eyes to stop ogling the poor man, you cast your gaze to the floor just behind his feet, seeing a long bar of metal still rolling slightly against the tile and the towel that was once wrapped around it. On the wall where there was once a towel rack was now barren, just two holes decorating the space where it once lived. With one final eye flick, you look at Ominis’ hand closest to the scene of the crime, noticing that his fingers were a bright red from all the blood returning to the flesh. The puzzle pieces connected together in your brain after a few sluggish, very horny seconds. 

Oh. Oh my. Ominis heard everything that just happened. Not only did he hear it, he liked it so much he accidentally ripped the towel rack off the wall with his desperation to open the door and hear it without the door muffling your sounds. 

Sebastian must have come to the same conclusion as you, because his grin doubled in size with each passing second as he undressed the flustered blond with his eyes. “Ominis, what’s wrong—” 

The once regal Slytherin crossed the room faster than you had ever seen him move before, quickly feeling his way up the brunette’s arm before grasping at his neck, pulling him closer and crashing their mouths together in a show of more teeth than lips. Sebastian responded eagerly, groaning low in his chest and threading his fingers in the wet tresses of his friend, pulling the blond closer against him in an awkward angle. You stared wide-eyed at the sight before you, watching your two best friends devour each other in a clash of lips and tongue, listening to the unseemly sounds that flowed in the air around them. You couldn’t help the feeble whimper that escaped your parted lips, drawing the attention of the esurient heir of Slytherin. Sebastian whined as Ominis pulled away from the embrace, only to choke on the sound at the sight of the blond surging forwards towards you with just as much ferocity as before and capturing your lips into an equally bruising kiss. His tongue dove into your open mouth, taking your invitation to explore with grandeur and mingling the soft muscle with yours. You fisted at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer and shifting backwards on the bed, pulling him downwards with you until he was laying on top of you. One of your hands reached up and buried itself in the thick blond locks of the one absolutely inhaling the sweet taste of your lips like the boy before did, your other falling to his waist and pushing underneath the hem of his shirt, running your palm across the hot skin of his stomach. All inhibition and propriety was thrown out the window just as fast as the downpour fell from the sky outside. 

A third hand joined the fray— Sebastian’s resuming his original journey up the side of your underclothes and reaching your stomach, pushing the fabric up your supple thighs until it pooled at your waist, leaving your white cotton panties on show for all the world to see. He groaned in pain at the sight of the obvious wet patch right in the center, diving his face towards your open and inviting neck and biting at the skin there. You keened into Ominis’ mouth, arching your back off the bed and pressing the puddle of molten lava that resided between your legs against the blond’s hard length. He moaned heavenly against your lips, kissing his way down your cheek and jaw until he too latched his teeth onto your neck like his Slytherin counterpart. You were in absolute bliss, your brain shutting off and losing itself in the sweet pleasure that coursed through your entire body. This alone was going to kill you, and you would happily die in this battle of tongue and teeth. 

May Odin take you into his waiting arms as you enter through the gates of Valhalla— this was certainly a war worthy for the land of kings and queens. 

Everything was a rush of emotion, all feelings that had been buried deep down in your souls surging to the surface in one grand swoop. Laying there, a tangle of limbs and underclothes and sugar-scented breaths felt like it was exactly where you belonged in the world. With one head on each side of your neck, you could easily reach up and pull them by the hair closer into your orbit— you the sun and them the lowly planets revolving around your devastatingly bright euphoria. 

You’d be perfectly content letting them worship you like this for the rest of time, but Ominis was always a bit more greedy than Sebastian when it came to the desires of the senses. The blond slowly made his way down to your chest, only stopping to pull your clothes from your body before diving right back into your soft, pillowy hereafter. He found your breasts quickly, letting his skilled hands first squeeze the flesh before tweaking your nipples, making them stand to a perfect peak before latching his mouth to the button and sucking. Your back lifted off the bed more, pathetic whines and mewls tumbling from your throat every so often, only to be broken up by whimpers of your companions' names. Sebastian smiled wickedly against your pulse, continuing to bite and nibble at the skin there as the hand not busy wrapped around your throat reached down and pawed at your other, very neglected mound of flesh. He wanted to only hear those sounds from then on out— wanted to hear even more of them.

Ominis pulled off of your peak with an absolutely raunchy pop, pressing one of his arms against your hips when he felt you grind against his throbbing length as your lovers pleased you. He nipped lightly at the skin in between your mountains, nosing gently at your sternum and whispering against your ribs. 

“None of that yet. Let us take care of you, darling.”

Your heart stopped for a full five seconds— goodbye cruel world. Cause of death: horny boy with a penchant for people-pleasing.

You sighed shakily, your words stuttered and soaking in flustered arousal. “O-Okay…”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest and shaking against you. “Good. You sound so beautiful like this. What I would give to see you spread out below us— my hands can only just suffice my craving.” 

A particularly loud sob falls from your lips at the feeling of Sebastian tweaking your nipple with just the right amount of pressure. “Am I dreaming?” 

It was Sebastian’s turn to laugh, his breath warming the skin of your collarbone. “I really hope not, because then all three of us would be dreaming the same thing. We don’t need Professor Onai to see that in our crystal ball, do we?” 

You rolled your eyes with a huff. “You know what I me— oh fuck!” 

In your blissful haze, you didn’t feel Ominis kiss his way down your body and situate himself between your thighs until he licked a long stripe along the dripping crotch of your panties. The brunette teasing you groaned again in agony at the sight of the other Slytherin’s thoroughly mussed up blond quiff poking out from between your inner thighs. 

With a renewed vigor, Sebastian helped the blond pull your panties down your legs, latching back onto your neck like a leech once the offending fabric was far away from where his hands could roam. Ominis kneeled on the bed, face level with your sweltering center and breathing in the sweet, musky scent of your pleasure. Merlin, you were a goddess— your beguiling center the most saccharine ambrosia to him. He was sure if he ate you how he wished he too would become a god. You reached your hand down, fisting his hair between your trembling fingers and tugging lightly at the root, whining for him to move, to do something. You needed him on a biblical level. After centuries of waiting, Ominis repeated his movement from before, diving into your oceanic sea and lapping at your waves like Poseidon himself. 

You’d never known pleasure like this before— never known indulgence like this before. He flicked his tongue against the painfully hard knot at the top of your center, pushing your clit lightly with just enough pressure before taking it into his mouth and suckling lightly. Stars burst behind your eyes, filling your world with supernovas dyed the color of your partners’ eyes. 

Desperate to make them both feel good too, you reached your free hand towards Sebastian, wrapping your fist around his throbbing member that hung so nicely near your face and pulling it out of the strangling fabric of his boxers. He whined at the cool air against his scorching skin. One of your legs was thrown over Ominis’ shoulder, allowing the boy to get a better grip of you as he wolfed you down like a man starved and allowing you the ability to press his hips closer to the bed, grinding his manhood against the knitted blankets. His resulting moan, more of a growl if you had to be specific, sent vibrations right to the knot that was building in your lower stomach, tightening it closer to its inevitable snap. Sebastian’s eyes never left the scene before him as he sat up to his knees, wrapping his hand around yours and showing you how he liked to be touched as you bathed in the throes of rapture. Soon moans came from the both of you as you picked up on the rhythm, your voices harmonizing like a melodic hymn at the pews of gluttonous lust and stalling the gears turning in the brain of the blond between your legs. He began to shamelessly rut against the mattress below his hips, letting your leg press him down closer and providing an otherworldly amount of pressure against his still clothed cock. The friction pushed the band of his underwear down more and more with each thrust until his member was finally free. His bare skin against the vaguely soft blankets the inn provided felt astronomically better than before. 

At the sound of Ominis’ self pleasuring, the cries of the people he loved so shamefully before in just the comfort of his mind becoming so much for him to handle that he couldn’t wait one more moment to feel something against his agonizingly hard cock, you pull Sebastian closer by his member, hoping he got the message you were trying to convey without words. He luckily did, a hungry look taking over his expression as he got off the bed, pulling your body closer to the edge so your mouth was exactly level with him. He groaned when he felt your soft lips close around the pulsating pink tip of his shaft, your tongue flicking against the prominent vein that stretched from the top to the bottom. Ominis moaned again against your clit, hearing what was going on above him and grinding his member against the bed with more vigor than before, causing you to rock your hips harshly against his face and pull more of Sebastian into your throat. The brunette couldn’t hold back his inhibitions anymore; with a firm grip he wrapped his hand around your neck for a second time that night, using the leverage provided to fuck into your mouth slowly. 

No words needed to be said by anyone involved, each of you taken over by pure, wanton frenzy. Being used by Sebastian was a religious experience in itself, and you just a devout follower eager to please— Ominis your angel from above, pouring devotion into his every move, rewarding you for a job well done. 

Your muted hums quickly became louder against Sebastian’s cock when Ominis pressed a digit into your weeping hole, stretching you just right and curling against the spot that made you believe heaven was real. The combination of your throat vibrating against him and your tongue flicking just under the ridge of his head was all it took to do him in indefinitely, his hips stuttering in your velvet mouth and the hand not wrapped around your throat tugging at your hair, trying to pull you off of him. You held on tighter, your free hand gripping his thigh and keeping him right where he was. 

Absolutely not. 

Sebastian’s eyes rolled back into his head when you closed your lips tighter and sucked, sending profanities to pour from his mouth like a broken faucet. 

“Oh fuck— Yes, Merlin, just like that— Shit, I’m gonna cum. Take it all for me— good girl—” 

You caught every drop of his salty release as it slid down your throat, letting your legs squeeze tighter against Ominis’ skull at the sweeter-than-candy whine that released from the brunette above you. 

With one partner spent, you were determined to meet him soon in his little death and take the other Slytherin with you. With the last bit of your strength, you grinded against Ominis’ face, chasing the orgasm that crested just under the surface of your skin. The blond did the same with a muffled growl, pulling you tighter against his frantic mouth and letting you suffocate him in your enticing embrace as he rutted his hips against the mattress to near completion. With one more strong suck on your clit, timed perfectly with a curl of his finger inside of you, you tumbled over the edge of your metaphorical cliff. Sebastian thought through his orgasmic haze that nearly everyone in the inn must have heard your screaming finish. Ominis followed you soon after, his release staining the sheets below him as your thighs tightened impossibly more against his ears as your climax ripped through your system. 

The three of you crumpled together onto the bed, tangled in a messy knot of limbs and desperately needing a second bath as you fought off exhaustion just enough to climb under the covers. Once the blanket covered all of your naked forms, you dozed off into a pleasant slumber, one arm slung over the waist of the brunette cradled in your shoulder and the other hand resting on the crossed forearms of the blond hugged against your back. Conversation could happen tomorrow; for now, the night was growing old and you needed all of your energy for the trek home tomorrow. 

As you were drifting off into dreamland, you thought to yourself that the soft sound of the rain against the shuttered windows of the inn was the most peaceful sound you had ever heard. 

I think I let the religious trauma go a little too wild with this one, whoops.

***

like what you read? here's more!

[maspers]

Ranking the Miracucast by how good of a Doctor Who Companion they'd be.

Marinette: She'd be great at it, but she would also hate it and just want it to be over. She's tired and has no time for this shenaniganry. Please give her this chance to not be involved. 5/10

Alya: Would have SO MANY QUESTIONS. Could do very well, but I can see her veering dangerously close to Adam Mitchell territory. Careful there, Alya. 7/10

Adrien: Yes. 10/10

Nino: I think he'd be a decent TARDIS passenger, but he's the type that'd be part of an ensemble. Wouldn't work as well as a solo companion. 4/10

Chloe: Sorry Chloe fans, but no. The Doctor can pull a redemption arc out of anyone, but they also have no patience for bullcrap. It's just not happening no matter how much I want it to. 1/10

Sabrina: I think she would be great, but the fandom would not like her as a companion. 6/10

Mylene: Yeah, she would not like it. 0/10

Ivan: If Mylene isn't going, then neither is he. 0/10

Rose: Would be absolutely hilarious due to her name alone. Accompanying a Classic Doctor might be better for her. 7/10

Juleka: I don't care what you say she would be excellent and the fandom would love her. Ironically would probably fit better with a NuWho Doctor. 10/10

Kim: The Doctor does not want Kim in the TARDIS. Kim has been in the TARDIS at least once, and the Doctor has vowed that it will be the last time. They're wrong. 4/10

Max: The Doctor would ADORE Markov. Max would be Markov's plus one. 7/10 by proxy

Alix: Pretty sure she already is a companion. Like. In canon. We haven't seen it but it's definitely happened, fight me. Alix/10

Nathaniel: I want to say he'd be great but in my heart I know he would be Very Stressed. Definitely would not want to travel with the Doctor, but would keep getting dragged along by his friends. The fandom would love him though. 5/10

Lila: As she is now? Absolutely not. The Doctor would despise her. -10/10, BUUUUUUT if she was picked up before Volpina (or pre-Chameleon at the latest) I think she could be redeemed like in the Scarlet Lady AU. She would be hilarious. She gives me Turlough vibes. If the Doctor can deal with Turlough and Missy then he can deal with Lila. She has the potential to be unique and have an interesting character arc compared to other companions, and let's be honest NuWho needs something unique and interesting. 8/10

Luka: Like Nino, he works better as part of ensemble. Would be an excellent supporting character for Marinette or Juleka if they were companions, or maybe be a very cool Oneshot Companion like Wilf. 3/10

Kagami: The Doctor would have their work cut out for them, because Kagami is a "stab first ask questions later" person and the Doctor doesn't vibe with that normally. Neither The Doctor nor Kagami would be happy with this arrangement. So naturally Kagami's sole season would be one of the best in the entire show. 9/10

Marc: He would travel with either the Second or Thirteenth Doctors. He would do wonderfully, but his seasons would definitely be more focused on the Doctor than Marc himself. Sorry Marc. 7/10

Ondine: Is too busy keeping Kim out of trouble. And as stated previously, the Doctor does not want Kim in the TARDIS. 2/10

Felix: I just don't think it would work. Felix could definitely be a major recurring character, but somehow I can't really see him actually being a companion proper. He does get bonus points for being British. Perhaps instead of being a companion he spends his free time annoying Torchwood. 3/10

Zoe: She'd be great. But the universe would be Very Cruel to her. People will die, and she will not be happy about it. 8/10

[aaabsinthe]

Hi!! Can I request crushing and relationship headcanons for Junkerqueen with a fem s/o? Like how would she realize she likes them? thank you! :)

Junker Queen x Female Reader Relationship Headcanons

A/N: It's been a while y'all - boy am I glad to be back. Literally right after I posted my note about all of the stuff I'm working on, I got slammed with the biggest assessment I've had in my course so far (17 documents total once I'd finally finished it) and caught scarlet fever of all thing so it's taken a good while for me to finally feel well enough and have spare time to write - but here we are!

I'm so excited to write for my favourite built queen - this gif alone is makin me feel things. I'm going to format all of these the same way from now on with SFW and NSFW headcanons from now on. Ofc there will be warning for the NSFW section :)

I hope you enjoy anon despite the wait!

-Nat

SFW Headcanons

Odessa is the kind of gal that isn't really impressed by appearances.

Sure, she has her preferences and finds certain things attractive, but that isn't what piques her interest.

For Dez, it's all about personality, especially if you're the kind of person who is merciful and gentle with others.

This doesn't mean you have to be a doormat, in fact if you stand up for yourself (physically or verbally) when you feel as if you are being treated unfairly or others are being treated unfairly, that's possibly the hottest thing you could ever do in her eyes.

It's just something about the Peter Pan types that really captivates her. Not just in stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but in being self aware of your strengths and using them to do right by those who are not in the same position of privilege.

This is how she figures out that her little crush on you was not just a little crush anymore.

She overheard you and another agent talking about life before the crisis, and found out that you used to do volunteer work every weekend delivering essentials to the homeless in your city and how much you missed your community outreach.

That and she watched you sock a guy in the face after he attempted to grope your friend at a bar.

It's healing for her and her inner child and she finds herself looking up to you as a role model - she's aware she's no angel and has done many questionable things to survive out there in the wasteland.

However she hopes that now as a part of Overwatch, she can be better and similarly to you, that she can use her position to help others less fortunate.

Dez is fine with casual or short term relationships and has had plenty in her time, she doesn't necessarily need to know someone to be attracted to them - but when she built that emotional connection with you, that's when she knew she was in for the long run.

The best part about dating Dez is that she isn't embarrassed easily - she's very open from the beginning which means conversation flows naturally with her. The downside of this is that for the first few months of being together, getting to sleep was nearly impossible, three am deep conversations just hit different.

This also means if you ever need anything, she is more than happy to accommodate.

Sick? She keeps note of the medication you need and when you need to take it so she can make sure you take it (and bring you water in your comfort water bottle to boot). That time of the month? If somehow the stash of your preferred products are out, she knows what you use - she will get you more without you even needing to ask (she will however check if you crave anything in particular on the way out).

Expect to be doing the same for her when she gets sick - she becomes the biggest needy baby when she's not feeling well.

She's stuck in bed? Yep. So are you.

Not even by choice either, she cages you with her arms and well that's that. There's no fighting this goliath of a woman.

Loves her cuddles - all positions.

Her favourite is being the little spoon though. It's not often that she gets to feel protected and cocooned (can you really blame her).

Loves PDA - particularly keeping an arm around your waist or you attached to her arm at all times, though she's known to do a casual steamy kiss in public when she's feeling particularly jealous.

If you're not one for PDA, she respects that boundary... However she will pout at you with those big red puppy dog eyes.

Absolutely hopeless at cooking and baking though not for lack of trying. Wakes you up regularly cursing about burning her toast.

Of course it's not all sunshine and rainbows.

Speaking of waking you up, Dez has nightmares somewhat regularly.

She's always so thankful to have you there to vent to if she needs it and cuddle with until she's calm enough to fall back asleep.

NSFW CONTENT WARNING

NSFW Headcanons (18+)

Sex to Odessa is powerplay, a safe space to be strong and vulnerable all in one.

Hard dom top - that control means everything to her.

This woman loves a good scrap (duh), if you choose to be a bratty sub, she eats that shit up.

Go ahead, try and buck her off of you, she's not even using half her strength. She can hold you down much harder.

Expect to be begging for mercy.

The two of you develop a safe word very early on in your relationship, Odessa would never forgive herself if she pushed you past your limit.

Definitely has and regularly uses an appropriately sized strap (ouch).

Dez has her kinks. Sex between the two of you is rarely vanilla unless other feelings are involved. She's entuned to what you need and your emotions, she knows when you need the gentler and less complicated sex or when you honestly just need someone to hold you.

That being said, she has a reasonably high sex drive. She can manage on her own if you can't or don't feel like it, but say the words and honestly she's ready when you are.

Though she really would prefer you called her Dez, Odessa, babe - really anything other than her title outside of the bedroom, call her your queen between the sheets - she'll go berserk.

Dabbles in pain play, something of an every now and then addition to the bedroom, it's not something she needs and the both of you really have to be in the mood for the more intensive side of sex. She does however love to see you take Gracie's hilt in every hole.

Unless you'd consider overstimulation a form of pain play. There is nothing she loves more than watching you struggle and beg with tears leaking from your eyes, completely at her mercy.

Light bondage when she doesn't feel like physically restraining you herself.

Claims your face as her throne whenever the mood strikes.

Speaking of claiming, your neck, collarbone and tits are never safe from her demanding mouth.

There aren't really many kinks that Dez would feel uncomfortable with, she would try pretty much anything before she knocks it.

Definite no though - I feel like she'd laugh at ironically calling her 'mommy'/'mummy', especially if you have a different accent, but considering her complicated family past, it just hits a little too close to home to take it seriously especially during sex.

Obviously amazing at foreplay, she knows what she likes which makes it so much easier from the start (not to mention her cheekily buying vibrating piercings just to mess with you) but honestly the best part is that she's enjoying herself just as much as you.

It's all give and take with Dez, you give as much as you get.

[veronicaleighauthor]

In Defense of Amy March

A couple weeks ago, I did a re-read of “Little Women.” It had been a couple of years since I picked it up and I was in the mood for some Alcott. Oh, and the March family. I’ve been deeply attached to the story since I was about fourteen. Jo March was the heroine after my own heart. There was one character though, I could never warm to. That was Amy March. I really couldn’t stand her. She burned Jo’s manuscript and got that trip to Europe, and she was just so snobby and selfish. Right? I mean, that’s how she’s portrayed in most adaptations. Jo has to toil and suffer while Amy gets everything handed to her on a silver platter. During this re-read I decided to pay attention to the youngest March sister and see if I was justified in my dislike of her.

“It’s nice to have accomplishments and be elegant, but not to show off or get perked up,” said Amy thoughtfully.

When the story opens, Amy is a kid. She’s twelve and the baby of the family. Mr. March is serving as a chaplain at war and Marmee works outside the home. Older sisters Meg is a governess, Jo is a companion, and Beth is the homemaker. Amy goes to school and deals with much of what most kids deal with. She struggles with her lessons, she is teased for being poor, she tries to sneak pickled limes in to eat them. Amy is on the receiving end of her teacher, Mr. Davis’s brutality when he discovers she has limes and raps her hand. She is self-conscious about her nose. She has to wear everyone’s hand-me-downs. She is determined to be a proper lady, she is artistic, and she tries to improve her vocabulary. Amy takes parts in her sisters’ theatricals, though doesn’t want to go to the extremes that Jo goes to, and avoids bruising herself.

If anybody had asked Amy what the greatest trial of her life was, she would have answered at once, ‘My nose.’ 

Amy and Jo often disagree with one another. One evening, when Jo and Meg plans to go out to the theater with their new friend Laurie, Amy is determined to join them. She and Jo go round and round, but Amy is bluntly told she isn’t wanted and it would be an intrusion for her to be there (my words, not the actual dialogue). While Jo is away, Amy burns a manuscript her sister has been working on. A fight ensues and though Amy tries to make up for what she did, Jo won’t forgive her. She tries once more to spend time with Jo, when her sister and Laurie are skating at the local pond, and nearly drowns as she crashes through the ice. Her live is saved and she and Jo reconcile. Jo forgives the girl and though Amy knew she was doing wrong when she destroyed the manuscript, maybe it’s time we as readers (myself included) forgive her too.

Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with a smile that went straight to Jo’s heart. Neither said a word, but they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss.

When Beth falls ill with scarlet fever, Amy is determined to stay at home with her family, risking her own health and wellbeing. Laurie manages to convince her to go to Aunt March’s, where uncertain of what the future may bring, she makes a will of her own in case she dies. Aunt March takes a liking to Amy and from then on, she is the older woman’s companion. Once Beth is well, Amy is allowed to come home, in time for her father to return home from the war and to see her older sister Meg engaged to John Brooke.

The next time we see Amy, it is three years later and she has grown into the proper young lady she always aspired to be. She dresses well, pays calls, dabbles in various forms of artwork, donates her time and energy to charity booths. Somehow, we as readers belittle this, when this was common way of life for ladies in the 19th century. Consider Marian Brooke, of The Gilded Age TV show, who embraces her own femininity and lives and thrives in New York society. Amy March is doing the same thing – while Jo breaks many of the societal rules, Amy wants to be part of that world. This is best demonstrated in Part Two, when Amy and Jo pay calls at various friends’ and relatives’ homes. Amy does her utmost to help Jo, but Jo (and don’t get me wrong, I love my girl Jo) is downright rude, improper, immature, and sloppy. Amy, on the other hand, is well-mannered, her appearance is neat, she is respectful, and she shows an interest in her hosts. This leaves an impression on Aunt Carol, who is planning a trip to Europe. She originally planned to invite Jo, but the visit shows her Amy would be a better candidate to take to Europe.

“You can go through the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like. That’s not my way.”

You laugh at me when I say I want to be a lady, but I mean a true gentle-woman in mind and manners, and I try to do it as far as I know how.

So, Amy didn’t steal Jo’s trip to Europe. She was true to herself and a wealthy relative rewarded her for it. She accompanies Aunt Carol and her family on their tour of Europe. This was another common practice in the 19th century. Family or friends would take a young lady along, to see the sights and with any luck, make a match there (think “The Portrait of a Lady,” by Henry James). Amy enjoys herself there, meeting new people, wearing the fashions of the time, learning about art and the countries she visits. The original plan of her life is that she becomes a successful, famous artist. In that way, she’s equally ambitious to Jo. However, while in Europe, she comes to accept her own limitations. Amy understands she has talent, but she doesn’t have genius. At least not compared to the greats or her contemporaries. She comes to terms with this; she will always love art and be artistic, but she must be practical now.

Very few occupations were open to women of that era, especially in the social circles Amy moved in. Teaching or being a governess would have been acceptable – many ladies of genteel and respectable families worked as governesses. Meg worked as a governess. But the pay wasn’t great and it would be a step down for a socially conscious young woman. The only way to secure her future was to marry well. By today’s standards, and many readers of “Little Women” it’s considered mercenary for Amy to think of marrying for money. However, again, think of The Gilded Age show, where some of the characters did or do want to marry for financial security – Agnes van Rhijn and her son Oscar van Rhijn.

Amy herself states: “I may be mercenary, but I hate poverty, and don’t mean to bear it a minute longer than I can help. One of us must marry well. Meg didn’t, Jo won’t, Beth can’t yet, so I shall, and make everything okay all round.”

If Amy marries say Fred Vaugn, one of her suitors, she intends to help her family and those around her. It isn’t a bad plan…but it isn’t the right plan for her. After spending some time with Laurie, who she met up with in Europe, she understands she can’t marry just for money. Marmee and Father didn’t raise her that way and it wouldn’t be enough for her. Love, respect, admiration, and friendship must be part of the equation. The more time she spends with Laurie, she slowly falls in love with him. However, Amy isn’t pleased with Laurie’s behavior as of late. If she had really wanted to marry for money, she could have ignored his vices and set her cap at him. He once loved Jo and after nursing a broken heart, he meanders around Europe spending his grandfather’s money, wasting time, and not living up to his full potential. It is Amy who inspires him to become the best version of himself…and it is Amy he truly falls in love with. According to the book, Amy didn’t steal Laurie from Jo, because he never truly belonged to her.

“I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.”

Amy and Laurie both find their way, they marry, and after the tragedy of losing Beth, they return home. They find their happy ending together.

So was Amy selfish, shallow, prissy, or evil? Nope. No more than the rest of us. She was a young woman who found her place in the world. Her definition of happiness was different than Jo’s, but it doesn’t make her any less of a heroine.

What do you think? Do you like Amy March?

[welldonekhushi]

Okay guys, I'm back and.. I needed a short break after what happened in the MWIII campaign. Words can't express how shocked I was when I reached the end of the campaign and.. it left me in confusion, denial, depression and anger.

I'm putting a "read more" below because, if there are people who still haven't played MWIII, I'll keep ya guys safe.

Our theories before were constantly revolving that who's gonna die and what worse is going to happen.. it first pointed towards the fate of Price or Gaz. But, turns out we were jinxed. JINXED.

The campaign was.. okay but at the same time I felt it was small. Quite rushed. I did have a light of concern over their release date when MWII was currently trending. I was reading others reviews of how they felt about the game and yes, I agree with the same. But I wanna talk about Soap's fate this time..

Soap, who JUST started his journey, like, the one who only appeared in MWII and hoped we would see him more develop in the further games to be just.. killed off? When were they moments away from achieving victory?

So only because it's called MW3 ✌🏻 and you wanted to give us all a nostalgic experience you'll.. give them the original plot treatment? Both Soaps in the Modern Warfare universes.. died under the hands of Vladimir Makarov but in different circumstances.

This is where I got a bit angry at Price because, why didn't you kill Makarov instead of taking him in custody in Verdansk?! That guy is a walking grim reaper, and if Price took that action before, not just Soap but MANY more lives would have been saved. Soap was a man who was ready to take immediate action but always got backed off because of being bound to orders.

The end scene when they took out his ashes.. it broke me. Like, how unexpected this can be? Well, though I know Makarov already gave a warning that he was going to kill him off in the heli scene, but.. it's just not it? Like, honestly, I was hopeful Soap would survive.. it's disappointing for me, as someone who loves him so much, like anything.

So ScarSoap's now an angsty ship? Because let it be for both universes — OG and Reboot, Scarlet's going to be left behind? Welp, I'm more sad now, lol.

Otherwise, the expectations I had for the campaign were somehow, not met to the fullest but let's talk about the good things.

Price killing off Shepherd. YES, THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. I freaking knew that he was going to die and my prediction called itself right. But, now that Price killed a 4-star General, he's gonna go rogue. You mean, batshit, crazy and unhinged Price on the move?!

Julian Kostov. The man. Bro, like, when he was featured in the reveal trailer, I was just hoping that he'd play the role of Makarov well and guess what? He did! I absolutely loved how he portrayed the man and he looked intimidating and twisted like a true psychopath. Truly, he could compete with the OG!Makarov and it's proven! Hats off to the actor, really <3

Price DOESN'T die. Neither in my beliefs, Farah and Alex. A relief. A pure relief, for real. The trailers showed him passing out but glad he's good in one piece. But, did that happen for the cost of killing Soap? :')

Graves and Shepherd betray each other in the conference, LMFAO! Who knew they were going to turn their backs on each other. Graves really had nothing to do with this, he was just a man following orders.. the problem lies with Shepherd, and always has.

Now, these guys said we're gonna release the "full campaign" on November 10. You mean.. the early access didn't show much of the story? So there's hope? OR NOT? Sigh, I don't want to think about it.. I just don't. I've been delulu, haha

Anyways, these are my thoughts for Modern Warfare III! What do you feel about it, let me know in the comments!

[andypantsx3]

incendiary | 6 | bakugou x reader

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Fem Reader

length: 3.7k | 6th of 8 chapters

summary: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

tags/warnings:  enemies to lovers, themes of discrimination (please see note in fic masterpost), canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters

series masterlist

“Absolutely not,” Bakugou growled.

You just barely managed to step back as he reached for your laptop with one heavily-muscled arm. He swiped downwards as though he meant to shut it himself, physically closing the book on this discussion.

You let out a strangled noise, stumbling away, beating a quick retreat around the counter as the whisk he’d been using in the pancake batter clattered off the side of the bowl. You knew he could jump it if he really wanted, but the buffer between you made you feel better, although his instant rejection raised your hackles.

“Wait, why not?” you asked, although you’d been uncertain about the request yourself. It’s not like you had set out to accidentally become one of the most famous quirkless people in the country. Not to mention every time you stumbled back into public view, it seemed to just prolong your stay here, and put you in additional danger with Matsui and his group.

“Because it’s a fucking target on your back, idiot,” Bakugou said, pinning you with those scarlet eyes. “All this work to protect your bratty ass and you want to signal to Matsui right where you are?”

“Well, no,” you huffed. “But how many chances do you get to be on TV? This has to be carefully thought through.”

One blonde brow raised as Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest. You noted he was sleeveless again today, in nothing but a black tank, and all that bare muscle was looking especially pronounced at the moment—possibly from the workout you’d heard him finish a half hour ago . You forcibly dragged your eyes back up to his face, only to find he was watching you in disbelief.

Oh. Right. He was on TV like every day.

“Well, how many chances does a normal person get to be on TV?” you corrected, your face feeling hot for some reason.

The haughty, dismissive twist of Bakugou’s features made your back molars ache with that familiar need to bite him again.

“You’ve already been on TV and look where it got you, brat,” Bakugou said, returning to beating the pancake batter with a little too much vigor, his biceps straining.

Your gaze snapped to the motion of his arm, and you wisely chose not to pursue the subject any further, lest he deprive you of pancakes. Also your mouth was suddenly weirdly dry, and you felt a little bit like you needed to sit down.

This discussion could be put on pause for a minute.

You beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen instead, throwing yourself onto the couch where all your textbooks were still waiting for you, highlighter and pens uncapped where you’d dumped them all over the table. You sighed, flopping down and returning to your homework, feeling weirdly hot and displeased.

Bakugou was technically right. You ran a huge risk giving an interview on Japan’s biggest daily news show. And you didn’t even want to be famous—you wanted nothing to do with the level of internet notoriety you’d received, and you were so eager to be out of this damn safehouse. Now that Bakugou had apologized and you’d cleared the air, it somehow felt like the safehouse was even smaller than before.

Over the last few days, you and Bakugou had done an awful lot together. Cooking, eating, making actual human conversation. He’d also indicated he would let you watch one single hour of trash reality TV later this evening, which was almost nice of him. This entire morning, you’d found yourself compelled to spend time out in the living room while he cooked, trying not to peer at him over the top of your laptop screen as you finished up a paper.

All that interaction felt like you were occupying very close quarters, however, and that strange sense of tension was still there between you, though you couldn’t put your finger on quite what it was now. It was probably safest to evacuate the safehouse before anything came to a head.

You finished up your homework, trying to push the interview request to the back of your mind.

But it stuck around stubbornly, as if superglued to the forefront of your brain. There was this roiling feeling within you, like the one that had come just before your blowout with Bakugou. And his saying no only made things worse—it was like he’d lit a pilot light, dangerously close to a trail of gunpowder…

The request lingered in the back of your mind over the following days. It was there when you fell asleep, when you showered, when you brushed your teeth. It lurked in the cup of the measuring spoons as you and Bakugou cooked together once more, in the faces of the actors during your single permitted hour of “idiot TV”. For something you were fairly certain you could have said no to just a few days ago and never thought of again, it had alarmingly persistent sticking power.

On Sunday afternoon you found yourself blinking back to yourself in the shower, realizing you’d lost dozens of minutes to contemplation, staring sightlessly at the ugly floral curtain. You sank to the floor of the shower, huddling into a contemplative ball under its steady spray. A memory niggled at your mind, fuzzy, barely remembered, and yet disturbing in its intensity.

The flash of an ugly blue-and-green polo, a pasty leer, and a surge of white hot anger, climbing up your chest, into your throat, and then—and then—

And then the convenience store. The two men, advancing into the space you’d ceded. A request that they mind their own business and leave you to yours.

“You wouldn’t know a thing about minding your own business, you fucking freak,” echoed on loop in your brain.

Wouldn’t know a thing about minding your own business—because you had asked a bunch of QRAs to back off. To back off of people like you.

And…well didn’t that make it your business? Yours, more than anyone’s? You were the quirkless person whose very existence was being picked over. You were the quirkless person getting harassed on the street, in the classroom, in some random convenience store where you were just trying to buy a sandwich. You were the person trapped in a safehouse because someone wanted to murder you—all for minding what was exactly your own business.

Before you knew what you were doing, you’d risen back to your feet, and were shampooing your hair with a vengeance. You rocketed through your personal care and all but leapt out of the shower, and stuffed yourself into your change of clothes, still half-wet.

And then you found yourself peering into the living room, and risking the fragile peace you’d found with Bakugou once again.

“The fuck about ‘no’ are you not getting?” Bakugou demanded, whipping around to stare at you before the question had even finished leaving your own mouth. He was stretched out over the yoga mat, holding himself perfectly level, with his feet not even touching the ground.

You gaped, your mouth falling open as your brain went momentarily offline. All thoughts of the interview evacuated your mind. “What the fuck are you doing?” you demanded, your eyes flicking unwillingly to his straining biceps.

Bakugou’s red-eyed glare cut through you. “It’s a fucking pushup, idiot.”

Your head shook as your eyes lingered in the dips and swells of his muscles. That black tank top he was always wearing was slowly riding up over the flat plane of his stomach and you could just make out the shadow of an intimidating set of abdominals from this angle.

“Nuh uh,” you said stupidly.

A blonde eyebrow raised, and he slowly, agonizingly pushed himself into an impossible ninety degree angle and on into a fucking handstand.

You could feel how slack your jaw was but there was nothing you could do about your caveperson image. Your eyes were nailed to the trim waist and mouth-watering set of abs bared by this move. “You—pushup—that’s not—” you just managed to clamp your mouth closed as that horrible echo of pegnate?? gregnant?? tolled in the depths of your mind.

You were so focused on the flex of Bakugou’s arm as he lowered himself again that you almost missed the flash of a smirk across his mouth.

“Got something else to say, brat?” he asked.

The smugness in his tone raised your hackles, but it took you several more minutes to fumble around and locate your faculties for human speech. “I—yes, as a matter of fact. I’m doing the interview. And that’s not a question, it’s a statement.”

Bakugou pressed into another handstand, and then pushed up out of it, easy as anything. A vague sense of annoyance buzzed about you like a mosquito as he righted himself. Showoff.

“I already said you’re not, princess,” Bakugou said. Sweat glinted at his collar points and the line of his hair, giving him a faint glow in the afternoon sunlight. That sweet, tangy caramel scent met your nose again as he moved closer, crossing those biceps over his chest.

You tried not to go cross-eyed. “Well… I already said I am,” you told him, yanking your eyes firmly back up to his.

Something about the look on his face made your teeth ache to latch over his skin again, to clamp down and bite.

He leaned in, bringing a whiff of caramel with him, and you stumbled back a step, surprised. “You mean you’re not gonna be good for me, princess?” he asked, something smug thick in his tone.

Instantly your face flamed, the way it had a few days ago over breakfast. Good for him? Good for him? Your ears went so hot that the air around them chilled you.

“I’ll show you what’s good for you,” you said nonsensically, raising your hands to his chest to push him back, only to find he was as immovable as a stone wall, and as hard as one, too. Your hands froze on his pecs, your face getting even hotter with the heat of him under your hands.

A wicked smirk carved the sides of his mouth, and your brain suddenly fuzzed with static, panicking.

You couldn’t think—all you could do was reach up, catch a fistful of his hair, and yank him down into a headlock.

“Oi, what the fuck—” Bakugou swore, twisting. You clamped your arm down, panicking harder, realizing you’d just grabbed a trained combat professional, desperate to keep him down.

But Bakugou wasted no time. No sooner had you tensed your arm than he’d seized you under your legs and back, pushing you straight up and over his head. You flailed, trying to grab back onto him, but he swung you right down on the yoga mat he’d been occupying, grappling for your arms and pinning you down neatly. He managed it in under two seconds, and you stared up at him, dazed, taking in the incredulous look that split his stupid handsome face.

“What the fuck was that for, brat?” he demanded, his face filling up your entire vision.

“Showing you—what’s good for you—” you managed to cough out, winded.

A feral smile slashed across Bakugou’s mouth, completely unexpectedly. “I’ve met fuckin’ babies who can do better than that.”

You glared up at him, trying to angle your foot to kick him off of you, but he shifted, pressing his knee down on your leg in warning.

“You’re not doing the interview,” he said firmly, his tone final.

But you had already made up your mind, the second you’d sifted through those memories in the shower and realized just why the request had stuck with you. And not even pro hero Dynamight was enough force to stop you.

“Yes I am,” you told him, staring him straight in the eye. You tried to put all your conviction, all your determination and intent into your stare, into the firmness of your tone.

“For what?” Bakugou demanded hotly, his grip tightening on your wrists.

“For me!” you said. “I keep getting accused of not minding my own business, for being a nosy bitch or whatever, and I’m sick of it! Being quirkless is my business. I completely intended to mind my own business the night of the first video, going out with my friends and getting drunk, and it’s those QRA assholes who showed up on my campus in the first place! And then in the convenience store—all I was doing was trying to buy a sandwich!”

Bakugou’s mouth pressed into an annoyed line. “Yeah? And what are you even gonna say, brat?”

You grunted, trying to shift him off of you, but he held fast, pressing you down harder into the mat. “I want to give a real account of what it’s like to be a quirkless person who is minding their own business. Who was literally just living my life, uninvolved in any sort of activism or anything, and still got pulled into multiple situations where my life and my safety are threatened! The point is that ordinary people need to care about this stuff because it apparently can seep into your life whether you think you can avoid it or not. And some of us have been learning the hard way.”

Bakugou’s brows furrowed, his full mouth curling up in distaste like he hated to even be contemplating what you’d said. “So you wanna let Matsui know right where you are because you’re what—pissed off?”

For a moment, the only thought in your head was leaning forward and biting that expression right off of his face. Your whole brain was swirling with the barely-contained need to do something to him—until a revelation dawned on you.

You would be letting Matsui know right where you were.

Matsui, who had been waiting in the shadows like some sort of phantom harm. Matsui, who’d been bold enough to send a threat to your university, had been bold enough to run his mouth in all of the unsavory parts of the internet, but hadn’t yet been bold enough, or knowledgeable enough, to make his final move. Matsui—-who no one could actually touch or bring in until his threat was confirmed to be real.

And really, what better way to confirm than to draw him out?

You stared at Bakugou, your eyes running down his now-familiar features. That pert nose, that pretty mouth, always set in determination, those blazing scarlet eyes, always searching out a fight. His blond brows, still drawn down in focus, and the haughty tilt to his jaw. If there was one person equipped to handle Matsui, if he did come for you, it was the annoying pro hero currently pinning you to his yoga mat.

“What, scared to fight him?” you asked, knowing exactly the kind of reaction it would get from Bakugou.

His teeth gritted, and he leaned down to put his face into yours. “I ain’t scared of shit.”

“Then what’s the issue?” you asked. “Didn’t you say at the beginning that you wanted to hunt him down yourself and crush him?”

Bakugou’s expression darkened, getting slightly redder like he was getting angry, like he knew you were baiting him—but if there was one thing about him, it’s that he was an incredibly consistent personality. “I’ll fucking destroy him.”

You quickly suppressed the smile that threatened to overtake your mouth. “Good, then we’re in agreement.”

Bakugou looked almost apoplectic. “We are not in agreement, you goddamn brat,” he spat.

“You just said you were gonna destroy him!” you said. If your hands had been free, you would have thrown them up in exasperation.

“Jeanist has to agree to this idiot fucking plan, and he’s not gonna do that if it puts you at risk, you fucking brat. There’s no guarantee that Matsui wouldn’t bring a bunch of his quirk supremacist friends, it would be extremely easy for you to get your ass blown off the face of the earth. What makes you think you’d even fucking make it out of there in one piece?” Bakugou growled.

You looked up at him, slightly touched by the concern. But try as you might, you couldn’t imagine Bakugou of all people losing track of the fight and letting you get cremated. The more you insisted on this idea, the more you believed it yourself.

“Because I’ll have you,” you said simply.

Bakugou paused, blinking down at you through long, golden lashes. His face went suddenly still in a way that you hadn’t seen before, and without his features twisted up in disdain, he looked instantly, incredibly handsome. “What,” he said flatly.

You squirmed a little in his grip, embarrassed by how sincerely you meant it. But you pushed on. “Because I trust you to protect me,” you said. “You have so far. And you’ve proved I was wrong about you before. You haven’t given me a reason not to trust you.”

Bakugou’s face spasmed, like he was desperately trying to not feel human emotion, but you could see the way the tips of his ears went pink through the ashy blonde strands of his hair.

You thought this had been a rather effective play on your part, though you did mean it. He’d saved you once before, made you tea and food and let you cry in front of him like a big dramatic baby. He’d apologized, and spent the last week trying to make it up to you, albeit aggressively, by letting you get away with more and trying to feed you real meals.

Actions spoke loudly, and Bakugou’s actions had proven himself to you, as far as you were concerned.

Those scarlet eyes cut away from you, focusing on some point on the floor to the left of your head, and it was then you knew you’d gotten him.

“You’re a goddamn pain in my ass,” he said, his voice slightly more gravelly than before. “You can go on one fucking condition.”

You nodded eagerly, thrilled with your success. “Okay. Yes. Whatever it is, yes.”

Bakugou’s lip curled, and his gaze cut back to yours. “You’re going to learn self-defense before you go on that stupid fucking show.”

You blinked. “In less than a week? During finals week?”

“As much as I say you will,” he growled, raising his eyebrows at you significantly.

You got the impression then that this was a non-negotiable point for him. And much as you doubted you’d been an expert by the time Thursday rolled around, you couldn’t deny the idea had merit. You probably weren’t going to take out Matsui himself, but it wouldn’t hurt to know how to suppress someone with a lesser quirk.

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “I’ll do it.”

Bakugou shifted over you so he was crouched over you, almost sitting on your stomach, still pinning your wrists down at the side of your head. A mean smirk overtook his face again, and a warning light flicked on in the back of your brain.

“First lesson, then, brat. Try to get out of this hold,” he said.

You stared up at him in disbelief, incredulity and annoyance instantly bubbling up in your veins like they’d just been set on a hot stove. “Now? Get out of this?” you demanded.

Bakugou’s smile was a wicked, feral thing, and it made something hot curl in your stomach, even more disconcerting than your annoyance. “If you wanna make it to your computer in time to respond to the email, then you’d better hurry up,” he said.

Immediately you started bucking in his hold, trying to shove him off of you with the raise of your hips, trying to twist out of his grip like a spineless jellyfish. Bakugou held you down, looking far too self-satisfied, and way too relaxed, like this was child’s play to him, while you struggled for your life. You kicked and curled and squirmed but none of it would dislodge him, and the insane urge to fucking bite him rose within you again, blotting out all rational thought.

Before you had realized what you were doing, you’d turned your head and brought your mouth to one of the arms holding you down. And then you leaned up and bit him right in the middle of his bicep, clamping down for all you were worth.

“What the fuck—!” Bakugou shouted, suddenly pulling his hands off of you just as hot, reflexive sparks of his quirk shot out of his palms. The motion jerked the skin of his arm out of your mouth, and you could see the ring of your tooth marks left in the firm muscle, smell the ashy sweetness of his quirk heat the air around you.

You realized he’d only moved to protect you, but that was enough of a surprise for you to buck him off of you, sliding quickly out from underneath him.

He recovered quickly enough, catching you by the scruff of your shirt and slamming you back down on the yoga mat. He covered you with his body again, his palms still hot from his quirk.

“What the fuck was that you goddamn brat?” he demanded.

You gave him your shittiest, smuggest grin. “Self defense,” you said. “And I escaped your hold, even if only for a second, so I win.”

Bakugou looked beyond pissed.

“You’re gonna get it, you shitty fucking brat,” he told you warningly, his tone going darker.

But you didn’t care. You were far too satisfied with your unexpected win, and the realization of your desire to bite him that had compounded over the course of your isolation with him.

You loved the look of him, incredulous, furious, and so impossibly golden and handsome over you—this, you thought wildly, was worth any revenge he could think up. This was exactly how you wanted him.

And then Bakugou moved, his revenge swift and merciless.

He uttered your name like an oath, ducked his head. And then he caught your mouth in a kiss—hot and furious.

And the tension you had sensed building all along finally snapped.

[koolkitty9]

LET ME FINALLY GIVE MY THOUGHTS ON THIS SCENE RIGHT HERE. Hi I am obsessed with this scene for absolutely no reason. I have MANY THOUGHTS on it and I want to share my analysis on this entire minute scene. It has been almost EIGHT YEARS NOW since it aired (Sorry some of this got formatted weird by Tumblr hhhhh)

Right here, you can see the moment where Yumoto's heart just drops into his stomach and he realizes he MAY actually lose for the first time ever as a Battle Lover (Which would be A VERY INTERESTING THING to see!)

Now why do they show him in the past? It shows that this is a REAL fear of his, losing Gora is such a big deal to him. This MAY have happened before at home but as a child, this scene takes place during the events we saw with the tiny Beppu bros in ep 10. Where he was left alone

Starting off with this, WHERE is this coming from? Well, Sailor Moon S1Ep1, we see Usagi having an attack JUST like this, and it is a defensive attack, which I believe Yumoto's own attack was based on. Wombat MUST have known about this, I believe he NEVER thought it would occur

The others are confused at this new power (Power #5 for Yumoto in s2) meanwhile, the twins are horrified/even MORE angry at him. Aki tells Haru to not falter and Haru tries to shoot Yumoto in the chest to stop/fatally injure him at this point

Atsushi mentions Yumoto has stronger emotions compared to the VEPPer (He shames them btw), we learn in the OVA, Yumoto's powers are loved based, we DO get hints of in ep9 when Yumoto performs his Love Sprinkle attack. En notes that the twins underestimated how strong Yumoto is

To me, this is just a VERY extreme panic attack but since his powers are with love, it is amplified due to his love for Gora. Kinshiro notes that both past and current Yumoto are merging. I HC that Yumoto was always destined to become Scarlet, so this moment has taken him back to the time when he was a child and this has somehow made itself known in the universe. This could be a result from the alien technology (or could just be nothing and Im looking too deep into a single line)

Everyone isn't sure WHAT is going on, Ryuu tells him to get a grip after he learns Yumoto is "Losing himself to fear" and tries to touch him. As we see when Haru tried to hit Yumoto, this power is actively protecting Yumoto while doing damage to anyone who tries to hurt him. I actually find this to be SUPER interesting

It's more interesting when he calms down after the twins realize how strong he is, I believe this is his true anger over the entire situation. By this point Yumoto is sick of it, he has been fighting these two for so long over his own brother. He has almost been killed and now He's ready to do the same to them. When the boys all come running to stop Yumoto, they all have different expressions (Can't see Io's :(( ) The twins though, are horrified as they know if they get hit, THEY ARE DONE FOR! (It's finEEEE)

En's first thought is to grab Yumoto to try to calm him down somewhat by grounding him back to reality

Atsushi (just like a mom as Yumoto says about him) gently grabs Yumoto's face and tries to get him to look at him, while also shielding him from either himself or another attack from the twins. You can actually see him and Io pulling Yumoto closer to them

Ryuu and Wombat don't add much, BUT Ryuu does actually support Yumoto's head when they all fall onto the ground. Which Yumoto's head SHOULD be in Ryuu's lap (In theory).

As for the dark place? Yumoto probably experienced a severe form of tunnel vision along with the influence of his powers. IMO, He was so overwhelmed with the thought of losing his only family forever that he forgot about his found family as well.

adding to how Yumoto is being held, Ryuu seems to have Yumoto's forearms pinned, Io has his arms around Yumoto's chest, and En and Atsushi I CAN'T really see where they're grabbing at but it but it does show you even with their strength it takes all four of them to subdue Yumoto

And uhhh I think that's it really for this scene...for now... Once Yumoto remembers how he's loved by his friends and he's not alone, he transforms into his highest form to date :)))) also these frames of him are pretty lol this scene had a lot of gorgeous frames OKAY BYE!

I WANTED TO ADD MORE PICS BUT RAN OUTTA SPACE

I didnt fit ALL I wanted to talk about but ANOTHER TIME! OKAY BYE FOR REALSIES