#the snooze button... i know him well

[thatlittledandere]

there sure is a gay snooze button

[nayziiz]

Pillowtalk | OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Warnings: some smut, fluff

Author's note: Short and sweet for Osc. Been getting a ton of CS55 requests, so expect some of that coming soon.

Masterlist

Oscar groaned as the recycled air whooshed through the MTC simulator room. Another sunset he wouldn't see thanks to another gruelling preparation session.  Sure, F1 was all about pushing boundaries and whatnot, but right now, pushing the snooze button on his internal alarm clock sounded infinitely more appealing.  He glanced at the blinking steering wheel in front of him, a million buttons mocking him. 

"Essential," his brain chanted sarcastically.  Yeah, essential torture.  At least the stale protein bar he choked down earlier wouldn't fight back when he pretended it was a juicy steak. 

The prospect of her back in their apartment, her absence, a constant ache in his chest, made the cramped simulator room feel even smaller.  He knew she'd be prepping her "welcome home" ritual by now.  First, it would be the low lights, the ones that mimicked a real sunset. Then, the soft jazz that always seemed to melt the tension out of his shoulders, a stark contrast to the incessant hum of the simulator.  Next came her magic touch.  Oscar could practically feel her fingertips already, working their way across his scalp, a symphony of relaxation that could turn his frown upside down faster than any race car in the world.

He pictured her fingers moving down his back, her gentle pressure a welcome contrast to the stiff chair he'd been glued to for the past eight hours. Oscar knew the routine well enough by now. Her efforts were like a well-worn path leading him to sleep, each step a familiar comfort. But Oscar had one quirk in this carefully constructed relaxation ritual: his chattiness. The more exhausted he was, the more his voice box seemed to loosen, overflowing with nonsensical observations and half-baked conspiracies.

Sometimes, she found it endearing. She would play along, asking leading questions, feigning interest in his theories.  Other nights, his ramblings stretched on like an endless loop.  She would listen patiently for a while, her eyelids growing heavy with the drone of his voice.  But inevitably, fatigue would claim her, and she would drift off, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips, only to be woken up later by a trailing sentence or a nonsensical question that hung in the stale air.  Oscar, blissfully unaware, would keep talking, his voice a lullaby of exhaustion until it finally sputtered out, surrendering to the weight of his eyelids.  The silence that followed was a welcome sound, a sign that the bedroom was finally bathed in the quiet hum of sleep.

Other nights, she was too tired to entertain his delirium. He blinked at her, a goofy grin spreading across his face. 

“You know,” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “I was in jail once. It wasn't very fun, let me tell you.”

He hiccuped, a sound suspiciously close to a giggle. Struggling to keep her own eyes open, she jolted awake at his statement.

“Jail? Oscar, what are you talking about?” she retorted.

They had been together since high school, partners in crime when it came to studying. Jail? The closest he ever came to incarceration was detention for accidentally setting off a stink bomb in their high school’s chemistry lab.

“Monopoly,” he mumbled, the word slurring slightly. “Went to jail for, like, three turns. Worst experience ever.”

He punctuated his declaration with a dramatic sigh, then rolled over, burrowing deeper into the  bedsheets with the air of someone who had just solved a major existential crisis. She couldn't help but snort with laughter.  This was classic Oscar behaviour. 

“Honey, if you don't quiet down and get some sleep, you might end up in an early grave, not jail,” she teased, rolling her eyes playfully.

She reached out and gently swatted at his shoulder, the familiar warmth of him a comforting presence.  Oscar's pout, even obscured by sleep, was enough to disarm her.

“You’re so mean,” he mumbled, the accusation laced with a sleep-induced vulnerability.

“Look, it's three in the morning. You haven't slept a wink, and you have practice later this morning.  Think you can handle G-Force with no sleep?” She countered, her voice softened.  She knew the pout was a facade, a sign he was close to drifting off.

“Call it the 24 hours of Montreal,” he teased and nuzzled his face into her neck.

“Call it your last conscious moments before I suffocate you with a pillow,” she retorted, her fingers tracing circles absently on his arm.  She could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, a slow, steady rhythm that was lulling her back to sleep.

“I'm in love with a bully, what has become of this world?” he sighed hopelessly, his breath hitting her neck at the right angle to make her skin tingle.

“Might need to call your Mom and tell her I'm in love with a criminal who went to Monopoly jail, bet she'd be impressed I've lasted this long with you,” she continued to tease him.

“If you continue to be mean to me, I will have to-” he began, but she interrupted him.

“What, Osc, what are you going to do?” she teased, knowing exactly what he intended.

A beat of playful silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken desire.  Then, before she could even form another witty retort, Oscar was a blur of movement.  With a whoop that startled her awake, he was on top of her, his laughter echoing in the room.  His hands, surprisingly nimble for a man who had spent the last eight hours glued to a chair, sought out her ticklish spots with an almost professional ease.  

Caught off guard, she erupted into helpless giggles that filled the room.  She squirmed and swatted at him weakly, more laughter than resistance escaping her lips.  Oscar, emboldened by her reaction, rained kisses down her neck, each one sending shivers down her spine.  Playfulness soon gave way to something more heated.  The laughter died down, replaced by a low moan that escaped her lips as Oscar's kisses migrated south, his touch turning from playful to urgent.

Their make-out session was a slow burn, fueled by exhaustion and a deep longing for each other. Each kiss was a whispered promise, a way of erasing the miles that separated them from a normal life at times. Hands explored, clothes became an impediment, and soon they were tangled together, in a universe of their own making.

The act itself was a whirlwind.  Oscar, fueled by a potent mix of sleep deprivation and pent-up desire, moved with a raw intensity that left her breathless.  He poured every ounce of remaining energy into it, their bodies moving in a perfect rhythm, a silent conversation spoken only in touches and moans.  

Afterwards, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.  Oscar collapsed beside her, a contented sigh escaping his lips.  He fumbled for a cloth, wiping away the afterglow on her skin with a tenderness that belied his previous intensity.  Flushed and breathless, she leaned into his touch, a wave of post-coital bliss washing over her.  

Within minutes, the steady rhythm of his breathing filled the air.  Exhaustion, finally winning the battle, claimed him.  He was out cold, a peaceful smile playing on his lips.  She watched him for a moment, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on his face.  Oscar, with his sleep talk and his goofy Monopoly anecdotes, was her home, her safe harbour in the unpredictable world they found themselves in.  She snuggled closer to him, the gentle hum of the city in the distance a lullaby lulling them both into a shared sleep.

[vicsnook]

Out of Oklahoma | Tyler Owens x Reader

word count: 3326

warnings: Tornadoes, Loss, Implied smut

notes: Hey y’all 🤠 I am back with some more content! When I tell y’all I was sat at that theater. Even my boyfriend was thirsting over Glen (specifically in the rain scene, iykyk). Anyways, hope y’all enjoy this one and please don’t forget to like and reblog 🫶🏼.

I crawl out of the hotel bed at 5, hitting the snooze button on the way to the bathroom. My reflection looks back at me less than thrilled for what’s to come today.

Apparently the world hates me because there is no coffee to brew when I check the kitchenette, so now my day’s gone from bad to worse. I check my phone and sure enough I have a million messages from my dumba-sweet brother Boone about how he can’t wait for me to meet his friends.

I'm not ready for that. But nevertheless I carry on and make my way to the airport to board a flight to take me home, to Oklahoma. It’s fine, I think to myself. It’s all going to be okay. But I know it’s a lie. Still I get on the plane and pretend I’m going somewhere tropical instead of the one place I swore I wouldn’t return to.

The wheels touch down roughly on the strip, startling me awake. Here goes nothing. The airport is packed but thankfully all I have is my carry on which holds what little I left to California with six months ago. So much for making a life for myself.

The old Ram is parked just outside the doors and I know I can’t put this off any longer. After what happened last year, I want to turn around and get the hell out of dodge but I can’t avoid him forever. Not when my family needs me, well what’s left of it. “Well, well, well, look at what the cat drug in.”

I sigh and look up, locking eyes with the one person I didn’t want to see ever again. Tyler Owens. My ex-fiancée.

“Tyler. Nice to see you didn’t get blown away by a Tornado,” I force out with the fakest smile I can muster. God knows I’d love to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, amongst other things, I shake my head dismissing the stupid thought.

“Y/N, good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. That all your luggage?” he asks, grabbing my carry on from me and placing it in the bed of the truck before I can even answer. “Yep,” I mumble, getting into the truck.

“So, where’s Boone?” I ask, trying to ease the tension.

Tyler glances over at me and I feel my stomach do a stupid flip. Stop it!

“He’s at your Nana’s house dealing with some of the insurance people. I’m really sorry about what happened, Y/N.” he says. “We tried to warn them.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s not your fault, Tyler. You didn’t know it would turn and hit them directly.” I start to reach for his arm to comfort him but pull it back, the gesture feeling inappropriate after all that happened between us.

He nods and continues to drive on. Him and Boone blame themselves but I know there’s nothing they could’ve done. I just wish they’d see it that way.

-

The ruins of the home we grew up in come into view and my heart shatters all over again. The anger bubbling in my stomach as I see all the tornado took from us. Why!? Why us!? I want to scream at the sky as I walk up to my brother who I can tell is barely holding it together.

“Hey Boonie,” I whisper, hugging his back. His breathing shakes as he turns and pulls me into a hug, nearly suffocating me. “I tried sissy, I really did but they’re gone.” he says, “I was too late.”

I hold him as he finally breaks down and I try whispering reassurances in his ear but I know he’s not listening. My eyes make contact with Tyler’s as he heads towards the rubble and begins to sort things out.

“It’s not your fault, Boonie.” I say, holding his face so he looks at me. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

He nods quietly, pulling me in for another hug as the guilt consumes me for having left him behind. I should’ve never gone to California.

-

I follow Tyler to the entrance of the dingy motel on the edge of town, still holding on to Boone’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Y/N.” Boone says, handing me the key to my room. “Always,” I respond. Squeezing his hand one last time as he turns to go to his room.

“Where’s the rest of your crew? I haven’t seen them.” I ask Tyler as we head up the stairs since our rooms are on the second floor. “They’re helping some people downtown that got hit too. They asked me to give you their condolences.” He answers, stopping in front of my door.

“Um, thanks and thank you for all you’ve been doing for Boone. I hate that I couldn’t get here sooner.” I say. “California wasn’t all I thought it’d be.”

“Tried to tell ya.”

“I know. I'm sorry, Tyler.”

He moves a step forward and drops his mouth beside my ear, the distance between us almost non-existent. “Nothing to be sorry about, darling.” He drawls, pulling back, then turning around and walking into his room, leaving me in the hallway.

This man will be the death of me.

-

The weeks go by slowly as we deal with the insurance but somewhere along the way we finally get Nana’s ashes back. Boone and I take them out to the river, spreading them at the one place she loved most.

“So how are things between Kate and Tyler?” I ask Boone as we head back to the motel from the pizza parlor.

My stomach clenches, waiting for his answer.

He looks at me and grins. “Why you want to know Sissy? Any interest in getting back in that saddle?”

“Ew! No! I was just curious, Boone.” I say, glaring at him while he laughs.

“They never really were anything serious. She ran off to New York City the second she got her research. Oklahoma held too many painful memories for her or something.”

I nod. Pulling into the motel parking lot that we now call home. That is until the money from the insurance comes through and we can get to rebuilding Nana’s place.

“There’s the man of the hour.” Says Boone pointing at Tyler who’s getting out of his truck. The white shirt clinging to his chiseled chest because of the rain.

He really does look good in a cowboy hat. I think, quickly shaking my head trying to erase the thought. “Close your mouth Sissy, you’re gonna get drool all over yourself.” Boone teases and I playfully smack him, tearing my eyes off Tyler.

“You know Sissy, I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” I ask, turning off the ignition.

“How y’all girls run away from that man. I mean I ain’t blind and I may be biased because he’s my best friend but his personality doesn’t suck either.” I sigh, knowing he’s not wrong.

“It’s complicated.” I finally say, and get out of the car. Heading for my room before Boone can add anything else.

-

“Where are we going?” I ask again for the millionth time. Letting Tyler and Boone blindfold me was starting to seem like a mistake the longer we were in the truck.

It also didn’t help that Tyler was playing the cd I burned for him back in high school.

“Almost there, Sissy.” Boone assures me, as the truck left the paved road and headed down a dirt road. Please Lord don’t let this be another one of Boone’s pranks.

Tyler helps me out the truck and leads me down a rocky path. My nerves increasing by the second and wondering where my brother had ran off to.

“Tada!” yells Boone, the bandana falling off my eyes as Tyler pulls off the knot.

“I know it ain't much Sissy but I couldn’t let you keep living in that Motel much longer.” Boone says, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the tiny home that now sits behind where Nana’s new house will be. “So, you hate it?”

“No! Thank you so much!” I yell, pulling him into a hug. “You really didn’t have to do this Boonie.” Tears stream down my face as my brother squeezes me. Thank you God for such a good brother.

“I can’t take all the credit, it was Tyler’s idea after all.” Boone whispers to me. I nod, pulling away and wiping the tears off my cheeks.

Lord knows if things were different I’d be running to Tyler and giving him a big ol’ kiss right now. But they aren’t. I remind myself so I settled for just saying “Thank you, Ty.”

“Not a problem.” He says, turning to follow my brother to my now little home.

-

“Please work, come on!” I yell at the shower. My little home was nothing but perfect, well except for the water which always seemed to go out at the most inconvenient times.

I try calling Boone but I’m greeted by his voicemail which only leaves one other person to call. Sighing I pull up his contact and dial. Ignoring the contact picture that I never bothered to change.

“Hello?”

“Hey, um sorry to bother but I can’t reach Boone and my water went out again while I was washing my hair,” I say, already regretting calling him.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” He replies, hanging up before I can say anything else. I pull on a bathrobe and tidy up before he gets here. I wince when I see my hair in the mirror, suds still in it but oh well. Tyler’s seen me how the lord made me so I doubt a little bit of suds will make me ugly.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by his knocking and I think as I open the door that maybe I should’ve thrown some clothes on. “Hey,” I say, stepping aside as he makes his way to the water heater closet to check there first.

The minutes pass and the silence is eating me alive. The temptation to say that I was wrong for ending things the way I did consumes me. So much so that I don’t realize he’s talking to me until he comes to stand in front of me.

“Earth to Y/N? It’s fixed. You shouldn’t have any more issues.”

“Thanks Ty. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” I reply, his eyes meeting mine.

“Live your life without fear of me dying everyday because of what I do,” he says, it's clear to me then that the wound is still very much open.

He starts to head for the door but I’m quick to get up and grab his arm, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Ty, I’m sorry. I was wrong, okay? All I did was trade tornadoes for earthquakes. Happiness for misery. I was wrong and I shouldn’t have left the way I did.” I say, my eyes searching for his.

“You left me, Y/N. You packed your bags and left without saying a word, leaving all of us behind. So, no, sorry doesn’t cut it here. I’m sorry about your Nana but you made your mistakes. Live with them.” He replies, the anger in his eyes sending chills down my spine. I swallow the lump in my throat long enough for him to walk out and slam the door on his way out. What the fuck did I do and how can I even fix it?

-

** 6 months later **

Nana’s house is finished. It looks similar to the one the tornado tore from the ground but me and Boone know it couldn’t be more different.

We bring in what we could salvage slowly and try to make it look as closely as possible to the original one. Lastly, placing a picture of Nana, Boone, and I, that Lily recovered from the wreckage on the mantel.

“Close enough,” Boone whispers, sitting on the couches that Dani and Dexter got us.

“Yeah, I just wish she was still here.” I reply, sitting across from him. “You going chasing again today?”

“Yeah, but I promise we’re being safe sissy. We don’t do that driving into tornadoes and shooting off fireworks anymore after Nana,” He answers, sadness filling his features.

“Just be safe,” I mutter, taking a seat next to him and letting him pull me into a hug. “Always.”

“For what it’s worth, he’s not really mad at you. He’s mad at himself for not realizing sooner how far gone you were until it was too late.”

A sigh escapes me as he gets up, giving me a faint smile before walking out the door. Off to chase the very thing that took the last bit of family we had.

-

The rain came in buckets. All day it’d been so pretty but as soon as I stepped outside the grocery store, I saw how much the sky had changed. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as lightning struck.

Rushing to my car, I threw the groceries in the back seat but before I could throw the car in reverse I heard it.

The tornado sirens.

I threw open the car door and started sprinting back into the grocery store but a cry for help stopped me before I could make it in. Lord please protect them. I prayed quickly.

Debris was already flying all around me when I turned to look for the source of the pleas and then I spotted her. A girl who looked no more than 15 was on the ground in the parking lot, her leg in a cast and her crutches nowhere to be seen. “Please help me!”

I ran towards her. My body going into overdrive as the wind threatened to push me over too. “Please don’t let me die,” she begged as I threw her arm around me and hurried back for the door.

The wind picked up even more and the rain turned into hail as I trekked through the lot trying to make it back inside. The short distance seemed infinite.

I felt it before I could even turn. It was there. The loud roar filled my ears as I pulled the girl in front of me and with the last of my strength I had, I pushed her to where the door was.

Then my feet left the ground as the tornado sucked me in and I felt the world go black.

-

“Bo-one?” I rasp, my throat on fire and my entire body feeling like it’d been run over. The events leading up to this moment slowly coming back to me as I struggle to open my eyes.

“Hey, he’s just outside talking to the doctor, let me get him,” replies Tyler softly. My eyes adjust to the harsh hospital lights as he steps out the door and taps Boone on the shoulder.

My head pounds as I take in my surroundings. Scratches cover up both my arms. If I looked into a mirror right now I’d probably collapse.

“Sissy! Thank God you’re okay!” Hollers Boone as he comes to my bedside, careful not to hurt me when pulling me to him. “I thought I lost you.”

His tears wetting my hospital gown as I hug him back as best I could. “I’m okay, Boonie.” I whisper in his ear as he sobs.

“Is the girl okay?” I ask, worry filling me up at the thought that she didn’t make it.

“Yes, she made it inside just in time, Sissy. You saved her life.” Boone says, taking my head in his hands and pressing our foreheads together like we did when we were kids.

I close my eyes, nodding and thanking God that we were all okay.

“I need to go sign some paperwork but if you’re feeling up to it, we can take you home today. You got lucky,” Boone tells me while getting up from my hospital bed.

“I’d love nothing more than my bed.” I reply, shooting him a smile as he steps out.

I turn to Tyler who’s been quietly standing in the corner this whole time and I notice his swollen eyes. My heart squeezing at the thought of having worried him and Boone.

“Hey,” I mutter, and his eyes finally meet mine.

“Guess Boone isn’t the only tornado chaser in the family huh,” he jokes, still standing in the corner.

“Guess not,” I reply, chuckling but my throat is so dry that it turns into a cough and he’s rushing to my bedside with a glass of water in hand.

“Thank you,” I manage to say as I chug the water. Instant relief filling my throat. “So, can you fill me in on what happened after I got sucked into the tornado?”

“Uh, well witness accounts are that you pushed the girl inside and then got sucked in. Me and Boone had been chasing the tornado and pulled into the lot as it dissipated.” He stops, taking a seat on the bed and grabbing my hand. “The people in the supermarket started pouring out and screaming that you got sucked in, of course at the time we didn’t know it’d been you. Nevertheless we all started searching and found you passed out on top of a tarp in the baseball field.”

“Oh wow, that’s quite the distance. Saved myself some gas for sure,” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Y/N, you could’ve died. You got out with scratches and a story but you could’ve died,” he says, a somber look on his face.

“Hey, I’m okay. I didn’t die. Nana protected me,” I tell him, tipping his face so his eyes meet mine. “I got a second chance to start over and,” but he cuts me off.

“I love you,” he says, then his lips crash into mine. The kiss knocks the air out of my lungs but as he pulls away, I recover and pull him back to my lips.

When he finally draws back, his eyes are teary but there is no sadness in them anymore. “I’m sorry for walking out on you, if you had died, I don’t know how I could live with myself, knowing how I left things,” he says, his words piercing my heart.

“Hey,” I say softly, “I’m here and I’m okay. I know there’s a lot we need to talk about but I can promise you this, I’m not leaving Oklahoma. Ever.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I whisper, leaning in to meet his lips.

But before we can finish our moment with a kiss Boone is bursting through the door.

-

** One month later **

“Ty! Dinner’s ready!” I holler, and I hear the sound of the shower turning off. Making my way to the living room I stop and pick up my Nana’s picture, thank you for saving me. I think to myself and put it back down.

“Ty! Come on!” I yell, quietly sneaking up the stairs to our room. Glad that Boone’s off with Lily at the fair.

“Coming!” I hear him yell from the bathroom. The towel is wrapped around his waist and drops of water make their way down his abs. Man, I’d sure love to be that towel. I think to myself as I watch from the door crack but am greeted with a smirk when I make my way up to his face.

“Hey darlin’, coming to see the view?” he asks cheekily, turning to me. Busted.

“Well you’re the one who says “if you feel it, chase it,” and I sure am feeling a lot of things right now,” I reply, letting my eyes trail down his chest.

“Oh, yeah?” he replies, coming closer. “Well you better start running.”

I giggle and turn to run but don’t even make it out the room before he’s tackling me to the bed. Dinner is gonna be real cold when we’re done here.

[fairy-writes]

Could you do something with gen narumi from Kaiju 8? Something with angst and eventual fluff? Maybe s/o going missing during a mission or something

A SPECTACULAR DAY OFF

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Narumi Gen x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Defense Officer!Reader

Notes: I love Narumi, but nothing compares to my love for Hoshina (except for maybe my love of November 11, but that’s a whole other story (seriously, I wrote 6k about that man))

__________________________________________________________________________

Today was supposed to be your day off.

You woke up, the sunlight streaming through your window, letting you know it was likely well past noon. The window was cracked as it always was, and Narumi Gen was fast asleep beside you.

As lazy as he was, Gen actually slept very little. What with his career and gaming habits, it wasn’t unusual for you to find him up into the wee hours of the morning doing something or other. So you were delighted to see him relax and sleep in.

You trailed a finger between his eyebrows, down his nose, and over his slightly parted lips, resting your hand on the side of his neck, leaning in to kiss him.

Just as you pulled away, a hand cradled the back of your head and kept you close.

“Who said you could stop?” Gen’s voice is gravely and sleep-addled, thick with the remnants of dreams. His lips brush yours, and you can’t help but giggle a bit.

“Someone has to get up and make breakfast,” You tease, and he huffs, sharp red eyes opening to glare menacingly at you. However, you aren’t phased; instead, you wriggle out of his other arm, which is firmly wrapped around your waist. 

For being “Japan’s Strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant,” he really was weak in the arms when he was sleepy.

It takes another thirty minutes of snoozing before Gen actually gets out of bed and ambles his way into the kitchen, where you’re flipping pancakes. A decent-size stack is already buttered and plated at the table, with a bottle of syrup sitting next to it and a bowl of chopped fruit to top it all off. The coffee pot is burbling on the corner of the counter, and two mugs are set aside for the roasted beverage later.

Gen’s handheld game console beeps and chirps as you finish up the pancakes, and he shovels them into his mouth almost as fast as you can make them. You watch him over your cup of coffee, his voracious appetite is as present as ever it seems. 

It’s blissfully quiet until your phone alarm blares and shatters the silence. You check the notification and scowl.

A kaiju.

It's just on the edge of your division lines, too. It was maybe fifteen minutes away? You sigh, set down your coffee, and look at Gen, who is shoveling the rest of his pancakes in his mouth, before you head out.

Today was supposed to be your day off!

When you come to, it’s dark, and you panic.

Are you blind?!

No… There’s a pinprick of light, and you are relieved to be able to see. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done had you been blinded. You wouldn’t have been able to do your job anymore had that happened. You would’ve been forcefully retired from duty, likely with honors, but that wasn’t the point. 

Where were you? 

You take in your surroundings, realizing very quickly that you are in a lot of danger. 

Three things. 

One. A building must’ve collapsed on you, and you were in an air pocket of sorts.

Two. Your earpiece was just emitting static. Broken maybe? 

And three. Your leg was pinned under some rubble. Pins and needles tingled up the pinned appendage, and you tugged half-heartedly. It’s no use. You were stuck. 

You press the button on your earpiece,

“Hello? Does anyone read me? I’m stuck and need immediate evac and medical assistance.” You say, but all you hear is static. With your leg pinned and your earpiece broken, you are forced to sit and wait.

Maybe search and rescue will find you? You can only hope and pray.

What feels like hours pass. 

You yawn for what feels like the umpteenth time, head lolling to the side as sleepiness overtakes you.

This really wasn’t good.

Wasn’t there something on the internet about yawning being a sign of lack of oxygen? Was your air running out? You could barely see as it was; there likely weren't any substantial cracks letting in fresh air.

Were you… going to die here?

No! You couldn’t! You had promised Gen that you’d stand by his side as an equal one day!

Even if you were never able to, you still didn’t want to die here. 

You begin to struggle, using what’s left of your suit’s power to try and shift the rubble. It does shift, only to fall even lower. You were never that powerful, but now you might never be. 

As darkness overtakes your vision, you call out one last time. 

“Gen… Please…”

When you come to again, it's to bright, fluorescent lights shining overhead and the beeping of a handheld gaming device. 

“You’re awake.” Gen’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet. You turn your head and see him. The nubbins of plastic feeding oxygen in your nose are uncomfortable, but you push through. 

“What happened?” You mumble, and he snorts, putting down his game and turning in his chair to look at you. 

“A building collapsed on top of you. You ran out of oxygen. My dumb disciple found you.” He said quickly and succinctly. 

Shinomiya Kikoru. 

“But how—”

“It doesn’t matter how. All that matters is you’re safe.” He cuts you off harshly, but his words and actions say the opposite. He’s treating you like you’re a doll. Typically, it would make you annoyed. But now? 

Now, you just want to sleep. You almost died, for heaven’s sake!

So you do, the entire time, Gen doesn’t let go of your hand. 

[dilatorywriting]

59 Leona, it'd take a lot for him to admit but he would say it eventually. (Also I know you'd recognize me but I'm shy, so anon it is)

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 1.5k

Prompt 59: "People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you, I think fate was being harsh on you."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

You are nice, and you are stupid. And those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Sometimes you’re nice because you’re stupid, and sometimes you do stupid things because you’re too nice for your own stupid, stupid good. And it drives Leona half insane.

Which it shouldn’t, because nice, stupid people like you are just as annoying as his brother. Goody-two-shoes with buttoned vests and sparkly, star-shaped stickers on their term papers.

“Did you remember your homework?”

Leona flicked his tail in your face and you scrunched your nose over your notebook.

“Well?”

“Of course I remembered,” he scoffed, lazing back against the roots of one of his favorite trees. This spot used to be so much quieter, so much more peaceful, before you decided to trail after him like a duck quacking for its mother.

“Did you do the homework?” you clarified, and Leona rolled his eyes.

You sighed and starting ruffling around in your bookbag. “I brought a spare copy of the worksheet. You’re going to drive Ruggie insane, y’know. If he winds up stuck with you for another year because you failed for not turning in assignments.”

“Yeah. Sure. Another three-hundred-and-sixty-five days to rifle through my wallet. Worst news of his life.”

You huffed good naturedly and handed him the sheet of crisp, white copy paper and a pen. “Get to work, Kingscholar.”

“Oh?” he drawled, closing his eyes and settling back, loose limbed and all long, lean leisure, against the tree trunk. Clearly ready for an afternoon snooze. “Make me.”

You sighed again and reached over to flick your own well-used pen against his ear. It twitched under your fingers—soft, and tufted. The finest of the pale, tan fur brushing up against your fingertips. “Fine. Be that way. See if I bring you lunch tomorrow.”

“You will,” he scoffed.

“Yeah,” you sighed, sounding resigned and foolishly fond. “I probably will.”

See? Stupid. So easy to manipulate. So willing to let yourself be squashed under his clawed thumb. It was a wonder you’d managed to survive in this school at all. Nevertheless by clinging onto the coattails of someone like him. He’d never made anyone’s existence easier a day in his life, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, just because you were too soft-hearted and slow to see a looming predator for what it was.

“Just give me that stupid fucking paper,” he snapped, sitting upright and swatting away your poking pen with a sneer. You laughed into your palms like a secret—bright, and merry, and dumb as a fucking rock.

“Whatever you say, Leona.”

.

.

You’d handled his Overblot with a strange sort of aplomb that at first Leona had attributed to perhaps a lingering, hidden confidence that he’d just never bothered to unearth. You were just some herbivore, and even the littlest rabbits could bite back when you put them in a corner. But then he’d come to the decision that that easy conviction was just another symptom of your rampant stupidity.

“I know you guys don’t want to hurt me, or any of us. Not really,” you shrugged around a wad of cotton—the blood dripping from your nose slowly drying up to a tacky, sticky dribble. Leona gaped at you outright.

That was your grand explanation. For why you’d been so eager to charge forward when he’d collapsed in a pool of inky nightmares and self-loathing. And the very same reason apparently thatyou’d felt so comfortable rushing forward to treat Azul Ashengrotto’s blubbering, hysterical, breakdown with the same urgency.

“That octo-prick would have ripped you in half,” he sneered, fingers twitching a nervous rhythm against his palms as he watched the nurse wrap another layer or bandages around your head.

You shrugged. “Not on purpose.”

You were going to give him an aneurism.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he snarled, ignoring the horrible, twisty thing curling like bile through his chest. “And I’m not going to bother paying for some self-sacrificing idiot’s funeral.”

Another shrug.

“That’s alright,” you hummed, a soft sort of crooked smile on your mouth. “Would’ve been a waste of money anyways.”

Leona didn’t talk to you for a week after that. Surely because your stupidity had reached such a fever pitch that it was no doubt contagious, and he needed to protect his far superior and more valuable brain. Not because the image of you smiling and nodding along to his declarations that he wouldn’t put the effort into mourning your death had soured something so deep in his gut that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to scrape it out.

.

.

When he received a letter from home asking him to return for some shitty coronation nonsense for his equally shitty brother, Leona had debated just skipping it outright. Who was going to stop him? You?

Well. Yes, apparently.

“It sounds important,” you hummed, peering over his shoulder at the neat, formal scrawl of the summons. “You should go.”

He snorted. “I don’t want to be there, they don’t want me to be there. What’s the point.”

You frowned, brow crinkling in the middle.

“Well, that’s not true,” you said, perplexed. “They wouldn’t write to you if that was the case.”

Leona snorted, eyes darting away to glare bitterly off into the corner. “Not like they have a choice.”

“Well then you don’t have a choice either,” you argued, firm. “I’ll go with you. See? It says you can have a plus one. You can camp out in your fancy, princey, bedroom. And I can siphon you snacks from the fancy, princey hors d'oeuvres tables. That way we both win. You get to be a reclusive asshole and rub the fact that that you still went in everyone’s faces, and I can get access to some tasty, royal food that I’ll probably never be able to afford again for the rest of my life.”

“Should’ve known you’d be like Ruggie—only using me for the free food,” he sighed, melodramatic and obviously put on.

“Well, also because I thought you could use the emotional support,” you added, a touch too soft and far too genuine. “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear that bit.”

“You’re right,” he scoffed, turning onto his side to hide the strange, miserable heat pricking at his skin. “Don’t ever say corny shit like that again.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you grinned, flicking at his ear, and Leona added another mental tab to his never-ending list of reasons that you were really far too brainless to keep functioning at all.

.

.

You were nice, and you were stupid. And Seven, he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“My brother hasn’t ever brought someone to one of these events before,” Falena had said, to your face. Idiot to idiot communication.  

“I didn’t give him much of an option,” you’d chirped, perfectly pleasant. “I don’t think he wants me anywhere near here, to be fair. Or around him in general. But I’m like a cockroach. Can’t get rid of me.”

And Falena had laughed. Because he was terrible. And said, “I’m sure he must care about you very much, little cockroach.”

And then because you were more terrible, you laughed back and said very assuredly, “Oh, not at all.”

Which was—was—

“Do you really think that?” he snapped, once the two of you were alone. And you blinked back at him with wide, owlish eyes.

“Think what?”

Think at all,he wanted to sneer, but just glared silently and bitterly into the middle distance—fighting the nonsensical, irritated swishing of his tail.

But you just kept staring at him. Like he was the moron here. Which was unacceptable.

“Look,” he frowned, sharp and miserable. “I get it. People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you. Whatever gods exist out there were playing a shitty fucking joke on you when they dropped you in my lap. But you’re stuck with me. So stop—” he bit out, fighting that awful, twisty thing in his gut that never seemed to fully go away. “Stop talking like I can’t stand you.”

“…oh,” you mumbled, whisper quiet—that wide, startled gaze flicking away in embarrassment. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed, sharp, and you snorted a laugh that seemed to surprise even you.

“You’re stuck with me too then, y’know,” you said after a long moment. “Even when I make you grumpy.”

“You don’t make me grumpy. I am grumpy. You make me—” he cut off quick, eyes darting away petulantly and an absolutely unfair heat rising along his cheekbones.  

“Itchy,” you piped in, and he gaped at you in shock.

“What?”

“You know,” you shrugged, awkward, and reached up to wiggle your fingers. “Cockroach. Many legs. Squirming. Itchy.”

“Never say any of those words again.”

You laughed into your palm—inelegant and a touch too loud. Leona felt his lips quirk.

“Thank you,” you said after a moment, once your giggles were a bit more under control. And leaned forward quick as a whip to press a nervous peck against his cheek. “For being kind to me.”

Kind.

Leona reached up to press a hand against the too-warm skin with a terrible, unfamiliar sensation in his head not unlike the fuzzy, white drone of TV static. And a horrible thought managed to filter its way through the floating, buzzing sensation curling through the whole of him.

Oh, fuck. It is contagious.

.

.

[wholoveseggs]

Kinktober - {Day Thirty} {<- kinktober masterlist}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List} {Kinktober}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Request {@queenofvelaris}: Lissa may I please request Elijah x female human reader? I have a lot of auto immune illnesses and constantly beat myself up, telling myself I’m weak. I would love some gentle love, admiration and assurance from dom!Elijah that he thinks the world of me I forgot to specify!! The request is for kinktober and I would like to request bathing and praise kink

♡♡♡ Thank you for the request sweet @queenofvelaris hope you like it ♡♡♡

1.5k words - Kinks: Elijah being super sweet, praise kink and bathtub sex ..

You woke up tired. You felt it in your bones. Your entire body felt heavy and exhausted. Today was going to be a long day. 

The alarm clock went off and you groaned, slamming the snooze button and rolling over. The air was chilly and under the blankets, you were cozy and warm.

You felt your boyfriend shift next to you and his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He buried his face in the back of your neck and left a soft kiss there.

You hummed happily, snuggling into him. He kissed your shoulder, then your neck. His hand sliding over your bare skin.

"Morning," he murmured, his fingers sliding across your ribs.

"Morning." You turned and met his lips.

He kissed you slowly, he was still a bit sleepy. Your tongues lazily stroked against each other, his teeth gently pulling on your bottom lip.

The alarm clock went off again, causing both of you to groan. You turned and shut it off before rolling back over.

"I wish we could just stay here all day." You cuddled back into him, his arms wrapping around you once more.

"We could," he said, kissing you again.

You giggled. "No, we can't."

"Sure we can." His hands slid down to cup your ass and he pulled you even closer.

You grinned. "Elijah, we have things to do today."

He pouted. "Do we?"

"Yes," you laughed, pushing at his chest.

He let you roll out of his embrace and watched you get out of bed. You stretched, arching your back. He admired the view for a moment.

You looked at him, grinning. "What?"

"You're so beautiful," he murmured.

Your cheeks warmed. "Stop."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's true."

"Well... so are you," you countered, turning away as you felt the blush spread down your neck.

He chuckled, getting out of bed and following you to the bathroom. You jumped when you felt him slide his hands around your waist, pulling your back to his chest. You leaned against him, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

He kissed the side of your head, resting his chin on your shoulder. You smiled, reaching behind you and tangling your fingers in his hair. His smell surrounded you, comforting and warm.

"How are you feeling this morning, sweetheart?" he asked.

You hesitated and he pulled back, raising an eyebrow.

You bit your lip. "I'm fine."

He frowned. "You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

He tilted his head, watching you.

You sighed. "I'm tired. A little worn down. But I'll be fine."

He watched you for another moment, and then nodded.

"Alright, love," he said, kissing your forehead.

You were grateful he didn't press the issue. He knew how much you hated it when people made a fuss about your health. But he always asked anyway, knowing you'd tell him if you needed him.

"How about you rest for a little longer and I'll start a bath for us?" he offered.

"Okay."

He smiled, kissing your cheek before he let you go. You watched him walk to the tub and start filling it. Then you returned to the bedroom and climbed back into bed.

The sound of running water was soothing, and you relaxed into the pillows. Your eyes drifted closed and your breathing evened out.

You were on the verge of falling asleep again when you heard the water stop. The smell of lavender and eucalyptus filled the room. You hummed, feeling him sit on the edge of the bed.

"Darling," he whispered.

"Mm?"

"Let's get you into the bath."

You groaned, opening your eyes. He was smiling down at you.

"Come on." He held his hand out.

You sighed, but let him pull you up and lead you to the bathroom. You shivered slightly as he slid his fingers across your hips, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your panties. He tugged them down and you stepped out of them.

"Such a gentleman," you teased.

He chuckled. "Only for you."

He helped you into the bathtub. You sighed as the hot water engulfed you, the heat and scents working together to relax you. You leaned back, closing your eyes.

"You should join me," you said, smirking.

"If you insist."

You heard the rustling of clothes and watched him undress. Then he was stepping into the tub behind you, pulling you against him. You leaned back against his chest, humming in pleasure.

His bathtub was wondrous, it was nearly a jacuzzi. Deep, with jets all along the sides, and plenty of room for two. He had told you once that he had it installed because he liked to spend hours alone in the tub. It was where he did his best thinking. The thought of him sitting there, naked, surrounded by bubbles, pondering life, made you smile.

You turned and buried your face in his neck. He ran his fingers through your hair, his other hand tracing circles on your hip, moving lower to rub small circles on your thigh.

His fingers dipped between your legs, teasing. You inhaled sharply, parting your thighs for him. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

"You are so perfect," he whispered.

"Elijah..."

"You are," he insisted.

His fingers found your clit and began rubbing gentle circles.

You moaned softly, tilting your head back. He kissed along your neck, his breath hot on your skin. The water was gently lapping at your skin, adding another layer of sensation.

He increased the pressure of his fingers, rubbing faster. Your breath hitched, pleasure coiling tight inside of you.

"That's it," he murmured. "You're doing so well."

His voice, deep and sensual, was intoxicating. You couldn't get enough. You could feel yourself getting close, your heart racing, your blood rushing in your ears.

You gasped, arching your back as the first wave hit you. He held you close as you cried out, his fingers working you through the orgasm, drawing it out as long as he could.

When the last shudder passed, you sagged against him, panting. He brushed your hair back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Good girl," he murmured.

You moaned, your body already craving more. You shifted, feeling his hard length pressed against your lower back. He chuckled, his hands gripping your hips.

"Eager, are we?" he teased.

"That's your fault," you panted.

"My fault?"

"You and your stupid sexy voice," you grumbled.

He laughed. "I'm sorry."

You turned and pressed your lips to his, sighing as his tongue met yours. His hands gripped your hips, turning you around and guiding you on to his lap.

He broke the kiss, his gaze darkening as you slowly sank onto him. You both groaned, his cock filling you perfectly. You rocked against him, the water moving around you.

You began to move, his hands helping you keep the pace slow. Your breasts were pressed against his chest, his face inches from yours. He watched you intently, his lips parted slightly, his breath coming in soft gasps.

"I love you," he whispered, his eyes roaming over your face.

"Elijah..."

"Let go, my love. Let me see you."

You shuddered, your eyes fluttering closed as his words washed over you. You surrendered to him, letting him take control. He held you tight, his hands guiding your movements, his hips thrusting up to meet yours.

Your head fell back, his name a breathless moan on your lips.

"Yes, that's it. You're doing so well," he praised.

You could feel your orgasm building, a coil of pleasure tightening inside you. Your hands gripped his shoulders, the water splashing around you.

"Come for me, darling," he urged.

You gasped, your back arching as you came undone, waves of pleasure crashing over you. He groaned, his hips stuttering, his fingers digging into your skin. You clung to him, riding out the pleasure.

He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot on your skin. You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close. The water had cooled considerably, but neither of you wanted to move just yet.

You finally pulled back, meeting his gaze. He smiled, then suddenly lifted you up, the water sloshing everywhere.

You laughed, burying your face in his neck as he carefully stepped out of the tub and set you down onto the soft rug. You stood there shivering for a moment, but he grabbed a fluffy towel and wrapped it around you, pulling you against him.

You sighed, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. You leaned into him, breathing him in.

"Better?" he asked.

You nodded.

"Good." He kissed your temple.

Once you were dry, he wrapped a towel around his waist and picked you up, carrying you to the bed. You giggled, feeling a bit like a princess. He laid you down, then joined you, pulling the covers up over the both of you.

You rolled over and nestled against him, the soft blanket enveloping you. He ran his fingers through your hair, his other hand tracing circles on your hip.

"You're too good to me," you murmured.

"Not possible."

You chuckled.

"Do you wish to stay here all day, after all?" he asked, smirking.

"Maybe," you said, yawning. "Just a little longer,"

"Of course."

He pressed another kiss to your forehead, and you drifted off, dreaming of baths and bubbles and his soft, gentle voice telling you how much he loved you.

{<- kinktober masterlist}

[httpvomitello]

Call of Distraction *⁠.⁠✧

Donnie / Raph / Mikey

It was another routine evening in the lair. Leo was running through some katas, trying to work off some pent-up energy after a long day, when April’s phone started buzzing. She checked it and saw your name pop up.

"Hey, it's (Y/N)," she said, grinning as she glanced at Leo. "Mind if I put it on speaker?"

Leo looked up, a spark of interest flashing across his face. “Oh, go ahead.”

April pressed the button, and your familiar voice filled the lair. “April! Please tell me you’re free for a sanity break—I’ve been staring at a screen for hours, and I’m losing it over here.”

“Let me guess: project deadline coming up?” April replied, smiling.

“Deadlines, plural,” you sighed dramatically. “And all I want is some conversation to remind me what having a life feels like.”

Before April could answer, Leo’s voice cut in, playful yet slightly mocking. “Sounds like someone doesn’t know how to manage their time.”

You paused, then replied, with equal sarcasm, “Oh, hey there, fearless leader! Didn’t know you were eavesdropping. Nice of you to assume I’m the problem here.”

Leo smirked, crossing his arms as the other turtles perked up, sensing a good exchange on the way. “Well, you are calling April in the middle of our prep time. Can’t be that hard to handle a couple of deadlines, can it?”

“Oh, yeah, because I’m sure your big, intense prep is life-shatteringly important,” you shot back. “Remind me again, what’s the pressing emergency? Practicing brooding?”

Raph and Mikey burst out laughing, while Donnie raised an eyebrow, glancing at Leo with an amused smile.

Leo chuckled, barely fazed. “Brooding, huh? I seem to remember someone saying they admired my focus. Guess that was just talk.”

“Who, me? I don’t think so,” you teased. “I admire focus, sure. But that whole ‘super-serious, all-business’ attitude? Total snooze-fest. Don’t you ever take it easy?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused but a little taken aback. “You think I don’t know how to relax?”

“Oh, please. You’re about as chill as a brick wall, Leo,” you quipped. “Maybe if you spent a little less time being Captain Serious, you’d know how to actually have fun.”

“Yeah, and maybe if you learned some time management, you wouldn’t need to call for a ‘sanity break,’” he countered, though his grin showed he was enjoying every second of this.

“Touché,” you replied, clearly entertained. “Maybe you’re onto something. Guess I could use someone to keep me on track… if they can keep up.”

Leo gave a slight smile, “Keep up? I’d give it about ten minutes before you were begging for a break.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” you replied, leaning fully into the teasing. “Pretty bold, Mr. Leader. Hope you can live up to it.”

Mikey, who’d been watching with an ever-widening grin, turned to Raph with an excited whisper. “They’re totally gonna end up dating, right?”

April just rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, clearly enjoying how flustered Leo was getting despite his best efforts. Raph nudged Donnie, stifling a laugh.

Leo, sensing the teasing eyes on him, shot a glare at his brothers but stayed focused. “Tell you what,” he replied to you, recovering his confidence. “Next time you’re ‘losing it,’ I’ll personally make sure you remember how to relax.”

“Oh really? That’s a big promise,” you replied, feigning a skeptical tone. “Think you’re up for it?”

“I know I am,” he said smoothly, a little more serious than before.

April, realizing this could go on forever, finally intervened. “Alright, alright, I think you two could go at this all night,” she laughed. “I’m hanging up now before Leo gets any more ideas.”

She smirked, giving Leo an exaggerated wink as she took you off speaker, wrapping up the call. The moment the line went dead, Leo’s brothers immediately burst out laughing, and Leo fought hard to keep a neutral expression.

“Looks like someone’s got a little crush, huh?” Raph teased, nudging Leo.

Leo rolled his eyes, but a faint blush betrayed him. “Whatever,” he muttered, half-smiling as he went back to his training. But inside, he was already looking forward to that next call.

[badkitty3000]

One Fateful Day - Part 2

A year after your fateful meeting at the park, Five is now a huge part of you and your daughter's life

This is a sequel to my other fic, One Fateful Day. Be warned, while this has plenty of fluff and cuteness, just like the first one, this contains smut. Enjoy! 😻

Five x Single Mom Reader-insert, 5.8k words, one-shot

Warnings: Now With Smut!

“Five…” you whimpered quietly, biting at your lip and trying desperately to hold back the loud moan that was dying to be let out. Your fingernails dug sharply into the tensed muscles of his back as you felt him smile against your neck.

As a response, both to drive you crazy and to be a jerk, he gave a hard slam of his hips into you, cutting off your too-loud cry with a hungry kiss. When he went back to his methodical, rhythmic thrusts, he pulled back to look down on you.

“I’m not sure which I like more. Hearing you loud and desperate, or watching you try and hold it back,” he whispered between his own heavy breaths.

“Shut up,” you said with a smile before he did the same thing again and your body was shoved back with the force of his pelvis ramming into you. You muffled your cry with his shoulder as he continued the harder, faster pace that you loved.

Afterward, while you were both lying in bed, limbs tangled together and the sheets a mess, Five stroked your hair while you laid your head on his chest. Neither of you said anything until the alarm on your nightstand began to blare, rudely alerting you that your little love nest was not permanent.

“Damn it,” you groaned after slapping the snooze button and curling back into him. “I just want to stay here.”

“I would love that. But you know if she doesn’t get up in time, she’s going to miss the bus.”

You smiled, tracing a circle with your finger onto his chest. “Not if you blink her to the stop. That buys us at least five more minutes.”

Five gave your hair a playful tug. “Sometimes I get the feeling I’m being exploited for my powers just to make your life easier.”

“I am exploiting you, that’s true. But not just for your powers,” you teased, raising your head to give him a long, lingering kiss. “You have many talents that are of use to me.” You moved your hand down over the sheet that was loosely covering his lower half, rubbing lightly between his legs.

“I guess there are worse things.”

After a few more heated kisses, the alarm went off a second time. You groaned again, but started to haul yourself out of bed.

“I’ll wake her up,” Five offered. “You make the coffee.”

“Good idea,” you nodded, putting your underwear back on and pulling a bathrobe around you. “She likes you better in the morning anyway. She’s always a grump with me.”

Five smiled as you slowly padded out of the room on the way to the kitchen. After a year of being together, he never got tired of watching you do even the most ordinary things. Everything you did was beautiful, even when he was annoyed with you, which wasn’t very often. You hadn’t officially started living together yet, although you might as well be. Five was at your house most of the days and nights of the week. It was comfortable and the three of you were a little family.

Cassie adored Five, and the feeling was mutual. She had her own dad that she saw every other weekend, and she loved him, too. But Five was her buddy and the two of them had a special bond. He was also fiercely protective of her, which was adorable.

As Five got dressed and made his way to Cassie’s room, he could smell the coffee brewing in the kitchen and hear you mumbling to yourself. He grinned, knowing you were probably hunched in front of the open refrigerator looking for the coffee creamer and cursing him. You always blamed Five for hiding it on you, but really you were just a zombie that couldn’t think straight in the mornings.

“Five?” you yelled from the kitchen.

“In the door on the second shelf!” he yelled back.

There were a few seconds of silence and then a quiet “Thank you”, before Five heard the coffee spoon clinking against your mug. He laughed to himself and opened the door to Cassie’s room.

“Morning, kiddo, time to get up,” Five said with a clap as he stepped inside.

The six-year-old was snuggled up in her bed, her favorite unicorn stuffed animal tucked under her arm. She didn’t move, so he tried again, a little louder. “Time for school, come on, wake up!”

When she stirred a little, but still didn’t open her eyes, he sighed. “Hey, look! The ice cream truck is outside and they’re giving away free ice cream to everyone named Cassie! But only if you get up right now!”

He saw her eyelids flutter a little and maybe the beginnings of a small smile starting to form. After a couple more seconds of no real movement, it was time to resort to more direct tactics. With a flip of the switch on the wall, the room was immediately flooded in bright white light. Cassie whined and shielded her eyes with her hands, while Five tugged at the bottom of her pink striped comforter, pulling it all the way off the bed and leaving her with no covers.

“Hey!” she cried, sitting up in bed, her eyes narrowing against the light and her hair a ball of snarls on top of her head. “You’re mean!”

“Well, if you woke up when I asked you nicely, I wouldn’t have to be mean,” Five answered matter-of-factly. “Now, come on, time to get up.” As he turned away to leave, Cassie threw her unicorn at Five’s head. When it bounced off of him and landed on the floor, Five staggered like he’d been shot. Dramatically swaying and clutching at his chest, he collapsed to the floor, splayed out, with his eyes closed and tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“I’m dead,” Five rasped out. “Death by unicorn.”

Cassie climbed out of bed and came to stand over his limp body, staring down at him in her Taylor Swift pajamas with her arms crossed over her chest. “Dead people can’t talk.”

Five opened one eye. “Maybe I’m a ghost.”

Cassie nudged him in the ribs with her toe. “Nope. If you were a ghost my foot would go through you. Everyone knows that.”

Five sighed loudly and sat up, peering up at the small girl. “You’re too goddamn smart, you know that?”

She shook her head in a disapproving way that mimicked her mother when she was in trouble. “You’re not supposed to say that word in front of me. I’m preshible.”

“Impressionable?” Five laughed and Cassie nodded. “Tell you what. You don’t tell your mom that I said a bad word, and I’ll blink you to the bus stop this morning.”

Cassie thought for a moment, a finger on her lips. Then she smiled. “Deal!”

“Great,” Five said as he hauled himself off the floor with a groan. “Now get dressed, your mom left your clothes out on the chair over there. When you’re done, bring me your hairbrush for that rat’s nest of yours.”

“You’re a rat’s nest,” she said gleefully, giggling at her clever comeback with a hand over her mouth.

Five laughed, shaking his head. “That doesn’t even make sense, yet I still feel mildly insulted. Good job, kid.”

Later that morning, as you stood on the sidewalk in front of your house, watching while Five grabbed Cassie’s hand and blinked her down the block to the bus stop, you sighed contentedly. You really could not have predicted that this man you met feeding pigeons in the park a year ago would be such a large part of your life. You were head over heels in love with him, and not just because he was good to your daughter. He was kind, and loving, and even if he was able to kill a man without breaking a sweat, you never felt safer than when you were with him.

You smiled to yourself again as you saw the two of them appear out of one of Five’s portals at the bus stop. It was far enough away that you couldn’t see many details or hear their voices, but you knew Cassie was giggling her head off. You also knew the other moms at the stop were green with envy whenever they saw Five. They wanted their own sexy, super-powered man to sweep them off their feet and become a hero to their kids. But he was all yours, and you felt that warm feeling in your chest just thinking about it.

As the bus pulled up and the line of kids started loading up, Five crouched down to Cassie’s height. “Ok, you have your lunch?”

“Yep.”

“Your homework?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Your kazoo?”

She started laughing. “You don’t need a kazoo in school, silly.”

Five furrowed his brow. “You don’t? What kind of school do you go to?”

Cassie giggled again, before throwing her arms around his neck. “Love you, Five,” she said as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before joining the other kids.

“Love you, too, kid,” he said with a grin as he watched her walk up the stairs.

No matter how many times Five heard her say that, or how many times he felt her little arms wrap around him in a hug, he always felt like his heart was going to explode. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d be standing at a bus stop, waving goodbye to a little brown-haired girl that had stolen his heart, but here he was. Combine that with the fact that he was so completely in love with her mother, and he’d never been happier.

The next week, Five hadn’t stayed over the night before, so when he came over that afternoon, Cassie was already home from school and in her room when he walked in the backdoor.

“Hello, darling,” he said with a smile, wrapping you up in his arms and kissing you. He must have sensed something was off by the way you quickly kissed him in return. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s Cassie. Her dad dropped her off after school and she was crying. He said she got bullied at school today, but of course he didn’t give a shit, the bastard. He just told her to get over it and left to let me deal with it. I tried talking to her, but she just kind of shut down.”

Five immediately tensed up. “Who bullied her? Was it that little shit Emma, because I’ve been watching her and she’s a total bi—”

“No, Five,” you smiled, putting a hand on his arm to calm him. “I don’t think it was her. It doesn’t matter anyway. We just need to talk to Cassie and help her navigate her feelings.”

“Yeah, well, I know my feelings and I’m going to navigate them all over whoever made her cry.”

“I love that you’re protective of her, but we need to handle this the right way. Things are a lot different than they were back when you were a kid.”

“When I was a kid, my father pitted my siblings and I against each other in what was essentially a cage match; not letting us quit until the other either tapped out or were too broken or exhausted to continue.”

“Jesus, Five, that’s awful!”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I tell you what, we didn’t sit around talking about our feelings all day. If we had a problem with someone, they were going to know about it. Usually with a foot to the face.”

You cringed. “Ok…but how did that help the person that lost? Didn’t that just make them feel worse about themselves?”

The corner of Five’s mouth turned up. “I wouldn’t know.”

You rolled your eyes, but you hugged him close to you, staring up at his face with a small smile. “You can talk tough all you want, mister, but I know you are big giant marshmallow underneath it all.”

“Only when it comes to you two,” he said, leaning down to kiss you softly.

A few more days passed, and Cassie continued to come home angry, or quiet and sulking. You were concerned, but you still hadn’t let Five take any major action. You had tried talking to her teachers at school, and even the principal, but it wasn’t really going anywhere. She also wasn’t giving up any names.

“Let me take her to the park tomorrow? Maybe she’ll talk to me,” Five suggested one night after Cassie was asleep and you were lying in bed together.

You turned on your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “That’s a good idea. She always likes going there with you.”

“She’s my park buddy.”

You stroked his cheek gently with your hand before giving him a soft kiss. “You’re so good to her. And me.”

“I love you,” he stated simply with a small shrug, as if that accounted for everything.

The next day, Five took Cassie to the park, as he had suggested. She was in a good mood and she held his hand while she skipped along, all while chattering continuously about everything and nothing at all.

“…and then I saw a cool bug on the playground and did you know that killer whales are really called orcas?”

“Is that right?”

Cassie nodded while kicking a rock in front of her. “Yep. And there are dolphins that live in rivers and guess what color they are?”

Five shook his head. “Green?”

“No!” Cassie laughed. “Pink! Pink dolphins! Just like my favorite color!”

“Wow…” Five smiled. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“I read a book at the library about it,” she said with a shrug. She was silent for a few moments. “Five? Do you want to see a pink dolphin?”

“I would love to see a pink dolphin.”

She nodded and he felt her squeeze his hand harder. “I want to see one too, but I want you to come with me. They live in the Amazon. Have you been there before?”

“No. I’ve been to a lot of places, but never the Amazon.”

“Then we should go. You, me, and mommy. Ok?”

Five couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride that she would pick him to see her precious pink dolphin. “Sounds like a plan,” he told her with a squeeze of her hand in return.

When they arrived at their usual bench to feed the birds, Five sat down and handed Cassie the bag of bird seed. The little flock that Five had befriended a while ago was now officially Cassie’s. He just supervised.

She called out to them as she scattered the seed on the ground. “Here, birdies! Come here, guys! Dinner time!”

Five decided to let her have her fun before broaching the subject of the school bully. He didn’t want her to think he had brought her there for solely that reason. This was their special place and he didn’t want to spoil that. So, he watched her for a while in her element; addressing the birds by names and encouraging them to eat.

He had kind of zoned out a little when he was jolted back to reality by Cassie suddenly yelling angrily; stomping her foot at the birds and clenching her hands into tight fists.

“Stop! Stop being mean to them, you stupid blue jay! They weren’t doing anything to you!” She kicked her foot out at the troublesome blue bird, but it flew off before she could make contact with it. Then she picked up a small stone and threw it in the direction of the bird. The rest of the flock flapped away into a nearby tree to wait for the scene to calm down again, but that didn’t stop Cassie from her angry rant. “I hate you! You stupid, stupid bird! If you come back here, I’m going to stomp you!”

Five jumped up and blinked the few feet to Cassie’s side. Kneeling down, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. Her little face was red with anger as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Cassie, look at me,” he told her, trying to get her to focus on him and not the birds. “We don’t hurt animals. You know that.”

As the little girl collapsed into Five’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder and soaking his shirt with her tears, Five hugged her and patted her back.

“She was being mean to the other birds,” she whimpered between sniffs and hiccups.

“Ok…alright…it’s ok…” Five soothed as he waited for her crying to die down.

When Cassie was able to stop crying, Five stood up and took her hand. He led her back to the bench and sat her next to him. She was still sniffling and trying to catch her breath, and they sat there in silence for a few minutes. Soon, the birds that had been scared away found their way back to their seeds. As they watched the birds eat on the ground, Five turned to Cassie.

“You see how Mr. Tippington is being shoved out of the way?” Five asked.

Cassie nodded. “Yes.”

“Ok, so now watch. After a while, he comes back. What’s he doing now?”

She watched the birds with interest. “He just pecked at that other bird.”

“That’s right. Not hard; he didn’t hurt the other bird. But he was telling them to back off because he has every right to eat just like they do.”

“Ok.”

“And now what happened?”

“The mean bird hopped out of the way and let Mr. Tippington in. He’s eating and they left him alone.” She looked up at Five with wide eyes, wiping at her nose. “They stopped being mean to him.”

Five nodded. “He didn’t let that mean bird win. He wasn’t mean back, but he also wasn’t going to let them push him around. In the adult world, we call that ‘Not Taking Anyone’s Shit’.”

Cassie giggled and reached out a hand to cover Five’s mouth. He tried not to think about how she had just wiped boogers off her face with that same hand, and let her keep it there. “You said a bad word again.”

Five smiled. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said; his voice muffled behind her hand.

Taking her hand away, she smiled. “I won’t tell.”

“Thank you. Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. I want to go home, though.”

“Good idea. Come on, let’s go.”

Five held out his hand and she took it in hers. They walked home in relative silence, but she never stopped holding his hand.

Later that day, when Cassie wasn’t around, Five told you about the bird incident. He was all fired up and pacing back and forth.

“I’m telling you…whoever the little shithead is at her school that’s doing this is going to get a giant boot shoved up their ass, because if you had seen her—”

“Five,” you cut in. “Thank you for being so concerned, but you can’t go around beating up kids. That’s not how things work.”

He stopped pacing and looked at you, still angry. “You didn’t see what I did. She was a mess.”

“I know, I’m worried, too, trust me. I haven’t even been sleeping and I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about her and how I just want to protect her.”

“Then let me teach her how to fight.”

You frowned, pulling your head back in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“I can teach her how to fight and how to defend herself. When I was her age I could take down a fully grown man. I can easily show her some basic moves that she can use against whoever this kid is. She can show them she’s not going to back down without a fight.”

 You laughed nervously. “Uh…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because…I don’t know!” You crossed your arms over your chest. “It just seems wrong somehow. And her dad is not going to like it, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, fuck him! And it’s not wrong. It’s how the world works. Not everything can be solved with rainbows and hugs. Sometimes you have to use your fist.”

“Five!”

“What? Am I wrong?”

You put your hands on your hips and your voice got harder. “Look, I know you mean well, but I’m just not going to agree with you on this. And it’s not your problem to solve, anyway. It’s mine and her father’s.” Five was silent but his face told you everything. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, you’re right,” he said, his voice edged with anger. “It’s not my place. I’m just the boyfriend.”

“Five…come on. I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m not sure how else you could have meant it.”

You sighed and took his hand. “I’m sorry, honey, I really am. You know I love that you love Cassie and want to protect her. But in this case, I just don’t think violence is the answer.”

“Violence?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together. He adopted that smug posture of his with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted to the side. “This isn’t violence, sweetheart. This is a little girl defending herself against some playground asshole. But, if you aren’t on board with that, I will let it go. You’re her mother, you know best.”

The two of you agreed to drop the subject for the time being. You didn’t want to hurt Five’s feelings because he was just trying to help in the best way he knew how. But you were still not convinced that his idea was the best for your daughter. Until the day she came home with a bloody elbow after being pushed onto the ground.

As you shook with anger and tried to blink back the tears in your own eyes, you crouched in front of Cassie while she sat on the toilet seat in the bathroom and you cleaned up her wound with a washcloth. She sniffed back her own tears, but had still refused to say who had done it. Five stood in the doorway, waiting to see what you would say now.

After a minute of silently working through your feelings, you turned to Five, looking up at him with a stony expression. “I changed my mind. Let’s do it your way.”

With a small smile, Five nodded his head. “Ok, darling,” he said quietly.

For the next week, every day after school, Five would take Cassie to the backyard to teach her basic defense strategies.

“You’re a natural,” Five said to her with a grin after she had successfully deflected him from grabbing her wrist.

“I can totally beat you up, Five,” she said with a giggle.

He nodded. “I know it. Pretty soon, I’m going to have to take lessons from you.”

She laughed again. “Don’t worry…I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Five pretended to be relieved. “Thank goodness for that, because I don’t want you on my bad side. Alright, now, let me see that block again.”

The next week, Cassie came home bursting with energy, and when she ran in the house after you walked her home from the bus stop, she immediately found Five in the kitchen.

“Five!” she cried. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“That mean girl, Emma, tried to push me again today, and I did just what you told me. I said ‘I don’t think so, fart face,’ and then she tried to kick me but I blocked her foot and she lost her balance and fell over onto the ground. She was ok, but she was a big baby and started crying and then she got up and ran away.”

“That’s great, kid! I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself,” Five said. Then he looked at you very pointedly. “Did you hear that? Emma.”

You nodded and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I heard it. You were right. Again.”

“I never get tired of hearing that.” Five stooped down so he was eye level with Cassie. “How do you feel now?”

“Great! And I don’t think Emma is going to be bothering me again because she looked pretty sad for the rest of the day.”

“And what did we learn from all of this? he asked.

“Not to take shit from anybody!” Cassie recited before realizing what she said and looking up at you with wide eyes. “Oops.”

You laughed. “You know what, Cass? I’ll let that one slide.”

Cassie laughed before turning back to Five and suddenly wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tightly. “Thanks, Five,” she said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” he said as he hugged her back. When he looked up at you with that gorgeous smile of his, while your daughter clung to him like a little spider monkey, you thought he had never looked sexier.

Later that evening, after Cassie had been picked up by your ex and you and Five had the house to yourselves, you were caught by surprise when Five grabbed your arm as you walked past him and blinked you directly into the bedroom and onto the bed. After seeing your shocked expression, he dragged you on top of him with a quiet laugh, brushing your hair off your face and tracing your lips with his thumb.

You put a hand on his wrist. “Before you start getting too frisky, I need to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For doing all of that for Cassie. She’s back to her strong and happy self and that’s because of you. I should have listened to you sooner.”

He nodded with a smile. “Yes, you should have. Let that be a lesson for you.”

“I’m serious!” you laughed. “Really, you are amazing.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but his eyes searched yours intently before giving a slight shake of his head. “You’re amazing. And fuck, you are gorgeous,” he told you before his mouth was roughly attacking yours.

As your kisses heated up and your bodies began reacting to one another, you started grinding down on him, making little whimpering noises when his hand tangled in your hair and his mouth traveled down your neck. You would never get tired of the feeling of his mouth on you. It didn’t matter where or how; crashing it hungrily onto yours, licking at your nipples with a sharp flick of his tongue; teasing you mercilessly with long, lazy laps over your clit; it was all amazing.

When it came to Five’s perfect body, he was like an endless, erotic buffet for your senses. Just the simple act of tasting his skin on your tongue was enough to make you dripping wet. Every inch of him, every scar and imperfection, was so fucking delicious it made your mouth water. Combine that with his natural, intoxicating scent and you could never get enough.

Climbing off, you stripped your clothes away in a hurry before yanking his underwear down, exposing his fully hard length. Five stroked your cheek with his finger as you knelt between his legs and leaned down, grasping him firmly in your hand to trace the head of his cock with your tongue.

“That’s my good girl,” he sighed before closing his eyes and laying his head back.

You always wanted to take care of him like this. He did so much for you in your everyday life, and you knew how long he had gone without physical love of any kind before you came along. It made you feel good to know that you could give that to him now.

You felt him reach down and gently sweep your hair to the side so he could watch as your lips encircled his thick shaft and your hot mouth slid over him. Your head moved up and down as you took in as much of him as you could without gagging, feeling the satiny skin of his cock glide over your tongue. When you started sucking hard on the tip while flicking your tongue over the underside and stroking the rest of his shaft with your fist, he let out a long, shaky moan.

“Come here, baby…please,” he gasped with a gentle tug of your hair.

When you let go and crawled slowly up his body, you slid your wet sex against him, letting his hard dick slip between your folds and press against your clit. He answered back with a roll of his hips into yours; his abs tightening and flexing with the motion.

Your lips brushed softly over his as you quietly questioned him before moving over to his cheek where you sucked a gentle kiss onto his dimple. “I want to give you everything you want, Five.” You swept his hair off his forehead and kissed him again. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

He held your chin with one hand while the other gripped your hip tightly. His eyes met yours with nothing but pure lust behind them. “I want to come inside you.”

You nodded; your lips slightly parted while your eyes searched his. With a quick maneuver of your hips, he was slipping inside you; bottoming out as you adjusted yourself and spread your bent knees further apart. When you started to sit up, he pulled you back down so that you were flush with his chest again.

“I need you close.”

Five was always loving with you, but when he let himself be fully vulnerable and open, that’s when you felt the most connected to him. Hearing him admit he needed you like that made your connection that much deeper.

After a long, deep kiss, you began to slowly move over his cock while he pushed his hips up to meet yours, his heels digging into the mattress. Your pace quickened as you became needier; with your kisses getting sloppier and your hands roaming over his chest and arms.

“I love you,” you whined desperately, pulling yourself away from his eager mouth for just a second.

The feel of his cock inside you was everything. You stared into his beautiful green eyes as he thrust his hips up into you again and again. Just as you were starting to near your threshold, Five grabbed your hips and flung you off, so that you landed on your back next to him.

You gave a small shriek. “What the –”

Five was up on his knees before you could finish your thought, his dick still hard and wet from being inside you. With a half-smile and a hoarse chuckle, he grasped your hips again, pausing for just a moment.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he said between harsh breaths, right before he flipped you over onto your stomach.

Once you were face down on the bed, Five roughly pulled you back until you could feel his hard cock sliding through your folds and against your throbbing clit as his hip bones slammed against your ass with one jerk. He shoved your legs apart with his knees as he ran a hand down your back.

Your breathing was loud and labored as you pushed back against him. “Oh shit,” you panted; your voice muffled by the mattress beneath you.

Five slowly moved his cock over your slit, teasing you while caressing your ass and thighs. “I’m sorry, darling, I changed my mind. I need to fuck you hard and make you scream.”

With one perfectly executed thrust, he was inside you again, his hips slamming against you while your body was propelled forward. You let out a loud moan and reached a hand down to finger your clit while he fucked you hard from behind. Five stopped suddenly and yanked your hand away.

“No touching yourself until I say so,” he ordered you before continuing to pound you.

You hissed into the sheet under your face. The feeling of his dick filling you up from that angle and his forceful thrusts hurt so good. But you really needed more stimulation to make yourself come hard.

“Five,” you moaned. “Please…”

“No,” he told you, and you could hear the smirk on his face. “Just be good for me, baby.”

Grunting and groaning, Five kept at it, ramming into you over and over again. You weren’t sure how he was able to keep going like that; he had to be getting close. You were, too, but you were dying to touch yourself.

“You’re doing so well for me, sweet girl. Just…fuck…you feel so good,” Five groaned through clenched teeth.

“Please…”you whined again. “Five…please…”

“God, you drive me crazy when you beg like that. Go ahead, sweetheart. Let me feel you come all over my cock.”

Finally getting his permission, you began to finger yourself, using all four fingers to press into your clit while Five continued to fuck you as hard as possible. His cock hit just the right spot as your hand did the rest of the work and soon you were spasming against him as you cried out his name over and over. Hearing you call out his name like that sent Five over the edge and a few seconds later he was filling you up with his warm cum while his hips stilled against your ass, his fingers gripping you tightly.

When you collapsed onto the bed, Five pulled out and laid down beside you. He rested a hand on your back as you both tried to catch your breath.

“Damn, Five,” you breathed out with a laugh. You slid over so you could snuggle up to him and threw an arm over his waist. He pushed his damp hair off his face before hugging you to him and kissing the top of your head.

He was still breathing hard and he let out a short chuckle. “Sorry. I hope that was ok.”

“Ok? That was more than ok, that was fucking incredible” you laughed again, rubbing your cheek against his chest. You were silent for a moment as your breathing started to return to normal. “I meant it when I said I want to give you everything you want. And not just sex. I mean everything.”

You weren’t sure he was going to respond at first but then you felt him swallow hard. “You are all I’ve ever wanted,” he whispered with his lips pressed into your hair. “Thank you for loving me.”

You placed a hand on the side of his face and kissed him deeply before pressing your forehead against his and closing your eyes. There was no need to say anything else; the way you looked into his eyes and the feel of your body melting into his was enough. Five never needed to thank you, though, because loving him was the easiest thing in the world. He loved you and your daughter deeply, and he made your family complete. Which was all you had ever wanted.

@kaybreezy3000

[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!

[watchmegetobsessed]

MY HUSBAND

A/N: some extra fluffiness bc this scene was stuck on my mind all day

WORD COUNT: 835

SUMMARY: It's been days since your wedding, but it is just now sinking in. Harry is your husband.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

It’s a miracle you’re up before noon. You haven’t really seen the sun before twelve these past days even though you are supposed to be on vacation.

Well, honeymoon, to be precise. 

That’s right. You married your best friend and love of your life exactly four days ago, but it still feels like a fever dream. You got the wedding of your dreams in the Italian countryside with all your loved ones, family and closest friends, you danced the night away celebrating the start of your marriage. Part of you expected an extraordinary feeling the moment you said ‘I do’ and it really was the best day of your life, but you haven’t quite processed the change it has brought to your life.

Now you’re lying in bed, the warm breeze is carrying the salty scent of the sea through the open windows and you’re watching Harry snoozing peacefully beside you in bed, the crispy, white sheets are tangled around his waist, but most of his upper body is fully naked to your sleepy eyes. He looks beautiful, delicious, like a dream and it finally hits you, like a switch has been flipped.

He is your husband. Harry is now your husband.

Lifting your head up above you, you stare at your wedding band with a full heart and giddy head. It’s such a simple, tiny object but it means so much, if not everything. Even after five years of dating, seven years of being friends, it’s still hard to believe Harry chose you the way you chose him to spend the rest of your life with. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you turn to your side and examine his side profile in the soft light. The slope of his nose, his puckered lips, his curly eyelashes fanned out perfectly… The way his chest slowly rises with each breath he draws and how his ribs are showing through his soft skin, since one of his arms is tucked under his head, the other one is somewhere under your pillow. He is radiating warmth and every inch of his perfect body is screaming to be kissed. 

At first you reach out and run your fingers down his sternum, across his tummy and over his little happy trail that disappears underneath the sheets and you know for a fact he is wearing nothing, because you were the one who freed him of his clothes last night when you got back from dinner. 

He doesn’t react to your touch, so you dare to draw the laurel tattoos on his hips with the pad of your finger before pulling your hand back and admiring his beauty in silence. But then the urge is just too hard to fight and you push yourself up, the sheets pooling around your naked waist and you lean over, bringing your lips to the delicious, exposed skin just above his navel.

You pepper tiny kisses down his stomach, over his belly button and down his happy trail, kissing each of the laurels as well and that’s when he takes a deep breath, his hands moving to his face to rub his eyes.

When he finally opens them you’re sitting up next to him, staring down at him with a beaming smile.

“What’s gotten you so smiley?” he asks in that irresistible, groggy morning voice that makes your insides turn in an instant.

“You’re my husband.”

You see the surprise on his face at first along with the confusion before he breaks out into a smile.

“I am, yeah,” he grins, his hand reaching out and settling on your waist. “And you’re my wife,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Doesn’t that sound… magical?” you sigh dreamily and he finally understands what this is all about.

“It does. I love the sound of it. I’ve been waiting for a long time to call you that.”

Heat crawls up your neck at his words, even after all this time he never fails to make you giddy.

“We’re not just girlfriend and boyfriend anymore.” Moving closer you lie back down as his arms lock around you, pulling you on top of him.

“Mm, not anymore,” he smirks.

“You’re not just my fiancé…” you keep musing and Harry nods. “You are… my husband.”

“That’s right,” he chuckles and you can feel his chest vibrating under you. 

“Thank you.”

“For being your husband?” he arches an eyebrow.

“For choosing me.”

“I didn’t choose you,” he says, squeezing your sides. “There was no choice to make, no decision. I knew you were it for me, I didn’t have to even think about it.”

“You always say you knew it the moment we met.”

“I did.”

“But we didn’t even talk that night, how would have you known?” Harry shrugs.

“I just did. In here,” he says, tapping his chest with one hand. When it returns to your waist you lean down and kiss his peck over his heart. 

“Alright then,” you smile at him. “I believe you, husband.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[strvngeweather]

It's All Greek to Me; a one shot.

🕮 PAIRING: collegetutor!jimin x partygirl!reader 🕮 GENRE: College AU, smut 🕮 WORD COUNT: 4.8k 🕮 WARNINGS: Smut, Smut, Smut 🕮 SUMMARY: After failing your college classes, you need a tutor. But if tutor, why so damn hot? 🕮 AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was originally going to be a full-length fanfic, but I decided to make it a short one. I still may expand on it. Let me know what you guys think. Also, my bestie gave me the idea when she said, "Jimin look like he likes ass." LMAO.

Despite your hatred for hangovers, you always ended up with one.

Today was no exception. As the resident party girl at Loren University, there was no way you would ever miss a weekend rager, but as your alarm clock went off for the fifth time that morning, you began cursing at yourself. Maybe going to a party on a Sunday night wasn’t a good idea.

Scheduling a tutoring session at eight in the morning was an even worse idea.

You had many strong suits, but English wasn’t one of them. It was the one subject you had struggled with since you were in high school. Analyzing the words of dead white men from centuries ago was just about as much fun as watching paint dry. Numbers were much more your thing. They were easy and in the words of Cady Heron, ‘Math was the same in every language.’

But you needed to pass. It’s not as if you were here on your parents’ dime like the other kids. You were a scholarship kid and if your grades slipped, so did you. Out the doors and on your ass. So, when you got your last paper back with a big fat ‘D’ written on it, you knew it was time to take action. And that meant getting a tutor.

You just happened to forget that today, on this bright and early morning, with a pounding headache and dry mouth, you were supposed to be meeting him.

Again, you ask, who the fuck schedules a tutoring session at eight in the morning?

With a groan, you grab your phone, hoping to hit the ‘snooze’ button on your alarm one more time before you really had to get up but when your eyes read the time you realize that it’s damn near eight-thirty. How many times have you hit the snooze button? You wonder but realize you’re only wasting more time. Without a second thought, you hop out of bed and into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and running a comb through your curly hair. Your make-up is smudged, and you still have on the shimmering dress from last night but there’s nothing you can do about it now. You grab a hoodie off your desk chair and hightail it to the school’s library.

.

Inside study room 007, you find a very annoyed, albeit very handsome senior waiting at the table. Laid out in front of him are a stack of books, notebooks, and flash cards. Pens and pencils are lined up neatly in a row. He all but glares at you as enter. Before you can speak, he glances at his watch and then looks back at you. “You’re late.”

“I know,” you say, out of breath. “I got caught up …” you scramble, trying to think of a lie instead of admitting you had spent the night throwing ass to Megan thee Stallion and Cardi B but your folder of excuses in the very back of your brain shows up empty. That might be for the best, you realize as you look over your tutor.

“Partying?” He finishes the sentence for you. His eyes rake over you in judgment. “Maybe that’s why you’re failing English.”

Now wait a damn minute. You scoff, crossing your arms. Your brain is foggy, you desperately need a glass of water – and, not to mention, your skin feels beyond icky. The last thing you can do right now is come up with a proper comeback so the only thing you manage to utter is, “Or maybe English is just hard.”

“You speak it every day, how hard could it be?”

“Whatever,” you say, sitting down across from him.  “Can we just … start?”

Jimin checks his watch again. “We might as well. We’ve got thirty minutes left. Let’s make the most of it.”

“I thought I had you for an hour.”

“Yes, and you were late so that hour has turned into thirty minutes. I’ve got things to do, Ms. L/N. I can’t wait around for you all day,” he replies, picking up a black ballpoint pen. “Let’s get started.”

“I’d much prefer it if you called me, Y/N,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “And you’re Jimin, correct?”

He nods curtly. “Alright, Ms. L/N, your form said you have an upcoming paper that focuses on the themes from Nella Larsen’s Passing. What part of the story are you at?”

You roll your eyes but choose not to correct him about your name and instead just answer his question. “I’m not on any part.”

His eyes brighten. “You mean you’ve already finished? Well, great, let’s jump right into discussion –”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m not on any part because I haven’t started the book.”

Jimin looks at you as if you grew another head. “Your essay for the book is due next week. The book is less than two hundred pages. What do you mean you haven’t started yet?”

You shrug. “I figured since it’s such a short book I could probably finish it and write the essay in the same day.”

“And what day were you planning on doing that since our study session is right now?”

That day was last night but as you both knew you had gotten caught up with … other things. “I guess I figured we’d start the book together and I’d just get the essay done next week.”

Jimin sighs. “Ms. L/N, whatever you manage to vomit onto paper will not bring your grade up in the slightest if you follow your method. I guarantee that.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes – again. “That’s what you’re here for. You’re my tutor so tutor me in the right direction.” Jimin studies you for a moment and then he begins carefully putting his things away into his messenger bag.  “Wait. What are you doing?”

“Ms. L/N, you can reach out to me once you’ve read the book but until then, we have nothing to discuss. I only meet with students who are serious about their education,” he places his bag over his shoulder and nods toward you. “Have a good day.”

“Um, hello! You can’t just leave,” you say, getting out of your chair.

“I can and I am,” Jimin replies, and with that, he walks out of the study room. You begin to follow him but decide against it. What good would that do? He was rude and had judged you from the moment you walked in the door. You didn’t need a tutor like that.

You decided you were going to go to the campus café, buy a large coffee, and then go home to take a much-needed shower.

. . . .

“He was a jerk,” you tell your best friend, Winter, taking a long sip of your mango-pineapple smoothie. “He left right in the middle of our session.”

Every Tuesday was the same. A morning class and then a lunch date with your bestie, Winter, at your favorite smoothie place about twenty minutes away from campus.

She shakes her head but not at him. “Y/N, I love you, but you were late. You didn’t read the material, and you had the nerve to have an attitude. I would have walked out on you too.”

Harsh but it was the truth. You weren’t quite ready to admit that you were somewhat at fault too. “Okay, but I’m saying, he didn’t have to be rude about it though.”

“What’d he look like?”

“He would be fine as hell if he wasn’t so rude,” you answer honestly.

She shakes her head, amused. “What did you end up getting on your essay anyway?”

After the last encounter with Jimin, you decided you’d find another tutor, but in the meantime, you were going to stick with your tried and true. You did exactly what you had told Jimin you would do. You read most of the book in one evening and managed to type up a paper in the same night, confident that you had aced it. But when you looked online, checking your grade, you realized Jimin had been right. Regardless, you weren’t going back to him.

You sigh. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Winter replies. “Because if Jimin is right, then I think you should give him a call.”

“Jimin Parker?”

You and Winter look up to see Jennie Kim hovering above you. Her freshly dyed blonde hair cascaded in waves down her slender face. You may have been the resident party girl, but Jen was the resident party queen.

“Hey Jen,” you say, motioning for her to take a seat. “Yeah, Jimin Parker. You know him?”

She sits between you and Winter. “You mean that gorgeous senior? Ugh, I had him as a tutor last semester.”

“How’d he do?” Winter says, giving you a knowing look.

You lean forward. Jennie was known for many things but having good grades was not one of them. In fact, you wondered how she managed to make it this far without being kicked out. But, if Jimin could manage to get her grades up, then he truly was a miracle worker.

“Amazing,” Jen gushes. “I got an A on my last three papers. I wanted him again this semester but apparently, he’s all booked up.”

You groan as Winter gives you another look. You pull your cell phone out of your pocket and dial Jimin. “Hello?” You reply as he answers. “Hi, yeah, Jimin, it’s Y/N. I was wondering if we could set up a session …”

…

For his sake (and mostly yours) you schedule an afternoon session and this time, you show up prepared. When he arrives, he’s shocked to see you already in the study room.

“Good afternoon,” he says, rounding the table to sit across from you. You get a whiff of his cedarwood cologne. “I see you’re on time.”

“I’m early,” you correct him. “You’re on time.”

“That I am,” he says, taking a seat. You watch him closely as he carefully takes out various pens and pencils, notebooks, and flashcards. He really is handsome, you think, even if he is an ass. “I see we’re studying Oedipus Rex by Sophocles?”

You nod your head. “I read it. I don’t understand it.”

“What exactly don’t you understand?”

“Not a single word in that book. They might as well be speaking Greek.”

He sighs. “Well, it is a Greek book.”

“Clearly,” you reply. “So where do we start?”

“I guess at the beginning.”

. . . .

Things were going smoothly. You found yourself actually understanding the material and surprisingly, enjoying it. But you also found yourself getting lost in Jimin at times. The more time you spent with him, the more you developed a crush. Your mind would wander as your eyes looked over him. You wondered how soft his full lips were. You wondered what his eyes looked like in moments of passion. You wondered how good it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms.

Your eyes were on his arms when he called your name. “Huh?”

“I asked did you want to go over the scene between Antigone and Polynices again?”

You shake your head. “No, I think I understand. Antigone wants him to call off the war, but Polynices’ pride won’t let him.”

“Correct,” Jimin replies with a smile.

Fuck, you think. Jimin had a smile that would make anyone melt. “Jimin,” you begin and mentally kick yourself for what you’re about to ask but you’ve started so you might as well finish. You put on your best flirtatious smile. “What do I get if I ace my next paper?”

He seems to know what you’re hinting at. “You get an A and the satisfaction of knowing your hard work paid off.”

Well, if that wasn’t a blaring rejection, you don’t know what is. “Do you have a girlfriend?” You blurt it out before your brain can even process whether the question was appropriate or not.

He blinks, slightly taken aback. “Yes, yes, I do. Why?”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible even though you feel as if you’ve just gotten stung by a million honeybees. “No reason. You just seem so into your academics; I didn’t think you had time for that kind of stuff.”

“Well, a human being still needs a social life to thrive,” he replies coolly. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You nod. “Yes, and his name is Jose Cuervo.”

He laughs. “I’m sure you have a line of men knocking on your door.”

“Nobody I want though,” you say, mostly to yourself.

. . . .

If crushing on him wasn’t enough, now you were dreaming about him. A week of erotic dreams plagued you. They felt so real. You could smell his signature cologne as he pushed in and out of you, your legs on his shoulders and his arms wrapped around your thick thighs. Each dream ended the same though, just as he was about to finish, your alarm would wake you up and you would spend a good five minutes finishing yourself off before getting ready for the day.

Instead of a study room at the library, Jimin asked you to meet him at his apartment for the study session. He mentioned something about time constraints, appointments, and being unable to book a study room but your brain had been stuck on, “Wanna meet me at my apartment? We can have a quick recap sesh before I have to run out?” He could barely finish his question before you agreed to it.

So, sue you for being curious.

It’s not like anything will happen, you thought as you parked, he has a girlfriend.  You arrived twenty minutes early. Your excitement had gotten the best of you and you knew how much Jimin liked it when you were on time. When you knocked on the door, a man almost as handsome as Jimin answered.

“You must be Y/N?” he asked, sticking out his hand. “I’m Taehyung.”

You nodded, the thought of becoming a Wattpad heroine and having two incredibly attractive men fight over you danced around in your head. You shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Taehyung.”

As he let you in, he explained he had somewhere to be, but that Jimin was in his room and to head right in. You gave the door a light knock but didn’t receive an answer. The door was slightly ajar, giving you the smallest view of a very neat bedroom. You spotted Jimin at his desk, looking at something on his large computer monitor. It looked familiar. Your curiosity ate at you, forcing your hand to ever-so-gently open the door further. This time you could see what Jimin was looking at clearly.

It was you. It was your Instagram feed. He was scrolling through your pictures, pausing at every photo that was a bit risqué.

“Fuck, Y/N …”

That was your name. Leaving his lips. In a moan. Your heart fluttered with excitement. But wait, was he …

As you tilt your head to get a better view, you can see the tip of his elbow on the armrest, bobbing up and down. And up and down. And up and down.

Oh, he definitely was.

You slap a hand over your mouth and tiptoe back to the living room. A few minutes later, you hear a shower turn on and ten minutes after that, you see Jimin emerge in a navy blue V-neck and a pair of grey sweatpants.

“Hey,” Jimin looks at you with a face full of guilt. You can’t help but smile. “How long have you been waiting?”

“I just got here a few minutes ago,” you lie, looking up from your phone that you were pretending to be engrossed in. “I haven’t been waiting long.”

“Good, good,” he says. “Let’s go to the kitchen. The lighting is better in there.”

. . . .

After three weeks of hard work and several study sessions, you submit your paper with all the confidence of Scott Disick. Winter, the best friend that she is, decided that this was the best time to reward your good behavior with a couple of jello shots at your favorite bar. You gobble up the first two and then decide to sip on a blue Long Island iced tea. That’s when you spot him. Sitting in a corner, next to his roommate and another man with tattoos up and down his arms. Instead of his usual tweed blazer and grey slacks, his outfit looks more modern, more casual. A white graphic tee hugs his toned body, and you can’t help but eye his biceps. His cheeks are slightly red, his eyes are glossy and he’s laughing harder than you’ve ever seen him laugh. He looks delicious but you turn around and decide to order another shot from the bar.

You spot Winter getting her mack on with a fellow classmate, Karina, and it’s then you realize that you’re probably going to be alone for the rest of the night. Just as you begin to grab your wallet to pay your tab, a familiar figure approaches you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he’s wearing a smile you’ve never seen before, and it makes your insides flutter.

“I could say the same thing,” you reply. “I never thought I’d see Jimin Park in a bar.”

“I don’t spend all my time in the library,” Jimin says.

“Could have fooled me,” you tease, taking a sip of your drink. “What brings you out among people?”

He orders a whiskey sour before turning to you. “I, Y/N L/N, am finally a single man. My girlfriend of two years has decided that she no longer wants me.”

He’s smiling but you can see sadness behind his glossy eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say earnestly. “Her loss.”

“Oh definitely,” he says with a slight slur. “You want to know the real reason she broke up with me?”

You shrug. “Lay it on me.”

He leans in close, so close his body is pressed up against yours. He angles his lips to your ear and whispers, “I was too much for her.”

“Oh …”

“Yeah,” his words spill out in a rush, his eyes darkening as they take you in. They pause at your mini-skirt before crawling up your body slowly. You suddenly feel exposed, as if he just completely undressed you, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t love it. His voice lowers to a sultry whisper, “You don’t seem like that though.”

“Seem like that?”

“Like I’d be too much for you.”

“In what way?” You ask, genuinely curious.

He leans toward you, his lips brushing past your ear, forcing every hair on the back of your neck to stand up. “Sexual. You look like a good girl who knows how to take a pounding.”

A million thoughts ran through your head as Jimin broke out into a sardonic laugh. You were called back to that time you caught him masturbating to your pictures. You began to wonder if the prim and proper Jimin was just a façade to hide the sexual deviant he really was. His eyes look over you in a way they never have, and you swore they were clouded with lust. He licks his full lips, and you want nothing more than to kiss them, but you don’t. Instead, you take a step back and laugh, motioning to his roommate. Jimin was drunk and even though it looked like he wanted to bend you over the bar and give it to you, you knew better than to take advantage of a drunk man.

….

A week later, when you enter the study room, the moment you and Jimin exchange glances, you feel awkward. He looks embarrassed as he gestures for you to sit down.

“We need to talk,” he says. “I want to apologize about the other night at the bar.”

“It’s okay, I barely even gave it a second thought,” you lie. You had thought about that moment ever since it happened.

“No, it was inappropriate, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

“Jimin, you were drunk, it’s fine. Besides, it was nice to see a different side to you,” you reassured him with a smile.

“That’s not a side that I would like to be representative of who I am,” Jimin admits. “I don’t want to be known as the guy who makes people uncomfortable.”

You laugh. “Believe me, I was the farthest thing from uncomfortable.”

He locks eyes with you for a moment before clearing his throat and motioning toward your phone. “Have you checked your grades yet?”

You gasp, suddenly remembering the paper you had submitted a week earlier. You quickly bring up your most recent webpage, searching for the most recent grade listing. As your eyes glance over your paper and the notes, you realize that Jimin lived up to his reputation. You get up, shoving the phone in his face, squealing.

His eyes brighten, and he gets up as well. “You got an A!”

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Jimin, to your surprise, doesn’t push away. Instead, he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. You take the moment to breathe in his intoxicating scent. The both of you remain intertwined far longer than you both know is appropriate but for some reason, neither one of you makes the move to let go.

Finally, Jimin relents first. He stares you in the face and says quietly, “I knew you could do it.”

You let out a small laugh. “I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you, Jimin”

“As a reward, we can end the session ten minutes early today,” Jimin replies and sits back down.

You find yourself shaking your head. “Can I request a different reward?”

Jimin looks up at you and nods. You look around the small study space. The room you chose was in the back, the library was relatively empty today and the small window the room provided was on the door and could easily be covered up the shade provided. You mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to say next. Things could go downhill, fast, depending on his reaction. Still, you steady yourself, look Jimin in the eyes and say, “I want a kiss.”

“What?”

“A kiss,” you repeat confidently. “I want you to kiss me as a reward.”

“I can’t kiss you,” he replies back, taking study materials out of his messenger bag. “That would be highly ina –”

“Jimin, if you don’t want to kiss me, just say so but don’t use the tutor-student relationship as a reason.”

He sighs. “I …” You watch as he struggles to find the right words.

“You were right about me,” you say, giving him a flirtatious smirk. “At the bar. I can take a good pounding.”

His face turns a beet-red, but he quickly recovers. He stands, walking to stand in front of you. “Just one kiss?”

“One kiss,” you repeat.

He leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips, lingering for only a few seconds before breaking the kiss. “That good?”

You shake your head. “I hardly think that’s worth all the work I put in.”

He smiles, genuinely amused, and says, “Really?”

You nod. “Maybe if it was longer …”

Jimin sighs. “Y/N, if it’s longer, you know what that will lead to …”

“Then let it lead to that,” you challenge, you push. “I don’t know why you have to act so anal-retentive all the time. Not everything has to be perfect. Just k—”

He cuts you off with a deeper kiss. It’s slow and sensual. His hands wrap around your waist, one of them running down the curve of your ass as he palms it slowly, indulging in the fleshy softness. You can feel his dick hardening on your thigh as he slips a tongue into your mouth.

Jimin is using both hands to palm your ass now, his dick grinding into you and a low, deep, moan leaves his mouth forcing an electric sensation to shoot down your spine and vibrate in your core.

“You sure you want this?” he asks through a searing kiss.

“Yes,” you think you say but you’re not sure. Your head is spinning that this is actually happening.

He responds by lifting your pleated skirt and smacking your ass, the sound echoing throughout the room. Fingertips dance between your ass crack, and he uses a knee to part your legs slightly further. You break the kiss, throwing your head back as you feel Jimin’s fingertips slowly rub your pussy from the back. He slips a finger into your underwear, running it up and down your slit.

“How long have you wanted this?” He asks, nipping at your neck. “You’re already so fucking wet.” You try to answer but all that comes out is a moan as he slips another finger inside. “Shh,” he tells you. “You want the whole library to hear you?”

He gives you a bit of a reprieve when his hands slip away. You watch as he pulls out one of the chairs and sits, beckoning for you to stand in front of him. Your skirt is still at your waist, so he pulls your underwear down before pulling you close. You feel his large hands grope your ass again, peppering kisses up and down your hips. Another smack echoes through the room before he uses a hand to caress clit. You move your hips in response, holding on to the table for balance.

He pauses. “Turn around and bend over.” He doesn’t have to ask you twice. You obey, and not a second later, you feel him placing one of your legs up on the study table. “Arch that back, baby.” Your ass juts out just a little more as you follow his directions. A moment later you feel a cool, wet, sensation going up and down the slit of your core. It’s slow at first, as if he’s taking the time to let the taste of you marinate on his tongue but he quickly picks up his pace. The tip of his tongue flickering over your clit. Meanwhile, you can feel his thumb, massaging your anus.

Jimin was an ass man, and he was making that very clear.

Both hands were gripping your ass now as he guided your pussy over his tongue. You work your hips in tandem, stifling a loud moan as your world begins to go white.

But he wasn’t done with you yet.

He moves his tongue from your pussy up to your anus, and you jerk, having never quite felt something like this before. You can hear an amused laugh leave Jimin’s throat as he begins to massage your ass with his tongue. His fingers working your pussy, begging for another orgasm. You oblige, your wetness dripping all over his fingertips.

“Don’t move,” he demands. You can hear his belt unbuckling, followed by the tips of his dick moving up and down your incredibly wet slit. He slides it in with the patience of a saint, excruciatingly slow, forcing whimpers out of you, begging him to go faster. “You sure you want it faster?”

“Please,” you moan.

“Please, what?”

“Please, Jimin,” you manage to utter out.

He gives you your wish and begins to pound you like he said he would. His pace quickens and you can feel every inch of him inside of you. Your pussy wraps around him which causes him to smack your ass, and a deep moan leaves his lips.

You realize he can’t have all the fun though and you begin to throw it back on him, your ass bouncing against him, and he lets you. You can hear your wetness as you begin to drain his dick. You can hear his low grunts of satisfaction as you pick up your pace and when you look back, you can see his dark eyes looking at you in a way you never wanted to stop. “Good fucking girl,” he whispers in a low voice.

You make eye contact which forces him to grip your hips and pound into you harder, faster (stronger).  “One more time baby,” he says to you, maintaining eye contact. “Cum on this dick.” You had already been close, and his words only sent you over the edge further than you had ever gone. You close your eyes, your body shaking in pleasure as you have your third orgasm on his dick.

He follows suit, his cum shooting deep inside of you. You feel his body on top of yours as you both try to catch your breath.

“Was that worth all your hard work?’ He asks.

“I think I’ll have to get A’s for the rest of the year,” you reply.

“The rest of your life.”

[billsbabydoll]

“𝓈ℯℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒽ℯ 𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉 𝓂ℯ.”

contains:PURE SMUT<3

summary:as fuck buddies there was obviously zero commitment, no strings attached, just sex.but once tom learns of my new boyfriend, completely furious he takes it into his hands to show me whats really his.

WARNINGS:dom!tom sub!reader, p in v (riding), car-sex, rough-sex, praising, pet-names, over-stimulation, SLIGHT breeding kink, implied cheating (I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING this story is ONLY for entertainment purposes only!!!), new established relationship.

notes:AAAA i love this story hopefully you guys enjoy!

tom was the one who came up with the rule of no-commitment, he was obviously a play-boy, typical womanizer, having girls out of his hotel room left and right so it was understandable he established this rule.

with other girls normally, he would get what he wanted and get onto the next but i guess to him i was different, we would frequently met up and have dinner then fuck once we got back to his place as usual.i was sure i was the only girl he gave this special treatment towards, because he made it very clear.

besides having flings and other “serious relationships” here and there, i was always the girl he would call when he wanted to talk or get his frustrations out with.although just being a sex based relationship, we grew close and knew each other fairly well not just anatomically.

everything changed once i met robert, he was your average of snooze guy nothing really too special but we soon began dating after a couple weeks of getting to know one-another, after becoming fully monogamous to robert i cut ties completely with tom.i was sure this would be no problem since our relationship was just for sex right?but oh was i strongly wrong.

while sitting on the couch watching a movie i see my phone in the corner of my eye suddenly begin to vibrate and ring, confusedly i pick up the phone from the coffee table and see an unknown number calling.i assumed it was just a spam call so i set it back down letting it continue to ring.unexpectedly it continued vibrating and ringing suggesting someone was continuously trying to get me to pick up.

i annoyedly sighed, angrily picking up the phone pressing harshly on the answer button before bringing the phone close up to my ear.

“took you long enough..now meet me outside right now.” the chillingly familiar voice on the other line said, the one i havent once heard in weeks..

i hung up looking around weirded out and ultimately confused, trying to understand how he managed to call me if i blocked his number?i slowly set the phone back down on the coffee table, getting up from the couch making my way out of the front door stepping onto the front porch, shutting the door behind me.

i look around trying to spot someone or something and then i finally see him standing next to his black, fully tinted, red rimmed audi, smoking a cigarette blowing the smoke out into the cold winter breeze.he looks back down taking another drag out of his cigarette looking straight ahead, me and toms eyes making eye-contact for the first time since the last time we saw each other.

i then begin to slowly approach him, he blows the smoke out of his mouth dropping the cigarette down to the ground putting it out with his sneaker, afterwards opening the passenger side door letting me inside closing it once i was settled inside then making his way to the drivers side getting into the vehicle as well.

he looks over to me seeing my anxious expression, chuckling a bit as he began to speak-

“so hows this guy im hearing of, how is he baby?”he questioned speaking in a voice that was cheerful but still lingering with complete rage.

“he has a name you know..its robert.”i strongly clapped back, rolling my eyes at him.

“aw wonderful guy isnt he hun?”he exaggerated adding an annoying emphasis to the sentence, his words cutting deep into my skin.

“see your man is a man but he ain’t me you know mama?tell me does he touch you the way i do-”he says smugly a smirk soon appearing on his reddish lips, his hand now rubbing and squeezing on the skin of my thigh.he then leans in closer his hand still caressing my thigh his mouth nearing closer to whisper in my ear, “fuck you like i do?”

i breathe in deeply desperately trying to remain strong and remind myself of my boyfriend, whatever his name is.tom knew exactly what he was doing teasing me like this, getting me right back where he wanted me.

“tom..”

“what love, cmonn use your words hm?”

“j-just fuck me already, please.”

“since you asked so nicely.”he said pulling away with a smile, swiftly pulling me into his lap placing me in the reverse cow-girl position, my hands now holding onto the steering wheel.

he harshly slapped my ass causing me to softly moan, his fingers then find the hems of my pajama shorts tugging on them signaling me to pull them down, he followed right behind unbuckling his belt and unzipping his baggy jeans enough for him to pull his hard length out of his black briefs.

after he slightly lifted me up spitting a generous amount of spit on his hand before lubricating himself then sitting me back down slowly on his cock, we both groaned at the heavenly feeling my teeth harshly biting down on my lower lip suppressing a loud groan.

i soon began to bounce on his length, it wasnt long before the sound of skin clapping took over along with a string of our passionate moans, his left hand aggressively spanking and hitting my ass the other making a makeshift ponytail using it as leverage to kiss and bite on my neck.

“keep riding i-it just like that mmh-mama..”he groans praising my movements, his hands now gripping on the sides of my hips helping me go up and down faster on his desperate cock.

“y-you feel so ughh-fucking good baby!”i cry out my eyes rolling to the back of my skull, the tip of his length kissing my tight cervix perfectly.

“doing such a good f-mmfucking good job for me love, keep ughgoing!”

“your fucking mine all-mmhm fucking mine..” he continued encouraging me and by now my brains were completely fucked into mush, all i seemed to say and mutter was how good his fucking big cock felt pounding inside my needy cunt.

“b-baby im mmh-gonna!”i managed to mumble in between my desperate whimpers, my walls beginning to aggressively tighten around his length.

“aww i know mama i know g-go on ugh!”he cooed fucking his dick in further inside me, sure enough to see a bulge in my stomach.

to his command i immediately start seeing stars as i begin to orgasm and coat his cock completely with my cum, my body severely shaking and my chest heaving from the harsh impact of my climax.this pushes him to take the opportunity to really show me whos cunt this really belongs to, his cock now beginning an impeccable and violent attack on my pussy.

“tom! i cant i mmh-cant t’much!”

“yeah you can mmm!be a good ugh-girl!”

im a drooling, screaming, crying, utterly fucked out of my mind disgusting mess.after a couple more painfully delicious thrusts he finally reaches his high, fucking his seed inside my over-stimulated cunt making sure to milk ever last of drop of cum out of his member.

he gently rubs my lower back before he pulls out of me watching his sticky seed rapidly spill out from my cunt, lifting me up again a bit to swiftly now hold me up in his arms peppering soft kisses on my skin.

“you better never see that loser again alright, your fucking my girl got it mama?”

THE END

[borathae]

"Jungkook loves having a break from work because it means that he can make you breakfast in the morning and welcome you home with dinner."

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: married life!AU, Slice of Life Fluff

Warnings: Jungkook being a cutie, cozy mornings, casual use of Bunny & Mommy as non-kinky petnames, kisses, flirting because they're in love!

Wordcount: 2.6k

a/n: this was planned for january but we all need fluff more than smut rn so i decided to switch up my schedule a little. i hope this can cheer you guys up.

You wake up in darkness like most mornings because you and your husband prefer to have the electric blinds down. And like most mornings, the first thing you do is look for him in the darkness by swiping your hand over the sheets. However, unlike most mornings, you can’t locate him today. He must have gotten up already, which was weird considering he had the day off today. 

Because of one of his countless work trips, he has this week off. He gave himself that rule. The longer the work trip was and the higher the stress level, the longer he'll relax at home as balance. He wasn’t home for a month this time around, so for one week you will have him playing house husband. 

Jungkook shouldn’t be out of bed yet. It was his second day home and he should be getting his well-deserved sleep. You have to get up for university, but Jungkook should still be snoozing. You have to see what could be so important that he is already out of bed.

You open the blinds with a click of the button you have next to your bedside lamp and use the growing light to get out of bed. You stretch your arms above your head, yawning loudly to get the oxygen flowing. Then you make your way to the bathroom for the mandatory post wake up pee. Once relieved and equipped with a glass of fresh water to drink on the way, you make your way to the living area in hopes of locating Jungkook. 

The faint sound of music calls you to the kitchen. Soon the smell of breakfast tickles your nose. So that's where he went off to. He is cooking breakfast. 

You smile once you lay eyes on him. He is turned to you as he is using the kitchen island counter to chop kimchi. He is wrapped in a dark blue kimono robe and a black apron. The long sleeves of the kimono he fixed according to Japanese traditions, making it so that they wouldn’t get in the way as he cooks. 

He is singing to the song on the radio, lifting his eyes as they catch your movements.

His face lights up.

“Good morning”, he says and keeps gazing at you as you make your way to him.

“Good morning”, you increase your steps, needing to be with him, “why are you up already? It’s so early.”

Jungkook checks the time, “I didn’t feel tired anymore. I’ve been up since five thirty.” 

“Why? Bunny, today’s your free day”, you whine, setting the empty glass aside.

“I’m seriously fine. I think jetlag’s still doing it to me. I’m making breakfast.”

“I know, it already smells amazing”, you say and wrap your arms around his waist. 

He puts the knife down and turns in your hold, lifting his arms so you could snuggle into his chest. He closes his arms around you, swaying from side to side as your bodies naturally move to the music. 

He closes his eyes and rests his cheek against your head. 

“You should be in bed snoozing”, you mumble into him.

“I’m okay”, he says in a chuckle, “I feel really rested.”

“Mhm okay fine I believe you”, you give up and squeeze him gently, “my bunny. Shit, I missed you.”

“I missed you too”, he says and squeezes you back, “so much.”

“I missed you more. You know?” 

Jungkook laughs, “that’s impossible because I missed you so much that nobody could ever top it.”

You chuckle, “wow that’s a lot.”

“Mh-hm it’s a lot.”

You lift your head, grinning up at him. He retorts it, scrunching his nose. 

“You’re a stupid noodle.”

“Heh.”

“What are you making?” 

“Steamed salmon in a teriyaki glaze, multigrain rice, kimchi and miso soup.”

“That literally sounds like heaven, holy fuck.” 

“And I’m making jujube tea with ginger because it’s getting chilly.” 

“You’re seriously amazing. I was so down to eat soggy cereal today and now you’re treating me to such a royal breakfast.”

He giggles, “yeah, I hope it’ll taste yummy. I made the glaze myself and, I don’t know, I think I used too much ginger.” 

“I bet it’ll be amazing.”

“Yeah, hopefully.”

The air fryer beeps, calling Jungkook’s attention.

“Oh! Food’s ready! Sit down Mommy, I’ll serve it to you”, he says and wiggles out of the hug in excitement. He skips to the air fryer, humming to himself.

You do as you are told and sit down by the round dining table, watching him scramble to get the food plated. You are wiggling your toes in happiness. He is so cute. 

“You look so handsome in your kimono, Bunny”, you tell him.

“Thank you, Mommy”, he says, but otherwise stays rather unresponsive as he is fully concentrated on making the food look pretty. 

“It’s a shame that I gotta leave for classes today ‘cause I just wanna stare at you all day.” 

At that Jungkook lifts his eyes. He glances at you. Flusters. Looks away. Blushes. 

You chuckle fondly, grinning to yourself. Of course your words would fluster him. That was your goal after all.

“And then later if you let me, I’d unwrap you like a little treat.”

Jungkook glances at you again. He is so obviously shy from your words, but he doesn’t let it show at all.

“Food is, uhm, it’s done”, he says.

“You’re just gonna ignore me, mhm?” you tease with a smile.

“I don’t know what to say to that”, he confesses, making you chuckle 

“You’re so fucking cute.”

He serves the food on a bamboo tray, setting it down with a kiss to your cheek and his left hand petting the back of your head.

“Thank you, my love”, you say, leaning into the kiss.

“Mhm, you can start already. I’ll just get mine.” 

And as Jungkook hurries back to the kitchen, you scan your eyes over the food. It looks amazing. The salmon looks crispy in a dark glaze and the multigrain rice has a nice purple colour to it. The miso soup is steaming and the fresh kimchi from Jungkook’s mom is served in a small glass bowl.

“The food looks amazing”, you tell him.

“Yeah, dig in. Dig in”, he dismisses you as he is terribly busy with scooping rice into his bowl.

“I am”, you say and chuckle. He is so cute. 

You pick up the wooden spoon and scoop up the first bite of many. You try to make it equal parts rice and equal parts salmon, topping it off with a piece of kimchi.

Jungkook sits down on the chair next to yours, resting his chin on the back of his hands. He is watching you intently, showing off his teeth in a sweet bunny smile. 

You take the first bite. 

“And?” he instantly asks, leaning closer to you as he is waiting for the praise.

“Mh”, you let out and pull a face of pure culinary ecstasy, giving him two thumbs up as you chew deliciously. 

He giggles, “good?”

“S’amazing”, you mumble and take a bite of the miso soup, “mhhm, mhm hm mh”, you hum, continuously giving him thumbs up.

“Heh thank you”, he whispers and sways happily, “eat a lot, Mommy. I made it with all the love in the world.”

“I can taste it. It’s so yummy”, you say and swallow your bite. You put your hand at the back of his head and pull him into a kiss.

“Mhm”, Jungkook lets out, twisting the front of your shirt as his legs squeeze together under the table.

You break the kiss with a ruffle of his hair.

“Thank you so much for cooking”, you whisper and smile.

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle, his lips curl into a giddy grin.

“My cutie”, you add and break away to continue eating. The food is too delicious not to put your entire attention on it.

Jungkook watches you take a bite and eat it happily, then he finally begins eating as well, doing so with a frown.

“Mhm yes, this is good food”, he comments and nods his head.

“Yeah, it really is”, you agree and for the next few moments, you and him are silent as you concentrate on eating.

The amazing thing about being married is being able to see eating time as what it is. Eating time. In society, eating with other people most often means forcing conversation for the sake of friendliness. Foods get cold from being neglected for talking, bites aren’t properly chewed for the sake of conversation and tastes aren’t properly enjoyed. Being married to your soulmate and comfort means that those forced conversations cease to exist. You already have the greatest bonding time eating and sharing cozy silence.  

By the time the food is almost all gone, the conversation naturally begins to seep into the silence again. You and he were able to enjoy the food and are now finally ready to talk. Oh, it is so nice to be married.

“Will you go to afternoon lectures as well?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah, I have to. What she’s talking about right now is really important.”

“I see. Is it still about behavioural studies?” 

“Yeah.”

“Mmh nice. What you told me on the phone always sounded really interesting.”

“Yeah, it is. Mhm Bunny seriously, I can’t get over how everything is though. Like fuck college talk, your food’s amazing.” 

He scrunches his nose, “thank you, my love. I have another surprise for you too.”

“What do you mean? A surprise?”

“Mh-hm. Don’t make me say it yet. You know I suck at keeping surprises a secret”  he says and smiles his cutest bunny smile.

“Okay, but now you gotta tell me. What did you do?”

“No, I’m not telling you”, Jungkook says and gets up to flee to the kitchen. He giggles as he does, looking over his shoulder to check if you were watching him.

“Bunny”, you warn in a chuckle, getting up to chase him, “tell me.”

He is by the sink, loading the dishwasher and shaking his head.

“Tell me”, you say and tickle his sides.

Jungkook squeaks and writhes away, pressing his arms to his sides as best as possible.

“Mommy stop”, he whines between giggles.

“Tell me”, you insist, tickling his waist instead.

Jungkook turns and grabs your lower arm.

“You’re unfair”, he squeaks. 

You laugh, tickling him again just so you can get his reaction. Jungkook squeaks in laughter. He pulls his biggest move by tickling your sides in return.

“Ah!” you twitch away, “hey! Not fair.”

Jungkook snickers, “it’s what you get for being mean.”

You click your tongue, “you’re a little brat.” 

He grins, “and you’re almost running late.” 

You glance at the clock.

“Oh shit. Fuck, I gotta wash up”, you gasp and sprint off, “you stupid noodle you. You distracted me with your cute butt. Also, if I come downstairs and see you changed outta your robe so you could drive me, I’m punishing your ass. You’re staying home today”, you scold him as you run up the stairs, taking two at a time. 

Jungkook laughs. Seconds later, the upstairs bathroom falls closed.

Jungkook abandons the cleaning up for now in order to prepare your backpack for you. He would drive you to campus on other days, but you told him last night that you would take the bus today as you needed to swing by the library either way. Jungkook didn’t really want to argue with you about it so he just agreed to whatever you insisted on. 

But that doesn’t mean that he won’t make sure that you are leaving the house perfectly prepared. He fills your thermos cup with your favourite coffee, puts a water bottle into your backpack after making sure you have all the books and notes backed and he even slipped some little love notes between the pages you will read today. He hopes that you will love them. He is already so giddy at the thought of you discovering them.

You are stomping down the stairs again, putting on your earrings as you do.

“Have you seen my backpack? I'm going crazy. It’s not in my office.”

“It’s here, my love. You always forget it downstairs on Tuesdays because you come home so late”, Jungkook says, carrying it for you as you hurry to the coat closet. 

“Ah yeah. Fuck, did I get my books?”

“Everything you need is in the bag.”

“My notes?”

“Yes, those too.”

You scramble to get your shoes on. Jungkook in the meantime gets your coat so he could help you later.

“Shit, I didn’t get to make coffee.” 

“I did. Don’t worry”, he assures you.

“And water. I need water for later.”

“It’s in the bag.”

“A big-” 

“Yes, a big bottle.”

You halt in your hurried actions for a moment, looking at him in adoring disbelief. He is still holding your backpack and another bag in one hand, whilst offering you your favourite coat with the other. Your eyes flit back to the bag.

“What’s that?” 

“My surprise.” 

“Your surprise?” 

“First. Coat”, he says and helps you slip it on, “then backpack”, he helps you again, “now surprise”, he hands you the bag. 

You look into it. Your thermos of coffee is in there, a metal spoon and a pair of chopsticks wrapped in a paper towel as well, your favourite chocolate bar, a small package of salted pretzels, a tangerine, a banana and a metal bento box.

You look up to meet his shy gaze.

“You made me lunch?” you get out squeakily, pouting as your eyes fill with fond tears.

Jungkook nods his head, “it's something so yummy. I also packed you favourite snacks and some fruits for vitamins. But don’t open the bento until it’s time for lunch.”

“Bunny. Oh my god, you’re gonna make me cry. I love it so much.”

Jungkook wipes your tears away, smooches your forehead and then places his hands on your shoulders to lead you to the elevator. He calls it with a press of the button.

“No tears. You’re running late.”

You laugh, feeling your heart flutter. He is so fucking adorable.

The elevator dings and opens. He shoves you gently until you naturally walk on your own.

“How do you expect me to be normal after this? You’re the sweetest noodle ever”, you whine. 

“Thank me by thinking of me all day”, he says and giggles.

You turn. He is still in the penthouse while you’re in the elevator. One reach is all that separates you and him.

Jungkook lifts his hand to wave you goodbye. Just a few more seconds and the doors would close. It’s now or never. 

The doors begin closing.

“Good luck today, my love. See you late-eeek”, Jungkook squeals and stumbles into the elevator as you pull him inside by the collar of his robe.

You twirl him and press him against the wall, knocking a surprised gasp out of him.

The elevator moves.

“What are you doing? I’m in my robe. I don’t have my keycard with me. I don’t-”

“Take mine. You can open the door for me later”, you interrupt him.

“But. The robe.”

“Nobody will care. Wanna make use of the time”, you dismiss him and pull him into a kiss. 

Jungkook whimpers, grasping you instantly. His heart is racing, his knees are buckling. So here he is. In his robe, without clothes underneath, pinned against a cold wall as he is getting tongue kissed in an elevator. It’s not what he had hoped would happen if he made you lunch, but it’s definitely not the worst outcome.

[pin-k-ink]

maelstrom // miya osamu & miya atsumu (pt. 1)

tw ⇢ dub-con, mutual pining, teasing, sexual content, strong sexual tension, suggestive themes, polyamory/threesome implications

wc ⇢ 12.3k

part one | part two

The summer heat enveloped you like a warm embrace, thick and heady in the late afternoon air. Your skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat as you chased after the twins, breathless laughter tumbling from your lips.

Atsumu glanced back at you over his shoulder, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. "C'mon slowpoke, you're fallin' behind!" he teased, dark brown hair whipping in the breeze as he ran.

Osamu shot you a playful smirk, easily keeping pace with his brother's longer strides. Even at nine years old, the competitive spark between the twins burned bright.

You huffed out a breath, cheeks flushed from the exertion as you willed your shorter legs to move faster. The sound of Atsumu and Osamu's rambunctious laughter echoed through the park as you gave chase.

Finally, you caught up to the twins under the broad canopy of an old oak tree. Doubling over with your hands braced on your knees, you gulped in deep lungfuls of air.

"You jerks...waited up..." you managed between pants, shooting them a half-hearted glare.

Atsumu propped his hands on his hips, eyes dancing with poorly concealed glee. "If you can't keep up, maybe you shouldna played tag, (Y/N)-chan."

"'M faster than you," Osamu piped up, sticking his tongue out at his brother in a show of childish teasing.

You watched the familiar bickering unfold with a fond smile, their back-and-forth already an ingrained fixture of your childhood. Atsumu and Osamu had been your best friends for as long as you could remember, partners in crime and constant companions through thick and thin.

The first day of your senior year started off like any other. The piercing trill of your alarm sliced through the heavy silence of your bedroom. You groaned, blindly reaching out to slam the snooze button before reluctantly peeling yourself out from under the cocoon of warm blankets.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you trudged over to your closet and began the familiar routine of getting ready for school. You pulled on your uniform skirt, smoothing the soft plaid fabric over your thighs. Next came the crisp white button-down, which you tucked neatly into the waistband before fastening each button one-by-one.

As you stood in front of the mirror putting the final touches on your look, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of melancholy. This marked the beginning of your last year of high school - your last year before everything changed. Soon you'd be going off to college, leaving behind so many cherished memories and faces.

The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed up the stairwell, followed by a muffled "I'm here!" Sparing one last glance at your reflection, you grabbed your backpack and hurried downstairs to find the Miya twins waiting in your entryway.

"Well don't you look as radiant as ever?" Atsumu purred by way of greeting, leaning casually against the wall. His dark blazer hung open to reveal the trademark navy sweater vest, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

You felt your cheeks warm at his bright smile and unabashedly appreciative once-over. Even after all these years, Atsumu's shamelessly flirtatious remarks never failed to flustered you.

"Ignore him," Osamu chimed in with a good-natured roll of his eyes. The gray haired twin stood beside his brother, hands tucked into the pockets of his neatly pressed trousers. "Ya know he's always been a smooth-talkin' little shit."

"Oh c'mon 'Samu, don't be jealous that I actually know how to compliment a lady," Atsumu shot back with a devilish grin.

You bit back a laugh at their playful back-and-forth, shaking your head in amusement. "You two are too much. Are you ready to go?"

With a final shared look, the twins followed you out the door and down the all-too-familiar path towards Inarizaki High for the last time. You couldn't help but savor each familiar sight and sound - the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, the rhythmic tapping of your footsteps, Osamu and Atsumu's animated chatter.

These small moments had been the steadfast backdrop to your life for as long as you could remember. And soon, everything was going to change. You tried not to dwell on how much you'd miss this comfortable routine...and how much you'd miss the twins.

The walk to school passed by in a warm, familiar rhythm. Atsumu and Osamu bickered good-naturedly as they always did, trading barbs and insults that held no real bite. You chimed in occasionally with a teasing comment of your own, relishing in the easy camaraderie between the three of you.

All too soon, the gates of Inarizaki High came into view, signaling the end of your short reprieve. The open courtyard buzzed with students carrying on conversations and laughing amongst themselves as they began to filter inside for homeroom.

You lingered back, letting the twins stride ahead a few paces as you drank in the atmosphere around you. This grand entrance, these precisely trimmed hedges, the cherry blossom trees lining the walkway - they had become such ingrained sights over the past three years. You wanted to commit every detail to memory before it all slipped away after graduation.

"You comin', (Y/N)?" Atsumu called back to you, snapping you from your reverie.

You blinked rapidly, offering him what you hoped was a convincing smile. "Yeah, I'm right behind you."

As you moved to catch up with the twins, Atsumu fell into step beside you. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body as your arms brushed together with each stride. Up close, you noticed the strong line of his jaw had become more chiseled, his cheekbones sharper and more refined. He really had grown into a handsome young man.

"See something ya like, (Y/N)-chan?" His voice was a deep rumble laced with amusement. When you turned to face him with furrowed brows, Atsumu's piercing eyes danced with mischief. "You were starin' pretty hard there."

You felt your face grow hot with a blush. "W-What? No, I wasn't staring! I was just...lost in thought."

The lie tumbled clumsily from your lips as you averted your gaze, silently cursing your inability to be honest - with Atsumu or with yourself. Because the truth was, you had been drinking in every detail of his appearance, admiring the way his perfectly tousled hair seemed to glow like sunlight in the morning rays.

Osamu scoffed from your other side. "Sure ya were. That's what they all say."

You shot the gray-haired twin a halfhearted glare. "Oh, put a sock in it, 'Samu."

The three of you continued your playful banter, but you were hyperaware of Atsumu's presence beside you. The cadence of his voice, the subtle spicy aroma of his cologne, the casual brush of his arm against yours - it all flooded your senses in a dizzying wave. You swallowed hard and tried to push away the fluttering feeling blossoming in your chest.

Was it possible you were developing feelings for your best friend, after all this time?

The thought was dizzying...and more than a little terrifying. Atsumu and Osamu had been permanent fixtures in your life for as long as you could remember. To complicate that bond with romantic feelings felt like an overstep, even if Atsumu's own flirtatious behavior seemed to egg you on.

No, it was better to just bury those confusing emotions. Your friendship with the twins was too precious to risk over a passing infatuation that may not even be reciprocated.

The school day passed by in a whirlwind of lectures, notes, and mindless doodling for Atsumu. His thoughts kept drifting, wholly consumed by you and the inexplicable pull he felt in your presence.

During lunch period, he spotted you walking across the courtyard alongside Osamu, deep in conversation. Atsumu's breath hitched in his throat as you threw your head back with unbridled laughter at something his twin had said. The way the sunlight kissed your features, illuminating the jovial crinkles around your eyes and the bright flush in your cheeks - you looked positively radiant.

Atsumu felt that all-too-familiar ache blossom in his chest as he watched you from afar. An ache that had plagued him more and more over the past couple of years. At first, he mistook it for typical teenage infatuation, but lately the feelings had only intensified into something deeper...something he couldn't quite put a name to.

All he knew was that he never wanted to miss another moment of your smile, your laughter, your easy way of existing in the world. You were his harbor, the one thing that kept him grounded amidst the chaos of school, volleyball, and the looming pressure of an uncertain future.

"You're starin' again, ya big creep," Osamu's gruff voice dragged Atsumu from his reverie. The gray-haired twin slid onto the bench across from him, already digging into his perfectly triangular onigiri lunch.

Atsumu felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks at being so brazenly called out. He tried to play it cool with a nonchalant shrug. "I wasn't starin'. Just...observin'."

"Is that what yer callin' it these days?" Osamu quirked one brow skeptically before taking another massive bite of his rice ball.

Atsumu's eyes drifted back over to where you still stood near the vending machines, laughing at something on your phone. The sound was light and airy, so full of pure, unbridled joy - he wished he could bottle it up and keep it safe forever.

With a resigned sigh, Atsumu dragged his stare away to meet his twin's knowing gaze. "It's nothin', okay? Don't go readin' into it."

But even as the words left his lips, they both knew it was a lie. There was no use denying the truth any longer - Atsumu was well and truly enamored with you.

The realization should have been earth-shattering. You were his closest friend, his confidante, the one person who knew him inside and out and stuck by him through everything. To risk that connection by developing romantic feelings seemed like the highest form of idiocy.

And yet...Atsumu couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not when every shared laugh, every brush of your hand against his, every softly murmured inside joke set his heart aflame with purpose. Being around you simply felt right in a way he couldn't explain.

Maybe there would never be a way to act on these feelings. Maybe he was destined to keep them locked away, a melancholic ache to carry through life.

But still, he decided as he watched you rejoin them with that brilliant smile, it was worth it to bask in your light...even if doing so risked getting burned.

The final weeks of senior year passed by in a bittersweet blur for Atsumu. Each familiar routine and milestone carried a melancholic weight, knowing it would all be ripped away after graduation.

As he strode through the halls of Inarizaki for the last time, memories seemed to assault him from every corner. There was the spot under the old oak tree where you used to enjoy lunch together, trading jokes and playful barbs. The student lounge where he and Osamu would lounge around after practices, making up ridiculous games to stave off boredom while they waited for you.

And then there was you - an omnipresent force that had been woven inextricably into the fabric of Atsumu's high school experience. Your radiant smile, your effervescent laugh, your quiet strength that grounded him even in his most unhinged moments.

He tried not to dwell too hard on the ache that blossomed in his chest whenever you were around lately. The nagging feelings that had started as a tiny spark but had grown into a raging inferno, threatening to consume him whole.

Atsumu knew, in that deep part of himself he refused to acknowledge, that his feelings for you had long surpassed the boundaries of a platonic friendship. You weren't just his closest confidante, his partner-in-crime of sorts. You were...everything. The very axis around which his world seemed to pivot and spin.

But he could never admit that out loud, could never even entertain the notion of exposing those feelings to the harsh light of day. Because to do so would be to risk fracturing the precious bond you'd all cultivated over years of shared history. You were too important - what you had was too important.

So Atsumu carried his burden silently, stuffing those unruly emotions down until they plaqued his very bones with a dull, relentless ache. He watched from the sidelines as you laughed and joked with Osamu, intimate in a way that simultaneously warmed and shattered Atsumu's heart.

Did his brother feel the same forbidden longing that seemed to consume Atsumu more with each passing day? He could never tell - Osamu had always been the quieter twin, opting to express himself through subtle gestures and lingering looks rather than brash words.

All Atsumu knew was that with each tender brush of Osamu's fingers against your arm, each murmured private joke you shared, another tiny fissure seemed to splinter his foolish heart wide open.

He couldn't begrudge either of you for something so inexplicably human as emotional attachments. You had both been the two pillars propping him up for as long as he could remember. To lose one of you would reverberate through his entire world like a flash-bomb detonation.

So Atsumu simply swallowed down the persistent lump in his throat and basked in your presence for as long as he was permitted. He drank in the sight of you crossing the courtyard, head thrown back in uninhibited laughter at something Osamu murmured in your ear. He committed the melody of your voice to memory as you cheerfully called out to him during breaks, always including him.

Because as long as he could revel in these small moments, maybe the hollow ache of unrequited love wouldn't completely devour him. Maybe he could subsist on the lingering crumbs of your friendship and admiration from afar.

As their high school years faded into memory, a new looming question began to worm its way insidiously into Atsumu's mind:

What would he do when simply being near you was no longer enough to satiate the relentless hunger burning inside him?

The day of graduation dawned bright and cloudless, the perfect sunny backdrop for the class of Inarizaki to bid farewell to their high school years. As Atsumu donned his crimson gown and mortarboard hat, he couldn't help but feel a surge of melancholy.

This moment marked the end of an era. No more shared classes or inside jokes scribbled onto desk tops. No more rambunctious locker room celebrations after winning the championships. Atsumu's indelible memories were forever trapped behind these walls, preserved like insects in amber.

As he made his way across the manicured quad towards the auditorium, award-winning volleyball skills moving his long legs with an innate grace, Atsumu scanned the milling crowd for your familiar face. His breath hitched in his throat when he finally spotted you.

You looked positively radiant swathed in the rich burgundy robes, the sunlight catching on your glossy tresses as you laughed at something one of your friends said. Atsumu felt that familiar swooping sensation in his stomach as you tossed your head back, entire body alight with uninhibited joy.

In that moment, he made a silent vow to etch every curve, every plane of your face into his memory forever. The delicate sweep of your lashes fanning across flushed cheeks. The dimples that appeared whenever your smile stretched wide enough. That lopsided grin he'd fallen tragically in love with over the years.

Atsumu wasn't naive enough to think this wouldn't be one of the last times he saw you look so unburdened and carefree before the pressures of the "real world" came crashing down. He wanted to soak in this moment for as long as he was permitted.

A gentle hand on his elbow pulled Atsumu from his reverie. He blinked rapidly, only then realizing he'd been unabashedly staring. Osamu stood beside him, dressed in his own graduation robes with an inscrutable look on his features.

"You're doin' it again," was all he said, letting the unspoken words hang heavy between them.

Atsumu swallowed hard, feeling a flush of embarrassment warm the tips of his ears. Before he could formulate a pithy retort, you suddenly appeared in front of them, all sunshine smiles and breathless excitement.

"There you guys are!" you exclaimed happily. "I've been looking everywhere for my two favorite people."

You reached out to playfully swat at Atsumu's bicep, and he was struck by how utterly at ease you seemed - as if the joy of this momentous occasion coalesced around you in a glowing aura. How he longed to bottle up that radiance, keep it tucked away for himself to admire whenever the world drained the color from his periphery.

"Aw, ya know ya don't gotta flatter us like that, doll," Atsumu drawled out with a roguish wink. "We were always the favorites, even if you won't admit it."

You stuck your tongue out at his teasing, eyes sparkling with mirth. And just like that, the familiar song and dance resumed between you three. Banter and jokes filling the empty spaces, temporarily soothing the sting of all that was ending.

As you pulled both twins in for a group photo, arms looped casually around their shoulders, Atsumu was struck by the sudden realization of how small you seemed tucked into his side. He breathed in the intoxicating floral notes of your shampoo, allowing it to temporarily saturate his senses and blot out the rest of the world.

This was the feeling he longed to chase endlessly - the comforting warmth of you beside him, both temporally and physically close. With you tucked against him, nothing else seemed to matter in that moment. Not the pressures of the future or impending loss of this routine. All that existed was your smile, your laughter, your essence.

As Osamu's hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling your trio into an even tighter warm embrace, Atsumu couldn't ignore the dull flare of _something_ igniting in his chest. It was a spark threatening to raze him from the inside out if he allowed it to fully fan into flame.

Jealousy? Longing? Desperation?

He wasn't sure, and he was too afraid to inspect that conflagration any closer. All Atsumu knew in that moment was that he didn't want this feeling to ever end - even if the fire consuming him was the only thing keeping him warm.

With a few clicks and flashes, the impromptu photoshoot came to an end. You stepped back from the twins, smoothing down the sleek crimson fabric of your gown with a beaming smile.

"I can't believe this is really it," you said, letting out a slightly breathless laugh tinged with disbelief. "The end of an era."

Atsumu felt his throat constrict slightly at your words. You weren't wrong - the life and routines you'd all become so accustomed to were coming to a definitive end today. The demon of change loomed on the horizon, refusing to be ignored any longer.

Before he could dwell too much on the creeping sense of melancholy, Osamu was suddenly there, his larger hand engulfing your smaller one in a warm grip.

"C'mere for a sec," the gray-haired twin murmured, voice pitched low enough that Atsumu had to strain to catch the words.

You shot Atsumu a quizzical look over your shoulder as Osamu began to gently tug you away from the crowd of meandering graduates and their families. Atsumu could only offer a halfhearted shrug, that ever-present lump forming in his throat once more.

He watched with a strange sense of detachment as Osamu guided you under the secluded alcove of a tall oak tree, its thick canopy of leaves providing a sheltered respite from prying eyes. You came to a stop before him, the two of you bathed in shards of filtered sunlight as you stared up at Osamu with clear confusion.

But Atsumu knew his twin, could read the set of Osamu's shoulders and the slight downward quirk of his lips. He was working himself up to something, expending that extra energy to gather his thoughts in a way Atsumu had never been able to do himself.

Slowly, reverently, Osamu lifted his free hand to cup your cheek, calloused thumb tracing the delicate curve of bone there. You seemed to freeze under the tender ministration, lips parting slightly on an exhale. Atsumu found himself holding his breath right along with you, the world around him reduced to a dim buzzing while he waited for whatever would happen next.

Then, as if in slow motion, Osamu leaned down to press his lips against your forehead in a lingering, achingly intimate kiss.

The gesture was shockingly gentle, a sweetness Atsumu didn't know his rough-edged twin was even capable of. He couldn't tear his widened eyes away as you lifted your own hands to settle against Osamu's chest, fingertips lightly bunching the fabric of his gown.

For a fragmented heartbeat, it was as if Atsumu wasn't even there - just two bodies frozen in a private embrace, conveying everything words could never hope to fully encapsulate. It was beautiful and heart-rending all at once.

Just as quickly as the moment began, it was over. Osamu pulled back ever-so-slightly, eyes flickering over your features as he drank in your awestruck expression with an indecipherable look of his own.

Then, the spell was broken by the sound of Atsumu's mother calling out to them, gesturing with her camera for the trio to regroup for more pictures.

You stepped backwards, mouth still hanging open as if to speak before visibly collecting yourself. Osamu's expression had already smoothed back into his usual impassive mask, but that muscle in his jaw ticked with some undefinable emotion as he followed your lead out from the shade of the tree.

All three of you rejoined the crowd without a word spoken about what had just transpired. Atsumu fell into step beside his twin, throwing furtive glances towards Osamu's stoic profile out of the corner of his eye.

What the hell was that? The thought battered around his skull like an insistent, droning pulse he couldn't ignore. Did Osamu have feelings for you too? Unrequited, seemingly unspoken feelings if the tortured longing in that chaste embrace told Atsumu anything.

The realization that your friendship may have permanently shifted should have been earth-shattering. But in that moment, Atsumu couldn't bring himself to process the full weight of it. Not when you stood there looking so bewildered and ethereal, the last rays of afternoon sunlight setting your very skin aglow.

Change was inevitable, he supposed. And no amount of clinging to the nostalgic innocence of the past could stop the inescapable march of time.

So he simply closed his eyes, letting the radiant warmth of you sear itself into his memory alongside the phantom imprint of Osamu's lips against your forehead.

It was a picture he knew, deep down, that he would never be able to recreate or find again.

A few weeks after the bittersweet pomp and circumstance of graduation, you found yourself standing in the cozy kitchen of the Miya household. The air was thick with the aroma of simmering rice and freshly chopped vegetables as Osamu methodically prepped ingredients.

"Told ya I was gonna put ya to work," he called over his shoulder with a teasing lilt. "Can't have ya leeching off my hospitality for free, (Y/N)."

You stuck your tongue out at the back of his head, momentarily forgetting he couldn't actually see the childish gesture. In the weeks following your high school sendoff, the three of you had fallen back into that familiar, effortless rhythm. Spending time together was as natural as breathing - a fact you were infinitely grateful for.

"I'm happy to help however I can," you replied easily, tying one of Osamu's spare aprons around your waist. "You know I'd do anything to support your dream of opening that onigiri shop."

Osamu's shoulder hitched in a half-shrug, but you caught the way the tips of his ears tinged pink at your earnest proclamation. For all his put-upon gruffness, the gray-haired twin had a surprisingly soft underbelly when it came to vulnerability.

"Just don't go gassin' my head up too much," he finally muttered, turning to face you with a bashful smile. "I'll start to think yer tryna butter me up for free food or somethin'."

You opened your mouth to refute his teasing claim, but your retort died on your lips as Osamu closed the distance between you. He moved with that same innate grace he exuded on the volleyball court, casual confidence rolling off him in waves until you were cast in his looming shadow.

Up close, you were struck by the intensity simmering in his half-lidded gunmetal eyes, the slight protrusion of his sharp cheekbones accented by the strong angles of his jawline. All boyish softness had faded from his features, giving way to an arresting maturity that stole your breath.

When did Osamu become...this? You found yourself wondering with no small amount of bewilderment. Sure, you'd always known the twins were outrageously handsome, but that acknowledged fact had seemed almost irrelevant in the grand scheme of your close-knit friendship.

Now though, as Osamu's broad palms settled on the counter on either side of you, effectively bracketing you against the solid line of his body, you were hyper-aware of how big he was. How undeniably masculine in a way you'd somehow missed until this very moment.

The barest whisper of his sandalwood cologne infiltrated your senses as he leaned closer, deep timbre reverberating against your skin.

"A'right, enough flirtin'," he murmured, the barest hint of a smirk playing on those full lips. "Let's get cookin' before this rice gets any older."

You could only nod dumbly as he guided you through the familiar rhythm of onigiri preparation, his body a scorching presence against your back. Each brush of his calloused fingers against yours as he adjusted your hand positioning sent electric jolts of heated awareness dancing along your nerves.

And when he bent even closer, the deep rumble of his laughter ghosting across the sensitive skin of your neck while he murmured instructions, you struggled not to shiver. The dizzying blend of cedar musk and the salty tang of dried seaweed filled your senses until Osamu was all you could perceive.

In the periphery of your vision, you caught a glimpse of Atsumu lingering in the kitchen entrance, watching your intimate exchange through narrowed eyes. You tamped down the slight lurch of guilt at the realization he'd witnessed your proximity to his twin.

Surely there was nothing untoward happening here - just Osamu teaching you a skill he'd perfected through hands-on guidance. This closeness and physical ease was natural for your long-standing friendship... Right?

Still, you couldn't help the shiver of heated awareness that trickled down your spine at Osamu's every touch, igniting your nerve endings like driftwood catching the first lick of flame.

This felt decidedly new, unfamiliar...and more than a little thrilling in a way that should have been deeply unsettling. Yet you found yourself sinking into the unfurling warmth of Osamu's proximity with little protest, chasing that smoldering spark of tension.

As the rhythmic kneading and shaping of the onigiri filling continued, the heavy silence that blanketed the kitchen only seemed to grow thicker with tension. You were hyperaware of every minute shift in Osamu's body behind you, the whisper of his exhales fanning across the back of your neck.

His hands felt searing against yours as he firmly guided your movements, broad palms engulfing your smaller ones entirely. You struggled to focus on his softly murmured instructions, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through you with each rumbling syllable.

"There ya go, just like that..." Osamu's praise was a low purr against the heated shell of your ear. "Yer a natural at this, doll."

You bit back a full-body shiver at the endearment, all too aware of how easily those simple pet names rolled off his tongue nowadays. There was an undeniable undercurrent of suggestion woven into each word, blatant flirtation thinly veiled behind their usual banter.

When had his teasing comments started to evolve into something more heated, more weighted with implication? You couldn't pinpoint an exact moment, but the shift was unmistakable now.

A large, calloused palm skated up the length of your arm to splay possessively against the dip of your waist, effortlessly drawing your bodies into complete alignment. You felt surrounded, enveloped by Osamu's solid heat and earthy, intoxicating scent.

"Gettin' a lil handsy there, aren'tcha 'Samu?" The familiar lilt of Atsumu's voice shattered the heated tension like a bucket of ice water.

You startled slightly at the sudden intrusion, tearing your eyes away from the expanse of tanned forearms bracketing you against the counter. Atsumu stood in the kitchen doorway, hip cocked lazily as he regarded the two of you with an inscrutable expression.

There was an edge to his Usually playful smirk that bordered on something darker as his piercing gaze slowly raked over the suggestive lines of your bodies. You suddenly felt unbearably overheated under the weight of that stare, heat licking up the back of your neck in a flush.

"Can't have my favourite taste tester gettin' cold feet now," Osamu replied without missing a beat, not even bothering to extract himself from your intimate position. In fact, his fingers flexed ever-so-slightly against your waist, pulling you somehow even closer in a subconscious gesture of possession.

The air felt weighted, charged with an undercurrent of challenge that had your pulse thrumming in your ears. Osamu's confident indifference only seemed to sharpen the intensity of Atsumu's regard.

When the blond finally spoke again, his voice carried a strained edge that had your mouth going dry with unnamed tension. "Is that how yer plannin' to taste test? Gettin' real...hands on with the process?"

It should have been an innocuous statement, laced with Atsumu's trademark cockiness that you'd come to expect. And yet tingles of heated awareness sparked along your nerve endings at the subtle growl woven into those last few words.

You were abruptly, viscerally reminded that these were not the same unruly teens you'd grown up alongside all these years. Somewhere along the way, the easy camaraderie and roughhousing had evolved into something darker, heavier - an intricate magic act of push and pull and simmering, unspoken tension.

Osamu simply cocked one brow in response to his twin's barb, the barest of smirks playing at the corner of his lips. "That a problem for ya, 'Tsumu?"

The challenge hung thick and palpable in the air as Osamu let his palm splay even wider across the dip of your waist, thumb grazing the exposed sliver of skin where your shirt had ridden up.

You felt like you were suspended in the eye of a storm, caught in the crosshairs of some secret battle waged entirely through subtle physicality and heated stares. The energy swirling between the brothers was suffocating, heady, triggering your fight-or-flight instinct.

Part of you wanted nothing more than to flee this suddenly stifling kitchen and catch your breath. But the other part - a deeper, primal part of your psyche - was entranced by this unfurling dance. You were transfixed by the raw, unbridled maleness suddenly radiating from two men you'd known your whole life.

"Y'know, on second thought..." Atsumu's voice dragged you from your daze, lower and edgier than you'd ever heard it. He pushed off from the doorframe with one last lingering look, jaw flexing subtly. "I'll leave the two of ya to it."

Then he was gone, disappearing back down the hallway from whence he'd come. Yet the heated imprint of his stare seemed seared into the very air around you, an inescapable phantom presence.

The tension didn't dissipate even after he departed. If anything, it ratcheted up several precarious notches as Osamu's gunmetal gaze slid over to you. A beat passed where you simply stared at each other, the weighted silence stretching taut.

Then, before you could even process his next move, Osamu dipped his head until his nose brushed against the sensitive skin just below your ear. His gravelly exhale fanned across your throat as he murmured, "Where were we, doll?"

Osamu's words seemed to release whatever fragile hold you'd maintained on keeping this heated situation at arm's length. The rough timbre of his voice coupled with the scorching brand of his body against yours proved to be your undoing.

You couldn't resist leaning back into the solid wall of his chest, seeking out that blissful fusion of hard planes and masculine warmth. A quiet, needy sound escaped the back of your throat as Osamu's hands roamed with more insistence - one splaying across your lower abdomen to tug your hips flush against him, the other skimming featherlight patterns up your ribs.

"That's it, sweetheart," he rumbled in approval, lips brushing the shell of your ear with each ragged syllable. "Don't overthink this..."

His palms felt scorching even through the thin cotton barrier of your top as they mapped every dip and swell of your torso. You shuddered at the overwhelming rush of sensation sparking along your nerve endings, body instinctively arching into his touch like a flower seeking sunlight.

This went against every sensible part of your being that understood intimate moments like this between friends could lead nowhere good. That little voice of restraint had been drowned out entirely by the molten lava flow of want and need thrumming through your veins.

All you could perceive was the hot brand of Osamu's body weighing you down, the dizzying amalgam of his cedar musk and the salty tang of rice. The rough pads of his fingertips skating higher, higher, until you were certain he could feel the frantic staccato beating of your heart.

"So responsive for me," Osamu growled in approval, sounding almost awed. "Been wantin' this for a long time, haven'tcha doll?"

Had you? The question should have given you pause, allowed some semblance of rationality and self-control to creep back in through the hairline fractures.

But Osamu didn't give you that opportunity. His palm finally cupped your breast in one scorching caress, kneading the soft flesh with confident surety. The brush of his calloused thumb over your pebbled nipple right before he pinched it punched a shuddering gasp from your lips that he instantly swallowed in a searing kiss.

There was nothing gentle or tentative about the way Osamu's mouth moved against yours. Just raw, unbridled hunger and need as his tongue swept between your lips in a blatant claim of dominance.

You surrendered to the dizzying onslaught of sensation without a shred of resistance. Fisting your hands in the front of his shirt, you pulled him even closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Just prussian lines and valleys molded seamlessly together in a perfect, blissful fit.

Osamu's free hand threaded through your hair to angle your head, deepening the kiss until your shared breaths mingled in harsh pants. His taste, his scent, the dense weight of his body crushed against you - it all blended into a mind-numbing, euphoric loop.

Only the jarring thud of something clattering to the tiled floor penetrated the hazy lust-soaked pocket you and Osamu seemed to have crafted. You startled slightly at the sudden noise, lips parting with Osamu's on a shallow gasp as you blinked back to reality.

Atsumu stood frozen in the kitchen doorway once more, eyes blown wide and jaw slack in astonishment. One of the ceramic canisters that usually lived on the counter had fallen from his grip, rolling across the tiles in his wake.

For a beat, the three of you simply stared at each other through the thick silence, tension crackling like a livewire. Then Atsumu seemed to visibly collect himself, scooping up the fallen canister as he slowly backed out of the kitchen without a word.

Only the dull thud of the pantry door slamming down the hall gave any indication of his hasty departure. Yet in the stillness that followed, you couldn't fight the premonition that the earth had irrevocably shifted on its axis - consequences be damned.

Several days had passed since that heated, unforgettable encounter with Osamu in the kitchen. Yet no matter how hard you tried to go about your daily routines and pretend nothing had fundamentally shifted, you couldn't quite meet either twin's gaze directly.

The memory of Osamu's calloused palms mapping every swell and valley of your body, his demanding kiss swallowing your shuddering gasps - it all replayed through your mind in vivid flashes. Stoking an insistent, smoldering burn low in your belly whenever you dared dwell on the implications.

You knew you should have been mortified by your lack of self-restraint, disgusted with yourself for nearly throwing away a lifetime of close friendship over some sordid tryst. But you couldn't seem to muster up that sense of appropriate shame or regret. If anything, some deeper, more primal part of your psyche only ached for more.

That confusing internal tug-of-war came to a head when Atsumu texted you late one evening, asking if you were free to come by Osamu's new onigiri shop the next day. Apparently, he needed an objective third party to blindly taste test some new menu items he'd been working on.

You really should have said no, claimed you were too busy or had other plans. Put some healthy distance between yourself and the tangled web of heated tension now straining your connections to both brothers. Yet the words of refusal couldn't find purchase on your tongue.

Which was how you found yourself sliding onto a barstool across the service counter from Atsumu the following afternoon, stomach aflutter with an undercurrent of trepidation you refused to examine too closely. Osamu was conspicuously absent, having said he needed to run some errands and leaving you both alone with a veritable buffet of onigiri prototypes.

"Aren't ya a sight for sore eyes," Atsumu purred by way of greeting, all traces of his typical shit-eating grin notably absent. Instead, his honeyed gaze roamed over you with an unsettlingly weighted intensity that raised gooseflesh across your skin.

You tried your best to swallow down the sudden lump of nerves clogging your throat, mustering up an awkward chuckle. "Don't go getting fresh with me. Your flattery won't sway my taste bud honesty."

That, at least, earned a quiet huff of laughter from the setter. "Wouldn'ta it any other way, sweetheart."

God, that pet name should not have sent a shiver of heated awareness skittering down your spine the way it did. Yet here you were, unable to tear your eyes away as Atsumu methodically rolled up the sleeves of his fitted black tee to expose tanned, corded forearms and the flex of sinewy muscle.

He caught you staring, lips ticking up ever so slightly at the corners.

With a subtle shake of your head, willing away your treacherous thoughts, you nodded toward the array of rice offerings spread out before you. "So, where should we start?"

"Let's start with this lil number." Atsumu slid a plate with a beautifully shaped onigiri towards you. "New flavor combination 'Samu’s been wantin' to try out."

You reached for the rice ball, but Atsumu's hand shooting out to wrap around your wrist stalled your motion. You glanced up sharply to find him regarding you with an indecipherable gleam in his eyes.

"Allow me, (Y/N)."

The deep rasp of his tone sent tingles sparking across your nerve endings like licks of flame. You could only mutely nod in assent as Atsumu brought the onigiri to your parted lips, gaze boring into yours as he murmured, "Open up for me, sweetheart."

Electricity crackled down your spine at those loaded words, a visceral thrum of heated want coiling low in your abdomen before you could stop it. But you refused to shy away from his challenge, parting your lips to allow Atsumu to slowly feed you that first succulent bite.

As your teeth sank into the fluffy rice, flavors exploded across your tongue with dizzying complexity. Savory soy sauce notes mingled with the brine of salted plum and whispers of toasted sesame in a harmonious fusion. It was heavenly and utterly sinful all at once.

"Oh my god..." you breathed around the bite, eyes fluttering closed in order to better focus all your senses on the flavors. "Atsumu, that's incredible."

When you reopened your eyes, the blond was keenly watching you from beneath hooded lids. There was a tension wired through every harsh line of his body, thrumming in the corded tendons of his wrist as he clutched the onigiri in an almost punishing grip.

"Got a lil carried away there for a sec, didn'tcha doll?" His timbre dripped like molten honey, viscous and weighted with undisguised heat.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond beyond giving the slightest shake of your head. There was a frisson of something dark and intoxicating swirling in the depths of Atsumu's piercing gaze that threatened to rob you of rational thought.

As if slowly waking from a trance, Atsumu brought the onigiri to his own lips for a tantalizing bite. He held it between his teeth while reaching for another one, making a soft sound of approval around the mouthful.

"Try this one next."

You didn't miss the challenge glinting in his eyes as he brought the new rice ball to your mouth. Nor the scorching graze of calloused fingertips along your jaw as he cradled your face with his free palm, thumb swiping blatantly over your bottom lip.

The soft whine that spilled from your throat was utterly involuntary, as was the way you instinctively leaned in to chase the tantalizing scent of Atsumu's cologne mixed with the briny sweetness of the rice.

"That's it, sweetheart..." His rumbling purr seemed to reverberate through you, stoking the steadily mounting embers of want low in your belly. "Let go and just feel for me."

You were utterly intoxicated by this side of him - self-assured and ravenously potent in a way you couldn't help but crave. So you readily obliged when Atsumu guided the onigiri between your parted lips in a torturously slow glide, eyes locked with yours in a scorching display of dominance and challenge.

What should have been an utterly innocent affair - taste testing new menu items alongside a friend - had swiftly devolved into something far more sinister under the dual onslaught of Atsumu's seductive ministrations and your own inability to keep those floodgates of hunger tightly sealed.

Another breathless moan spilled against the pad of Atsumu's thumb as the flavors burst over your tongue in a euphoric explosion. You didn't even register the complexity of the seasonings, too thoroughly subsumed by the spell his mere proximity wove over your senses.

In that heated trance state, you reached for the next rice offering with a steadier hand than you felt. But instead of simply proffering it to Atsumu, you found yourself mirroring his earlier move - cradling his chiseled jaw to swipe a maddening path over the lush swell of his bottom lip.

A punched-out sound rumbled from the setter, pupils swallowing up the warm honey of his irises as you guided the onigiri between his parted lips. You didn't miss the way his lids fluttered or the sharp flare of his nostrils as you stroked the pad of your thumb over that lush expanse of plush skin in a blatant tease.

"What did I tell ya about sweet talkin' my customers, ya sleazeball?"

The rough growl of Osamu's voice felt like a bucket of ice water down your spine, effectively shattering the ephemeral bubble of heated tension you and Atsumu had spun trance-like between you.

You sprang apart with a harsh jolt, whipping around to find the gray-haired twin observing you both from the end of the counter. His expression was unreadable beyond the faint twitch of that muscle feathering along his jaw - a nearly imperceptible tell that betrayed the depths of his tightly controlled displeasure.

An oppressive silence seemed to blanket the small shop, thick and loaded like the calm before a storm. You felt suspended in its grip, caught between twin infernos of intensity radiating from Osamu and Atsumu.

The weight of your actions - the heated flirtation, the flagrant disregard for boundaries - crashed over you in searing waves of guilt and something far more primal that you couldn't put a name to. Part of you wanted to slink away in mortified shame. But another part felt locked in the thrall of that precarious simmer, utterly unable to look away from the unfolding confrontation.

"This how you been tastin' yer new menu items?" Osamu finally spoke again, a ragged edge fraying the depths of his gravelly timbre. His gunmetal gaze pierced into you with laser focus before sliding over to pin his twin with equal scrutiny. "Gettin' real hands on with the process?"

There was a challenge laced into those words that raised the fine hairs along your nape. You found yourself momentarily frozen, mouth working soundlessly as your brain struggled to formulate a response, an excuse, anything.

Of course, leave it to Atsumu to recover his wits and asshole bravado first.

"Maybe if ya finally learned how to properly season things, I wouldn'ta had to get creative," he countered with a blasé shrug, full lips quirking into a smirk that bordered on taunting.

The muscle in Osamu's jaw ticked dangerously, but otherwise he didn't so much as flinch at his twin's barb. You, however, felt like the floor had dropped out from underneath as dread and arousal swirled nauseously in your gut.

"That so?" he murmured after a loaded pause, low and lethal in a way you'd never heard from the typically unruffled twin before. "'Cause from where I'm standin', looked an awful lot like ya were just tryna get yer rocks off with our best friend."

The bluntness of Osamu's accusation hung viscous and weighty in the air. You were paralyzed, every rational brain cell screaming at your damning silence in the face of such inflammatory words.

Yet still, you couldn't seem to find your voice. Couldn't will your limbs into action and flee from the escalating situation like any sane person would.

It was almost as if some primal, id-driven part of your psyche was reveling in the heated tug-of-war unfolding between the Miyas - being the focus of their piqued attention and unresolved tension in a way you never had before.

"Maybe I was," Atsumu countered at last, straightening to his full towering height with a boldness bordering on bravado. His smoky gaze slid over to scorch a path across your body, from the flush blazing high on your cheekbones down to where your thighs strained against the thin cotton of your shorts. "Ya got a problem with that, 'Samu?"

The sudden forcefulness of his regard, coupled with the molten heat dripping from Atsumu's words, sent a thrill of pure, undiluted arousal sparking down your spine. You watched, utterly transfixed, as the brothers stared each other down from across the counter.

The air felt charged and heavy, loaded with the promise of an impending storm front about to break. You shouldn't have wanted to remain tethered to that maelstrom any longer. Should have fled before this rapidly escalating situation obliterated the final tattered remnants of the world you once knew.

But as Osamu slowly rounded the counter towards you and Atsumu with a look that could peel paint, the only thought reverberating through your lust-addled brain was how grateful you were to finally be feeling the full force of the tempest.

No more skirting the edges of that swirling vortex, content to simply catch glimpses through the fractures of the world you'd built around yourself. You were about to become fully subsumed by its churning intensity - consequences be damned.

When Osamu finally came to a halt mere inches away, you could feel the raging heat of his stare like a brand searing your very bones. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing up the pale silver of his irises almost entirely as he drank in your flushed, parted lips and subtly heaving chest.

"I think," he began slowly, each word seeming to catch like gravel in his throat. "The real question here's whether our best friend's got a problem with it. Don't ya think, (Y/N)?"

Both twins swiveled their heated stares your way in uncanny tandem, effectively trapping you in the crosshairs of their unspoken stand off. You felt like a gazelle cornered between two starving lions, completely at their mercy yet unable to summon up any rational sense of self-preservation.

Because the plain truth was, surrendering to the raging storm of want consuming you sounded like bliss itself. All you wanted in that moment was to succumb to its swirling chaos completely, no matter the consequences awaiting on the other side.

Your lips parted around a trembling exhale, the sound seeming to echo loudly amidst the fraught stillness. Then with an audible swallow, you allowed your gaze to drift between the two men, barely daring to hope at the spark of undisguised hunger mirrored on each of their handsome features.

"No," you finally rasped, surrendering to the inevitable pull of their combined gravity. "No problems here."

The stifling tension that blanketed the onigiri shop in the wake of your breathless confession stretched on for several beats, loaded and electric. You watched with bated breath as the twins silently sized each other up before Osamu ultimately turned back and left.

Then, as if an unspoken decision had been made, something inside Atsumu seemed to detonate. In the span of a blink, he surged forward with unchecked purpose, muscular forearms bracketing you bodily against the counter. The solidity of his frame crushed against yours punched all the air from your lungs in a harsh exhale.

"Fuck, sweetheart..." he rumbled, voice already wrecked with need as he cradled the nape of your neck. "'M gonna make ya feel so good, yeah?"

Any coherent response you might have mustered was effectively swallowed by the punishing crush of Atsumu's mouth against yours. There was nothing gentle or tentative about the devouring slide of his tongue sweeping past your lips to lick hotly into the cavern of your mouth.

You could only whine against the unbridled onslaught of sensation, hands fisting in the front of his shirt as if to anchor yourself against the riptide threatening to pull you under. Everywhere your bodies melded together felt feverish and electric, stoking the steadily mounting blaze of arousal smoldering in your core.

Atsumu was all sharp angles and wiry power as he pinned you with his weight, one calloused palm drifting down to catch the flare of your hip and grind your hips flush. The undulating roll of his lower body against yours in tandem with the harsh suction and nips of his teeth against your bottom lip punched a broken keen of pleasure from your very core.

"That's it, let go for me sweetheart," he growled against the swollen seam of your lips before dipping back in for another dizzying taste.

There was no room for conscious thought beyond chasing the euphoric haze of sensation after burning sensation. Your very nerve endings were lit up in a constant loop of overload, every inhale filled with the heady, masculine blend of Atsumu's cologne and sheer musk.

You were utterly consumed, strung out by the steady build of blinding want coiling ever tighter and hotter at your center. Nothing else seemed to exist in that endless stretch of moments beyond Atsumu's sculpted body weighing you down and his punishing mouth claiming you as his own in a blaze of possession.

Only the harsh clatter of something solid striking the tile underfoot finally allowed the smallest fragment of clarity to pierce the lustful fog. With a broken gasp, you wrenched your mouth away to glance wildly over Atsumu's shoulder.

Osamu stood frozen in the entry to the kitchen, the plastic crate he'd clearly dropped at some point now lay scattered across the floor along with its contents—a selection of carrots and rice balls spilled haphazardly.

His pupils were blown wide in shock, pale irises swallowed up almost entirely as he watched you and Atsumu slowly untangle from your fervent embrace. The air felt supercharged and stiflingly heavy, weighed down by the newfound awareness and implications of what he'd just witnessed.

For several dragging beats, nobody spoke or even dared to move a muscle as the three of you simply stared at each other through the weighted stillness. Then, with a measured inhale, Osamu bent to slowly retrieve the scattered items with jerky motions, gaze averted.

"Don't mind me," he muttered once the crate was repacked, voice tinged with an undercurrent of something that made the hair on the nape of your neck prickle. "Just...carry on."

With that, the gray-haired twin pivoted on his heel and stalked back through the kitchen without another word or backward glance. You and Atsumu remained frozen in place watching his retreating form, the atmosphere between you now so fraught and overpoweringly awkward, it was practically suffocating.

The air felt viscous and stifling, as if you were both suspended in an airless vacuum that sucked all residual heat and excitement from the confined space. After another weighty moment, Atsumu finally cleared his throat and shifted away, careful to maintain a respectable distance while straightening his rumpled clothes.

"I should..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck while stoically avoiding your probing gaze. "We'll pick this up another time, yeah?"

And just like that, the subject seemed to shut with an almost resounding finality. Whatever simmering, unspoken tension blazing between you just moments prior was swiftly smothered and packed away without ceremony. No acknowledgment, no discussion - just a desperate pivot back towards the familiar status quo as cleanly as possible.

You could only mutely nod your assent, still reeling from the emotional whiplash of the past few minutes. With one last indecipherable look, Atsumu collected his bag and swept out the door, leaving you alone in the empty shop to vainly attempt collecting your scattered thoughts and tremulous emotions.

It took some time for the harsh pounding of your pulse to finally recede, thrumming in your ears like the steady beat of retreating waves. As the swirling chaos quieted, it brought with it a sudden, sweeping ache - an insidious phantom longing that had taken root deep in your bones.

You were utterly unprepared for the hollow, aimless melancholy that would linger even after the smoke and heat dissipated entirely. A melancholy that was only sated by continuing to greedily chase those ephemeral moments of blinding, tempestuous bliss.

No matter the inevitable devastation that awaited in the aftermath.

In the days following the emotionally charged encounter with Atsumu at the onigiri shop, you found yourself perpetually off-kilter, like the very ground had shifted beneath your feet.

Interactions that should have been lighthearted and routine felt weighted down by countless unspoken words, lingering glances filled with undisguised longing neither party dared voice aloud. An inescapable tension blanketed every moment the three of you occupied the same space.

You tried in vain to stem the rising tide of heat that furled low in your belly whenever you were near Osamu. The memory of being consumed by Atsumu's passion was still so viscerally fresh, every graze of his calloused palms against your oversensitized skin replayed in high definition.

But it was more than that – your reawakened desire also thrummed with flashes of Osamu's masculine presence surrounding you that day in the kitchen while crafting onigiri. The memory of being utterly enveloped by his cedar musk and the scorching brand of his solid frame pressed flush against yours was enough to have you trembling.

Worst of all were the times Osamu would catch you watching him from across the room, gunmetal eyes boring into you with an intensity you couldn't decipher. In those infinitesimal pockets of stillness, you could have sworn his pupils blew wide in a mirror of your own hunger. As if he was an inch away from abandoning his rigid self-control entirely.

The atmosphere was a powder keg just waiting for an inevitable spark to detonate it. So perhaps it was foolish, but some deeper desire within you found itself carelessly fanning those smoldering embers whenever you could. Offering Osamu lingering glances through your lashes, or pressing just a bit closer into his space under the guise of tasting a new menu item.

If he noticed your provocations, the twin gave no outward indication. Stoic control was second nature to Osamu, an unbreakable dam allowing just the barest trickle of turbulent undercurrents through the cracks. Yet for the first time in your life, you found that steadfast composure began to grate under your skin in a viscerally infuriating way.

You recognized the spiral of your behavior, the desperate goading to elicit a reaction – any reaction – from Osamu. It was like poking a slumbering beast, shoving and prodding until it lashed out in snarling hunger. Conscious thought took a backseat to compulsion as you rapidly gave yourself over to that primal hunt.

The breaking point came, inevitably, one sweltering afternoon in the cramped supply closet tucked behind the kitchen. You'd ducked inside to retrieve some extra rice containers only to nearly run headlong into Osamu's solid frame, ensconced in the tiny space.

"Shit—" you started, instinctively flinching backwards as muscular forearms shot out on either side of you to brace against the shelving units. The sudden cloying proximity of his sheer mass surrounded you in an inescapable cage, radiating heat like a furnace.

Osamu watched your startled reaction impassively, seemingly unruffled. However, his pupils had blown wide, irises reduced to smoldering iron rings locked on your own.

"You're gettin' reckless," he growled after a drawn pause, deep baritone reverberating over your heated skin like a physical caress. "Those little stunts o' yours ain't as subtle as ya think."

Your breath stalled somewhere high in your chest at the dark promise in his tone. In that moment, this close and utterly trapped in his orbit, the twin was not nearly as unaffected as he liked to project. You could practically taste the hunger bleeding out beneath those hairline fractures in his control.

"Maybe I'm getting tired of being subtle," you heard yourself replica before rational thought could kick back in. Having him so near, caging you in, sent a frisson of blatant challenge licking like flames over your nerve endings. That same feral, desperate compulsion to break through his composure drove you to keep pushing.

"Ya don't know what yer asking for, princess." The pet name rasped off Osamu's tongue, completely devoid of its usual lightheartedness. He seemed to swell even larger in the confined space as you watched that muscle in his jaw tic in agitation.

Fuck, he was going to consume you – a conquering king who refused to be denied his due any longer.

The notion shouldn't have been nearly as electrifying as it was, sending a spiral of molten arousal thrumming hotly outward from your core. You surged forward on pure reckless abandon to meet him halfway, searching for any type of friction.

It was Osamu's turn to inhale sharply through his nose at the sudden contact, every rock-solid plane of his torso now sealed flush against your softer curves. Neither of you spoke or dared to move any further as the miniscule space crackled with unbearable tension.

"How'dya know what I want?" you finally provoked, lifting your chin boldly despite the way your pulse thundered in your ears. "Maybe this is exactly it."

The implication hung hot and heavy between your bodies for all of a split second before Osamu's carefully leashed restraint finally shattered. With a guttural growl that reverberated straight to your center, he roughly grabbed your jaw in one large palm and crushed your mouths together.

Every ounce of pent-up hunger and yearning seemed to explode forth all at once in a clash of lips and teeth and questing tongues. The shock of it all momentarily robbed you of higher brain function as you jolted against the steel shelving at your back. Pinned between two scalding, inescapable surfaces with no hope of reprieve.

Osamu swallowed your resulting gasp with another plundering sweep of his tongue, cradling the back of your head with rough possession to angle you deeper into the maelstrom. His lips claimed yours in a searing brand you could practically feel etching into your very bones.

Not to be outdone, you quickly recovered enough dexterity to wind your arms around his neck and draw his weight more fully onto you. This time it was Osamu's turn to groan at the steady friction of your bodies meeting in an instinctive, rocking tandem.

You were utterly consumed from all sides by his scorching heat, the earthy cedar musk and briny tang of dried seaweed filling every fraught inhale. It should have been suffocating, that level of utter possession. Yet all you craved was diving deeper into the tidal wave's undertow.

Only the unmistakable creak of the main shop door being eased open from the front room shattered the electrified bubble you'd constructed. With a wounded noise, Osamu wrenched his mouth away as if burned, eyes blown wide and wild in the shadowy dimness of the storage closet.

For a handful of harrowing moments, you both remained frozen, sharing rapidly shallowing breaths as your straining ears caught the telltale thud of Atsumu's heavy footfalls somewhere out front.

"Yo, Samu! Ya back here?" the blond's smooth call ricocheted down the hallway preceded by the sound of more of his swaggering steps moving towards the kitchen.

You and Osamu sprang apart like repelling magnets, chests heaving as if coming up for blessed air. There would be no speaking of this, no dissecting the maelstrom currently ravaging every logical brain cell left to you both.

With twin looks of wild desperation, Osamu turned and eased the door open just wide enough to admit a sliver of illumination from the kitchen. Then with one last anguished look over his shoulder, he disappeared back towards the front to greet his twin.

You remained rooted in place for several minutes after, back pressed against the shelving units and hands fisted at your sides to quell their incessant trembling. Each labored inhale flooded your system with the lingering traces of cedar musk and sweat that felt seared into the very lining of your lungs.

Only once the thunderous pounding of your heart eventually subsided to a dull throbbing ache did you finally feel stable enough to emerge from the shadowy closet on shaking legs, purposefully avoiding the kitchen and front room entirely until your body no longer vibrated with need.

As you settled adrift in the churning seas of the unknown, one excruciating fact became eminently clear - there was now no possible way to turn back from that hairline fracture which had first allowed the darkness to creep through.

You'd irrevocably shattered the dam holding everything at bay. And the resulting flood waters would drown you all without mercy unless you surrendered to their relentless pull completely.

Despite your best efforts to maintain some semblance of normalcy in the aftermath of that heated encounter with Osamu, an undercurrent of heated tension seemed to permeate every interaction between the three of you.

Simple, innocuous moments that should have passed without second thought now felt loaded with unspoken implication and promise. Like the powder keg you'd inadvertently lit was still smoldering, waiting to detonate once more at the slightest spark.

Which was likely why your pulse kicked up a furious staccato when you found yourself alone in the kitchen with Atsumu a few nights later, wrist-deep in sudsy dishwater. The familiar domestic scene should have been comforting in its mundanity. Except the blond setter didn't seem interested in keeping things light.

"Y'know, I've been thinkin'," he began conversationally, sliding up to lean one hip against the counter beside you. "We never did finish that little taste-testin' session properly, did we?"

You did your best not to visibly react, keeping your gaze trained on the ceramic plates you were rinsing with poorly-feigned nonchalance.

"That was years ago, 'Tsumu. If I recall, your brother walked in on us getting a little too...comfortable with each other," you replied, mouth dry. Out of your periphery, you watched Atsumu's smirk deepen at the obvious implication.

"Yeah? Well, what 'Samu don't know won't hurt 'im."

The blatant suggestion in his tone raised a flush of heat along the back of your neck. You struggled not to dwell on the mental imagery of Atsumu slowly stalking closer like a predator sent your arousal thrumming in your veins.

"That so?" you croaked out, pulse kicking up another notch when the cotton of his t-shirt brushed your upper arm thanks to his proximity. "Whatever happened to keeping things professional, Miya?"

Atsumu simply chuckled, deep and wicked against the heated shell of your ear as his chest fitted snugly against your back. You drew in a sharp inhale at the brand of his torso pressing flush with yours, palms stalling in the dishwater.

"Does this feel very professional to ya, sweetheart?"

The low rumble of his words vibrated straight through you, searing pleasure lancing bright and hot to your very core. You fought not to shudder at the barely-there rasp of Atsumu's early-evening stubble trailing down the slope of your neck.

"'Tsumu..." The plea fell in a trembling whisper as your eyelids fluttered closed of their own volition. You were undeniably powerless against this all-consuming riptide of tension he'd steadily mounted, body singing in electric want.

Warm, calloused palms settled at your waist, fingers flexing possessively as Atsumu's nose skated across the rapid flutter of your pulse point. The sensation of every exhale fanning blistering heat across your damp skin robbed you of all coherent thought.

"Let go for me, sweetheart," he rasped in your ear, the words more a physical caress than verbal command. "We both know ya want this as bad as I do..."

And suddenly you were seventeen again, young and reckless and utterly enthralled by this beautiful boy with the sly smirk who'd watched you grow up. How many times had you privately longed for him to turn those heated golden eyes on you in the way you craved? For Atsumu to finally shuck off those layers of carefully curated aloofness and claim you as his own?

The answer was too many to quantify. But in that moment, it no longer mattered.

With a needy whine that may as well have been torn directly from your soul, you leaned back to finally fully seal your bodies flush together. Atsumu let out a punched-out sound of approval as your back arched instinctively into the solid planes of his chest and abdomen.

"That's my girl," he crooned in a low, wrecked rasp before finally sealing his mouth over the thundering pulse in your throat.

You cried out at the first scorching sweep of Atsumu's tongue, hands scrambling wildly for purchase. One fist caught in the front of his shirt while the other knocked a few remaining dishes from the counter with a telling clatter.

There was nothing tentative or gentle about the way Atsumu kissed you - just pure liquid heat and consumptive want as he staked his claim with lips, teeth and questing tongue. You were utterly, blissfully adrift in the roiling tides of sensation.

A desperate, broken noise very nearly punched its way past your lips when Atsumu's large palm settled at the nape of your neck, angling your head for even deeper exploration. It was wildfire, molten lava being pumped directly into your veins, and you willingly, greedily burned from the inside out.

Everything beyond the scope of Atsumu's questing mouth, the heavy drag of his teeth scoring delicious friction as he mapped every soft plane, simply ceased to exist. You floated outside the mortal realm of space and time, enveloped in a lush, honeyed vacuum of pure blinding pleasure.

It could have been seconds or eons before Atsumu eventually slowed the maddening pace, gradually reducing you both to panting, open-mouthed exhalations against bruised lips. You struggled in vain to come back down to earth as the setter slowly, reverently brushed his nose against yours in an intimate eskimo kiss.

"Good god, darlin'," he husked out on a ruined exhale, "the things I wanna do to ya..."

His bestial words seemed to momentarily fracture whatever daze you'd slipped into. The lingering echoes of reality, of inescapable consequences, finally began to pierce through the lustful haze swirling around you.

With a tortured mewl, you pushed half-heartedly at Atsumu's shoulders in a silent plea for respite. The precipice you both currently teetered on was far too dizzying to grapple with right now.

Atsumu, bless him, seemed to instantly grasp your sudden reluctance. He cleared his throat roughly before easing back, peppering one last torturously soft kiss to the corner of your swollen lips.

"Easy there, sweetheart," he gentled, calloused palms skimming up and down your ribs in a soothing caress. "We don't gotta take the plunge just yet..."

Chest still heaving from the overwhelming intensity, you watched with a swirl of conflicting emotions as Atsumu slowly backed away and straightened his disheveled appearance. The atmosphere between you thrummed with the echoes of your heated exchange, alive with lingering arousal and unspoken questions.

"For the record..." Atsumu rasped out, voice utterly wrecked in a way that raised goosebumps along your skin. His honeyed gaze burned with undisguised hunger as it roamed your flushed, kiss-swollen features. "Soon as you're ready to let me drown ya proper, just say the word."

You could only nod shakily, fingers still gripping the edge of the counter for stability as Atsumu's suggestive promise seemed to caress every raw nerve-ending. With one final, searing look that pierced straight to your soul, the blond pivoted on his heel and strode from the kitchen without a backwards glance.

You remained frozen in place for several moments, struggling to regain your equilibrium as the phantom echoes of Atsumu's passion slowly started to dissipate. Only once you heard the soft thud of the back door swinging shut did you finally sag backwards against the counter, chest heaving with steadying inhales.

Unbeknownst to you, Atsumu barely made it a few paces down the darkened hallway before a solid weight slammed into his shoulders, propelling him back against the concrete wall with a harsh grunt.

"What the fuck d'ya think you're doin', 'Tsumu?" Osamu growled, stormy eyes glinting like steel as he pinned his twin with one forearm braced against his collarbone. "Fuckin' around with (Y/N) like that right under my goddamn nose?"

Atsumu glared back defiantly even as his windpipe strained against Osamu's unrelenting pressure. "Since when did I need your permission, huh?"

"Don't play stupid, you little shit." The muscle ticked rapidly along Osamu's clenched jaw as he pressed closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "We both know what's really goin' on here."

A tense silence stretched between them, electrically charged and weighted with too many unspoken truths. Osamu's glare bored into his brother's unflinchingly as his free hand fisted in the collar of Atsumu's shirt until their foreheads nearly touched. When he spoke again, his deep timbre emerged barely above a gravelly rasp.

"She doesn't just belong to you, 'Tsumu. I've loved that girl just as long as you have."

The raw admission seemed to detonate the fragile tension encasing them both like a powder keg. Atsumu's piercing stare dimmed briefly with something that looked remarkably like resignation before his lips peeled back in a sneer.

"Yeah, well at least one of us finally found the balls to make a move," he spat back with no real bite.

Osamu's eyes slitted dangerously at the jab, but he made no move to further escalate as the brothers simply glared at each other through the weighted stillness. A strange sense of defeat seemed to gradually wash over them both like an outgoing tide, leeching the residual anger away until only a weary brand of acceptance remained.

With a measured exhale, Osamu slowly loosened his grip until he could fully step back, straightening his broad shoulders as if physically shrugging off the confrontation. Atsumu watched him cautiously, throat working around a dry swallow.

"We can't keep goin' like this," the older twin said at last, scrubbing one large palm over the back of his neck as he purposefully avoided Atsumu's probing stare. "Sneakin' around, steppin' on each other's toes over her every damn minute..."

He trailed off with a mirthless chuckle, shaking his head as he finally locked eyes with his silent counterpart. "It ain't right, and you know it. No matter how we twist ourselves up tryna make it okay."

Atsumu held his twin's gaze for a long moment, every muscle in his chiseled jaw and throat working subtly beneath the surface as the painful truth settled in his bones with leaden finality.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering inhale, he gave the barest dip of his chin in assent. "What're you proposin' then?"

The challenge was clear in Atsumu's carefully neutral tone, an obvious gauntlet thrown for Osamu to pick up and take the reins. And for a fleeting second, the blond could have sworn he glimpsed naked longing warring with resignation in his twin's pale eyes. But then it was gone, shuttered behind that same impenetrable wall of impassivity.

"We deal with this thing head-on," Osamu answered at last, tone resolute and free of its earlier bite. "No more sneakin' around, no more holdin' back - we put it all on the table and let the pieces fall where they may."

He held Atsumu's alarmed stare with an inscrutable mask of his own, leaving no further room for argument or avoidance.

"Either we go for broke and finally have it all out...or we walk away from this for good."

[sporadicthingcollection]

Paint Job (Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which Buggy indulges his two favorite hobbies: doing your makeup and driving you crazy. Pairing: Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: General. Word Count: ~1k. Warnings: Pregnancy. A/N: my birthday was yesterday so i wrote this for myself

Your belly button popped out. He had no idea until you stripped your clothes off for a nap and fell asleep cradled in that dumb pregnancy pillow you use instead of cuddling with him.

He squints at it. It looks funny. Round. Sticks out. Kinda like...

...hmm.

The intrusive thought hits him like a fish jumping out of the water and into a boat.

You'd look so cute and he'd get to show off his artistic talent. Not to mention that everyone would know whose baby is in your belly. Not that there's any doubt, of course, but he has to mark his territory somehow and he suspects that you wouldn't appreciate being peed on.

(The obvious answer of putting some jewelry on those naked ring fingers of yours has occurred to him many times, but that thought is somehow scarier than fatherhood. So he ignores it.)

Grabbing his bag of tricks from the vanity, he tiptoes to the bed. He sets himself down slowly, gently, carefully. The bed squeaks as he eases his weight onto it, but you don't stir.

He works quickly. First some white greasepaint, squeezed onto his wrist and dabbed onto your belly with a makeup sponge. Follow that with a bit of black paint, applied with a careful stroke of the brush. Then pigment sticks for the detail work and outlines...

The baby seems to enjoy it. It occasionally moves in response to his touch. Nothing herky jerky -- just little shifts and nudges. Makes his heart melt. He can't wait to meet the little rugrat.

And now the piece de résistance, a dab of red right on the mound of your navel.

Et voilà. Perfection.

He leans back to marvel at his artistry as he wipes the extra makeup from his hand. In another life, he'd have made a damn good painter. Hell, maybe he should invest in some acrylics and canvas. Start a money laundering scheme.

Buggy notices that your eyes are open. Two little windows into a warm, dark abyss. The same color as falling asleep in a cozy bed on a cold, dark night.

“Having fun?” you ask.

“Tons,” he says coolly. “How was the snooze?”

“Great, ‘til your kid started tap dancing on my bladder.” You lean back on your elbows as you stretch your legs out, splaying your toes out like Richie does after he wakes up from a nap. Your belly rests on your thighs now. Try as you might, you can't see over the top. “What were you doing?”

He hops off the bed and offers you his arm, easing you to your feet. He guides you to his vanity with a hand on your waist. Your gait has gained a wobble and, while he's never seen anything hotter, being on a constantly rocking ship makes him nervous.

Your eyes go wide when you see his Jolly Roger painted across your stomach, your belly button forming the nose. You twist this way and that, your smile growing with each shift.

He rests his head against yours. “So everyone knows just who put you up the pole,” he murmurs.

“As if there's any question with how handsy you are,” you snort. You turn that warm smile to him. “Love it, Bugs.”

He didn't think you'd be upset, not really, but hearing you happy eases his nerves greatly. “I decided to take an impressionist approach,” he says. “You can tell from the brush strokes and my liberal use of white.”

You were right, that night you first spent together: you laugh like a gaggle of News Coos. Clattery, loud, inelegant. It's his third favorite sound in the world. The second is that snort you make when you're trying not to laugh, and the first is... Well, his pursuit of that sound is what led to your current condition.

He pushes the gag a little further. “Made it during my Alabastan Period, where I was influenced by--” You push your lips against his. He keeps talking, just to annoy you. “--traditional geometric patterns of nomadic--”

You grab his cheeks and shove your tongue in his mouth. Once he's runs out of breath, you pull away with a big red splotch across your smile. “Shut up,” you say.

“Never.” He moves behind you. He pops his hands off to lace his fingers underneath your belly as he drapes his arms around your shoulders. "How's that?"

You sigh in relief as the weight is lifted off your organs, your spine, everything. "Fucking hell, thank you," you breathe.

He makes a mental note to thank the old ex-con who told him the trick. Surefire way to make your old lady love you forever, she'd said, grinning at her husband. How else you think I ended up with having six kids with this knucklehead?

The thought of six little humans running around fills him with dread... but at the same time, everyone loves a family act. Matching threads for everyone, him in his best and you all dolled up like a work of art. Suits for the boys and little tutus for the girls.

Six little faces looking up at him in adoration, six little creatures to do his bidding, six little people guaranteed to worship the ground he walks on...

You snap your fingers in front of him. "Hey. Clown."

That's enough to bring him back to earth. He hopes to every god that will listen that it's just one in there. "Just distracted by your beauty," he says.

You give him a dry look. "Liar."

"Alright, ya got me. I was thinking about your tits." Buggy rests his chin in the crook of your neck. “How much longer?”

You reach up to pat his cheek. “Couple months.”

He groans. “But I wanna meet Buggy Junior noooow-wuh,” he whines.

Your smile vanishes. “Over my dead body you name my kid that.”

“Why not? It's a great name. Buggy Balthazar Zebulon Xerxes Mixolydian Macadamia--” You pinch his lips shut with your fingers, but he keeps talking. “--Jeremiah Jubilee--”

You turn and shove your tongue in his mouth again. He shuts up for good this time.

---

To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

[bamboozledbird]

𝕚𝕗 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 pt.2 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin Pairing(s): Stiles x you, Theo x you (no use of y/n) Word Count: 5.3k Tags: a fix-it for y'all bc i'm a pushover Warnings: Underage drinking (at least in america rip, they're all 19+), creepy guys in bars, emetophobia, new jersey slander (please forgive me jerseyans)

Request: for all you people i made cry with part 1. this is my love letter to you. A/N: you don't necessarily need to read part 1 to understand, but this is a follow-up to if i could lose you i would.

The night starts well enough. Theo’s hand is a warm, steadying weight against your lower back, and his cologne cuts through the vague funky smell clouding the bar. Lydia chose it; somehow, no matter the city, she always knows about the coolest, underground spots that seem to only circulate within an elite circle of twentysomethings. It really isn’t all that shocking when you think about it as you nurse your bitter cocktail; every single person who catches a glimpse of Lydia immediately craves her attention. Unfortunately for them, Lydia always takes you as her date, though lately she’s been ending your nights out at a stranger's apartment more often than not. She’s never said it, but you know it’s because, ever since the disastrous end to her start-of-summer bash, Theo's made himself a permanent third-wheel on girls’ night. He’s never said it, but you know he started tagging along because you’ve been distant since Stiles poured into your bedroom and pressed on all the bruises his fingertips left behind when he left you. You really thought you’d washed them all away with 3,000 miles, 3 months, and 3 weeks of the scrape of Theo’s teeth. 

You sip on your fourth drink of the evening, sitting on a barstool because your legs are too wobbly to stand on, and Theo watches you watch Lydia spin a girl with a radiant smile and glitter tinsel in her hair. 

“You wanna dance?” he hums in your ear. You can barely hear him over the bass and the buzz of too much tequila. 

You nibble on your straw and hiccup around it, “Don’t think I can.”

Theo makes a move to grab the drink in your hand, and you bend backwards to keep it out of his reach. “Come on,” he frowns, “you can’t even stand.”

“So?” you purse your lips petulantly and punctuate your point with a loud suck, draining the last few drops of your lime margarita through a few chunks of leftover ice.

Theo looks tired as he studies your face. “What the hell is going on with you? I see you every day, and I still don’t have a fucking clue.” 

You’re too drunk to pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about. Hiccupping again, your nose scrunches, “I’m just…I wanna go home.” Theo pats his jacket pockets for his keys, and you shake your head a few too many times. “No, not there.” Your stomach turns when you finally realize what you actually mean. You want to hitch a ride on the melting ice in your glass and dissolve into knotted hair on Sunday mornings, freckled skin washed with the shifting sun, and pouted pink lips, cursing the snooze button and your cold toes. You don’t say that. You’re drunk, not cruel. “I wanna go back to Stanford. I hate it here.”

Theo’s eyes are shadowed in the dim light of the club, but they’re calculating. “You really think that’s far enough?” 

Blinking slowly, your mind spins with the drinks in your stomach as you try and fail to think of something clever. “Feels far,” you mumble, and Theo doesn’t look reassured. It’s hard for you to differentiate pain from anger through watery eyes and the brume of tequila, but whatever emotion is darkening Theo’s expression, you think it’s justified. He’s smart enough to know what you mean. 

 His face goes blank as he searches for his keys again, “I think that’s enough fun for tonight.”

You shake your head and wriggle down further into the cradle of your hips, “I wanna stay.”

Theo exhales through his nose and runs a hand over his face, “I thought you wanted to go home.”

Your tongue is thick as you struggle for words, sniffling as they tease you from the fraying edges of consciousness. “Not there.” You know you sound like a baby, recycling the handful of words you can remember, and you know that tears will only make it worse, but they still bubble along your lash line.

“Stay at Lydia’s then,” Theo spits out through gritted teeth, but he shoves a napkin towards you to mop up your running mascara, so you forgive him. It’s your fault, after all. At least, you think so as you watch him leave. 

“Boyfriend troubles?” Your head lulls to the side as you blink dumbly, all big-eyed and glassy, at the stranger leaning against the bar beside you. He’s tall, well-built too, but you’re mostly focused on his pungent cologne. It’s hard not to; you’re suffocating in it. 

The man laughs and grabs your chin, shaking your head a little, “You’re adorable. How could anyone stay mad at you?” 

You recoil, wrenching your face from his sweaty grasp, and run your tongue over your teeth. “He’s not…” your protest gets lost in your throat when he steps into your space and slides his hand along your spine, just shy of your ass. Your dress is backless, completely exposed to his wandering gaze, and your skin crawls with the sensation of his fingertips grazing your back.

His breath is hot and wet on the shell of your ear, “You want to forget about it for a while, angel?” 

“No,” your head jerks from side to side, eyes screwed shut, “I don’t—I think I’m gonna puke.”

A wave of relief rolls over you when a red-taloned hand slithers between your bodies. Lydia shoves the stranger’s chest sharply, sending him stumbling into the stool behind him, and his hand falls from your hip. 

“Does it look like she wants to contract something from a limp-dicked lowlife in tacky shoes?” The top of Lydia’s head barely reaches his shoulder, but her eyes are sharp and her sneer is venomous. The creep has the good sense to look a little afraid. “You have exactly two seconds to get the hell out of here before I personally ensure you’re on every public sex offender registry from here to Quebec.”

She grabs your hand before he has the chance to disagree and pulls you into the bathroom. In comparison to the loud, muggy dancefloor, it’s a wonderful reprieve: an oasis of cold air and muffled bass. 

Lydia fusses over you for a minute; you wave off her concerns and push yourself onto the sink even though your arms feel distinctly gelatinous. You can tell she doesn’t believe you, but men preying on drunk women is a tragically large and present underbelly of girl world, so after a moment she turns her intense focus to the lighted mirror. She looks perfect—she always looks perfect—but she won’t believe anyone except her own reflection.

The aching strain in your arches slowly dissipates to a faint tingle the longer your feet dangle from the counter, your heels discarded below. They’re black strappy things from the back of Lydia’s closet, and so is the scrap of black silk that Prada has the audacity to call a dress. You are grateful, however, for the short hem and open back now that your skin finally has the chance to breathe. 

You watch Lydia apply her lipstick with a precision brain surgeons could only dream of, smiling lazily. She’s graceful with the slender brush, like Botticelli stroking a swathe of red silk over a canvas of smooth skin. You envy her, with your eyeshadow already melting below your waterline, but mostly you love her. So proud to have such a goddess for a best friend. 

Her head tilts as she smiles at you, and she must be at least a little godly because she doesn’t smear her lipstick when her mouth curves. “What?” she hums around her puckered lips. 

“Nothing,” your words slur together, “you’re just perfect.”

She tucks her lipstick into her clutch and shakes her head, “And you’re so drunk. Lethal, babe.”

“I love it,” you sigh as she starts fixing your hair, clicking her tongue when you start to fidget. You slump into her careful touch and watch her fingers smooth through a few knots near your ends. “Being drunk is my favorite.”

She twirls her finger, indicating you should turn around, and begins twisting your flattened curls into an elegant bun. “I’ve noticed,” she mutters through the bobby pin clutched between her teeth, “you’ve been drinking more than you’ve sober lately.”

“It’s summer!” You blow a curl off of your nose and close your teary eyes so that your mascara doesn’t flake onto your cheeks, “You’re supposed to be drunk.”

Lydia hums and pulls a few strands of hair loose to artfully frame your face. “I didn’t realize alcoholism was seasonal.”

“You,” you bop her nose and giggle when it scrunches under your finger, “are being a major buzzkill. Don’t kill my buzz; that’s murder in the first.”

“Someone has to be.” Lydia leans her hip against the sink, and her brows curve, “Where’s Theo? I thought he was your DD tonight?”

You let the intoxication sweep over your senses because it’s easy and knock your ankles together like a child on the swings. “He left,” you chirp.

“He what?”

Your bottom lip juts out a little, “I think I hurt his feelings.”

Lydia is incensed. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and mutters a few choice words under her breath, “I’m going to hurt a lot more than that when I find him.” You curl in on yourself a little, and she sighs, unwinding her fingers from tight fists as her eyes soften. “He really left you here?” she asks quietly.

You shrug, refusing to feel sorry for yourself, and make grabby hands at her sleeves, “It’s okay. You’re here, and you’re my best friend, and I love you.”

She laces your fingers together and squeezes your hand, “It is not okay. That creep had you halfway to his car.”

You shudder at memory, and feel the ghost of the stranger’s clammy hand against your lower back, “But you rescued me. So it’s okay.” 

You frown at Lydia’s frown and push her cheeks together, squishing her mouth into a crinkled half-smile. She rolls her eyes a little and takes your wrists in her hands gently, “He shouldn’t have left you. It was a shitty thing to do, babe.”

“I made him sad, I think.” You hiccup a little, “I think I always do.”

“He can’t leave you blackout drunk in a skeezy bar just because you’re in love with someone else,” she huffs.

You tease the tip of your tongue through your front teeth, swinging your legs back and forth below the sink, “It wasn’t skeezy when you picked it.”

Lydia huffs again and folds her arms over her chest, “That was before I saw tall, dark, and creepy try to take you home.”

Your playful grin crumbles as your drunk-numb mind finally catches up with the burning behind your ribs. “I’m in love with someone else,” you say, voice sticky and thick in your throat. 

She lets out a sigh so soft you wonder if you just imagined it and takes both of your hands, “I know.”

Whimpering quietly, you turn your nose into your shoulder, slightly embarrassed by the sound. “I’m sad about it.”

“I know,” Lydia combs a few strands of your hair off of your tear-tacky face and smiles a little, “let’s get you home, okay?”

Another round of nausea hits you as you finally realize that you’re truly, really, horrifically drunk, and you still can’t forget him. 

“I don’t think I know where that is anymore.” 

Lydia was able to corral you into an Uber after you puked a few times. She held your hair back and helped you brush your teeth. You cried a little when she wiped the sweat off of your face with a makeup wipe, watching her take care of you with big wet eyes, as she tucked you into bed like the baby tequila and heartbreak had turned you into. She made you promise to call her in the morning, and then she left you to sleep off the ache in your throat and the six margaritas in your bloodstream—or was it seven, you can’t remember. 

You can’t remember much, it seems. You scroll through your feed for a while and squint at the blurry splotches of color, trying to recall if you were good enough friends with the girl from software systems to leave a comment on her post about how hot she looks in red. Your fingers drift, swiping away from Instagram to the only thing you remember. The thing you’ll always remember.

The phone rings exactly two times.

“Hi.” It’s the only thing you can think of besides, ‘I love you. I love you. I love you. Please make it stop.’

“Hey.” You listen to Stiles breathe on the other side of the line and snuggle further into your pillow. “You there?” 

His voice is soft in your ear, and your eyes go lidded, “Uh huh.”

He clears his throat, “What are you doing up this late?”

You twist around your sheets, and the tip of your tongue pokes out at your phone. Apparently, you’ve also forgotten that he can’t see you. “What are you doing up this late?”

“It’s uh,” Stiles pauses and there’s a rustling sound on his side of the line, “almost 8 here.”

You blink and frown at the time on your screen, “Nuh uh.” 

There’s a pause; you hate it. You want him to keep talking until you fall asleep. He finally sighs, “Are you drunk?”

Your tongue pokes out again, “I’m not the one who can’t tell time.”

“Baby,” your heart skips and your breath hitches, and he must be tired because he doesn’t seem to notice the slip, “we’re in different time zones.”

Your heart stumbles over the skip this time, and it feels a lot like flatlining. “You went back already?”

“I, uh,” he shifts, must be in his desk chair because you can hear something rolling, “my lease started. Figured if I’m paying to live in Philly, I should actually, y’know, live in Philly.” 

“Oh.” One little syllable, and it’s heavy with so many things you can’t bring yourself to dwell on it. 

“Yeah.” 

“So, uh,” you hear him scratch at something, most likely the back of his neck because he sounds anxious, “why’d you call?” He’s quick to correct himself, words overlapping like ripples in a creek, “Not that I’m not glad you called; I’m stoked you called—or maybe something a little less embarrassing—but I, uh,” there’s that scratching sound again and a quiet thudding of drumming fingers, “I really didn’t think you would.”

“Dunno,” there’s a smile in your voice, but you aren’t sure if he can hear it through the wobble, “just started dialin’, n’ I ended up here.”

He stands, and the phone shifts against his cheek as he starts to pace, “Where are you?” He sounds worried. You frown—you don’t want him to worry. You want him to hold you.

“Home,” you pause, nose wrinkling because that’s not quite right, and then add, “my house.”

“Did you drink anything?”

“Clearly.”

You can hear the eye roll from the other side of the country when he huffs into the phone, “I meant water. Did you drink any water?”

“Uh,” you nibble on your lip, “yes?”

He huffs again, but this time you can tell he’s smiling, “Get up and get some water—Advil too. Put it on top of whatever book you’re reading so it doesn’t get lost in your pile of shitty chapsticks and hair thingies.” 

Your eyes cross, affronted, “They are not shitty.”

“They’re an endless cycle of chapped hell.”

“But they taste good,” you grumble, cuddling your pillow to your chest.

He’s smirking; you know it. “Oh, I know.” 

You both just breathe through the line for a long moment, remembering the same slick slide of lips and tongues. 

“I miss you,” you whisper. 

Stiles inhales sharply, “I miss you too.”

“No,” you shake your head, smearing mascara on your pillowcase, “I miss you.” Your mouth is dry, and you can’t find the right words to explain it, how he’s apart from you even when he’s standing right there. There just aren’t enough words in the English language to explain the ache in the marrow of your ribs, how he still lingers inside your skin like some kind of fucked-up, agonizing osmosis, how you love him so tortuously, so effortlessly. Indefinitely. 

You can’t explain, but when he whispers, “Yeah, me too,” you know he knows. 

You sniffle and hiccup a few times, and a sigh crackles through your speaker. “Drink some water for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. You roll onto your stomach and sit up a little on your elbows, “Will you stay?”

“Yeah, baby,” his chair squeaks as he sits back down, “‘till you fall asleep.”

“Promise?” Your voice is thick, like you’ve been crying for hours, and Stiles’s voice is tight when he finally replies. 

“Promise.”

You wake up with dry eyes and a rank taste in your mouth. There’s a glass of water and a handful of Advil on your nightstand, and you just know. You’ve known for a while actually, maybe forever, but you can’t pretend you don’t anymore. 

Theo seems to know why you invited him over so early on a Sunday morning. He doesn’t even look sad when you officially end it, and you wonder if it’s because he knew it was over a long time ago. You wish, selfishly, that he would’ve let you in on the secret so that you could’ve avoided all this. You hug him before he leaves, and it’s stiff and awkward, and you feel a little shitty about the whole thing—but it doesn’t feel wrong. 

You feel like yourself for the first time in a long time, and that feels good.

Summer is almost over, and you don’t have the time to obsess over all your wanting. All the air leaves your body sometimes, no room for anything but honey, veins, and new stubble, but you have so much to do. There’s no time for drowning in it when you’ve only got a few weeks before the semester starts. 

You don’t even have the time to acknowledge the nerves wriggling up your esophagus until you’re standing in front of a black door. Your screen is lit with the address Scott texted you, along with roughly 100 exclamation points and a dozen or so brain explosion, party popper, and happy face emojis. They steady you as you knock on the splintering door. The unit is cute and quaint, and you distract yourself by getting a better look at the sage green columns. 

Stiles opens the door, looking disarmingly soft in his worn sweatpants and stretched-out t-shirt—like cuddling on the weekend, like playing video games until sunrise, like home. He blinks at you slowly, pretty pink mouth slightly ajar.

You shift on the soles of your sneakers, jamming your hands into your hoodie pockets. “Hey.”

He blinks some more and seems to be only capable of repeating what he hears, “Hey.”

“So,” you dig the toe of your shoe into the porch, staring at a warped patch, curved from seasons of melting snow, and shrug, “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by.”

He recovers from his stupor and leans against the doorframe, hands tucked under his armpits. “You were in the neighborhood,” his head tilts with his arched brow, “in Philadelphia.”

“Well,” you try not not to smile, “it was on my way.”

Nodding, Stiles rubs his chin and purses his lips. You want to kiss the smirk off of his stupid face. “Right, the classic eastbound Stanford route.”

“Not quite.” You adjust the strap of your duffle bag on your shoulder, easing some of the ache pinching at the base of your skull, “New transfer orientation is on Monday. Turns out Princeton’s comp sci department is decent.”

His face becomes guarded, but there’s a little something like hope behind the uncertainty, “4th in the country.”

Something warm inside your stomach flutters. He knows. Of course, he knows. He probably researched it all the way back in high school. You brush your hair out of your eyes and hum, “Mhm.”

Stiles slides his socked foot back and forth, slipping on the polished floor of his cozy entryway. He barely catches himself on the doorknob. You laugh until he says, “Stanford’s 2nd.”

Your shoulder lifts, “That's correct.”

His chin dips as he searches your face for something. You smile at him, and he swallows; it looks painful. “You turned down MIT because it was too far from home.”

“That's also correct,” you say quietly with a jerky nod. 

His eyes go wide as he shakes his head, almost violently. He almost slips again with the dramatic effort, “MIT’s 1st in comp-sci.” 

You steady him with a palm against his chest, swiping your thumb over his ribs. His heart thrashes under your touch, and your face lifts with a timid, tender smile. “Sure, but Princeton’s ranked #1 nationally. Overall champs, baby. Suck it.”

Stiles finally smiles, but it’s hesitant. “You don’t say.”

You let a breathy exhale and drop your hands to your sides, curling and uncurling your fingers into tight fists. He’s still looking at you, a cute little wrinkle in-between his brows, waiting for something more. Fair enough. He kind of laid it all out on the line the last time you spoke in-person—he kind of deserves to stew a little after everything he put you through, but you’ve forgiven him, decided you want to be happy more than you want to punish him.

You roll your shoulders back and tilt your chin to meet his gaze. “I don’t believe in soulmates.”

Stiles’s face goes sour, and he crosses his arms firmly over his chest, mouth twitching between a pout and a frown. “You stopped in Philly just to tell me tha—”

You rock onto your tiptoes to press a finger to his lips, biting back a smile when they pucker like a fish, and say, “Will you kindly shut it for a minute? I need to get through this. I practiced a lot on the plane.” His eyes narrow, sullen and irritated, but he keeps his lips pressed together, waiting impatiently for you to finish.

You slip your finger from his mouth to cup his jaw, thumbing just below his cheekbone, and his body goes lax, irritation slowly seeping from his lanky limbs to the floor. Grinning, you poke the tip of your tongue at him, and he swallows hard as he tracks the movement.

“As I was saying,” you smile through the snark and slide your hands to his chest, resting against the vibration of his thudding heart, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I don’t think there’s just one person out there for everyone—but that’s a good thing, right? I mean, the entire concept of a soulmate is basically just a blackhole. You’re falling, and falling, and falling—and there’s no end; you’re just trapped. There's no choice. I don’t want to love like that—I don’t want to love you like that.” 

It’s cute, the way his face screws up around a theory. It’s a familiar expression, and you can’t help but melt at the knees while you watch his eyes flick back and forth, adding up all your expressions and trying to calculate the meaning. The corner of your mouth pulls into a slip of a smile, “If I turned around right now and never saw you again, I’d be okay. I mean, I wouldn’t drop dead or anything.” 

He sucks in sharply, head jerking back, “What the fu—”

“Hush, I’m almost done.” You keep going before he can interrupt you again, rushing through the rest of your speech, running out of air and restraint, “I think that I could get over you, eventually, years and years from now—but the point is—what I realized is: I don’t want to. I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want to find someone else. Stiles, I love you—I’m in love with you, and I really think tha—”

His lips are wet and warm against yours, and you whine softly into his mouth at the familiarity. He hooks his thumbs in the belt loops on your jeans and yanks you closer, until your chests are pressed together and you can feel him breathe. You were right—the beard burn is delectable.

The kiss slows into something less desperate, something more like forever, and Stiles brushes his lips over yours in a few chaste pecks. When your lashes finally flutter open, you see that he’s grinning at you. It’s so wide, so happy, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he says, “Sorry, you just would not shut up, so I figured it was either kiss you or shove something in your big mouth—and I’m not super confident in my CPR skills. Scott and I really spent most of the time figuring out how many pencils we could fit into the dummy’s mouth.”

“I take it back.” You push his face away from you, but a laugh bubbles past your swollen lips when Stiles pinches your waist. “I hate you.”

“Nope. No refunds.” Stiles shakes his head solemnly and wraps his hand around your hip, squeezing possessively, “You kiss it, you buy it. That’s what Coach said about the dummy.” 

“Well,” your arms find their way around his neck, and your fingers wind into the soft hair curling behind his ears, “you are a dummy.”

“The dumbest,” he agrees. He’s smiling, but his eyes are sincere, cloudy with guilt. “Baby, I never should’ve—”

You take great satisfaction in your turn shutting him up with a kiss, tugging on his hair until you’re on your tiptoes and he’s groaning into your mouth. “I think we’ve been miserable for a long time,” you whisper, breath ghosting across his shiny lips. He shivers, and you press your temple against his forehead, “I think I’ve had enough of it. How ‘bout you?” 

Stiles nods quickly and dips in to kiss you again. “Can I say sorry one more time?” he mumbles, kissing the ridge of your ear.

“I suppose,” you sigh and fall back onto your heels. 

He takes your bag from your shoulder and guides you into his apartment, kicking the door shut so that he doesn’t have to let go of your hand. There’s a thud as he drops the duffle bag onto the floor, and you barely have the time to take-in the ratty little sofa and coffee table piled with empty pizza boxes before he’s on you again. “I’m,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, and it twitches with the contact, “so,” his lips trail to your cheek, “very,” he presses a kiss to your temple, “truly,” to your hairline, “forever-ly,” to the tip of your nose, “sorry,” to your mouth. 

You sigh as he settles in for a real kiss and fall back onto the couch with him on top of you, disrupting his rhythm with a breathy giggle. He braces his weight onto his arms, and you wriggle down until your face is directly below his. “Hi,” you trace his bottom lip with your finger, smiling when he purses his lips to kiss it. 

“Hey.” He looks drunk: cheeks flushed, eyes hazy with pleasure, body loose and free from critical thinking—and you think to yourself that you’d do just about anything to make sure he’s this happy for the rest of his life. 

Stiles rolls, bringing you into his side with an arm around your waist, and presses against your lower back until you're crushed against him. Still, you squirm closer. Neither of you say anything for a long time, content with the sound of each other’s breathing, and then Stiles hums in his throat a little and plays with the ends of your hair, “So. You’re gonna live in New Jersey.”

“Yup,” your mouth pops with the ‘p.’

He grins, “Wow. You must, like, really love me or something.”

“Or something,” you tease, and he bites your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Jersey isn’t so bad,” his voice is muffled against his teeth, still embedded in your sweatshirt. Well, his technically.

You laugh, “It’s not?”

“Nah,” Stiles pulls back to look at you and scratches at the back of his neck, lifting a shoulder, “wouldn’t mind living there for the…beaches.”

“The Shore, you mean?” you grin, trying to imagine Stiles with a bad spray tan and slicked back hair. 

He grins right back and strokes your cheek, “Yeah, I’d move there for the Shore. I’ve actually been searching for just the right opportunity to show off my scrawny arms and pasty complexion. It’s like, what, a 40 minute drive from there to Penn?”

“Trenton would be around that, but I was thinking Pennypack would only be 30 from Princeton.” Stiles looks at you through lidded eyes, suspicious. You grin, “For the cheesesteaks, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he quips, but you can tell his heart isn’t in it. His face turns serious as he whispers, “You don’t have to do this,” into the quiet air humming between you. “I would’ve transferred to a school in California if I knew you still wanted me.” A flash of something ignites behind his eyes, warming the amber to whiskey, and he sits up a little, reaching over your head for his phone, “I’ll do it right now.”

You clutch his wrist and shake your head, pulling on his arm until he’s close enough to feel your lashes brush against his skin, “That’s why I didn’t ask. You’ve been dreaming about this program your entire life.”

Stiles is unusually still as he stares you down. His incisor digs into his bottom lip with a cruel bite, “What about your dreams?”

You huff, “What part of #1 don’t you get? I literally just told you to suck it. In case you forgot, I cordially invite you to suck it again, #6.” He smiles, but his eyes remain unconvinced. Your face softens, all the muscles and cartilage going gooey with affection, “It was never about Stanford, Stiles. It was about home. Guess it took you going away to figure out home sucks without you. S'not really home at all, actually.”

His lashes flutter slowly as he blinks, shaking his head, tongue running over his teeth as he struggles for air and words in equal measure. You kiss him until he finds them. “I know you don’t believe in it,” Stiles breathes out, “but I don’t think I could survive you being gone. Not again.”

You stroke over the planes of his face and hum thoughtfully, “I believe you wouldn’t want to.” Your shoulder twitches with a quick shrug as you add, “I know I don’t.”

His mouth chases your fingertips, pressing kisses to them every so often, and he closes his eyes heavily—like he hasn’t slept in months, maybe since the night he broke up with you. “These last few months have been just the fuckin’ worst,” he finally manages a smirk after you kiss his nose in agreement, “like a fuckzillion times worse than the summer I broke my leg, and you and Scott signed up for rec soccer without me.”

“You’ve got to let that go,” your voice is high and whiny, and Stiles’s smirk widens, “we didn’t even win any games.” You tickle him, heart leaping into your throat when he laughs and squirms away from your relentless fingers, “Didn’t have our good luck charm with us, obviously.”

“Obviously,” his grin is smug with satisfaction. Stiles tangles your legs together, legs clunking clumsily but that’s just part of the delicious charm, and hooks his chin over your shoulder, “So, Pennypack, huh.”

You nod, “I really don’t want to live in Jersey.”

You can’t see him, but Stiles peers at you, a little dubious, a lot fond. “And it’s not just for me?”

You grin, caught, and shake your head firmly, “Absolutely not.”

“It’s for the cheesesteaks,” his brow arches, and he seems to finally understand when the room becomes a swathe your smile, of your bubbling laughter: He makes you as happy as you make him. 

“Obviously.” You mean, I love you, I love you, I love you, and I never ever want to stop.  Stiles hears it, of course he does, and he says it back, sealing it with a kiss, “Obviously.”