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xbellaxcarolinax · 9 months

Text

Futile Devices

Miguel O'Hara x civilian f!reader

Summary: The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain.

Word Count: 8.2k (A behemoth of a fic, I'm so sorry guys)

Warnings: FWB, language, angst, reader is totally in love with Miguel, Miguel being a bit of an ass, probably a tad toxic? SMUT, p in v (no protection), cum play, low-key breeding kink? Like super low-key. Oral (f receiving). Miguel climbing through windows. Idk why I'm obsessed with that thought lmfao I make him climb through windows every chance I get. Idiots in love. Probably a rushed ending, sorry!

Thanks to @whatthefishh for beta-reading. Partly inspired by this.

Also, this is mega ultra cliche, we all know they're gonna end up together, so just enjoy the ride! It's not the destination, it's the journey 😌 Hope you guys enjoy, and if you do, pls let me know what you think! I love reading your comments!

MDNI pls.

...

It was always a mission getting to Miguel's office.

Headquarters wasn't built to accommodate civilians, the winding pathways and corridors a danger if one wasn't too careful.

You had to be extra careful.

You hurried toward Miguel's office, heels clicking against clean tiled floors as you dodged a fuck ton of spider people and the inescapable attention of one annoying Peter Parker.

"Come on," Peter Parker number two hundred tried his luck again, "just one date. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go."

"No." You rolled your eyes, swatting him with the manilla folder in your hands like you would a fly.

“Look, all I’m saying is you should give me a shot. I’m funny.”

“So is every other Peter Parker I’ve encountered.”

“I’m different.”

“I doubt it.”

He deflated, keeping up with your quick steps. “Who doesn’t like funny guys?”

“Me.”

“Sure,” he stretched the word out, unconvinced, "so if not funny guys then what? The ones with sticks up their asses, like Miguel?" He snorted with a shake of his head. You knew it was a sort of rhetorical question but you couldn’t help swallowing thickly, your hands gripping the folder a little too tightly.

Yeah. Something like that.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach when Peter Parker two hundred raised his brows at your silence. So maybe he did want an answer.

"Nah, there's no way. I'll try again tomorrow." He smiled, shooting a web out in some random direction and swinging off toward the floor above.

Fuck. That was close.

You breathed a sigh of relief, loosening your fingers over the folder before quickly hurrying toward your destination.

You pressed your watch against the sensor outside of Miguel's office, waiting for the metal door to slide open. It didn't. You tried again. Still nothing. Again. It wouldn't budge.

"Ugh, come on, Miguel!" You banged the door with a tiny fist as if that would make a difference, "open up!"

Lyla appeared suddenly, her sprite-like form circling your head once before she faced you.

"You probably shouldn't go in there," she warned, "he's in a…mood."

"He’s always in a mood," your hands were on your hips now, the manilla folder crinkling further in your hand, "I need to report a couple of grievances—"

"Mmmmmm, I'm sure that's the last thing he wants to hear right now, Miss HR." God you hated when they called you that. You rolled your eyes, swatting her away with the folder which did nothing, of course, and pressed your watch against the sensor.

"That's not gonna work, honey."

"So let me in."

"Promise to be nice?"

"To who?" You snorted, "You or Miguel?"

"Me," Lyla grinned, adjusting her heart-shaped glasses, "forget Miguel."

You sighed, cracking a smile, "Lyla, would you please let me into Miguel's office?" The Ai made a noise of approval, comically saluting you before granting you access.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya." She sang, disappearing from your sight.

You sighed. Miguel's shifting moods were nothing new to you—not anymore. Back when you both worked at Alchemax, he was passive and less quick to anger. But that seemed a lifetime ago.

Life progresses. People change.

“Mig?” You called out, peering up toward his solitary platform. You could hear the soft hisses of machinery, the yellow glow of Miguel’s holo screens illuminating the area above like a radiant star.

He didn’t answer.

“Miguel,” you tried again, “we have some things to discuss.” You slapped the manilla folder against your hand as if he’d recognize the sound of formal complaints filed within the last week.

The platform began to descend after a moment, and you breathed a sigh of relief as his figure came into view. His shoulders were stiff, his body rigid as he swiped through the yellow screens.

“I told Lyla not to let anyone in.” His voice was cold, frigid even. He didn’t bother to face you, his eyes pinned to his screens as he leaned forward, the muscles of his back flexing through his suit.

You couldn’t see what he was looking at but you could hear it: the soft giggles of a little girl, the cheers of a soccer game, the chuckles of a man now broken. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard the sounds of Miguel’s past. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.

“I-uh, got some reports to share with you.” You felt foolish. Lyla was right. HR complaints were the last thing on Miguel’s mind.

“Reports of the anomaly on Earth 9811?” Your brows pinched in irritation. He knew those weren’t the reports you had. You were fucking HR, not on active duty, let alone a spider person.

"No, you'd have to ask Jess or Gwen about that, but you need to listen—"

“I don’t want to hear it.” He grunted. You saw his hands form fists at his sides, the same hands that’d fisted your sheets in the throes of pleasure just days ago.

You shook your head. It was not the time for that kind of thought.

You carefully opened the crinkled folder, pulling out the paperwork you’d printed from your antique printer to read aloud from it.

“Peter Parker of Earth 5431-02 has formally filed a complaint,” you began, your eyes scanning the black text before releasing an exasperated sigh, “he’s saying you threw a chair at him?” Miguel grunted, the holo screens shutting off at his (Lyla’s) command.

“He’s an idiot.” Miguel snapped, finally turning to face you, his sharp features shadowed by the lack of light. He regarded you carefully, red eyes tracing your figure. You’ve grown used to the way his eyes lingered over you, especially when you were under him, his body pressed against yours, but sometimes you couldn’t help but squirm under his more severe gaze.

“Well, yeah,” you reluctantly agreed with a tilt of your head, “but a chair, Miguel?”

“It’s not like it hurt him...badly.”

“That's not the point."

“The point is that I got my point across.” Miguel snorted.

"It's the principle. You don't go around throwing fucking chairs at the people who work for you!"

"Mhm."

"You're their boss! What kind of behavior is that?"

"Uh-huh."

You were about ready to strangle him but knew your fingers couldn’t even go around his throat properly. You’ve tried before, under very different circumstances. You settled for pinching the bridge of your nose, as he often did, taking a breath to calm yourself before you completely lost your shit. "Listen to me."

"I'm listening, HR."

"Ugh, look," you pointed a finger up toward him, your brows knitted in obvious irritation, "annoying or not, he's still a member of the Spider Society, therefore, he has every right—”

“—to file a grievance under any circumstance as a result of an injustice, discrimination, or harmful behavior, and is to be given the respect to which every spider person is due as a valued member of the society. I know.” Miguel finished the legal jargon for you, hopping off the platform with an ease that’d always surprised you.

He stepped into your space, his large body casting a long shadow over you as he snatched the crinkled paperwork from your hands.

“I’ll speak with him.” He grunted. You pursed your lips, watching as his eyes scanned over the page.

"Make it right, Mig. Apologize. Formally. Or informally. It doesn’t matter— there’s nothing normal about this place anyway.” You placed your hands on your hips as you leaned forward, aware of how he was suddenly gazing down at you. “Just be nice, okay? Compensate him with, I dunno, a minor mission. He always wants to get involved, so let him.”

Miguel rolled his eyes, heaving a great sigh while running his hand through his hair. “Fine.”

“And no more throwing chairs to make a point.”

“Uh-huh, fine, anything else?” God, you wanted to smack him. You opted for snatching back the paperwork from his hand, smoothing out the wrinkles over your skirt-clad thighs before searching for the proper page.

“Yeah," you brought a finger down on the page, "the spiders are getting bored of the cafeteria food.” That was enough for Miguel's face to pinch in displeasure.

“What’s wrong with empanadas and churros?” He scoffed, waving his hand to dismiss the complaint, “And that stupid blue burger with my face on it?” He paused, eyes squinting for a moment, “You know what? That can go. Get rid of it.”

“Fine. Do I have permission to organize a survey?”

“For food?”

“Yes, for food. They want options.”

“Aye, por Dios,” Miguel grunted, waving his hand again, “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope.” You organized the documents back into the manila folder before handing it over to him.

“You know you could just send this electronically, right?” He looked down at the folder, his eyes tracing your neat cursive in black ink.

“I’m old-fashioned.” You shrugged, turning on your heels. You heard him snort out a laugh, a tiny thing that made you smile. He has a nice laugh.

“One more thing,” Miguel called out, demandingly. You looked over your shoulder at him as he regarded you with heavy eyes.

“What is it?”

He boarded the platform once again, the machinery coming to life and slowly elevating him back to his preferred height. He tossed the folder somewhere over the desk, to be forgotten. It was the least of his worries at that moment.

You watched Miguel ascend above you like some kind of heavenly being, the yellow light of the holo screens illuminating his tan skin till he glowed molten gold. You waited on him with bated breath, his response sinking straight to your core.

“Keep your window unlocked tonight.”

…

He loves it when you ride him.

His large hands were glued to your hips as you bounced on him expertly, your cunt soaking him in your sticky juices.

Most nights began this way—with Miguel's cock buried deep in your pussy after a long day of enduring his insufferable attitude. You'd fuck the stress out of him—fuck the astronomical weight of the multiverse off his shoulders if only for a few short hours.

"Been thinking about this all day." He groaned under you, throwing his head back over your pillow when he felt your walls grip his length viciously, fighting to keep him in.

"Yeah?" You gasped, your hands firmly planted on his bare chest as you made work of your hips, rotating them in delicious circles—the way he liked—your thighs spread wide to accommodate his massive size. "W-wasn't enough to curb that a-attitude though, huh?"

Even amid the utmost pleasure—of Miguel's length hitting a spot that had you trembling—you found the strength to taunt him, your hazy eyes catching a glimpse of the twitch in his brow. That meant trouble.

Within seconds Miguel had you on your back, his imposing body trapping you against your mattress. His cock slipped out for a moment but he had no problem finding his way back into your slippery channel, snapping his hips strategically to reach as deep as he could.

You cried out, your hands scrambling to find purchase over his shoulders, your pretty manicured nails digging into his perfectly golden skin.

"F-fuck! Miguel!"

"Wanna say that again?" He growled, his face hovering mere centimeters from yours, "Go ahead, say it again." You did nothing but whimper as he pounded into you mercilessly, his cock stretching you open.

"That's what I thought." Miguel chuckled smugly, delighting in your little chokes and stutters, egging him to keep pounding you relentlessly. You tried speaking—tried to articulate your words to him, but you couldn't, too cock drunk to focus on anything else but his gorgeous face twisted up in pleasure and his thick cock kissing the secret place within you.

He had you coming soon after, stars exploding behind your lids as you trembled in his arms. Your cunt squeezed him just right and he came, panting in your ear as he filled you to the brim.

His spend stained your sheets when he pulled out, and as always, he watched it dribble out from your swollen cunt with lidded eyes. He wasted no time in taking his fingers and stuffing the mess back in.

“Keep me in there.” He muttered, swiping through your puffy folds one final time before he ripped himself from you. You immediately soured, keeping your gaze on him as he quickly cleaned himself off with a cloth you left for him on your nightstand.

You admired his figure: the ripple of his muscles as he moved, the broadness of his shoulders, the glow of his skin in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

Miguel was gorgeous. You’ve always thought so.

His suit glitched before coming to life, covering his sculpted body in the usual blue and red you've come to know.

“Did…you want to eat before you go?” Dinner was on the stove, cold but still good. You sat up against your headboard, more of his spend leaking out as you fiddled with your fingers over the soiled sheets.

Miguel shook his head, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I have to go.” He said, stepping forward, grabbing your hand, and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles. It was the only form of affection he’d allowed himself to give you. He’d never kissed you before. Probably never will. It wasn't part of the deal.

Your heart sunk, your skin searing where his lips had lingered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Most nights ended this way—with your aching cunt full of his seed and your eyes wet with unshed tears as you watched him leave through your window, disappearing into the night.

…

A few days later, Peter B. Parker landed in your office. Quite literally.

He plopped down on the seat in front of yours from seemingly nowhere, a messily packed diaper bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. He had his daughter snuggly pressed against his chest in her carrier, her chubby arms and legs flailing over his pink robe.

You yelped, dropping the pen in your hand, clutching your chest in freight.

“Jesus! Where the hell did you just come from?!”

“Up there.” Peter pointed up. You followed his line of vision, noting the door to the air vent busted open, barely hanging from its hinges. “Sorry about the vent.” He offered sheepishly, taking a large bite of a slice of pizza he'd pulled from a greased-up brown paper bag.

"You could've just taken the elevator!"

"Takes too long to get to the basement.” He said between a mouthful of pizza, “Why'd Miguel give you an office down here anyway?"

"I'm scared of heights." You reminded him, watching Mayday struggle to release herself from her carrier prison. Peter snorted out a laugh, dropping the diaper bag on the floor while simultaneously taking another bite of his pizza.

“Doesn’t make sense to work in a place like this.”

“It was the deal I made when Miguel asked me to work for him. Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Have you tried the cafeteria pizza?" He asked suddenly, ignoring your demand and speaking with another mouth full of the greasy treat, "It's the new thing. Everyone's going crazy."

You smiled smugly. "I know. You’re welcome."

“Ah, I should've known Miss HR was behind this!” You rolled your eyes at the nickname, rummaging through your drawer before tossing him a few napkins.

“What can I do for you, Peter?”

Mayday whined, crawling out of the carrier and over her father’s thighs. She hopped on your desk, scattering some of your paperwork. You quickly caught her before she tumbled off the edge, cooing at her before placing her in your lap. You squeezed her in your arms and she let out a scream of delight before squirming, reaching out in wonder at the different knick-knacks on your desk.

“Right, almost forgot." Peter took the last bite of his pizza, wiping his face and fingers with the napkins you provided before his face morphed into something serious. "Is this guy bothering you?” He pulled out a yellow holo pad, one presumably given to him by Miguel, revealing a video of you and Peter Parker two hundred from the other day.

You blinked, your eyes tracing the moving image carefully.

”Oh. Not really,” you finally said, ripping your gaze away from the screen, “Nothing I can't handle. Why?”

“Miguel asked me to investigate the situation discreetly.”

"Asked?"

"Well, demanded, you know Miguel," Peter shrugged, reaching down into the diaper bag and procuring a lollipop when Mayday began to whine, “he’s concerned. I figured it’d be easier to just ask you about it.”

You frowned, grasping the sweet when he handed it over to you, pulling off the wrapper and placing it in Mayday's chubby hand, “That’s hardly discreet.”

“I didn’t wanna follow the guy around!”

“He's making you do that?”

“‘Of course he is. Doesn't like the guy. He barely tolerates me!”

You snorted. “Why does Miguel even care?”

"You know him better than any of us do. If anyone would know, it’s you."

Well, that was true.

You knew Miguel before he created the Spider Society, before he was ever Spider-Man. You knew him before his addiction to Rapture, before he experienced fatherhood, before he lost Gabriella.

Back when, to the world, he was just some guy in a white lab coat.

But he was never just some guy to you.

You’ve loved Miguel for years. You’d loved him in your early days at Alchemax, when he was fresh out of college and eager to begin his shaky career, back when you were hanging on to the corporation by a measly thread of an unpaid internship. You were a pair, stuck to each other like glue.

A few years later, when you both decided to take it a step further and mess around, well, that only ignited your feelings further. Miguel was an attentive lover. He knew your needs and fulfilled them, taking you to the heights of pleasure before humbling you just as smoothly with his strict rules about your agreement.

He didn’t have time to cater to someone's feelings—didn’t have time for a romantic relationship when he had too much on his plate. But his sexual appetite demanded attention—and why not with someone he’s called a friend for years?

You were just a friend. And that’s all you’d ever be.

It was just sex. That's all it'd ever be.

“You okay?” Peter ripped you away from your thoughts, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered with a sigh, gently resting your chin over Mayday’s soft curls. “Is Miguel worried?”

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend, of course he’s worried about you. Those were his words, not mine.” Peter shrugged, putting his holo pad away, “so is there a cause for concern?” The thought alone almost made you smile. Almost. Instead, you scoffed, shaking your head.

“I’m usually the one that handles these situations, you know.”

“And who’s supposed to help you?”

“I don’t need help.”

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Miguel doesn't seem to think so. You sure?”

“Very.”

“Alright, I did my part!” He clapped his hands as if he’d successfully completed a mission, “Time to go, Mayday!” He stood, grabbing the babbling baby from you and placing her back in the carrier.

"She's precious." You said, gently pinching Mayday's drool-covered cheek as she teethed over her lollipop.

"Takes after her dad." Peter grinned, snatching up the diaper bag, "Listen, if you ever need any help—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get outta here, Parker." You shooed him away, quickly organizing your wrinkled paperwork together. You could still feel his eyes on you as you kept your hands busy, and when you finally looked at him he had a silly smile on his face.

"What?"

“You guys are idiots." He was still grinning.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he said, pressing a kiss to Mayday's red curls, "Just do me a favor. Don't mention any of this to Miguel, alright?"

You crossed your arms, leaning back against your swivel chair. "Sure."

...

"So you think I need help?"

Miguel's hands immediately stilled on your hips as you stirred the boiling pasta over your electric stove.

You didn't hear him come in, but you had a feeling he’d show up. It had been a couple of days since he’d fucked you, and there were many stressful days between then and now.

So you’d left your window unlocked just in case.

"What are you talking about?" He muttered, his fingers lightly dancing on your waist before pulling away completely.

"Nothing." You huffed to yourself, cutting off the heat and getting on your toes to reach for the pasta strainer on the shelf above. After a second of watching you struggle, Miguel put a hand on your shoulder to stop you, reaching forward to grab it for you.

"Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.” He finally said, observing you strain the pasta over the sink, the steam from the hot water engulfing you both in what felt like a thick cloud of tension. You peered over your shoulder at him, your eyes raking over his solid form.

“You know, Peter Parker two hundred?” You asked, witnessing his face contort from passive to extreme annoyance.

He sucked his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned back against your counter, looking so out of place in your tiny kitchen, his broad shoulders almost the entire width of your cupboard. “I told Peter to be discreet.”

“He said you’re worried about your only friend.” You continued to tease him, emphasizing the word as you lifted the lid to a pot where a homemade Pomodoro sauce was bubbling.

“I said that?” Miguel muttered, feigning innocence, watching you take a spoon and scoop some of the red sauce for a quick taste. You could feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing the way your tongue licked off the remnants of sauce.

You hummed in approval before scooping up some more and turning to offer Miguel a taste. You lifted the spoon toward him, and after a moment of contemplation, he hunched forward with arms crossed over his toned chest, mouth opening slightly to allow you to press the spoon past his lips.

His eyes fluttered as he savored the rich taste, humming his own tune of approval.

"Is it good?"

“Mhm.”

You beamed, eyeing how he licked his lips like a satisfied cat, his fangs protruding slightly when he ran his tongue over them. The same fangs you’ve felt over your delicate skin from time to time.

Miguel was a biter. You didn’t mind.

Miguel grunted, using his thumb to wipe off a bit of sauce that lingered near the corner of your lips. You inhaled a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering from the heat of his touch.

"What else did he say?" He murmured, looming over you, his hand now gently cradling the back of your neck, thumb caressing your skin.

"T-that you're worried about me?" You breathed. Miguel pulled you closer suddenly, the faintest noise of surprise escaping you. His suit always felt strange under your fingers, the digitized fabric almost slippery, like fine silk. It was ridiculous how perfect you felt wrapped up in his arms. You sometimes wished he'd show up in civilian clothes. You missed his lazy outfits when he'd throw on an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him in anything other than his suit (and his naked form, of course). It meant he was always on the clock, devoting all his precious time to the multiverse.

It meant that whenever he was alone with you, he considered it work.

And yet, the suit made you feel secure and safe—like nothing in the world could harm you. And there was truth to that, though the only thing harming you these days was Miguel himself. But that was your fault too.

The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain.

You gazed at his full lips. You desperately wanted to taste them, to know how soft and warm they would feel molded against yours. If you were brave enough you might have stolen a taste, might have felt those sharp canines for yourself on your tongue.

Miguel’s thick fingers trailed into your hair, gripping the roots with just a hint of pressure, his lidded eyes taking in every part of your face: your brows, your eyes, the bridge of your nose, and your supple lips—wet and swollen from biting them so damn much.

"Maybe just a little," he finally answered, his shoulders shifting in a slight shrug. You could feel his length press against your hip, hot and throbbing, demanding attention.

It filled you with pride knowing your proximity was enough to get him excited. It shouldn't though. It was only arousal. Basic primal instincts.

You shouldn’t be feeling pride for any of this. You had to remind yourself of that.

You closed your eyes, willing your heartbeat to slow down just a bit. Could you really be this love-sick? So hung up on a man who was emotionally unavailable? If you hadn’t fallen before, then you knew you were plummeting now, so far gone that you’d let Miguel do anything to you.

So when he whisked you away to your bedroom, dinner long forgotten, you didn’t put up a fight.

He fucked you from behind.

It was a tight stretch, your wet cunt fighting him as he tried pressing his swollen tip in with little luck.

"Gotta let me in," he grunted, spreading your cheeks wide to gaze down at your twitching holes, "you're too tight. Let me in."

"I'm trying," you panted, tears in your eyes as you buried your face into the sheets, "i-it's been a while."

"It's okay," his large hands caressed the globes of your ass in comfort, "it's my fault. Haven't been fucking you enough, hm? S'my fault." Miguel rubbed his cock through your soaked folds a few times, the obscene noises of your sopping cunt causing him to grunt.

"Goddamn, so fuckin' wet." He muttered before lining himself up and carefully pushing in again. You cried out, fisting the sheets when he successfully got the tip in. He groaned, the guttural sound masking your tiny mewls as he pushed on, your wet cunt coating him entirely in your sticky essence, easing his entry just a bit.

"Fuck, Miguel, it h-hurts." You whined, the stretch of him both painful and pleasurable as he bullied his way in, his girthy cock plunging through your fluttering walls.

"Shh, I know." He rarely cooed as he did now, reassuring you with gentle noises and tender touches as he eased into you, balls deep in your core, “Look how good you’re doing for me. S’good.” A fresh wave of arousal dripped from you at his praise, your fluttering cunt allowing him to push and pull as he pleased.

He began a steady rhythm, holding your hips tightly to work you over his length, muttering to himself all the while as he watched how your creamy juices clung to his cock and covered his skin.

The pain quickly subsided into blinding pleasure. Miguel had you mewling into your mattress, your eyes rolling and drool slipping past your lips, your back impossibly arched, and your swollen cunt wetter than it’s ever been. The slapslapslap of his hips against your ass was loud in the quiet of your bedroom, your moans even louder when he skillfully hit something inside you that made you see stars every single time.

You loved the feel of him, loved the stretch of his cock, loved how your cunt would ache for days after as if to remember him.

“Coño,” Miguel growled, keeping a large hand on your lower back to keep you steady in your arched position, “you sound so pretty when I fuck you.” He suddenly gripped your hair, pulling you up as he curved over you, continuing to spill filth into your ears.

It was too much.

“M-Miguel, I’m g-gonna—”

“Cum for me.”

That was it. The dam burst within you, your eyes rolling back as you cried out, cunt spasming and gushing all over him.

“That’s it,” he muttered, sloppily thrusting into your tightening core, “good girl.”

“Miguel,” you continued to whine, grinding against him, “Fuuuck, I love you.”

You didn’t even realize what you said until it was too late, so wrapped up in the bliss of it all that your mouth worked faster than your brain could think.

You froze when you felt him still above you. He released your hair, bringing his hand back to your hips before gripping them viciously, chasing his own release. He rammed into you faster, slamming his hips against your ass one final time before letting out a guttural groan deep from within the confines of his chest. You could only imagine how he looked: tan skin glistening, chocolate hair plastered against his brow and head tossed back in pleasure.

Miguel said nothing as he gently removed his cock from your aching sex, letting his seed dribble out from you and soak into the sheets.

As soon as you turned around he was already in his suit, pushing a few buttons on his watch before he brought his wine-colored eyes to you.

"I have to go."

“Mig?” You whispered his name softly, your naked body burning with embarrassment, “I-I’m sorry I—”

"I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was the same thing he always said, but it hurt twice as much. It was as if he were on autopilot, disconnected from what just happened.

You felt your heart plummet into your stomach as you watched Miguel leave through your window with a speed he usually reserved for missions.

His spend caked your thighs. There was so much of it coming out of you, more so than usual, his cum ruining your sheets enough that you’d need to change them before bed.

You sniffled, eyes watering, tears threatening to fall. He didn’t even kiss your hand goodbye.

You ripped yourself away from the soiled sheets, stomping over to your window as his cum leaked down your inner thighs before slamming it closed, locking it for good.

...

“You made this?” Miles exclaimed with a mouth full of spaghetti, clumsily twirling another forkful over his paper plate. You were handing out some of the spiders' leftover Pomodoro pasta from the previous night. You’d lost your appetite. It’d be a shame if you let it all go to waste.

“Yeah, eat up, there’s enough for everyone.” You scooped out more pasta from a Tupperware and onto a paper plate for Gwen. The younger girl’s eyes sparkled as she grabbed the plate, immediately slurping up a bite.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, lips covered in red sauce, “why are you working at the Spider Society when you could be a chef?”

“It’s because Miguel begged her to work here,” Miles quipped, a lone spaghetti hanging from his mouth.

“And who told you that?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Uhh,” his eyes flew over to Peter B., who was waiting patiently for his own plate of pasta to be served. You turned and narrowed your eyes at Peter, who chuckled nervously.

“Listen,” he began, hands thrown up in surrender, “the kid got curious, okay? He was convincing, I mean, look at those eyes.” You huffed, snatching Peter’s plate and loading it up with pasta.

“You guys are annoying,” you muttered with no bite, shifting your gaze toward Hobie, who sat quietly with his legs thrown up on the table, “Hobie, fuck the government and all that, but you need to get your dirty boots off the table if you want some food.”

Hobie sighed dramatically, letting his boots drop to the ground.

“Fine, boss lady.”

Satisfied, you handed him a plate.

“So, let’s talk about you being a chef?” Gwen tried again, scrapping the remaining bits off her plate.

“It’s just pasta,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat, “anyone can make a Pomodoro.”

“My dad can’t.”

“…why?”

“He’s Irish.”

“And a bloody cop,” Hobie interjected, twirling his pasta with a plastic fork, “hate those.”

“Here we go,” Gwen huffed, the beginnings of an argument forming. You chose to ignore them, letting Gwen, Miles, and Hobie bicker between themselves.

You squirmed in your seat, crossing your legs to cure the throbbing within. You could still feel Miguel, the stretch of his cock, and the inevitable ache that lingered afterward. You were still full of him, your cunt wet even hours later, plaguing you with the thought of never feeling him again.

You drummed your fingers over the messy table littered with paper plates and napkins, your body hunched forward, lost in thought.

“So…” Peter began, adjusting the collar of his pink robe, “you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to force it outta you?” You whipped your head to look at him, brows furrowed as you regarded him.

“What makes you think something’s going on?” You whispered, hoping the cafeteria was loud enough so the rest of the table wouldn’t hear.

“Something’s going on or you wouldn’t be whispering,” Peter whispered back, his blue eyes pinned to yours as he searched for answers.

“It’s nothing.” You answered quickly, continuing to squirm in your seat, fighting to ignore your achy cunt.

“Did you guys finally smooch?” You froze, your hands gripping the edge of the table with a force that made your knuckles go white.

“Peter, what the fuck are you talking about?” You hissed, watching him happily eat his Pomodoro.

“You think I don’t know?” He challenged, “It might not be obvious to everyone else but I know what’s going on.” He winked at you, dabbing a napkin messily over his mouth.

Your heart was pounding, ready to beat out your chest, but you schooled your features as best you could. You swallowed thickly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to make yourself smaller.

“Okay, fine, you know. What of it?”

“Miguel’s being mopey.”

“Mopey?” You snorted, shaking your head, “He’s always mopey, isn’t he?”

“This is a different kind of mopey,” Peter raised a brow, “it’s actually kind of… frightening.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s got nothing to do with us, for once. Usually one of us pisses him off enough to throw things but he’s on a mission. Said he needed to clear his head. So what happened?” You sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I might have said something I wasn’t supposed to last night.”

“What?”

“We made a deal,” you explained in a whisper, “no feelings, just…you know,” you wiggled your fingers, hoping it would be enough of an explanation. Peter nodded, urging you to continue, “Well, I messed up.”

“How?”

“ItoldhimIlovehim.” You blurted out, your hands flying over your mouth. Peter blinked with a subtle tilt of his head, before a grin stretched over his lips. You groaned, now covering your eyes, “W-what is that, why are you smiling? Stop it.”

“I mean, one of you had to say it first.”

“Peter, you’re killing me here.” He rolled his eyes, inching close enough till your knees brushed against his.

“You don’t think the big guy feels the same way?”

“No!” You squeaked incredulously, “There’s no way. You should’ve seen him yesterday. He could barely look at me!”

“You caught him off guard.”

“I know that, but he still could’ve said something. Anything.”

“He’s a guy. Guys are stupid.” You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. You turned to look at the other spiders. You knew they’d been listening given the way they all turned away immediately.

“Someone is stupid,” you muttered to Peter, feeling dejected, “and it’s definitely not him.”

...

You took a deep breath before placing your watch over the sensor.

The door to Miguel’s office didn’t budge, not to your surprise. Lyla must have blocked the systems again.

What were you even doing there?

You hadn’t seen Miguel in about a week. That was ample time to inform you he wanted nothing to do with you. You couldn't blame him but still, it was…unprofessional. He was your boss at the end of the day.

Maybe you shouldn’t have started fucking the head of the Spider Society. Your weak heart wouldn’t be in shambles if you didn’t.

It was a stupid move, you knew, telling someone you love them in the throes of passion when they clearly weren’t on the same page, unprovoked or not. He probably hates you. He must.

You’d given yourself enough time to think it through and given yourself so many pep talks before deciding a professional relationship with Miguel was for the best. No more friends with benefits.

No more keeping your window unlocked.

You took a breath and tried again. No luck.

Did he fire you? That couldn’t be right. You were still in the system and able to enter HQ with your keycard just fine.

“You’re always catching him at a bad time,” Lyla sighed beside you, whipping out her tiny little holographic phone, “he didn’t even want to take a photo! Unbelievable!” The small image on her screen revealed a snarling Miguel, clearly unamused by the bunny filter plastered over his face. It was cute, even if he looked a bit terrifying baring his fangs.

Lyla shifted to face you, hands on her little hips as she looked you up and down.

“You look niiice,” she quickly snapped a photo of you, “no cute filter needed.”

“Uhh, thanks?”

“Now it’s your turn to say something nice to me.” The Ai grinned when you rolled your eyes.

“You look…extra yellow today, Lyla.”

“Thank you! I’m in default mode.”

“Okay, so I’ll just come back later then?” You rushed to leave but Lyla stopped you, zapping in front of you suddenly.

“Nah, I’ll let you in.” You could hear the door to Miguel’s office opening, “Fix him.”

“What? How am I supposed to do that?”

Lyla shrugged, “I dunno, I just know you’re the only one that can.” She waved farewell, disappearing in a glimmer of gold.

You groaned, dropping your head in your hands for a moment to collect your thoughts. Your palms began to sweat—they always did when you were nervous—so you quickly wiped them over your black pencil skirt before facing the office entryway.

It was dark as usual, the only light illuminating the area was Miguel’s bright yellow screens. They hung above him as he sat slouched in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His head turned lazily to regard you.

“I heard you’ve been mopey.” You began, cracking a smile when he snorted. He shook his head, watching you slowly approach him like one would a wounded animal. He didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation.

“What do you need?”

“To talk to you.” You said, finding the courage to step into his space, leaning back against his desk and blocking one of the yellow screens.

“About?”

“Us.” Miguel hummed, running a hand through his messy hair. He sat up in his chair but said nothing else, allowing you the space to speak freely.

“I-I wanted to apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable,” you began to fumble with your fingers, unable to keep eye contact with him for very long, ��I know that what I said was…crossing the line—”

“Did you mean it?” He asked abruptly, the question forcing your eyes away from your fingernails and toward his chiseled face. He looked exhausted, eyes heavy but swimming with curiosity.

“W-well, I mean, it was a moment of—”

“Did you mean it?” He repeated, his tone stern as he awaited a proper answer from you. You bit your lip, slowly nodding your head.

“Yeah. I did. Still do.”

The silence that stretched wasn’t very long but it felt like an eternity. Miguel only stared at you, his jaw tight as he sat forward, his elbows resting on his toned thighs.

You wished you could read his thoughts, take a peek at what ran through his mind. He was always so good at hiding his emotions, never showing an ounce of what he felt. That wasn’t always the case but after Gabriella, he didn’t show much of anything.

“I think it’s best we don’t see each other anymore,” you finally concluded, crossing your arms, “we should stop.”

“What?” Miguel’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean stop?” He was towering over you in a matter of seconds, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. Your heart was pounding, your hands flying to grip the edge of his desk.

“Mig, we can’t keep doing this.”

“Yes, we can.” He caged you in his arms, bringing his face just a few inches away from yours. He never had much of a problem with eye contact, but you did. You chose to look at his collarbones and the large swoop of his shoulders. It was intimidating and arousing all at once and you weren’t getting anywhere with this speech, were you?

“We can’t. Not when we’re not on the same page.”

“Who says we’re not?” You felt his fingers graze the side of your face, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. You turned away, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the familiar prick of tears behind your lids.

“Stop playing with me.” You said, pushing him away with little luck. Miguel shifted slightly at your touch, watching you rub at your eyes.

“I’m not.”

“Then why have you not said anything for a week?” You hissed, the frustration threatening to boil over, “You’ve left me agonizing over this for a week, Miguel!” You wiped furiously at your cheeks, catching a few stray tears. “I’m such an idiot.”

Miguel grabbed your wrists in his hands, yanking them away from your face. His concerned eyes met your wet ones, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Stop.” He demanded, taking your flushed face in his hands and wiping the wet streaks away with his thumbs. “Don’t say that about yourself.” You glared, cheeks puffed and swollen from the pressure of fighting away tears.

“Fine,” you snapped, ignoring the way he stroked your cheeks, “you’re the fucking idiot.”

“I am,” Miguel agreed with a sigh, refusing to release you, “I didn’t know what to say. Thought you might have been lying—don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re pissing me off.”

“I know, beba.” The endearment startled you for a moment, your glossy eyes peering up at him as a rush of excitement settled in your stomach. He’d never used endearing words with you before. It had you stumped for a second before you remembered yourself, your brows furrowing in irritation

“Why would you think I was lying? Mig, I’ve loved you for years, you buffoon!” Miguel loomed closer with every word before he kissed you, silencing you effectively. Your eyes fluttered, your lips unresponsive at first until he coaxed you into a gentle rhythm.

Kissing Miguel was so much softer than you imagined.

You thought he’d be all tongue and teeth, desperate to devour his victim. His kisses were syrupy and deliberate, steady and reassuring. He was taking his time learning the shape of your lips, the plumpness, how perfect they felt molded against his.

“I’m sorry, beba,” he said between kisses, letting you snake your arms around his neck to pull him closer, “perdoname. I’m an idiot.” You hummed in agreement, continuing to assault his lips sweetly. You couldn’t stop kissing him if you wanted to, sneaking your tongue past the seam of his lips to taste more of him.

He growled, tightening his hold on you, allowing you to taste at your leisure. He tasted fresh, like the spearmint gum he always had on hand.

“Perdoname,” he repeated, wanting so desperately for you to forgive his transgressions, slotting himself between your legs.

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” you teased, feeling the familiar ache of arousal blooming in your core, “show me how sorry you are.” Another growl ripped from him, animalistic and provoked. He wasted no time, pushing you down so that your back was flat against his desk and your legs were wrapped around his hips.

He pressed a button beside you and suddenly, the platform began to elevate.

“Mig,” you sat up in a panic, but Miguel only pushed you back down, lifting your skirt up till it pooled over your waist, “w-why are we moving up?”

“Privacy,” he grunted, spreading your legs, running his thumb over the soaked patch of your panties. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on something over the desk, your heart hammering in your chest as the ceiling seemed to loom closer.

“Y-you know I’m scared of heights!” You squealed when the platform came to a jutting halt, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t even want to think about how high up you were.

“It’s okay,” Miguel purred, gently rubbing your clit through the fabric, “you’re safe, you’re with me, beba, no tengas miedo.”

“M-Mig, please,” you didn’t even know what you were begging for at that point, you just needed something, and whatever that was, he gave to you. You felt him push aside your panties, and you finally spared him a glance, almost choking at the sight of him mesmerized by the sweetness between your legs.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, slipping a finger through your folds, “you dripping all over my desk.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, easily ripping your panties apart before getting on his knees, “smell s’good.” He muttered, licking a stripe up with his fat tongue, scooping whatever mess you made. He moaned at the taste before completely diving in, eyes closed and large hands keeping your trembling thighs spread for him.

As always, you were a whimpering mess for him, mewling with every precise stroke of his tongue. It was the first time he’d done something like this, and god, it was nothing you could have ever dreamed of.

He moaned into your cunt, the gentle vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. You trembled and whined with every loud slurp of his mouth over your clit, his tongue swiping over your precious bud before working his way down to dip inside your hole.

“Fuck, Miguel,” your hands flew to his hair, your fingers weaving through the thick strands to keep his head in place. He skillfully nipped and licked the surface, lifting his face away slightly to spit into your cunt, watching it run through your puffy folds with lidded eyes before devouring you again.

“You taste fucking amazing,” he groaned, sucking your clit between his lips.

You threw your head back, letting out the prettiest moans for him. You forgot about everything, about where you were and how high up you were from the ground. You couldn’t care less as long as Miguel continued to eat from you like a madman.

You could feel the tension in your abdomen, the clear sign that you were close. Miguel continued to drink from you, slurping obscenely at the fresh arousal that dripped into his mouth.

“Close?” He asked, giving you kitten licks, his hands squeezing your thighs encouragingly.

“God y-yes, so close.” You could feel him smiling against your folds before starting up a vicious rhythm again with his eyes closed.

With a loud cry, you came into his waiting mouth, your back arching and body withering over the table from the overstimulation. Miguel licked and sucked every inch of you, determined to catch every drop of your orgasm.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, releasing your grip from his hair and draping an arm over your eyes. Miguel stood, removing your arm and leaning over your fatigued body. He looked down at you with intense red eyes, his mouth and chin completely covered in your slick. You bit your lip when a smile curved at the edges of his lips before he swooped down to kiss you.

You moaned, completely aroused all over again from your own musky taste on his lips. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, allowing you a proper taste.

“Perdoname.” He begged again over your lips before gently brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You giggled, pushing him away slightly so that you could sit up on your elbows.

“Mm, I don’t know,” you teased, “you’re gonna have to try again.” Miguel shook his head, tapping a button on his watch, and allowing his suit to vanish. You gasped at his sudden nakedness, your eyes glued to his throbbing erection. Miguel grinned, fangs bared, tapping his cock over your sensitive cunt.

You closed your eyes as he immediately pushed in, moaning as he worked himself into your tight channel.

In your euphoric state, you barely registered him grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles, whispering over your skin. Your ears picked up a few words, some naughty and some sweet, but your heart fluttered and your chest tightened when you caught the last two words before he began pounding into you.

“Te amo.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spider man 2099 #atsv #across the spiderverse #spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse

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sthavoc · 1 month

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Hi bestie!! Can I please request this It’s Enzo’s birthday party at a club and you’re friends but not like besties and of course you have a huge crush so during the party he tries to spend a lot of time with you and you’re like is this real? but a lot of friends and girls are congratulating him so he steps away.

So when he comes back to you he says “I know what I want as my present” and you’re nervous like ok ? and he goes “I want a kiss” so you smirk playfully and say “oh sure close your eyes” and you kiss his forehead and he looks at you like stop messing with me and you go “oh is this not what your looking for ? Maybe you want this ?” And you kiss idk his cheek and you get closer and closer to his mouth until he says “don’t tease me you’re gonna regret it “ and you’re like “prove it “

And bam. Sparks fly. 🎆🎇

My inspiration was this video honestly he looks so good ! Thank youuuuu

https://x.com/enzovarchive/status/1767580921610268732?s=46&t=RPVpXPGkWnVvjZR8AmB-Qw

🎉꡴ 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

·˚ ༘ pairing: enzo x fem!reader

·˚ ༘ summary: for enzo’s birthday there is only one thing he asks and wishes for, a kiss from you.

·˚ ༘ warnings: teasing.

·˚ ༘ note: guys I’m so lateeee but I still can’t believe enzo turned 31. he looks so good in that videooo. where I live it’s still enzo’s birthday so I decided to still post something. I’m so sorry if I have any grammar mistakes, I didn’t have time to proofread.

Today was Enzo’s birthday. You couldn’t help but feel the excitement pump through your veins as you stood in front of the man, your heart fluttering with joy as well. The devoted attention only made your heart go faster and the thoughts that were rambling all over your brain couldn’t be controlled.

You couldn’t believe that Enzo instead of spending his birthday dancing and hanging out with the rest of his friend group was spending it with you, out of all people. It was surprising because the both of you were not that close as much as the rest of the cast, and even if you weren’t you still couldn’t help but gain the feelings you accumulated.

“espérame tantito chiquita, ya regreso.” Enzo walked away quickly to be able to greet the people who were arriving at the club for his birthday.

He had been going back and forth in greeting, but he would always come back to you. Tons of girls were trying to flirt with him and being touchy but he would find a way to shut them out and come back to you.

You waited stirring your drink patiently with your hand resting above your chin. “No me imagine que fuera a venir demasiada gente.” His voice crashes your thoughts but immediately makes a smile appear on your lips.

“Pues te lo mereces.” The soft smile continues on your lips as you watch him, he as well smiling at you. “¿Te la estás pasando bien?”

“De masiado.” He drinks. “Pero te aseguro que to tan bien como ellos.” He points to the guys.

They were all gathered in a huge circle causing a riot. Their screams of enjoyment filled the area and the voices of singing did as well. They were for sure drunk.

“Hmm. ¿Y que te dieron?” You make a motion with your chin towards the birthday bag that he had placed over the bar table.

“Un perfume, o algo así.” He shrugged squinting his eye for a split second. His next sentence followed after a sip of his drink, something that made you think. “¿Te acordas que me preguntaste algunas veces que quería para mi cumpleaños?”

“¿Ah huh?” You nod not thinking so much about it.

His eyes stared into nothing else but your eyes. “ Ya se lo que quiero”

His look made you a tad nervous, swallowing you replied. “¿Y que es?” but his answer was the cherry on top for your nervousness.

“Un beso tuyo.” He smirked as he noticed your reaction, but you thought, two can play that game. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol.

“¿Un beso?” Your lips reflected his smirk as you stared at him. Was he getting closer? or was it the tension that was growing?

“Sí.” He passes his tongue through his lips wetting them.

You had thought about wanting to kiss Enzo, there was no denying it. But for it to ever happen was never in your thoughts, for you guys never spoke on the daily or for hours.

The bit of alcohol you had in you was giving you the confidence you needed.

“Dale.” You nod followed by a smirk, but thought of something. “Cierra los ojos.”

He did as follows, and obviously what he didn’t see coming was that you got closer to his forehead instead of his lips. This action made his eyes instantly open and made you giggle.

Enzo let out a small sigh as he smiled again, his eyes talked more than his mouth. A look that told you he didn’t want to be messed around with anymore.

“¿Oh eso no es lo que quieres? Quizás, ¿es esto?” You let out with a hint of tease in your voice.

Your lips met his cheek but they slowly began to move towards his lips, staying close to his but not moving.

“Ya no juegues chiquita, lo vas a lamentar.” He whispered with his hot breath hitting you making you swallow.

He was challenging, and that’s what you liked about Enzo. He would prove what he was capable of doing.

“Pruébalo.” You say.

And you didn’t need to tell the man twice. His hand went towards the back of your neck pulling you towards him to cut the space that was left between the both of you. Kissing Enzo felt like a craving you were finally able to eat, a problem you were finally able to solve, and the satisfaction that came after that felt amazing.

He would constantly bite your lip but you didn’t stay behind, as so would you.

But the two of you remembered where the both of you were so you cut the kiss. Your lips couldn’t help to form a soft dumb smile, the plumpness of them was noticeable to Enzo as he passed his finger through your bottom lip, this made him bring you back for another kiss that caught you by surprise.

“Otro regalito que quería.” He whispers making the two of you chuckle.

“Feliz cumpleaños Enzo.” You looked him in the eyes as both of your hands rested on his shoulders.

To Enzo, this was the best gift he had received through the whole night because it came from you and it was you.

#enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic blurb #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic imagine #enzo vogrincic fic #enzo vogrincic one shot #enzo vogrincic x you

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pauking5 · 4 months

Text

New Year, New Me

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x fem reader

Genre: mutual pining, flirting, some jealousy (if you squint), a shitload of banter, teasing

Word count: 5.7k+

A/N: I told you more Zoro is coming 😉 All I'm gonna say is that it's one of my favorites. Might have a part 2 planned but we'll see. Enjoy!

Part 2

The deep bass rocked your body with every move, heart beating in sync with the music blaring from the speakers in the club. Alcohol coursed through your veins, relaxing all your nerves and worries. Only heavens above knew how much you needed this.

To let go of everything for one night.

Especially if that one night was New Year's Eve and you dreaded it a shit ton.

This year was pure torment for you on the love frontline. There were some dates, a lot of situationships and even more failed talking stages.

It felt like your heart was just a hotel for people to stop at for one night. You left the doors wide open for anyone to come in and occupy a room. They would get whatever they wanted from you, whether that was sex or just talking the night away, and leave their trash at your doorstep for you to clean it up as if it was yours.

And it left you emptier and emptier the more you let the latch open.

Not one of them wanted to truly get to know you or let you talk for that matter and it was driving you nuts. You tried hard to convince yourself it wasn't a you problem. It was just hard seeing everyone else so happy and in long-running relationships while you were there struggling to have just one normal conversation with someone.

Before you let it get worse and have another storm wracking your heart you found yourself hitting the club a lot more often. As bad as it was, at least it covered the self-deprecating your sober mind was up to the minute your mouth touched the rim of the glass of mixed alcohol in your hand.

When the city clubs stopped doing it for you, you took to the beach club nearby. The tropical house genre wasn't really your style or the club itself, but it grew on you the more you visited it. Not for the good cocktails or the fun atmosphere the club induced in you. But for the green-haired man sat at the far back of the club that captured your eye.

From the looks of it he was a regular. Every night you were there, he was there too. You didn't think anything of it until it's been a few weeks and he was still present.

The only thing that changed the more you went there was that he took notice of you too.

The most he did was glance your way as you were dancing thinking you wouldn't notice but you caught him every. single. time.

There was something about the way he looked your way that sparked something in you. Every time his eyes laid on you it felt like your body would set on fire and that feeling only grew stronger over time.

He would be the only thing occupying your mind both in your waking hours and the intoxicated ones. Besides the obvious attraction you felt for him there was also this weird sense of connection that drew you to him. You hoped he would make a move to you but all he gave you was that unwavering gaze turning your insides to mush and your head into a mess.

You took it in your hands and decided to make the first move a few weeks ago. It was one of those nights you were feeling the loneliness a little too hard and thought some sort of action would have done you good. You scanned the club for him and found him in his usual spot, nursing a glass of what looked like whiskey.

The moment you set your eyes on him his dark eyes lifted from the glass to you, as if sensing that you were looking at him. His lips were placed on the rim of the glass, but his gaze was solely trained on you.

You moved your body to the rhythm of the music without breaking eye contact. He watched your every move from behind that glass like a hunter observing its prey, dark eyes roaming over you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

The beat of the song playing intensified and so did your moves, rolling your hips in sync with it. That caught his attention since you caught him licking his lips. He was definitely interested but he didn't make a move to you that night.

So, you tried luring him in more the next time you went. You danced a but more provocative this time, a result of the combination of liquid burning down your throat. You threw your hands in your hair messing with it as you exposed your neck, all whilst narrowing your eyes on him.

The most that did was halt the glass that was halfway to his lips, hand gripping it tightly as if to preserve his self-control. You continued the teasing, this time letting your hands wander down your body following the way his eyes trailed down. That had him throwing the contents in his glass down his throat rapidly, tongue poking against his cheek. You smirked in victory at the reaction. But even that wasn't enough to bring him closer to you.

Last week you decided that it was going to be your final try. You would drop it if he still didn't understand your intentions this time around. After all, you had your pride to preserve too.

He could be God's favourite for all you cared but if he couldn't grasp the concept of a woman wanting him this badly it was his fault.

Your last resort was provoking him. You wore a shorter dress revealing just enough to get any man howling to rip it apart. But it turned out, he wasn't just any guy.

After scanning the crowd you grabbed a random guy and danced with him for the majority of the night. You let him move you along to the music, holding your body flush against his. He placed his hands on your waist and dipped his head in your neck leaving rough kisses down your neck. You tilted your head back and looked at the green-haired man only to see his jaw twitching, eyes narrowed to slits in your direction.

Smirking at his reaction you turned around to the guy, glueing yourself to him impossibly close. You leaned up to whisper in his ear, eyes still set on the man at the back. His fist tightened dangerously next to the glass on the table.

Even with those obvious responses it still didn't get the point across to him.

You didn't understand him. You literally gave him every basic hint that you were interested and he reciprocated the gestures only to keep himself in that damn darkened corner.

He gave you the attention. The intensity of his gaze couldn't lie on that. One look from him kept you wanting more and more. You craved to know that connection wasn't just a lucid dream induced by alcohol and strobe lights. You lost yourself in the need for him to want you the way you wanted him.

And you did all that for a stranger.

The pursuing ended tonight. You weren't going to wait for anyone. Tonight would just be about you and you only.

But your excitement to drown in liquor and dance the night away into the new year was short-lived as the dance floor was suddenly flooded by couples of all people.

Blocking the laughter and sweet nothings whispered way too loud around you became harder. You ordered more and more alcohol to neutralise your senses and keep your emotions at bay. But no matter how much you drank and danced, you couldn't prevent that lonely feeling from seeping into your bones once again.

The closer it got to midnight, the worse you felt. A couple to your right was making out quite grossly, hands grabbing at each other's faces like it was a hotdog eating competition. Another couple to your left were humping each other like they were the only ones on the dance floor. You were pretty sure someone already had their junk out and it was just a matter of time before it sat in your line of sight and you got scarred for life.

Ah, fuck this. I'm leaving.

There was no point in staying here longer only to make yourself hurt more than you already did. The universe wanted you to suffer till the remaining last seconds of the year and you weren't going to give it the satisfaction.

You emptied what was left in your cocktail glass and placed it on a nearby table. Grabbing your bag and hoisting it up your shoulder, you turned for the exit. You wanted to get out of here before it hit midnight and all these couples would be getting it on.

But someone had other plans for you.

You barely took two steps towards the exit when a strong arm locked on your arm and pulled you backwards. You crashed into a hard chest, world swaying around you from the rapid movement. A woody vanilla scent surrounded you, sending you into a deeper daze than you were already in.

"Leaving so soon?"

You turned your head back only to come face to face with the green-haired man that occupied your mind for the past few weeks. The same man that annoyed you to the world's end as your attempts to show your interest for him seemed in vain.

Your mind was working on overdrive to make sense of what was happening. You didn't even look for him tonight and he was here, holding your hand. It wasn't helping that he was sat right behind you, body so close that you found it hard to breathe like a normal person. What was worse was that his eyes were focused on you, a relaxed smirk dancing on his lips.

The more you gazed into his eyes the more he took your oxygen away. And you couldn't help staring at him just a little more too entranced in his presence.

He looked even more breathtaking up close, strobe lights bouncing off his features enhancing them even more. His eyes appeared a lot sharper than they looked in that poorly illuminated corner.

He had this weird way of putting you in a trance every time your eyes locked with his. It veered you away from the fact that he lead you on for the longest time anyone's ever done before.

Upon remembering why you had every reason to be sour towards him, you turned your head away from him. You also did it to gain some stability in your mind, narrowing your eyes on the blurring crowd of dancing people in front of you.

"Didn't really have anything keeping me here," you spat out.

The music changed to a slower rhythm, still bouncy enough to keep people dancing.

His hand let go of your arm and you breathed a sigh of relief, until he wrapped it around your waist instead. You prayed he couldn't hear or feel the way your heart was racing, considering your back was pressed firmly against his chest.

"Wasn't going to let you go without a dance," he whispered in your ear.

There was no telling if the shivers dancing down your spine were either from him or from how buzzed you are. But you could feel the deep tone of his voice even with the loud bass thumping through you, louder than your own heartbeat.

"Oh, really?"

You turned around to fully face him. He was a head taller than you, shoulders extending beyond your field of vision. Your eyes lingered on his bulky arms, lined with muscles upon muscles, wondering how it would feel like to be squished between them.

The relaxed dress shirt he wore tonight looked divine on him. It was unbuttoned just enough to give you a sneak peek of his pecs, the rest of the material stretching over his toned body perfectly.

Okay, maybe he is God's favourite.

Beyond his looks, he was also emanating this oddly comforting energy. It was what drew you to him in the first place. You felt it the minute he laid his eyes on you the first night you came here and you felt it now as his eyes bore into you.

He took his time checking you out too. He was finally standing this close to you and you rendered him absolutely speechless. He thought you were beautiful from that corner, but you were even more gorgeous up close.

Your hair was put up in a messy bun, a few hair pieces falling around loose, framing your face. Your eyes twinkled with the changing colours of the lights, curiosity and interest dancing in your eyes.

The white silk dress you wore fell just below your knees. The straps around your shoulders did little to keep the dress on you as they circled behind where a deep back line exposed you fully to him. That cutout of the back line stopped way too low for his liking and your chest was covered just enough to not give him a heart attack.

What surprised him was that your outfits matched. If anyone asked the two of you if you were a couple they would hit the nail beside the head, so close yet so far.

Wrapping up the staring contest, his eyes settled on your lips. They were slightly parted, eyes seemingly just as lost in him as his were in you mere moments ago.

He chuckled at you which brought you out of your own spiral of thoughts and back to the blaring music and chatter around you.

"What are you really looking for out here?" he asked, stepping just a little closer to you.

Well, for starters, you weren't looking for commitment. But you also weren't looking for a one night stand. As contradictory as that sounded.

But it was a new year, which meant you could give into that new year, new me bullshit without thinking too much about the consequences for once. Who knew, maybe something would change.

The green-haired man sitting before you did not look like the type to commit or have just a one night stand either. So, he might have been just as conflicted as you were on that topic.

"Tell you what," you stepped closer to him and traced his shoulders with the pads of your fingers. He followed your movements until your hands stopped at the collar of his shirt, palms laid flat on his chest. "We can cross that bridge when we come to it."

Your eyes moved to his lips for the millionth time tonight. They looked so plump and inviting. You wondered how they tasted. Were they soft, with a tinge of his cologne that was already getting you addicted or were they rough, tasting just like the alcohol he normally drank?

He noticed the way you eyed his lips hungrily. His eyes moved from your hands on his shirt to your own lips. He couldn't deny yours looked just as inviting.

"20 seconds to the New Year!" said the dj through the mic, gathering everyone around for the reverse countdown to the new year.

He could consider himself fucked if he didn't make a move now.

"10 seconds!"

His eyes darted between your eyes and your lips unsure if he should indulge and plant a kiss on them.

"5!"

With uncertainty still dancing in his irises he leaned in, eyes moving to your eyes to search for any sign you didn't want this. But all he found was a fire ardently raging in your eyes. It was him that started it after all.

"4!"

The look on his face made you nervous. Any moment now his lips would finally press to yours.

"3!"

He glanced at your lips, getting closer but moving so infuriatingly slow that you decided enough was enough.

"2!"

Fuck it. I'll do it myself.

You fisted his shirt harshly and pulled him down to you, unable to wait anymore.

"1!"

You smashed your lips on his just as the countdown came to an end.

"Happy New Year everyone!"

Gold confetti rained down on you from all sides, getting stuck in your hair. The song playing on the speakers accelerated and so did your heartbeat the more your lips moved in the same rhythm with his.

Your hands locked at the nape of his neck pulling him closer to you. One of his hands wrapped around your waist, while the other grabbed the side of your face.

"May this new year be filled with fun for all of you," boomed the dj through his microphone before putting up the volume on the music.

New year's wishes could wait a little more. For now, you were too busy exploring the lips of the man that started a fire deep inside of you. He bit your lower lip, eager to take the kiss somewhere else.

You've been kissed before but never like this. It felt euphoric, like you reached the seventh heaven with the help of his lips alone. You were thankful he held onto you because your knees shook dangerously. And this time it wasn't from the damn alcohol.

You pulled apart trying to will some air back into your lungs. A lone hair strand fell in front of your face and you lifted your hand to brush it away but he was faster. He took it and gently put it behind your ear, letting his fingers ghost over the side of your neck. You couldn't help the smile pulling at your lips.

"Give me a second."

He let go of you and rushed off somewhere. You waited for a bit then scanned the crowd, unable to find him anywhere.

He couldn't have just left me here after that, right?

Did I rush him into it?

He probably left, didn't he?

Oh, lord.

I scared another good guy away.

This one was special too.

Great way to start the year, doofus.

Before you could wallow into self-pity and rethink your exit plan, he came back. Turns out he just went to get his jacket.

New Year's resolution: Stop overthinking shit.

He moved his jacket to one hand and let the other one find yours again, fingers lacing with yours delicately. The same fingers you studied for nights on end wishing they were wrapped around yours were now actually interwoven with yours.

"Do you have your things with you?"

You nodded, motioning to your bag as you fixed it on your shoulder, slightly confused at the question. He started walking to the bar, dragging you with him and hastily waved over a bartender.

"Give me the best bottle of champagne you have, a bucket of ice and two glasses. I'll take one of those platters too."

"The what-," you stuttered, shocked at his detailed request. He just smirked and you felt warmth rush to your cheeks.

How is a literal stranger making me blush and feel like I'm gonna explode at the same time?

Once he received the bucket with everything he asked for stacked neatly, he paid the bartender and led you outside to the beach. Fireworks were still going on from the looks of it. You could see the displays on either side of the beach you looked at. There were a few groups gathered around bonfires on the outside extension of the club, clinking glasses together and wishing for a better year.

You got a feeling he wasn't keen on hanging around others considering the fact that he mostly drank alone. Spotting a blanket and a few cushions on a couch you grabbed them, securing them under your free arm before you linked your hand back with his.

He started walking and true to your assumptions he led you further away from the crowd. He finally stopped at a spot that was illuminated enough to see each other. It was rather reclusive, but still in the vicinity of the club.

"Is this the part where you kill me or something?"

"I try to act like a gentleman and you take me for a psychopath," he deadpanned.

"Well, are you a psychopath?"

He just chuckled at your remark and shook his head.

"If I was, I wouldn't have asked the bartender for the best champagne they had."

"Fair point," you giggled.

He took the blanket from you spreading it out on the sand. You placed the cushions down while he placed the platter in the middle and motioned for you to sit down first.

"So, why did you bring me out here, stranger?"

"I've been meaning to talk to you for a while, but I guess tonight was a better time to do it than any. And name's Zoro."

He placed the bucket down and took a seat next to you. Grabbing the bottle of champagne he worked on opening the aluminum seal. Your eyes wandered over his arms, mindlessly stopping at the label and you felt your heart fall to your ass.

"IS THAT DOM PERIGNON?!"

You covered your mouth surprised that your voice came out so loud. He chuckled at your reaction before he moved to open the wooden cork.

That champagne costs a fortune. The selling a kidney or two kind of fortune. Fortune that you will probably never reach in your lifetime to just blow away on champagne regularly.

"Yeah, it is," he smiled. "I asked the bartender for the best they had and it's safe to assume he delivered."

"And you want to drink that... with me?" you asked pointing between the bottle and yourself.

He nodded, busy fighting with the bottle. He almost had it open but the cork just needed a little shimmying. An idea seemed to pop into his head judging by the way he snickered at you.

"Wanna see a trick?"

"Sure."

He picked up one of the champagne glasses in the bucket and held the bottom to the mouth of the bottle. He wiggled it a little on its neck until he found the perfect balance, moved it back and thrusted it forwards with force.

You expected the glass to break and fly everywhere but that didn't happen. What did happen was that the cork flew towards the small waves washing up on the shore with a safe pop sound. The glass was unharmed and the bottle was at last open, cold steam escaping it.

Your mouth was hung open in surprise. So he has several tricks up his sleeve, besides the gentleman act.

Satisfied with your reaction at his trick, he smiled again, this time more widely. He poured you a glass first and handed it to you before pouring himself one.

"Happy new year, stranger," he smiled, tilting his glass to you.

"Happy new year, Zoro," you returned the smile and clinked your glasses together.

You sipped the champagne surprised at the taste. It had a rich apricot flavor, a little sweet but not too over the top. You took your time savouring it. Who knew when you would get to relish in luxury like this ever again so might as well enjoy it.

You leaned back watching the remaining firework display. He moved to get comfortable, leaning on his side with his head on his palm. He had your exposed back in full view. Your skin looked so soft that it took everything in him not to trace his fingers down your spine.

"You're an interesting man."

"So I've been told."

"You had me running circles around you for weeks, you know."

"I know," he swirled the liquid in his glass, staring at it. "I'm not exactly a pro on the dating field."

"You don't look like a beginner either," you said before throwing back the champagne in your glass down your throat for some more liquid courage.

"What about you?" he asked as he got up to pour you another glass. "Should I be wary of any male alphas that would like to smash my face for kissing you?"

You laughed heartily at that. He's been around you for half an hour at most and he already made you feel giddy inside.

"Nope, not a single soul. Main reason why I've been hanging around at the club more than I do around my own house."

That was an exaggeration but there was some truth in it. You did it hoping to find someone that you could connect with in some way. And you did, considering the green-haired man currently laying next to you. It was just a question of whether he felt that connection too.

"And I thought you were coming to see me."

"Of course I did!"

His eyes shot up from his glass just as you registered what you said. The blush on your face expanded and you probably looked like a tomato by now.

Stupid alcohol.

"Sure you did," he chuckled.

You leaned back to smack his chest and he threw his head back laughing at the sight of your red face. As annoyed as you felt, his laugh was quickly growing on you.

"Tease," you tsked.

"Can't help it," he scoffed with a tight-lipped smile, taking another sip from his glass.

"I guess it's good," you mumbled mostly to yourself.

"What's good?" he asked.

"Letting go of the past. Living in the present, as they say."

"Losing control every once in a while can do you good," he stated.

Maybe he was right. Maybe tonight wouldn't turn out so bad after all.

Watching the sea at night when it was the calmest, with the moonlight glimmering on the waves put you at ease. Just as much as the man beside you did right now.

You dove in the charcuterie platter, laying on the blanket with your heads propped on the cushions, talking about anything and everything. You learned more about him and the fact that he could handle a shit ton of alcohol seen as he was downing champagne glasses faster than you.

Telling him about yourself and what a shit year you've had in terms of dating to get him off your case a little was supposed to be just light-hearted banter. But he just took that as a sign to tease you more.

"How to lose a guy in 10 days was definitely made about you," he howled laughing, after you told him about one of your situationships.

"Really funny. As if you've seen the movie," you said, popping a grape in your mouth.

"Try me," he taunted, adjusting his position to sit above you.

You mentally searched the movie for a scene that was iconic but could have easily gone unnoticed. You found the perfect one. Suppressing your giggles to not give it away, you cleared your throat to get in character and recited the scene word for word.

"Little, big, little, big... I don't know... I guess we will find out!" You made the grabby hands and pulled on a silly face, embodying the character.

He sat thinking for a few moments until the colour drained from his face at the realization of what scene it was.

"I am not saying that line even if you shoot me."

"Come on. I did it so it's customary you do it too."

He face palmed, releasing a sigh of annoyance. He just had to put himself on the spot like that. But he was a man of his word.

Looking around for anyone that could possibly hear him and become a collateral victim, he let out an exasperated breath and got into character.

"You-You can't name my member... Princess Sophia."

You rolled around laughing as he dug his face in his cushion in shame. The look on his face was priceless and you decided to pay back his earlier teasing with even more teasing.

"I have a question."

"What now?" he mumbled, voice muffled by the blanket.

You got closer to him and tried to keep your laugh in as you whispered your question in his ear.

"Does your member have a name too?"

His head shot up, eyes squinting at you dangerously. The earlier embarrassment was gone from his face and if the twitch in his jaw wasn't a clear indicator that you were in deep shit, the hand gripping your cushion was a good sign that you should run away.

"You're so dead."

Before he could lay his hands on you, you got up and ran out towards the shoreline. He followed, rushing to catch up with you.

You lifted your dress a bit to avoid stepping on it and bolted as fast as you could. He almost had you when you took a turn to throw him off, running back to the spot your blanket was on.

"Catch me if you can," you laughed.

"There's nowhere for you to run."

"Watch me."

You slowed down on purpose, letting him get close to you again only to dash out back to the sea. The soft sand under your feet turned from smooth to damp and soon enough your feet were submerged in cold water. You thought he wouldn't follow you to avoid getting his clothes soaked but he proved you wrong again tonight.

He ran towards you at full speed and you really had nowhere else to run this time. The bottom of your dress got drenched, sticking to your legs the further you went in. The water only slowed you down, giving him the opportunity to catch up with you.

You were waist deep in the water when his hands sneaked around your middle pulling you to him. You tried to break free but it was no use. The grip he had around you was as strong as steel.

"Let me go."

"Only if you say sorry."

"What if I don't? You gonna make me?"

"Huh, so she's got guts too," he chuckled.

"Why don't you fuck around and find out just how gutsy I am?"

You refused to give in. Splashing water at him only made the grin on his face widen because he started tickling you. And everyone knew tickling was a low belt move. You roared with laughter thrashing around in his arms.

Suddenly, retreat sounded a lot better than being tickled to death.

"Okay! I'm sorry!"

"Are you really?"

"No, but stop tickling me."

Reluctantly, he let go of you. He knew you had a surprise attack in store. His suspicions were confirmed true when you ran behind him, trying to push him into the water. He lost his balance but he wasn't planning on going down alone, hand quickly clamping down on yours to pull you with him.

You gasped as the water enveloped you fully. Sitting back up, you were fully drenched. Most of your hair was wet too, water dripping out of it like you just stepped out of the shower. Zoro, on the other hand, was giggling at you like a fucking school girl proud of bullying her friends.

Annoyed with his antics, you turned around and walked back to the blanket, plopping yourself down. He walked out too, that devilish smirk plastered on his face.

He stopped in front of you. You tried to look away from him but you couldn't. Especially when his shirt was so soaked that it stuck to his body in a way that let you see all of his toned muscles.

"Like what you see?"

You snapped out of your delusions, putting your annoyed face back on.

"Go away," you waved him off.

A sudden gust of wind blew reminding you of just how exposed you were. You looked like a wet dog. Your dress was wet and stuck to you uncomfortably, increasing the cold seeping inside your body at a faster rate than you liked..

You let your hair down placing it around your neck to get some sort of warmth from the parts that weren't soaked. Covering your arms in an attempt to wash the cold away, the breeze only persisted, blowing even more harshly as if to spite you. Zoro noticed you shivering.

"Are you cold?"

Still irritated with him, you shook your head no. You didn't want his help after the stunt he pulled. But the way you held tightly onto your arms and rocked from side to side told him otherwise.

Out of nowhere, warmth enveloped you. You turned to see Zoro right behind you, hands on top of your shoulders to make his blazer jacket cover as much of your body as it could to keep you warm. It was big enough to look like a blanket on you. You sighed at the comfort, pulling it closer to snuggle into the warmth of the fabric, feeling some of the cold dissipate.

"It might be hot out here but it's still December."

"It's January now," you stated.

"Okay, smartass," he boomed.

The night sky got darker and stars twinkled brightly as you talked until you finished the bottle of champagne and the platter. As much as he liked to tease, you loved his company a lot. The more time you spent with him the more you wished tonight would never come to an end.

He suddenly got up from his spot beside you and went to stand in front of you. He scratched the back of his neck looking at you which made you confused until he spoke up about his intentions.

"May I have this dance?"

He extended his hand out to you and you hesitated. Not out of the nervousness you felt yourself, but in a ploy to push his buttons. He deserved a little more teasing after making you wait for it for so long.

"Come on. I told you I wasn't gonna let you leave without a dance."

The way he looked at you changed your playful plans. It looked like he was really trying to be more into it and you couldn't say no to those eyes.

"Okay," you gave in, letting your hand slip into his.

His eyes lit up like moon crescents as he pulled you up and brought you closer. This must have been the softer, drunken part of him.

"What about music?" you asked.

"Music?"

He moved from one side to the other until he settled on a spot a few feet away from the blanket, tugging you with him. You were about to question his actions when you heard it. The faint sound of music playing from the club mixed with the sound of the waves breaking at the edge of the shore. It wasn't too loud or too faint but just enough to be peaceful and rhythmic background noise.

"You're unbelievable, in a good way," you giggled. He just smiled at you like a fool, most likely gone on the bouts of alcohol induced giddiness.

He pulled you closer, one hand holding yours out while the other curled around your waist, similar to a fancy dancing pose. Stepping left and right he pulled you with him into something that resembled a very weird tangled waltz.

You danced a combination of everything. He twirled you around, bottom of your dress swirling around you. Then he spun you out and brought you back in to hold you close as your hands settled back on his shoulders. He even lifted you up like one of those ballerinas you see at the opera, paying attention not to drop you face forward in the sand like a true dancing partner. You couldn't deny you had chemistry.

Twisting you around again, he stopped to dip you down on your back, hands secured tightly around you. He leaned down to your face, just a small distance away from putting his lips on yours. You closed your eyes in anticipation, expecting him to kiss you.

You wanted to feel his lips against yours again, missing the way they fit just right with yours back at the club. But just when you thought he would kiss you, you felt his lips elsewhere on your face - in a small peck on your cheek.

He brought you back up and grinned as your cheeks flushed pink. You brought a hand up to your cheek to touch it, feeling the faint brush of his lips burn into your skin as you processed it. He took your hand away from your cheek and laced his fingers with yours, leading you into yet another dance.

It was ridiculous. You were dancing to faint tropical house music on the beach in the darkness of the night with no sense of rhythm. But the soft sand under your feet felt better than any rigid dance floor you've been on and your dance partner was gentler than anyone you've ever danced with. You wouldn't trade this for the world.

The side effects of all the alcohol you drank was slowly kicking in and thankfully, the pace of your swaying got slower. You laid your head on his chest and let him rock you back and forth, listening to the beating of his heart that was more music to you than anything else.

"Thank you."

"What for?" he asked, looking down at your small form in his arms.

"For tonight," you sighed. "I haven't felt this good in a while."

"You're welcome," he said softly.

He was still trying to process things himself, mostly the fact that he was finally holding you after playing hooky for so long. You curled up closer searching for more warmth in his arms and he couldn't help but smile at you once more. It wasn't like him to show his inner happiness to people, but it seemed like his smiles were limitless for you.

The high of the alcohol you consumed was long gone, replaced by a drowsy feeling overtaking your senses. The music stopped playing telling you it was way too late for the world to keep going at it. All you could hear were the waves lapping each other in close distance, accompanied by a peaceful silence and the soft breaths coming from your human pillow.

You cuddled into him, sighing at the warmth he radiated. An arm was draped around you, drawing random patterns on your back that lulled you even more towards sleep though you didn't want to give into it just yet.

His other hand busied with yours, tracing up and down your fingers one by one. He turned them on all sides, then moved to your knuckles, inspecting each ridge and mound, each fading scar evidence of your rebel childhood. Once he was satisfied with his findings he intertwined your fingers together, bringing them closer to his chest.

Your hand looked so frail in his bigger one, encased like a precious jewel in a locked treasure chest with a lost key. But that key wasn't lost. It was just waiting to be found. Just like the latch on the hotel in your heart was waiting to be put back on the door by a person who wanted to stay all year around. Could he be that person for you?

He was the only thing turning in the tides of this endless night and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. Meeting him felt like some kind of blessing was bestowed upon you. Like all the pain of the previous year and the endless waiting was finally rewarded the way it was written to happen from the start.

By the looks of it he felt that connection too. It might have been just a one night adventure but only your sober minds could decide that in the fast approaching morning. But for now, being in each other's presence was enough to calm the tempest that's been swirling in your heart for so long.

He noticed you doze off when your head felt a little heavier on his chest. Taking his eyes off the sea and the few boats popping up and down the waves in the distance, he looked at you. Your cheeks turned a rosy shade, most likely from the amount of booze you had. They puffed up against his chest, light snores escaping through your opened lips. There was a little trail of drool pooling at the edge of your lower lip. He chuckled and wiped it away, making a mental note to tease you about it when you wake up.

Truth is that he's been waiting around for you all night back at the club. Time was flowing way too slow and his patience was running thin. But once you finally walked through the door his inner clocks froze over. His breath got caught in his throat, so much that he couldn't find it in himself to make a move to you yet again.

So, he just watched you from his usual spot, hoping he could get some liquid courage if he drank a little before coming to you. But he wasted way too much time wallowing in self-pity.

When you got your things and slammed the glass on the table enraged, he knew you were about to leave. If he let you leave back then he was sure he wouldn't be able to face you again. So he finally made a move to you, running through the crowd to catch you.

The fact that you were now tucked safely in his arms, wearing his jacket, told him he made a move at the right time. Who knew what other man would've stolen you away if he waited for too long. Or if he ever got to see you again.

From what you told him, he could sense how much you craved to find someone. To stop opening up to people who didn't even want to hear about anything other than bodily pleasure. Because he craved a deeper connection with someone too. He was just bad at showing it most of the time.

"I'm so glad you didn't settle," he whispered, laying a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

He spent the remainder of the night watching over you, until the dark sky turned into the early haze of dawn. He closed his eyes for a bit, waiting for you to wake up and unknowingly, he doze off in the comfort of feeling you close.

The comfort you were wrapped in was so cozy that you found it hard to open your eyes. Once you did, you took in your surroundings, surprised to see the green-haired man still at your side. The longer edges of the blanket were wrapped around the both of you, providing some warmth in the early morning breeze.

You half expected him to leave you here on the beach. To wake up and think of it as just another drunken night out that others normally wanted to take back. But he didn't.

You looked towards the sea. The previously dark night sky that was illuminated by the glow of the moon was now a myriad of orange and pink. It was brighter than any sunrise you've ever seen.

The start of a new beginning, you smiled to yourself.

The sun was still on his way to fully light up the sky, but the rays were already bouncing off the waves in glimmering gold and the sea looked so crystalline and blue, like you were watching a movie scene unfold before you.

Turning back to the man beside you, you took your time taking him in. He was sound asleep judging by the way his chest rose up and down slowly and had one arm under his head, propping it higher than the cushion could. The other one was still wrapped around you, in the same position you remembered it to be before you fell asleep. Small chimes came from his golden earrings as they dangled on the breeze of the wind.

He looked so at peace, a close-mouthed smile on his lips. The urge to lift your hand and trace the outlines of those lips grew the more you looked at them.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer," he spoke, taking you by surprise. His voice was way deeper than last night, resounding a little raspy in your half-asleep ears.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Enough to feel you staring at me like I'm made from tempered glass."

"I wasn't staring."

"Sure you weren't."

"Okay, you caught me."

His eyes crinkled in pride at getting you to admit it before opening up to look at you.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, a hint of amusement present in his voice.

"I slept fine," you replied, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.

He looked too pleased with himself in the early hours of the morning. As if he knew something you didn't.

"Did I do something weird in my sleep?"

"I wouldn't say weird. But I'm glad you were comfortable enough to do it with me," he smirked.

What the fuck did I do? Did I snore? Did I kick him? Wait. He said I did something with him. Did we do something like-

Your eyes widened as the thought crossed your mind. The look on his face could only say that you did exactly what you thought you did.

"DID WE FUCK?" you whisper shouted.

His grin just widened and he started laughing hysterically, slapping the sand beside him like a maniac.

"Why are you laughing- YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

"Your face! That was priceless."

The daggers you were throwing at him told him you weren't in the mood for ridicule you this early in the morning. Too bad he had other plans.

"But you did do something."

"JUST TELL ME ALREADY," you shouted, getting ready to strangle him.

He seemed deep in thought on whether he should tell you.

"What are you willing to do for this important information?"

The way he wiggled his eyebrows at you told you he wanted to negotiate some terms first, as if he was withholding national secrets or some shit.

"I'll do anything," you sighed, playing along with him.

"Anything?"

"Zoro, I swear to god I'm going to put my foot through your face."

"All it takes is one kiss."

"One kiss? What are you, five?"

"Rules are rules. Kiss or I'm not telling you."

Your tongue poked your cheek in annoyance as you looked out at the sea debating your choices.

You could either run away and live with the humiliation that you'll never know what you did that had him make fun of you this bad. Or you could just humour him and find out what it was quicker. The latter seemed like the better choice.

"Okay, fine."

You decided to go for a kiss on the cheek, to pay him back for the almost kiss he gave you while dancing. You leaned down to him, cheek in your direct line of sight. You were about to plant the quickest peck on it when he moved his face so your lips landed on his instead.

They tasted like a glass of freshly opened champagne, just like the one you drank with him last night. You felt him smile against your lips, holding onto the nape of your neck to pull you closer. When he was satisfied enough with his kiss, he let go of you and you separated, breaths fanning each other.

"Are you gonna tell me now?"

"Did you know you drool in your sleep?"

"I DID WHAT-"

"There was like a whole lot of it on my shirt. Like a newborn baby's."

You burried your head in his side, trying to hide the blush rising on your cheeks. He just laughed at you squeezing you closer.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. I think it was adorable."

"You're just saying that," you mumbled.

"I mean it."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

He moved away from you and you thought he got up. Turning your gaze upwards you found him standing above you, hands on either side of you.

The playfulness in his eyes was exchanged for dark eyes staring down at you with hunger. The smirk on his lips told you that nothing remotely good passed through his mind at the moment and it made you gulp.

He leaned down to you and your breath hitched. No man made you this nervous before and you didn't even do anything together to feel this way. Like you sinned a thousand sins or something.

His lips brushed your ear, chest almost pressing against yours.

"Am I making you nervous?"

"Yeah. No. I don't know."

He looks like a sculpture and I'm supposed to not get turned on by it? Yeah, right.

He took you by surprise pressing his lips on the side of your neck. It made you forget where you were in the first place, mind entirely focused on the fluttering feeling he instilled in you. He moved the kisses all the way down to your jaw, with the goal of getting to your lips.

Just before you could feel them again, your stomach grumbled loudly interrupting your moment. Turns out the flutters were from being hungry.

"You have great timing," he shook his head at you.

"It's not my fault I'm hungry."

"Then, how about we grab something to eat?"

"I would love that."

He sat up and helped you up, starting to gather the stuff that needed to be taken back to the club in the bucket. You grabbed your heels, putting your arms through the sleeves of his jacket. Once you had everything you started making your way back.

"I'm craving seafood," you recommended. "What do you wanna eat?"

"You."

"EWW DONT SAY THAT."

"I'm joking."

"I am never kissing randos on new year's ever again."

"Only if I can become the only rando you kiss on every new year's."

"You're impossible," you smiled.

"Only for you."

Part 2

Thank you for reading! As always, comments, likes and reblogs are welcome :)

#roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #opla zoro #one piece #one piece x reader #i don't know about you but i am wrecked after this one

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woonhakist · 6 months

Text

your only girl

synopsis — you see karina as your own personal aphrodite on earth—arguably even more alluring than the goddess herself—but you could never imagine her knowing that.

pairing — yoo jimin x fem!reader

genre — fluff, angst

warnings — one-sided pining(?), the infamous nail painting scenario, mostly just best friend!karina things (but y/n is horrendously down bad), kinda ambiguous ending

word count — 2.3k

notes — i finally did it…..after suddenly feeling the urge to write this for her, i came out with this 🙏 enjoy!

“what color do you want?” karina asked, fanning out her shimmering, ruby-painted nails. her gaze was glued onto her hands, pure satisfaction in her expression.

“whatever color you want, rina,” you responded, giggling through your words at her intentionally over-exaggerated awe towards her freshly colored nails. “i don’t mind.”

“ooh! okay,” karina clasped her hands together excitedly, tucking her long, shiny black hair behind her ear before digging through the nail polish bin beside her. “i’ll find the best color for you, just wait.”

you hummed in acceptance, staring down as you pressed your palms onto karina’s silky sheets. you silently envisioned different colors on your bare nails, the entire rainbow cycling through your head: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, then purple; all of them over, and over, and over again.

suddenly breaking your color-filled trance, you brought your eyes back up to karina, being met with her nauseatingly gorgeous side profile. you swallowed heavily, your cheeks heating up. instinctively, your hands met each other, taking turns wringing the other hand’s fingers.

there wasn’t a single ounce of makeup on her skin, yet she still had the face of a goddess. she radiated a type of energy that never failed to reel you in, it was like you were eternally hooked on her line. you thought she was above every standardly beautiful face; not even aphrodite could touch her.

“i think i found one,” karina announced, pulling out a thin bottle of shimmery, dull pink nail polish. she shook it gently between her index finger and thumb, smiling widely. “we can match!”

you smiled back at her, your heart pounding. “i have no complaints, that color’s so pretty!”

no amount of times you called something ‘pretty’ could equate to the amount of times you wished you could call her beautiful. even though you already found yourself saying it tons of times, you wanted to say it in contexts that weren’t just complimenting her pictures or makeup.

“even if you did have complaints, i’d still put this on you,” karina joked, beginning to prep the nail polish for painting. “it’s gonna look so good, promise!”

as much as you’d like to be, you weren’t even close to being the only one who thought karina was heaven sent. she was the type of girl that was adored by every passerby and classmate she came across; she was completely the type of girl to be the one you’d see first in a crowd of people.

you couldn’t even fully count the amount of admirers she had on two entire sets of hands. as far as you remembered, nearly every boy in your classes had their heart beating for her. valentine’s days for her were far beyond eventful, and the school’s dance seasons were even worse.

she got far more attention than you ever did, but you never minded; you could barely even care to recall admirers of your own. her attention was the only attention you had ever really wanted; she was enough. you never wanted to be her or be like her, you wanted to be with her.

“give me your hand, y/n,” karina spoke, interrupting your thoughts. she had her own hand out, palm up, patiently waiting for yours.

as soon as you reached your hand out to her, she took it into a gentle grip into her own soft, pretty hand. the pads of her fingers tickled your palm and the back of your hand, awkwardly trying to find the least awkward position to paint your nails. she extended your arm out a little bit more; assumedly for comfort while she worked.

she took the lid-brush out and carefully balanced the topless bottle on the sheets beside her, playing a dangerous game of ‘will it’ or ‘won’t it’ fall with the polish. you let your eyes linger on the bottle for a few seconds, monitoring it as karina carefully shifted in her spot.

“whatever! if it falls over, i can just have you help me wash the blankets,” karina giggles, eyes on your nails. she finally begins to paint the first coat, the cold feeling of the polish spreading through your finger.

you watched her watch your hand, admiring her in the same way everybody else does. you like to think that you do it better, but you know that you don’t. if you did, you knew that karina would have some sort of suspicion, and you didn’t want that.

as much as you didn’t want to be like everybody else, you wanted a special life with karina. you wanted to be what she considered to be her type; her standard. you wanted to be like the boys on the football team that she gawked over, swooning every time and time again. you wanted to be what she wanted, but you couldn’t.

“so, find any new crushes or anything?” karina pried, her voice gradually rising in pitch as she spoke. “you were talking about jaemin from physics earlier, what’s that about?”

you rolled your eyes, sighing at her. “no, nothing new, as per usual. jaemin’s not my type, either—and before you ask why, don’t! i’m just not into him!”

karina laughed and you soon followed her lead, trying your best to keep your hand still for her. she held the polish brush away from your hand as she laughed, but you didn’t want to smudge any of her work.

“so, what is your type, then?” karina settled down, her eyes following as she continued to paint. she was nothing near professional, but you’d pick her over picasso any day. “i don’t think you’ve ever really told me.”

“that’s because i don’t think i really even have one,” you lied, staring at your type right in front of you. “i thought you knew that?”

“well, yeah,” karina tilted her head down and back up, smiling awkwardly. “but, i mean, you can change your mind?”

“that definitely won’t happen anytime soon,” you laughed, and karina fake pouted. she looked up at you, and you could feel your heart skip a couple beats.

“i want to see you all lovey-dovey with someone!” karina gushed, leaning forward for dramatic effect. you laughed for what felt like the hundredth time. “it’s normal for people to want to see their best friend happy like that!”

she only wanted you in the way you didn’t want her to; friendly. you knew it was better than growing apart because of a potential confession from you, but you couldn’t stop your chest from burning every time she talked about someone else romantically. you wanted her to talk about you like that.

“i don’t know, rina,” you shook your head, speaking with purposely amplified uncertainty. “the time will come when it’ll come.”

there was a beat of silence before karina suddenly bursted out laughing, acting as if you said the greatest joke ever told. “wow! how beautifully spoken, y/n. who knew the time would come when it comes?”

you dropped your jaw, instantaneously hunching over to act offended. “hey, i was shakespeare’s ghostwriter in my past life!”

“yeah, right!” karina refuted, leaning forward as her laughter consumed her entire body. “you barely passed english last year!”

she struggled to get her words out as much as you struggled to process them. yours and her laughter was all that you were able to focus on, and it was almost like the pounding beat of your heart was completely inaudible. it was moments like this where you could almost forget how you felt—almost.

in the midst of her laughing fit, karina suddenly squeezed your hand, consequently snapping you back into the moment. your heartbeat rose back up to your throat, replacing your breathtaking laughter. you began to blink at karina slowly, feeling your skin heat up under her grip.

you watched her calm down as you internally did the complete opposite, feeling like you were bound to explode from the heat bubbling up inside your chest. karina put her “free” hand over her own chest, making sure she kept the nail brush away from her shirt.

“jesus christ,” karina breathed out, her last laughs fizzling out. “i swear, i can only laugh like this when i’m with you!”

“i’m not even that funny!” you grin widely, karina returning the smile without a second thought. “maybe the nail polish fumes got to you.”

“stop! you’re gonna make me laugh again,” karina whined, rolling her head back in faux annoyance. “i don’t know, i think it’s just your effect on me.”

you froze. you knew she didn’t mean it in the way you were interpreting it as, but hearing those words from her did something to you. your insides felt like they did a complete turnover, flipping the ‘in’ to the ‘out’ during the process.

“what are you talking about, now?” you questioned, trying your best to sound teasing instead of troubled.

karina shook her head, giving you a gentle smile before continuing to paint your nails. “you know how i like, love you more than life, right? i’m pretty sure that has something to do with it.”

you took a long pause before scoffing lightly, trying to choke down everything that was suddenly fighting to come up to the surface. “why so sentimental all of a sudden?”

karina didn’t respond, opting for finishing your first hand instead. aside from the occasional sniffle, she looked concentrated. her eyebrows were furrowed and her shoulders were tense; you would’ve thought time stopped for a second if it wasn’t for her lax painting.

karina bit her lip lightly, her mouth morphing into a small smile. “switch hands—be careful with the polish, though.”

she let go of your painted hand, and you simultaneously gave her your other one. you took a look at your freshly colored nails, satisfied with the way the pink looked on you. the shimmer was just right, as well, almost catching the light in the same way it caught karina’s eyes.

“you were right, rina. this color looks super nice,” you commented, in awe with your own hand. you weren’t sure if you were in love with the nails or the fact that karina was the one that painted them—probably both.

“what’d i tell you? you have to trust me!” karina scolded, a smile growing on her face for the millionth time. “it shouldn’t need a second coat, either; this polish is just perfect!”

you didn’t know how she could call something perfect when she herself was beyond it. “yeah, it is.”

karina began to repeat her nail-polishing cycle; reshaking the bottle, readying the brush, steadying the bottle on the sheets, adjusting your hand, then finally painting. it was a slow, peaceful minute of silence, letting you bask in the comforting presence of your best friend.

“you never answered my question,” you blurted out before you knew it, breaking the silence.

“what question?” karina mumbled, not completely present in the conversation.

you shook your head, already regretting what you said. “nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

“no, tell me,” karina insisted, glancing up at you then back down.

the watered-down mood would’ve felt uncomfortable to you, but since it was karina, you found yourself smiling. “i was just wondering why you suddenly got so sappy earlier.”

“oh, that,” you could see karina’s silent laugh, her shoulders bouncing lightly. “i don’t know, i just can’t help it; i feel so comfortable around you—i trust you more than anything, y/n.”

you felt a pang in your chest as soon as you heard the word trust; something you knew couldn’t apply to you at all. it felt so wrong; you were lying—keeping such a huge secret from her—yet you were allowed her unquestioned trust.

she lived out her life with you believing that all you thought of her was that of a best friend, but it was so much more. you knew how you felt, but you also knew you could never let karina find out. you practically betrayed her every day, but you didn’t think you could ever bring yourself to come clean to her—even if you knew she deserved it more than anything.

the best you could do was pretend—pretend you weren’t head-over-heels for the beautiful girl who called you her best friend; your only girl. the most you could do was try for her; you didn’t want to know what would happen if you didn’t. you did everything for her as much as you did it for yourself, but no matter who you did it for, the consequences were all the same.

“did that answer your question?” karina interrupted, bringing you out of your thoughts. she was looking up into your eyes now, her charmingly kind expression resting on her face.

“yeah, it did,” you responded shakily, nodding your head. to your relief, karina didn’t seem to notice your nerves, happily moving on to her next topic.

“okay, good!” she let go of your hand, and you almost tried to chase her touch as she pulled back, reluctantly settling for letting her slip away. she frantically picked up the open polish bottle then carefully screwed its top back on, looking straight at you. “i finally finished painting your nails; do you like them, or do you love them?”

she was almost too excited, her pure joy giving her a picture-perfect girlish look. her clear delight was infectious, subconsciously making you mirror her expression. you found it all too hard to not be overly captivated by her, and this time around, you didn’t even think about fighting it. you couldn’t even look at your nails; all you saw was her.

“i absolutely love them,” you admitted, your eyes only seeing karina.

#woonhakist #yoo jimin #yoo jimin x reader #jimin x reader #karina x reader #karina angst #karina fluff #karina au #karina imagines #karina scenarios #aespa #aespa x reader #aespa angst #aespa fluff #aespa au #aespa imagines #aespa scenarios

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the-s1lly-corner · 5 months

Note

This is a silly request you don't have to do it or don't have to do it now

TADC crew having to take care of a very sleepy kid reader

Like this kid just falls asleep in the most random places that are sometimes dangerous probably giving people parental/sibling panic as they try to get the sleeping kid out of danger as the kid is oblivious to the world around them

TADC cast x very sleepy kid!reader (platonic!)

UEUEUEUE gonna answer a few requests then imma go ahead and start cooking tonight's dinner yahoo!!

Sorry that stuff has been slowing down a lot lately, between being sick last week and getting a ton of baking orders to deal with after recovering, I've been a little pressed for time and energy <\3

CAINE:

Good news for your safety, reader! Caine keeps all his eyes on you and watches you like a hawk! hes already pulling you to a safe place to sleep when you so much as yawn; perhaps even getting a digital cloud to hover around so you can sleep on it.. hell even if he cant get a cloud he might summon a bunch of bubbles to carry you around

Baby harness

He carries you in one of those/j

POMNI:

Easily one of the most panicked when she sees you curled up and sleeping in the middle of a chaotic IHA, tries to scramble towards you. You know those tropes in cartoons where a character has a fragile person/object they're trying to protect at all costs and it leads to the character doing the protecting getting all beat up? That's basically you and pomni, I think

You wake up and ask why she looks like she just got zapped by lightning

RAGATHA:

Always keeps you within arms length when she realizes just how sleepy you are all the time; perhaps even offers to carry you when you're feeling a little tired. Really with ragatha theres a little risk of you falling asleep in a random area. I think the only reason you may end up in a dangerous situation is if she needed someone else to look over you briefly

Just know that if this ever happens she will never let the one who was meant to be responsible for you live it down

Cough cough jax or maybe even zooble

JAX:

Unlike the above, if he were responsible for you in a general sense he would feel far more panicked than if he was playing babysitter. That's not to say he wouldnt panic if he was put in charge of you by someone else and you fell asleep somewhere. No he still would... but he feels a new level of guilt if youre *his kid*

As mentioned in the reader w/ crutches post he has a habit of zooming off and doing his own thing especially if it's for a new prank idea he came up with

So theres a chance he sometimes impulsively runs off. Like he gets better at it overtime as he becomes more responsible, buuuut...

Shakes you awake and tries to walk you to your room

Lightly scolds you but really I think hes more so beating himself up... just redirecting the blame.. again, jax is still trying to be more responsible with things.. not perfect yet, of course

GANGLE:

KINGER:

Keeps you at arms length AND in his sight at all times because 1. Hes a father and 2. Hes so so scared that something is going to happen to you, especially given your sleepy nature. Offers to let you snuggle into the soft fluff of his robe when you're feeling a little tired. You have probably fell asleep standing up while leaning into the fur. Very silly

This poor man nearly has a heart attack when he sees you asleep and in harm's way, but oddly enough I think it would make something "snap" in him and he immediately comes to your rescue. If he gets hit or struck by anything he just. Takes it and keeps going

Dad powers, I guess

Very determined to get to you probably doesnt let himself feel his feelings and panic until long after the events of the IHA are over, I think... starts fretting over you

ZOOBLE:

If you're their kid/sibling then they might just take you with them when they decide to skip a IHA, since zooble seems to not enjoy them in the pilot. So good news here, you're unlikely to be in any real danger when zooble is looking after you! When they're not doing a group thing and in the common area, they just stick to their room.... so they probably let you sleep in their bed!

Good ending here folks

Forgot to mention this in ragathas part but I think both her and gangle try to figure out why you're so sleepy, and perhaps try to find a solution aside from simply letting you sleep it off. I mean obviously neither of them would ban you from napping, buuuut

...well it's a digital body, could there really be any deeper stuff going on aside you just being tired?

Anyways

Her comedy mask literally pops off and breaks when she sees you just sleeping in the middle of the floor during all the chaos. Tries to get you out of harm way but it ends up in her also getting hurt, similar to pomni

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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lovely-lying-loveable-liar · 7 months

Note

Request: I can sooooooo see Hasan having a breeding kink. Like he’s so possessive and a show off, loved pointing out that Austin was wearing his jewelry at the Streamies, I can just imagine how proud and possessive he is knowing he got you pregnant.

Plus you’d look so gorgeous carrying his baby, he’s LOVING all the body changes you’re going through and would literally just worship you.

So something soft and smutty, even just foreplay and being intimate and close together.

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

OBVIOUSLY!!! HAVE U SEEN HIM?!

Ugh…

TO BEGIN

He definitely makes u wear his rings during sex

And they’re too big for your fingers because he’s MASSIVE

But he’s like

“Keep them safe for me, yeah? They mean a lot to me.”

In the sweetest voice

So how could you not? Having to clench your fists so they don’t fall off…

ik we all probably think of Hasan being on the rougher side

Which is definitely true for when you guys are having your regular sex

But when he’s solely set on knocking you up he’s so gentle and romantic about it…

He tracks your cycle, obviously

Plans around the day you’re most fertile

He’s streaming as usual, before one day of each month, he’s just GONE.

No internet presence, no texts, no calls, nothing.

He disappears so completely even the FBI would struggle to get in contact with him.

Just so he can be completely focused on you!!! <3

Missionary all fucking day

Like…

Literally…

All fucking day

Fucking all day

Puts a pillow under your hips

Has a plug ready to go

Gets really sensual with it

Lights tons of candles

Pink lights

Will tie your hands together with ribbon above your head

FIXATED on BOOBA

He can’t not touch, tug, pull, suck, pinch, kiss…

Especially with the aim of the day

There’s just something about your boobs that make him FUCKING fall in love all over again <3

To the main course,

He works on a schedule

Wake up - 6:00am (early, but he has to)

Wake you up with breakfast in bed - 6:30am

Fuck - 7:00 to 8:00

Relax - 8:00 to 8:30

Fuck - 8:30 to 9:30

Relax, etc., etc.

Makes sure to fill you up at least twice every hour!

If you guys have to go out after fucking, he’ll be smiling like a fucking idiot knowing that his cum is nestled in you, doing its job.

And that nobody even knows! But they will know soon!!!

Gets even more sad than you when all the tests come back negative

Until

FINALLY

It happens!

And he’s over the moon about it!

He gets so fucking excited, immediately planning what the nursery will look like and buying you CUTE maternal clothes (none of those basic maternal clothes, no no no, you’re gonna be fashionable while pregnant, that’s for fucking sure!!!)

Completely stocks up on your favourite food!

One day, during your fourth month, you wake up to his head on your chest and his hand rubbing your tummy

You say “I’m not even showing yet, what you’re rubbing is my food baby.”

And he gets SO huffy with you

That’s HIS BABY right there ma’am!!!

Oh god…

Thinking of going to the fucking streamies with him like this…

In your sixth month, he’s already SO PROTECTIVE

Literally follows you around like a bodyguard, making sure people stay AT LEAST two feet away from you, no touching the belly without permission, throwing even his BEST FRIENDS stink eyes if they look at you for too long…

But also

You take a pic before going to the venue…

It’s a full length mirror pic…

Your dress is FUCKING AMAZING, with two slits in it…

But…

Kneeling at your feet is Hasan, in his suit, hugging your leg while you play with his hair and he looks up at you like you quite literally MADE the universe.

People go feral for that pic <3 <3 <3

Oh and you thought he loved your tits before?

Now they’ve grown and gotten heavy with milk?

LITERALLY DEVOTED TO BOOBA

He can NOT get enough!!!

Staring at them all the time

Sometimes will just get you to flash him so he can get that little boost of serotonin he needs <3

You get so round <3

And he’s like

So curvy, he wants to EAT YOU

If you keep the weight after giving birth

God

Fucking

Save

You

He’s SO fucking feral for it

Ugh

Anyways

I’ve got work to do

Buh BYE!!! <3

#hasanabi smut #hasanabi x reader #hasan piker smut #hasan piker x reader

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alithographica · 1 year

Text

Re: Redbubble & Alternatives

Redbubble is doing some nonsense and I've deleted my account. I barely bothered with it anyway, was mostly there for people who've asked for specific images as posters.

Anyway in doing that I sacrificed the $4.35 that was still sitting in my earnings. They only let you cash out at $20, so rather than drum up sales and therefore make Redbubble more money, I'm gonna do what I feel is $4.35 in anti-publicity for them. 🥳

tl;dr there are new fees that hurt artist income at all sales levels. Redbubble is either looking to cut costs and raise profits for funsies, or is in serious financial trouble.

About the new fees:

Redbubble offers their services to artists by allowing artists to control their profit margin above a certain baseline manufacturing fee. This was pretty cool! There's now an additional fee that will be charged starting May 1, 2023. It is not an upfront fee that requires you to pay out of pocket, but it does directly cut your profit margin. How badly? Well...

By Redbubble's own example, if in one month you sell $300 in products that you had set at a 25% margin, you'd previously earn $75. Under the new structure, that earnings level means you pay a $28 fee, so you will now be paid $47. That $28 represents a 37% cut off what you were supposed to earn.

There's a full fee table in that link, but other highlights include a $1 fee if you earned $2 (aka 50%!) and big sellers who'd expect to take home $400 will now receive $320 (an $80 fee, 20%).

It also puts you in a weird spot that earning $1 more in a month may bump you to the next tier, causing you to actually take home less money. Make $1 more, end up losing $11. Make it make sense. 🤨

About the new tiers:

Each shop is evaluated and labeled Standard, Premium, or Pro. Premium and Pro shops are not subject to the new fees, but there's no clarity on how to move from one tier to another. Redbubble says it's under your control but it's clearly not. Many artists are reporting that they have accounts with next to no sales that have been labeled Pro, and accounts with thousands of annual sales that are labeled Standard.

Action items:

Look, I'm not gonna tell other artists that they have to close their shops, or tell buyers not to buy from Redbubble if your favorite artists have chosen to stay. What you do with the above info is up to you.

What I will say is that many artists are leaving because the new pay structure sucks. I encourage people who buy from Redbubble to expand their support to other sites.

Attrition is arguably their goal here—they know people will leave over this, and that'll probably lower their costs and lower competition for the remaining accounts. But goodwill is lost easily and they're playing a dangerous game on betting how many stay vs. leave. I'm out.

Feel free to leave your feedback on Redbubble's feedback form here, but it feels slightly like yelling into the void.

Alternatives:

tbh I don't have a good read on things. If you do know of any recommended (or unrecommended) print-on-demand sites, speak up!

I will say that as of now (April 2023), based on my research:

🟢 INPRNT sounds like a winner if your game is art prints and stickers. Does not have any wearable products like t-shirts.

🟡 Etsy + Printify/Printful might be viable? Etsy always had higher profit margins than POD marketplaces, but it's a bit more work and they also do weird things occasionally. Also has a listing fee so if you're the type to upload a ton of designs, pricey.

🔴 Teepublic is owned by Redbubble. Doesn't have the tier/new fee structure as of now but might be imminent. Have also heard their customer service sucks.

🔴 Society6 is going to charge artists shipping costs, and there's going to be a (mandatory?) subscription service launched in the fall, so that's not a winner anymore either.

#redbubble #art advice #artist advice #artist resources #artists on tumblr

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throwingmetothelions · 10 months

Text

NSFW ALPHABET - Noah Sebastian

I’m once again reminding you because some of y’all don’t seem to understand and it’s making my fucking eye twitch … THESE ARE THEORIES. I know that some of you are younger, and you are new to how fandoms operate, but the whole point of this is to make a compilation of theories about someone based on content that is free floating in the fandom. The information that I’ve been given by people in private is never something that you will ever see me actually write about, so don’t think it is. NONE OF THIS WAS FOUND BY DIGGING OR PRYING (THE TWO ACTIVITIES SOME OF YALL CANNOT STAY AWAY FROM). This shit is theories and personal beliefs based off things we have as a fandom. Do not fuck it up for everyone by accusing anyone of prying. Do not ask me questions about unrelated shit. Do not ask me to answer your thoughts and concerns. ANYWAYS HERE YA GO BESTIES.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Noah is the one with the forethought to go ahead and grab a dirty t-shirt and keep it by the side of the bed. There’s probably already water he was drinking, and that’s gonna have to be good enough lol mans will check up on you, but if you’re looking for full blown mushy romance book level aftercare? Yeah, it doesn’t live here.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Noah is clearly working hard on his physical appearance. From what I can see there was a lot of bulking going on, but we see big ass muscles in those arms. He’s very proud of that. Noah isn’t the type to get transfixed and brain-dumb over something, but I feel like he likes legs. Likes the way they wrap around him, and the way they bend when he pushes someone’s knees back when he’s fucking them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Oh boy. Has absolutely tried his own a few times out of pure curiosity. Tries his best to just jerk off in a shower so he doesn’t have to clean anything up, but he’ll wipe it away with something out of the dirty laundry bin. The man literally liked a meme regarding this so I KNOW I’m RIGHT when I say he wants to cum in you and he wants it so deep it doesn’t come back out. He doesn’t even want to see it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has an obsession with panties and I mean this in the “if yours go disappearing please go bang on his door” way. There’s something about the way they feel, all the colors and patterns (this stupid nerd would buy you Naruto panties and I hate that). Like he would jerk off with them wrapped around his dick and send you pictures about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s pretty experienced, but I don’t think it’s in the way you all think. You can have so much casual sex and not really be learning a ton, ya know? Like if all you’re getting are random quick hookups for the most part … how experienced are you actually? That being said - he’s ABSOLUTELY the type to have read up on and researched techniques just to keep in his back pocket.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Ha. Ha. Hahaha. I’m laughing because he has a Mars in Sagittarius, so this is going a few ways. He likes to be spontaneous when he has time, so anytime you say “hey do you wanna try …” THAT is his new favorite position. Immediately. The frankness and the roughhousing that comes with that says he would play wrestle until you were no longer playing, and your hands were held above your head while his big ass body all but put you through the actual mattress. So.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Goofy?!? He’s too goddamn nervous to be goofy what do you MEAN. His heart is about to thump out of his chest because, if like most women you wait for him to make the first move, he’s so fucking shy about it. He would definitely appreciate it if you laughed off things like him getting ahead of himself or making a funny noise when you switch positions though because it works as an icebreaker.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He trims it all up. I know he does not have a ton of hair everywhere, but obviously when someone has a lot of tattoos, you can no longer truly see the amount of hair they have on their body. His legs are actually a lot hairier than you think, and he has a happy trail, so I think he just trims it all up.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Oh, it’s Noah’s time to shine. If you give him a reason to be he could be SO romantic. This bastard is an artist. He is a writer. He can set a vibe unlike any other man you’ve ever met (and I swear to god the LED lights are involved unfortunately). If it’s slowing down that you need … Noah’s got you. Neck kisses, eye contact … just please don’t expect it every time. You would absolutely have to tell him ahead of time.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I actually firmly believe that he used to not jack off a lot, but now that he’s working out and his stamina has increased he probably does it a little more now. Likes the way his rings and bracelet feel when they touch his dick. Doesn’t make too much noise, but he’s a big lip biter. As we said, likes to do it in showers, so after they play which is also when he’s sweaty and full of adrenaline.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

What we’re not gonna do right now is get into the Mommy Issues ™️, and I think if you asked him to call you that he would tell you to get the fuck out (I’m serious) BUT … he could absolutely fall asleep with your nipple in his mouth. Like as a comfort thing. He would ABSOLUTELY ask to watch a show with you and slowly and wordlessly unzip your hoodie and take one of your boobs out and just kinda hang out there in the quiet dark while he sucks away and THAT is actually a kink. I do not take criticism thanks.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He loves him a good risk, but not if people he knows could be involved. Like he’ll wanna fuck at your house because he really doesn’t want Jolly to hear you, but if it was a bunch of strangers at a bar he wouldn’t think twice about fucking you in the bathroom. He also really loves the bed honestly. Mans is a big ol lazy bear after he comes and he definitely wants to pass the fuck out after yall go at it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you in his bands merch gets his dick absolutely rock solid. We aren’t gonna talk about the narcissist streak he has (I also do not take criticism on this because believe me it’s there), but seeing you in a shirt that barely covers your ass AND has his bands name on it is too much. Also, running your hands over his chest? I feel this one in my bones dude I just know that this makes him feel some sort of way.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Noah wouldn’t actually ever involve one of the direct members of the band into a threesome. I’M SORRY. TRUST ME THATS NOT GONNA STOP ME FROM READING THE FICS AND HAVING MY SILLY LITTLE THEORIES BUT he just wouldn’t. Too close. He would, however, tag in Davis, Kodi or Jesse and I know you bitches wouldn’t complain about that. Again, please god don’t pull the mommy card on him. With this one, I see it being something like he’s either immediately going to tell you that he can’t do this at all now, or he’s going to do it, but then he’s going to feel some type of way after, and it’s actually really going to affect him. He’s going to get inside his head and have a meltdown.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s a giver. I’m the one that gave you that post. I’m the one that one of his exs contacted. I don’t know a lot about all the things in the world, but I know a little something in this department. Noah eats pussy like a starved man and there’s nothing more dangerous than a man that is hot and enthusiastic. You stand 0 chance. He’s highly skilled. He loves getting blowjobs, but if you’re looking at scales they’re absolutely tipping one way.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

So, for all of you out there that may not know, when a man doesn’t have great stamina or he doesn’t last very long cardio and working out can really help that. Noah has done a 180 in terms of exercise, so I think he’s the type to deliver a fast and hard pace but not really think about it. Like he’s so into it and he’s taking in the sounds you make not realizing that he’s picked up the pace.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Doesn’t love them because CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF MEN DONT ALWAYS GET TURNED ON LIKE LIGHTSWITCHES. Noah would need to be teased all day while he’s trying to do other shit if you want to just spontaneously pull him into a broom closet and expect him to perform.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Again … birthchart says he takes risks but I believe they’re calculated. Like the risk of fingering you when you’re on the phone with someone is one he’s willing to take, but he planned it. He also loves to take risks in the bedroom. What happens if he rubs here? What happens if he bites there? Hmmm.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Noah strikes me as a singular really long round kind of guy. Sure, he’ll get you off once before he even takes his clothes off, but I do think he gets sleepy easily by nature because he has personality traits that align with Snorlax and Winnie the Pooh. Noah will absolutely make it feel like it’s stretched on, and he won’t stop until he’s not sure what language you’re muttering, but he’s not taking a break and jumping back into it. His idea of a break is eating you out while he calms down.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I think he may have experimented once or twice (we’re not gonna pretend like he hasn’t been pictured with three different dildos before) but he doesn’t really see a need. Now, for you, he’s absolutely gonna do whatever it takes to get you off. You wanna use a toy while you’re fucking him? Go for it. He really wants to watch you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Here’s the thing. Noah doesn’t MEAN to. He’s not upset that he did, but seriously he didn’t mean for you to see the strip of skin on his belly when he stretched. He didn’t know that him moving your hair to the side to kiss behind your ear would have you gnawing at your lip. He doesn’t do it on purpose, but when you crawl over him and kiss him until he can’t breathe and then call him an asshole for doing that all day it makes him want to fuck you until the sun comes up.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

It’s all under his breath.

“Jesus Christ”.

“Holy …”.

“Yes - fuck, yes”.

He’s the type to grunt while he’s biting his knuckle when he comes. See, and I know that not all of you have thought about this but it’s the fucking truth, most men are conditioned to be very quiet when they cum and it’s because they were once horny teenagers and they couldn’t keep their hands out of their pants. They had to sneak. Noah has been sharing rooms with people his entire life … this man hasn’t learned to let go and let it all fly. He holds back.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Random headcanon? Weed makes Noah incredibly fucking horny, and he can come twice when he smokes because his dick won’t relax if he only cums once. I don’t know why y’all all say he used to smoke … yeah he used to smoke cigarettes and quit, but he still smokes weed - just a whole lot less. That’s why it’s exciting when he takes a few hits. I had an ex that was like this and it’s actually pretty hot so I’m assigning it to Noah because it makes the most sense with him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

There are actual bitchbabies on tumblr.com that are mad because they say that nobody should say anything about the fact that we can clearly see his dick through some of his stage outfits. Listen to me - yeah it’s weird to jump in a strangers inbox and talk about your unhealthy obsession and what you want to do. But. He is a man, and he has a penis, and this is an NSFW alphabet based on theories, and it is not my fault that it is fucking visible through his goddamn pants. THAT BEING SAID BASED OFF OF WHAT WE CAN SEE ON BEYONCES INTERNET - he’s a shower and it ain’t small.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He gets in his head so often. The number one sex drive killer is stress, and I think he definitely, if he has a partner, can go for a long time without having sex if he’s got too much band business. You would definitely need some open communication. Although lucky for you - he celebrates band wins and personal growth with sex. I guarantee that one positive phone call from Matt would mean you get bent over the kitchen counter.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I think he’s falling asleep pretty quickly but it’s also because of the setting. Like I said, our boy loves a good fuck in a bed. That, combined with the soft LEDs, the lofi beats and no overhead lights means he’s already accidentally set the stage for sleep. Just blow out the candles and tell him ya love him because he’s gone.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #auntievwroteit

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cosmerelists · 4 months

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The Most Annoying Things about Living on Era 1 Scadrial

[Previously: The Most Annoying Things About Living on Roshar]

Once again, this list is focused on things that are just annoying, rather than straight-up unconscionable and/or horrifying--you know, like all of the violence and abuse and slavery. Putting all of the actual bad bad aside, what sorts of things about living in the world of Era 1 Mistborn would just be bothersome?

1. Ash. Ash everywhere.

It would just be so...dirty. Ash on your skin. Ash in your hair. Ash dusting every surface in your home. Ash in your food. You'd just feel so dirty, all of the time. Like, I'm the sort of person who gets frustrated after a few days in a hotel because everything on the bathroom sink is just inevitably kinda damp after a while and there are never enough little towels to dry everything off. Scadrial would be like that, only way, WAY more annoying.

2. ACAB...only with more body horror

Like, yes--Scadrial is a terrifying police state full of cops who can kill you with their mind. But that's over on the "actually horrifying" side of things. For my purposes, there's also the fact that these monstrous officers of the autocracy have, just, spikes sticking straight out of the back of their head through their eyes. I do not like horror. I do not like body horror. I'd be over there trying not to gag just from how gross they looked as they, well, killed all of my loved ones or whatever.

3. No greenery, no flowers

Like, not only is there ash and body horror everywhere, but everything is also just...brown. The plants are brown. There aren't any flowers. I'm with Mare on this one. It was be sad to not see color anywhere.

4. Depression can be outsourced

Emotional allomancy is a pretty anxiety-inducing concept, so far as I'm concerned. It's like the half-joking fear that one day advertisers will find a way to inject ads directly into our brains, only in this case, people really can make you unavoidably depressed or curious or wanting-to-fetch-Breeze-some-wine. I already can't trust my emotions half the time--this would make it so much worse!

5. Mistwraiths are not as cute as racoons

Yes, they may both be scavengers out there doin' their thing and not really hurting anyone, but please mentally compare a fuzzy raccoon with its little raccoon face and little racoon hands and then imagine that it's a mistwraith digging through your garbage instead. I think we can agree on which one would be worse.

6. No stargazing

Oh, you want to go on a romantic or platonic outing to go gaze up at the wondrous night sky? Hell no! The world is crusted in ash and mist and all is darkness. Sorry.

7. People keep dropping coins on your head

Maybe there aren't tons of people who, like me, have a vague fear that someone will drop a coin off a building above you and brain you in the head. But on Scadrial, that is a real concern. There's Mistborn flying all over the damn place flinging money at each other. Some of that is gonna rain down on innocent people below, is all I'm saying.

I don't think Scadrial is for me.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Scadrial #Mistborn #Mistborn era 1

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paperultra · 2 months

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THE FIVE NONSENSES

[ SOULMATE!AU ] Pairing: Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader x Miya Atsumu Summary: Like most people, you do not meet the Miya twins so much as they are thrust upon you. Unlike most people, you are thrust upon them as well. read on ao3 | read on quotev

CHAPTER THREE: SMELL Word Count: 8,205 words Warnings: Swearing

“Hey, you! Join the photography club!”

You narrowly dodge the flyer thrust in front of your face, knocking back into someone in the process. Flustered, you move in the opposite direction, only to knock shoulders with another student walking the other way. Both of your apologies get lost in the noise.

“Join the basketball team! Winter Cup finalists two years in a row!”

“Improve your focus in calligraphy club!”

“Join kyudo club!”

“Join marching band!”

With a small huff, you grab the strap of Osamu’s schoolbag and squeeze through the crowd. Osamu looks over his shoulder at you, and you meet his raised eyebrow with a grimace; not long after, a hand presses between your shoulder blades to usher you forward.

“Dammit,” Atsumu grumbles, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Where’s the volleyball club?”

“Hell if I know,” Osamu says. “Call Aran.”

“’S what I’m doin’, dumbass.” Punching a few buttons, the other boy presses his phone against his ear with visible impatience. “Aran!” Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Atsumu’s voice carries high over the clamor surrounding you, causing several students to swivel their heads. “Where the hell’s the volleyball club? … Class 1-7? Seriously?”

Hanging up without so much as a thank-you, Atsumu quickens his stride down the congested hallway. Osamu follows suit, and you end up seizing the back of his blazer as the three of you head to Class 1-7, evading arms and signs and flyers the entire way.

Having visited the school before to watch Ojiro play, you had known that Inarizaki High School is big; navigating it as a student on the first day of school, however, is a whole different animal. You hadn’t realized it was this big. Or this crowded. After a year of being large fish in a small pond, you now find yourselves in an ocean.

At least you have the twins to rough it with.

(It should be noted that your thankfulness varies wildly from hour to hour.)

Near the entrance to Class 1-7, you spot Ojiro wielding a bright sign advertising the volleyball club. He easily stands head and shoulders above most of the other students, and the sight of a familiar face helps you relax – even though you’d just seen him at graduation a few weeks ago, he somehow looks older here, comfortable and self-assured in the raucous halls of Inarizaki.

“Yo! Aran!” Osamu and Atsumu call out, running up to the second-year. You, still holding onto Osamu’s blazer, are unceremoniously yanked along.

Ojiro perks up and grins widely when you all reach him, freeing one hand to bump fists with the twins. “’Bout time you guys showed up. Thought ya chickened out or somethin’,” he exclaims, then nods at you with a grin. “Good to see you here too, [L/n]-chan.”

You smile back. “Hi, Ojiro-senpai.”

(Of all the people the twins consider friends, which have always been rather scant in number, you like Ojiro Aran the best.)

“Chickened out?” Atsumu scoffs. “No way. You scrubs are gonna need us if ya wanna win nationals this year.”

A laugh bursts out of Ojiro’s chest. “Don’t ya think you’re gettin’ a little ahead of yerself?”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?” Osamu pipes up. He elbows his brother’s side, jabbing a thumb at the doorway when the latter chokes up and glares. “Hurry yer ass up, ‘Tsumu, we haven’t even signed up yet.”

You cough. Ojiro laughs again, leading the three of you into the classroom.

There’s a ton of students already inside when you enter. In one corner of the room is the girls’ volleyball club, and in the other is the boys’, though many are mingling and wandering around to chat. A few are upperclassmen wearing the Inarizaki volleyball team’s jacket – the rest, you assume, are first-years hoping for a chance to join.

It’s not surprising for a school that’s gone to the Spring Tournament almost thirty times. Most of these applicants will be benched for their entire high school career.

Following Ojiro to the desk for the boys’ volleyball club, you encounter the two people sitting behind it.

“Arata-senpai, Kobayashi-senpai,” Ojiro announces, clapping one hand on Osamu’s shoulder and the other on Atsumu’s, “got a package deal for ya.”

The first thing you notice about Arata is how tall he is when he’s sitting down. Then he slowly stands up, and your eyes widen as he keeps going and going, finally stopping about half a head taller than Ojiro.

Arata breathes in, vulpine eyes narrowing, before he slams his hands down on the desk with a loud thwap.

“If it ain’t the Miya twins!” he chirps, voice much peppier than expected, and you choke back a surprised laugh. “I watched yer match last year at nationals. You two think ya have what it takes to be part of a powerhouse?”

“Why talk big when we can just show ya, senpai?” Atsumu says, as if he hadn’t been gassing himself up to Ojiro moments before. He pulls out his signup sheet, already filled out in his usual large, messy print, and slides it over to the captain, leaning over the desk with one hand on his hip. “Got yers, ’Samu?”

“Yup.” Osamu slides his over as well, handwriting slightly neater.

Arata takes the sheets happily. Your gaze falls upon his hands by chance, and then it remains there, taking stock of the scribbles of purple and red decorating his skin.

Ojiro whistles. “Looks like yer soulmate’s havin’ fun with some gel pens,” he comments, pointing at Arata’s hands.

“Hm?” The other boy blinks and takes a moment to inspect the words curving below his knuckles. His brow furrows, and he squints before finally breaking out into a goofy smile. “Ah,” he says, and his voice takes on a distinctly fonder, dreamier tone, “guess they are. They’ve been practicin’ hiragana a lot lately. See? Pretty good, eh?” Arata stretches his hands out face-down, showing them off.

(You can barely read the characters.)

“Neat,” Atsumu says, though his tone has flattened just slightly.

“Right?” Arata doesn’t seem to notice. “We’re gonna finally see each other in person next summer after I graduate. They’re graduating high school this June in Spain …”

“He’s really excited,” Ojiro mutters to the three of you, “in case ya couldn’t tell.”

The volleyball captain’s cheeks turn an endearing shade of pink. “What’s wrong with that, huh, Ojiro? I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with them, so it’s a good sign I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

Next to you, Osamu shifts and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. You feel his elbow brush against your arm, bare skin separated by layers of fabric.

The rest of your life.

A strange feeling forms in the pit of your stomach. It’s the same kind you get whenever your parents ask about Osamu, and whenever you see couples wearing matching outfits at the mall – a feeling a little less than longing, and a little more than guilt. Like you ought to be doing more, saying more, expressing more. Feeling more.

You wonder what it is like to be Arata, infatuated, proudly flaunting the colors on his hands.

The girl sitting at the desk finally speaks up.

“I thought we were talkin’ about volleyball, not yer love life, Arata.”

Your gaze moves away from Arata’s wrists and onto the girl.

Still sitting, she and the captain paint a picture of a mouse and an elephant, her tiny form complemented by large, expressionless eyes and a small nose. The maroon jacket hanging off her shoulders looks one size too big.

And yet, when her gaze flicks over and meets yours, you’re overtaken by a sudden chill.

Scary.

Arata jumps and glances down at her. “O-Oh, right! Sorry, Kobayashi-chan, I guess I got carried away.”

“It’s fine.” Kobayashi continues to stare at you, and you start to feel slightly uncomfortable. “’S why I’m here.”

“Yeah!” Coughing, Arata rubs the back of his neck and turns his attention back to the twins. “Gettin’ back on track … if it isn’t obvious already, Kobayashi-chan is our manager. She’s real good. Real detailed.”

“But I’m also in my third year, which means we’re currently lookin’ for a new manager for next year,” Kobayashi supplies. “So if ya happen to know any first-years who’re qualified and willing to apply for the right reasons, please let me know.”

Your brow furrows at that.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘the right reasons’?” Osamu asks.

A sheepish laugh escapes Arata’s throat. “Well … the volleyball team’s pretty popular, so we get a lot of folks wantin’ to be manager just to get closer to the team and see if one of the members is their soulmate.” He sighs. “It’s not that I wanna keep any soulmates apart, but those kinds of applicants slow down the search, and obviously, we want a manager who actually wants to manage.”

Ah. Already, some of your peers already seem like they’re on a time crunch to find their person. Soulmates are getting to be a bigger and bigger deal as you get older, and with that comes certain expectations. It’s not hard to figure out why some would hope to have someone popular and athletic.

“Sorry, don’t know anybody like that,” Atsumu replies at the same time Ojiro says your name.

You look at your senior, surprised.

He directs a finger upwards. “Ya know volleyball pretty well,” he points out. “Wanna apply? You already manage the twins, after all.”

“Oi, what’s that s’posed to mean –”

Arata seems to finally notice you, eyebrows raising. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t see ya there,” he exclaims. “What’s yer name?”

Reluctantly, you step up next to Osamu and introduce yourself.

“[L/n]-chan. So ya know the twins?”

“I’ve lived on the same street as them since elementary school.”

“Really! Ya must know them well, then.”

“More than well,” says Kobayashi.

She points down at your hand. Arata follows her finger, and you resist the urge to curl your pinkie when his mouth drops.

“Oh, damn, you’re soulmates with – er, uh –”

Osamu and Atsumu just stand there, watching the captain flounder. After a few seconds, you reach up and tug Osamu’s earlobe sharply.

“Osamu,” you say, both as an answer and as a scolding, ignoring the muttered ‘ow’ coming from your right.

Clapping his hands, Arata nods. “You’re soulmates with Osamu-kun! Wow, that’s amazing. And you’ve been together since elementary school? He’d think and play better with you just bein’ there.”

You smile, embarrassed.

“That doesn’t make her the right candidate, Arata,” says Kobayashi. “Even if she really wants to manage the team, she might still prioritize Osamu-kun over everybody else. The last thing I want is a manager who picks favorites.”

She says it so bluntly, so seriously. Your smile weakens as her words hit a sore spot you didn’t know you even had.

There must be a good way to disagree. The two truths of the matter are that being a good manager would mean risking being a bad soulmate, and that being a good manager is a risk you can afford. Osamu isn’t the type of person who needs to be worried about. He gets scraped up, but he doesn’t mind it, and he knows his limits. If a player got hurt right as Osamu called you for something, you know you’d check on the other player first. Even if the other player was Atsumu. (Maybe.)

Osamu simply does not need you to take care of him. You don’t know how to express this without seeming like you don’t care as much as you should.

Atsumu cuts in before you can organize your thoughts into words.

“She wouldn’t,” he says, “unless it’s me. But ’Samu and I are soulmates, so we’re already at our best when we’re on the court.”

The upperclassmen before you tilt their heads simultaneously.

“… Wait,” Arata says after a while, slowly. “You’re tellin’ me that Osamu-kun has two soulmates?”

Osamu glances at you, eyes half-lidded, and you can only meet his eyes for a few seconds before you have to look at the ground.

“Guess I’m favored,” Osamu replies.

“Wow.” Huffing out a laugh, Arata crosses his arms. “Two soulmates … huh. I wonder how that works …” Kobayashi grunts and he clears his throat. “S-Sorry. Anyway, [L/n]-chan, if you’re interested in the manager position, just fill this out and give it to Kobayashi-chan. We’re taking applications until July first or until we find someone, whichever comes first.”

He hands you a sheet of paper, and you take it tentatively.

“My phone number’s at the top in case you have any questions,” Kobayashi adds. Her voice lowers, but its monotony remains. “And if ya end up applying, know that I won’t show any favoritism just because of yer soulmate.”

You take in a breath through your nose, fingers curling into the application in your hands. “Yeah, of course.”

She nods once, then leans back in her seat. The set of her mouth relaxes just slightly, and she crosses her arms, morphing from a cutthroat manager to a tired senpai.

“See ya after school. Good luck,” she says. Her eyes bore into yours. “To all of ya.”

There’s a moment of silent surprise between you, Osamu, and Atsumu. Then all three of you bow as Ojiro and Arata chuckle.

“Thank you!”

—

The twins, predictably, become one of three first-year regulars on Inarizaki’s boys’ volleyball team. You place your manager application in the top drawer of your desk, which you pull out frequently over the next three weeks just to stare at the blank form, unsure about the whole thing.

Saturday afternoon rolls around, and you’ve taken the paper out of your binder and set it on top of your desk at home when your phone buzzes.

Osamu: you home

You: yeah

Osamu: ok

And that’s it. You stare at your screen for a few seconds, unblinking, before you shoot up from your seat and scramble to your dresser to get changed.

Five minutes and a bit of haphazard cleaning later, there’s a few firm knocks on the front door, followed by incessant banging. You stalk over to open the door before it’s knocked off its hinges.

“I could hear you,” you tell Atsumu, unimpressed, as the two enter and shuck off their shoes.

“I know.”

He deftly dodges the kick you aim at his ankle. This usually happens nowadays, unfortunately, but it doesn’t stop you from trying.

“’S just you here?” Osamu asks, shuffling into some slippers and walking further into the house. His gym bag hangs from his shoulder, big and bulky, and you look at it curiously.

“… Yeah?”

“Fer someone left home alone all the time, you’re duller than a rock,” Atsumu says. “Folks’re gone and ya don’t even throw a party? Geez.”

You narrow your eyes as he grins. “Maybe I just want peace and quiet after havin’ to sit in class with you all week, Atsumu. Anyways, why are you guys here?”

You receive no answer. After eyeing the kitchen, Osamu turns and heads down the hallway, prompting you to follow. You’re further confused when he enters the bathroom and sets his bag on the countertop.

As he unzips it, Atsumu squeezes past you and reaches into the bag, pulling out a –

A shower cap.

“… Is the shower at yer place broken or something?”

“No,” Osamu says, and he pulls something else out. “Ma’s home.”

You stare at the box in his hands. Then you look back up at the twins.

“She’s gonna kill you.”

—

Watching Osamu and Atsumu bleach each other’s hair is like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Their dark T-shirts have speckles of orange on them, there are bits of foil littering the sink and the bathroom floor, and the acrid stench of bleach filling the bathroom is starting to creep down the hallway. You can only hope it doesn’t linger past Sunday night when you go back to the dorms.

“If you screw this up, I’m shaving yer giant head in yer sleep.”

“I’m doin’ it better than you did, ya scrub!”

You stand outside, shirt collar pulled up and over your nose, as Atsumu finishes combing through the top part of Osamu’s hair. It’s an incredible thing to witness: Osamu sitting on the shower seat, hunched over and holding a sheet of foil over his undercut while Atsumu hangs over him, wearing one of the shower caps to keep his own hair out of the way. It’s also a disaster.

You lift your phone up to snap a quick picture.

“Oi! What’re ya doin’?”

“Making a present for Ojiro.” Upon viewing the photographic evidence, you realize something. “You’re not gonna tell Auntie that you dyed yer hair at my house, right?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Osamu assures, letting Atsumu hold onto the foil while he pulls on a shower cap. He sets a timer, and the two of them hurry out of the bathroom to escape the fumes. “She won’t be thinkin’ about the details when she finds out.”

“Like she’d ever blame ya, anyway.” Atsumu scoffs. “You’re the favorite and you ain’t even her kid.”

“Well, I don’t wanna take my chances.” You recall the countless number of times the twins had received a whooping for something stupid they did, and the countless number of times you had just barely managed to slip under the radar by keeping your mouth shut. “Y’know, she might make ya dye it black again if the school doesn’t like it.”

“Please. If anything, they’ll thank us fer givin’ them an easy way to tell us apart.”

“Is that why you’re dyein’ yer hair? You’re already in different classes.”

“It ain’t fer class,” Osamu says. “It’s fer volleyball.”

Atsumu presses his back against the wall and slides down to the floor, pulling up a game on his phone. “Some of the scrubs still can’t tell us apart on court,” he sniffs. “’M tired of it.”

That, you think, makes a lot more sense.

Osamu and Atsumu have always taken full advantage of being identical twins. You’ve seen them pull just about every stunt in the book – switching the way they part their hair on random days, pretending to be the other when one of them gets in trouble, making money off classmates who bet on knowing who’s who (and lying on more than one occasion). Looking alike isn’t usually a point of contention between them.

When it does bother them, volleyball is usually involved. They don’t always wear different shirts or numbered jerseys at practice, and you’ve been to enough of them to know that this can cause issues at the beginning of the year. The coach calls out the wrong name, a teammate calls for Osamu when they mean Atsumu, things like that.

They get especially miffed when one gets praised for something the other did. Atsumu, in particular, hates that the most.

“Ya have anythin’ to eat?”

Head snapping up, you look at Osamu and nod halfway through absorbing what he’s just asked. “There’s leftover onigiri in the fridge and snacks in the cupboard,” you reply, stepping over Atsumu’s outstretched legs to lead his brother towards the kitchen.

(“Heat up an onigiri fer me,” Atsumu calls out.)

(“Get it yerself, lazy-ass,” Osamu shoots back.)

In the kitchen, you fish out the last two onigiri the twins’ mom had given you yesterday and present them to Osamu.

“Here. You and Atsumu can each have one.”

“These the ones with salted salmon?”

You nod.

Osamu thinks for a moment. His lips purse, his eyelids droop, and even though he kind of looks like a lunch lady with that shower cap on, it’s cute.

“I’ll make ochazuke and yaki onigiri,” he decides. “What do ya want?”

“I’ll just have some chips or something. I just ate lunch, so I’m not that hungry.”

He stares at you, then accepts the onigiri from your hands. “Okay.”

Putting the rice balls on the counter next to the stove, Osamu retrieves a small plate, a bowl, and a mug from the cupboard. He finds most of everything else pretty quickly – the cast iron skillet under the oven, the spatula in the drawer right next to the fridge, and the soy sauce and oil in the lower corner cabinet. The only thing he asks for you to locate is the green tea, which you get from the depths of the second shelf in the pantry.

While he works, you grab a bag of your favorite chips and pop it open, leaning against the unused counter on the other side of the stove to watch.

You like it whenever Osamu cooks. The click of the stovetop turning on, the curve of oil being poured into the skillet, and you’re rocking gently in a small boat, curled up in an overstuffed chair on a rainy day.

(It’s an extension of how he feels, you’ve learned – for as much as Miya Osamu loves volleyball, he loves food just a teeny bit more.)

When the oil is hot enough, he unwraps one of the onigiri and places it in.

You turn the opening of your chip bag towards him as he wipes his hands on a towel. “Here,” you offer once he notices.

“Thanks.”

Atsumu’s onigiri sizzles in the skillet while the water for Osamu’s tea continues to heat up. Osamu mirrors your posture on his side of the stove, messily crunching down on several chips, and the two of you wait.

“Didja apply for the manager position yet?”

You swallow too early, rough shards of chips cutting down your throat. Fighting the urge to cough, you shake your head and reach for the water you’d left on the table this morning. “No. Still thinkin’ about it.” He hums. “You guys haven’t found one yet?”

“Kobayashi-senpai’s real picky.” He flips the onigiri over with one sharp push of the spatula, brushing soy sauce over the freshly grilled side. The water boiler beeps right after, and he seamlessly transitions over to pour the hot water over the teabag in his mug. “Most of the applicants we saw were annoyin’, anyway.”

“Oh.”

You recall the last practice you’d attended, watching from the balcony with your homework as the team ran laps around the court. The applicant on trial that day had watched them go by a few times, still and proper, before suddenly turning to Kobayashi and excusing themselves from the gym. They never came back.

On the walk back to the dorms that evening, Atsumu explained that the student had a counter for how many times their soulmate would pass by them.

(“Waste of time n’ space,” he’d complained. “Who’d wanna be with someone that desperate?”)

“Ya wouldn’t be half bad at it.”

“… Yeah …”

“If ya don’t wanna apply, just say so.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t know if I’ll wanna do it for the next three years.”

“Whaddaya want to do, then?”

“I dunno.” With a sigh, you set your bag of chips down. “I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to apply.”

Osamu shrugs. “If ya are,” he says, turning off the stove top, “don’t do it just ’cause of me.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, sharp and knowing as he flips the yaki onigiri onto the plate he’d pulled out earlier.

After calling Atsumu, who had migrated to the living room couch while he had been waiting, the twins scarf down their afternoon snack in no time at all and raid your cupboard for the complimentary snacks your parents usually bring back from their trips.

Halfway into his fourth wafer, Atsumu’s timer goes off.

“Oh, shit.” Shoving the rest of the wafer into his mouth and silencing the alarm, Atsumu gets up and eagerly makes a beeline to the bathroom.

“… Do ya think it worked?” you mutter as you and Osamu stand up more slowly.

“I dunno.”

A loud swear explodes from the bathroom.

You look at each other sharply. Wiping the crumbs from your lips, the two of you run over to investigate.

As you get closer, you hear the sink running, then Atsumu muttering underneath his breath.

When you peek into the bathroom, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” Osamu says, leaning past you to get a better look. “’Tsumu, ya look like a carrot.”

“Shaddup, ’Samu,” Atsumu moans, rinsing his hair angrily. “I know. Fuck.”

Hair bleach on dark hair, as you find out, works similarly to hair bleach on dark fabric. Contrary to the sandy blond the older twin had desired, the result he had gotten is instead a bright, burnt yellow-orange matching the stains on his T-shirt. Not carrot, necessarily, but definitely not blond.

“Ugh.” Nose and forehead wrinkling, Atsumu leans toward the mirror, pinching a section of hair between his fingers. “It … it ain’t that bad, right?” His pitch rises with the slightest hint of denial. “I’m pullin’ it off.”

“It’s that bad,” Osamu says.

“’Samu!”

“Maybe you can bleach it again?” you suggest.

“And then his hair falls out? Bad idea.”

“Dye it, then, like you are.”

“We don’t have money left to buy a different color.” With a sigh, Osamu puts his hands on his hips. “Damn. Sorry, ’Tsumu.”

Atsumu groans and thunks his forehead against the mirror, dripping water all the way down its surface onto the counter. His frustration is so palpable that you can feel it prickling your skin.

If he hadn’t been so excited before, you’d probably poke fun. You should poke fun, but the disappointed twist of his lips and the droopiness of his sopping wet hair just makes you feel bad. He looks like a wet puppy.

Dammit.

You take your phone out.

Osamu tracks the movement. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Lookin’ something up.” You press on the first link you see, skim the webpage quickly, and put your phone back into your pocket. “I’m headin’ out fer a bit. Stay here.”

“… ’Kay.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu grumbles.

After grabbing your wallet and checking its contents, you head outside to drag your bike out from underneath the vacant carport. And as you hop onto the seat, pedaling down towards the nearest drugstore, you tell yourself that Atsumu better thank you on his hands and knees once you get back.

—

“Blue shampoo?” Atsumu’s tone is suspicious as he slathers the back of Osamu’s hair in grey dye.

“It’s supposed to cancel out the orange.” Turning the bottle to face you, you read the description beneath the brand name. “‘Eliminates brassy, orange undertones.’ See?”

“It ain’t gonna fuck up my hair even more?”

“’Course not,” you retort, all hopes of veneration quickly fading away. “I ain’t an asshole, Atsumu.”

His eyebrow twitches, hands slowing. You take the opportunity to place the bottle sideways in the crook of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head to hold it in place.

“Oi –”

“Go try it. I’ll finish Osamu’s hair.”

“Yer so bossy,” Atsumu grumbles, but he lets you nudge him out the way, peeling his gloves off and grabbing the shampoo.

You snap some gloves on in turn, keeping one eye on Osamu’s hair and the other on Atsumu as he ducks his head beneath the sink faucet. They’d pretty much finished up applying the dye for Osamu, at least from what you can tell, so you start combing through the locks with your fingers to make sure everything is covered.

Miya hair is very thick. Soft, too. You hope all this bleaching and dyeing won’t ruin it too much.

“Hm,” Osamu hums abruptly.

You stop. “What?”

“Nothin’.” You furrow your brow but resume, only to just barely hear him mumble, “… Feels nice.”

Oh.

A smile crawls onto your lips without warning, the space behind your ribcage suddenly cozy and soft.

“Alright, I’m doin’ it,” Atsumu announces. You look up just in time to see him squeeze a dollop of shampoo into his hand. “Euch! It’s so blue!”

“Why do ya sound so surprised?!”

“Shaddup, I just wasn’t expectin’ it to be so dark! … Smells okay, though …”

While the shampoo does its work on Atsumu’s hair, you take a little extra time combing Osamu’s. He remains quiet and still, thumbs tapping idly on the dark screen on his phone. You wait for him to make more snide remarks at Atsumu’s expense or complain about the smell of the dye, but he doesn’t.

You eventually finish up while the water still runs blue and sudsy into the bowl of the sink. Osamu mutters a thank you and ambles off after eyeing his brother for a few seconds. You linger for a while longer.

(God, you hope it works. If not for Atsumu’s sake, then for your pride and your wallet.)

After what seems like forever, he rinses out the last of the shampoo, wrings his hair out a bit, and straightens up to look in the mirror.

You examine his reflection as well. It’s less orange, yes, but still not as light as he had wanted, more gold than sand. Not necessarily good, but certainly less bad.

Atsumu fixates on the more muted shade of his hair for a minute or two. His lips press downwards at the corners, and then they part to say your name.

You blink.

“What?”

“Why’d ya buy the shampoo?”

He sounds almost accusatory, but not quite; there’s an undertone that you very, very rarely hear in his voice. He meets your eyes in the mirror, hair a dripping, tangled mess.

“… ’Cause I felt bad fer ya,” you admit unwillingly. Atsumu makes a face, and you sharpen your tongue, because that is what feels comfortable with him. Normal. “And I didn’t want to hear ya mopin’ and complainin’ about it all week.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he persists. “I coulda pulled it off.”

You scoff. “Just ’cause you’re taller than most of the school doesn’t mean they wouldn’t’a noticed. And anyways, it’s better now, ain’t it?”

“I didn’t ask ya to buy it.”

“Ya didn’t even know what it was until I told you.”

“An’ if I did, I still wouldn’t’ve asked!”

“Yeah, ’cause yer prideful ass would rather die than ask fer help!” you snap, jabbing his bicep with your finger. “God! I knew ya wouldn’t even say thank you!”

“Well, if ya knew I was gonna be a dick about it, why’d ya waste yer money?!”

“I felt bad fer ya!” you screech. “My mistake!”

“Yeah, yer mistake!” Atsumu shouts back.

Chest heaving for breath, you glare at him. He glares in return. Temper pinks his face and the tips of his ears, flares his nostrils and curls his lip in that fierce and familiar way. In the back of your mind, you know you are doing the same.

Asshole.

You’re angry, yes. And offended, and exasperated, and and and –

And hurt.

“It’s so hard,” you say, your voice deciding to crack at the worst time possible, “to be nice to you sometimes, Atsumu.”

When the words leave your throat, his face grows blank in that way you’ve always hated, his mouth pressing into a fine line.

“So?” he replies.

You roll your eyes. “Forget it.”

Casting one last glance at the bottle of shampoo next to the sink, you clench your fists and turn to leave. What a waste of money. This is the last time you’re ever going to feel bad for him.

A hand wraps around your elbow upon your first step outside the bathroom.

“… Are ya cryin’?”

“No,” you bite, wishing he hadn’t asked because now you do feel like crying, just a little bit.

Atsumu pauses for an excruciating moment. You can practically feel his distaste for whatever words he’s about to say.

“I’ll pay ya back,” he mutters. “Fer the shampoo.”

“No.”

“Whaddaya mean, no?”

“I don’t want yer money.”

“Well, what do ya want, ’cause I ain’t owin’ ya anything.”

“I want a thank you.”

“… Can’t I just –”

“No.”

Atsumu throws his hands up. “Fine!” he says. “Thanks fer buyin’ somethin’ I didn’t ask fer! There, ya happy now?”

“I want ya to mean it,” you say quietly.

“I did mean it.”

You cross your arms.

He groans. Glancing around as if checking for hidden cameras, Atsumu slowly pushes his bangs away from his face and wipes his nose, sniffing.

“… Fine,” he eventually grumbles at the floor tiles. Cheeks puffed, he looks up at you from the corner of his eye and scratches the back of his head. “The shampoo fixed it a little bit,” the words struggle their way out of his mouth, “so … thanks … fer gettin’ it fer me. Ya didn’t have to.”

He looks like he’s just eaten soap, his ears still red, and that’s how you know he’s being sincere. Your shoulders relax a little bit.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Atsumu’s expression, almost doleful for just that moment, blooms into something more sarcastic once you accept his gratitude. He gestures at the doorway behind you. “Can I go now?”

“Dry the mirror and the counter first.”

“But I said thank you.”

You throw a towel at his face and walk away, more satisfied than not.

—

“How’s Osamu-kun doing?”

You prop your phone up against the wall behind your desk, tilting your pen between your fingers. “He’s fine, Ma.”

“Did ya tell him how good his curry is? He makes it better than me.”

“Yeah, he says he’s glad you guys like it.”

After resolving the blue shampoo issue with Atsumu on Saturday, you’d gone back to the kitchen and found Osamu chopping vegetables and tofu next to the sink. At first, you figured he was hungry again, but upon your questioning, he’d only denied it.

(“’S fer you.”

“… Fer me? No, you don’t have to –”

“Yeah, I know. Ya don’t like the curry at the cafeteria, so bring mine back to the dorm and save it in the fridge fer later. If ya don’t want it, leave it fer yer folks to eat when they get back.”)

He didn’t leave much room for debate. And since he was using your family’s food to make it anyway, you accepted, a bit perplexed but happy nonetheless. You hadn’t expected him to remember your complaint about the cafeteria’s bland curry.

The amount he made was enough to fill two Tupperware containers, one of which you left for your parents when they returned two days later. Needless to say, they were delighted.

“What a thoughtful boy. He’s so good to you, honey.”

You smile, walking back to your desk. “Yeah.”

(“Ya like dark chocolate in it, right?”)

Your mom sighs. It’s a familiar sigh, and you click your pen, knowing what she is about to say before she even takes a breath.

“I just don’t know why he hasn’t asked ya out yet.”

You can hear your dad speak up between chews in the background. “It ain’t like how it was back when we were young, dear. Soulmates these days don’t like makin’ things so formal and official.”

“Oh, I know, but wouldn’t it be sweet? I was so happy when we went on our first official date.”

“The one at the konbini ’cause I couldn’t afford anythin’ nicer?”

“Yes. I loved it.”

“I know. You were smilin’ the whole time.”

“Glad you’re still in love,” you say dryly when they giggle over the phone, your nose wrinkling when your dad comes into view to give your mom a loud smooch. During these moments, you wish you’d called instead. “I’m still here.”

“Oh, I know, I know. Honey, you should bring Osamu-kun somethin’ fer his next game! A snack fer afterwards. He’ll like that.”

“Okay.” You’ve done that before. The first time you gave him an orange in your first year of junior high, he and Atsumu squabbled over dividing it for five minutes. Now you get double portions whenever you have the compulsion to bring something after games, just to keep the peace.

“Speaking of games …”

Here we go.

“… Have ya applied to be the manager for the volleyball team yet?”

“Um.” Glancing at the wall to your right, you click your pen some more, taking your time to answer. “I filled the form out …”

“[Y/n]! If ya dawdle, someone else’ll snatch it up. When’s it due?”

“July first or until they find someone.”

“Turn it in tomorrow!”

“Okay, okay.”

Your mom sighs again, and she places a bowl down onto the table. “… Otherwise, are ya okay? I’m sorry we missed ya at home.”

“It’s fine. I hung out with Kokomi and the twins. How was yer anniversary?”

“We’ll make sure we’re home next time you’re on weekend leave. And it was lovely! Oh, honey, ya should’ve seen the fish yer pa caught …”

You talk with your parents until they finish their dinner, hanging up once they’ve started cleaning up. As soon as the video cuts out, you release a breath and turn your phone face-down.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous about applying for the manager position. It’s the natural thing to do, because it’s natural to want to be involved with something Osamu is interested in, his own opinion on the matter notwithstanding. You think you might like being a manager. It’s not like you want to do something else more.

Getting rejected by Kobayashi would be horrible, though.

Maybe you’ll wait a little longer to turn your application in. Polish it up some more, and such.

—

After volleyball practice ends, and after everyone who had lingered behind to practice some more is ready to call it a night, Atsumu tells you and Osamu that he’s staying a little longer to practice his jump float serves.

“Are ya sure? Cafeteria’s servin’ all-you-can-eat pasta for dinner.”

“I’ll be done before it closes.”

Osamu doesn’t look convinced. To be fair, neither are you; Atsumu often loses track of time when he stays behind, resulting in an extra hungry, extra irritable Atsumu.

“Atsumu,” you say.

He huffs at you. “Seriously, I will!” he insists, before turning to walk back to the end line. You, Osamu, Ginjima, Akagi, and Ojiro all look on helplessly as he throws a volleyball into the air and gives himself a running start.

“Don’t worry,” Kobayashi says, grabbing your attention just as he jumps. She holds up the key to the gymnasium. “I’ll kick him out before he misses dinner.”

Ojiro, ever the responsible one, lets out a noise of protest. “Senpai, I can lock up. You should go.”

“No, it’s fine.” Though her tone is impassive, she makes it clear that her mind is set as she waves him off. “I’m goin’ out to eat with my boyfriend later, anyway.”

You blink.

Though Ojiro is visibly reluctant, he acquiesces. “… Okay. Thank you, Kobayashi-senpai.”

“Mmhm,” Kobayashi hums, and her gaze falls upon you. “Make sure they get to the cafeteria in one piece, [L/n]-chan.”

“I will, senpai.”

You wait outside while the guys change out of their gym clothes and gather their things. Once they exit the building, you join them, listening idly to their chatter about today’s practice as the five of you trek towards the cafeteria.

“Hey, Ojiro-senpai, Akagi-senpai,” Ginjima speaks up during a lull in the conversation. “What Kobayashi-senpai said earlier …”

Attention piqued, you look at your upperclassmen for their reactions to Ginjima’s question. Next to you, Osamu does little to hide his curiosity as well.

Ojiro and Akagi, in turn, share a glance, and Ojiro raises an eyebrow at Ginjima.

“Yeah?” Ojiro replies.

“Well, y’know …” Ginjima presses expectantly, “when she said that she has a boyfriend, did she mean …?”

“That’s somethin’ you can ask Kobayashi-senpai about, ain’t it?”

You imagine doing just that and cringe.

Ginjima’s eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “Well –!” he replies, a bit too loudly. “I would, but I don’t want her to think I’m bein’ judgmental or somethin’. Plus, I’m just a first-year …”

“Aw, I think it’s fine if they know, Aran. It ain’t like she’s hidin’ it or anythin’,” Akagi says. Ojiro looks up for a moment in thought, then shrugs tentatively, and Akagi smiles at you and the two boys. “Kobayashi-senpai’s not datin’ her soulmate. They’re pretty serious, too.”

Ojiro rests his hands behind his head. “He’s a nice guy. Comes to games sometimes.”

“Oh, I see …”

You nod slowly, absorbing this new piece of information. Kobayashi has a boyfriend. A boyfriend that she goes on dates with, one she really likes. You wonder how long they’ve been together.

You wonder if Kobayashi’s met her soulmate yet.

“E-Excuse me! Hello!”

The quick patter of footsteps interrupts your train of thought. Glancing behind you, you stop short when you see one of your classmates running up to your group, waving one hand and holding a camera in the other. The golden orange of the sky burnishes her red hair.

“Naruko-san,” you and Ginjima greet at the same time. Ginjima laughs.

“Sorry to bother ya!” Naruko bows and quickly straightens, holding her camera up and smiling nervously. “I-I was just takin’ some pictures for photography club, and I was wonderin’ if you guys would mind me takin’ a picture?”

“How long’s it gonna take?” Osamu asks.

“Not too long. Five minutes? U-Unless y’all are in a hurry to get somewhere …”

“Not too much of a hurry. Just wanna make it to dinner.” Ojiro smiles, patting Osamu and Akagi’s backs. “Where do ya want us?”

Naruko brightens, her cheeks going red. “J-Just keep walkin’! The lighting’s perfect right now, and I wanna take a picture of yer backs with yer volleyball jackets on.” She glances at you, and her expression grows more nervous. “Er …”

You lock eyes with her for a few seconds before catching on. Nodding, you take a step towards Naruko to join her.

Osamu’s hand grasps your shoulder.

His hold is loose, but you bite back the urge to slump over at the sudden warmth of it, pausing instead to look back at him.

“Where’re ya goin’?”

You answer tentatively. “I don’t have a team jacket.”

“That’s fine. You’re walkin’ with us too.”

“Yeah, but …” You wet your lips. “Like, visually, it’ll look weird if one person doesn’t have one on …”

The corner of Osamu’s mouth twitches, and he frowns. You watch as his gaze moves past your shoulder. A sudden, brief twinge of irritation, not belonging to you, zings through your ribcage.

“Why’s that matter?”

“Yeah. C’mon, it’ll be fine,” Ojiro says.

“It’s okay!” Naruko suddenly blurts, and you jolt slightly, looking back at her. She bounces on her feet, voice even higher pitched. “I can do a more candid shot, now that I think about it! A-Actually, Miya-san, could ya give [L/n]-san yer jacket? And Ginjima-san, you can keep yers around yer waist …”

Her sudden change in idea perplexes you a bit. But Osamu seems to be satisfied, and he shrugs his jacket off, placing it over your shoulders.

After a bit of hesitation, you slide your arms through the sleeves.

(It’s just as warm.)

“Ooh, [L/n]-chan’s wearin’ Osamu’s jacket,” Ginjima teases behind his hand, and your face heats up.

“Okay.” Behind you, Naruko lets out a wistful-sounding sigh. “I’m ready. Y’all can start walkin’ now, just like ya were before.”

With only a bit of self-consciousness, the five of you follow her instructions. There are only a few clicks of the camera before Naruko calls out her thanks and goes off without another word, leaving you and the boys to speculate whether you’ll ever see the results.

“How cute,” Akagi comments. “She looked like she was gonna throw up, though.”

“I hope those were conflicting statements.”

“Okay, Aran, I wasn’t implying …”

While the two upperclassmen start to banter, you move to take Osamu’s jacket off, only for him to stop you.

“’S fine,” he says. “You can wear it if ya want.”

“Oh. Okay.”

And so you do.

—

The boys’ first practice game in July is brutal.

Many of your peers have come to watch. It’s a favorite after-school pastime of Inarizaki’s student populace, you’ve quickly discovered, to hop from one athletic club to the other simply to spectate and speculate. People pack the balcony and peek around the doorway, catching the scent of blood and sweat.

Between the crowd’s cheering and jeering, the squeak of sneakers on the gym floor, and the sound of palms ramming into volleyballs, the atmosphere is sharp, almost electric – something that you feel tingling on your skin as you stand on the sidelines, Kobayashi right by your side.

Atsumu delivers another devastating service ace. It ricochets off the corner of the other side of the court with a thunderous boom.

“Did you catch that, [L/n]-chan?” Kobayashi asks, arms crossed. “That was one of his better ones.”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t.”

“Hm.”

You watch the slow, satisfied stretch of Atsumu’s smile, and wait patiently. “It’s okay. He ain’t done yet.”

Indeed, Atsumu is just getting started. You spare an amused glance at Osamu in front of the net, his hands locked protectively behind his head, before turning back to Atsumu as the volleyball is thrown back to him.

Raising your camera, you adjust the focus, finger ready on the shutter button.

Toss. Run. Jump.

Click.

On your other side, a girl pumps her fists and cheers.

“Wow! Another one!” she gushes.

You smile behind your lens. “Ya always sound so impressed, Tsubaki-chan.”

“I’m just excited! We’re crushin’ them in the last set!”

“’Course we are,” says Kobayashi. “Our offense is that much better. I’m a little disappointed.”

As your upperclassman patiently points out each player’s strengths and weaknesses, you keep an eye on the team and crouch low. You’ve got plenty of photos now that the game’s nearing its end – lots of sets, a few spikes and digs, some flashy jump serves. Hopefully, some of them have turned out halfway decent. Even though you’d widened the aperture to make up for the gym’s crappy lighting and adjusted the shutter speed for blurring, you still worry about your timing.

By the time Inarizaki scores the winning point, you’ve moved to the opposite end of the court and have to race back to capture their reactions.

One thing you like about the volleyball team is how expressive they are. Joy, passion, pride – off the high of a victory, they bare everything, whether it’s through their expressions or the way they move or both.

Tsubaki says your name excitedly as soon as the teams have finished thanking each other, tugging on your arm. “Can I see the action shots, [Y/n]-chan?” she requests.

“Ah, sure.”

You turn the camera towards her, and she leans in as you scroll through the photos, her grin widening.

“Wow! Yer timin’s amazin’. They look so cool!”

The praise brings summer to your cheeks. “Thanks,” you reply genuinely. After a moment of hesitation, you lift the camera again. “Smile, Manager-san?”

Tsubaki doesn’t hesitate to broaden her already present grin, throwing up a peace sign for good measure. Kobayashi looks your way as well, and you take one shot, knowing it will be kept.

“Cute!” Tsubaki exclaims.

Two shadows loom over your shoulders as the girl bestows you with another compliment. When you turn your head to the right, your nose nearly brushes Osamu’s cheek.

“Ya got any good shots of us, [Y/n]?” Atsumu asks expectantly.

“Yes, actually, I did,” you reply, going back through the camera roll with a particular image in mind. You’re only vaguely aware of the warmth they exude as they budge into your personal space, the smell of sweat lingering on their skin. “Here.”

You’re particularly proud of this one. It had been a split second of pure luck, standing on the sidelines when a window of opportunity opened for a fast-tempo set. You had felt it – you knew Atsumu would set to Osamu, and as Osamu jumped, arm reared back as Atsumu sent the ball to him, you had captured it.

Somehow, you always get the timing right with them.

“Cool,” the twins approve proudly.

“Email that one to us, will ya?” Atsumu says. “I ain’t lettin’ you photography nerds hoard it away.”

“She’s sendin’ all these to Arata-senpai, ya dolt.”

“Hey, I wanna see!” Gintama breaks into your little group, trying to sneak a peek in. “Did ya get one of my spikes?”

“Yeah, how about my jump serve?”

“That super cool block me and Ren did in the second set!”

“Didja get one of Coach?”

One by one, the team gathers around you, eager for a glimpse of their successes. The crowding is uncomfortable, but you try your best to show them what you can anyway, feeling a rare sense of pride about your own accomplishments.

You’re happy with your choice.

Tsubaki will be a great manager. Even when you first met her, you knew she had everything she'd need for the job – a passion for the sport, a desire to help others succeed, and an endless amount of perseverance. Inarizaki couldn’t ask for a better person to replace Kobayashi next year. She’ll do well in what she’s decided to do.

And so will you.

—

#haikyuu #hq #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #miya atsumu x reader x miya osamu #haikyuu fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #soulmate au #yeah i got carried away LOL #the miya twins giving themselves terrible dye jobs lives rent free in my head #atsumu's especially. i KNOW they screwed up with his #that color looks way too close to a bleach gone wrong on black hair and he just made it his brand for the rest of high school #this is spiraling i am spiraling #kobayashi i'll miss you i loved thinking you up #the five nonsenses

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