#edit: some fix up with the last drawing too..

[okiroash]

Falls onto the floor

[sysig]

Everything day

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Summary: Tensions rise as the three of you try to find clarity in the aftermath of lines crossed and feelings laid bare. In the weeks that follow, you begin to wonder if something this messy could still become something that lasts.

|| smut MDNI 18+, some mentions of pregnancy, angst and feelings, some fluff, dirty talk, pinv, blowjobs, love triangle (?), no outbreak, jealousy, possessiveness, power play, joel talks you thru it of course, fair warning this isn’t exactly healthy, bad communication, don’t do this ok EDIT TO ADD: threesome, some dubious consent at first then reader fully consents. Tommy is an asshole || notes: eeeehhehe okay I love this one. its a long boy! I listened to you and didn’t delete any of it lmao I love this dynamic so much and it makes me so happy to know everyone is as filthy as I am // pic of Joel & Tommy is mine //

“So, when you saw them, what went through your head, Tommy?” Dr. Servopoulos asked. The office was neat, almost unnervingly so. The walls were bare except for a few framed photos—serene lakes, white sailboats drifting across still water. A false sense of calm in a space built for unraveling things that weren’t calm at all. The air smelled faintly of old books and lavender, a weak attempt to soften the weight of conversations like this.

It had taken a lot to convince either of the men beside you to come today.

Bringing anyone into this mess was hard enough, but laying it bare for someone outside the three of you, having someone watch, analyze, pick apart what happened behind closed doors felt like something private was being dissected under a microscope.

Joel hated this. You knew he hated this. He was a man who carried his feelings in silence, whose apologies lived in things left unsaid. He didn't do this—didn’t sit in stiff chairs like this, in stuffy offices like this, didn't put words to things that made his throat tight. Yet, he still agreed to be here.

And Tommy—you knew this was hard for him too. Not just because of what had happened, but because sitting here, having someone else pick at the wounds, meant acknowledging that things weren’t okay. That they couldn’t just fix it themselves. That you had invited someone in to see the cracks that had formed over the past few months.

It made the walls feel closer, the chairs feel stiffer, the quiet feel too loud.

You watched Tommy as he sighed beside you, his fingers rubbing at his brow. His eyes flickered to the doctor before dropping to the floor. “I don’t even remember,” he muttered. “S’like I’ve blocked it all out.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I do remember the right hook I gave ‘im when Joel was tryna say somethin’ to me.” His voice darkened. “Ya know. When they were finally dressed.”

The last word dripped with bitterness.

You flinched. Your fingers curled together in your lap, knuckles pressing tight.

Joel shifted beside you, the slight movement drawing your attention. He sat stiff in his chair, his thumb rubbing absently at the bruised, purple swell on his cheek—the evidence of Tommy’s fury. He hadn’t said a single word since the session started.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to meet the doctor’s gaze. “Dr. Servopoulos—”

“Tess,” she offered smoothly.

“Tess,” you amended. “We never meant… this was never supposed to get this far. I just want him to know I never—” You turned to look Tommy in the eyes. “I never intended for this to happen.”

Tommy let out a rough scoff, shaking his head. His arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, well, neither did I.”

A quiet beat.

Tess glanced at Joel then, waiting.

Joel felt the weight of her stare and finally looked up. His dark eyes met hers, unreadable.

Tess raised a brow. “Anything to add?”

His jaw ticked. “What d’you want me to say?”

“You tell me, Mr. Miller.” Tess mused, tapping her pen against her notepad. “What about how you ended up sleeping with your brother’s wife?”

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. His knuckles flexed. “Didn’t start out that way.”

Tess hummed. “Right.” She flipped to a page of her notes. “So let’s lay this out. You—” she nodded at you, “wanted a baby. You—” she pointed at Tommy, “were willing to ask your own brother to be a sperm donor, which then turned into you—” she turned to Joel, “what, just doing your brother a favor? By sleeping with his wife?”

Joel’s fingers drummed against his knee. “I did say no at first. But yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Tommy mumbled under his breath, “Yeah. A real big favor.”

You swallowed.

Tess scribbled something down. “Okay,” she said, flipping her pen between her fingers. “So when you three agreed to try for a baby in this… hands-on way, you never foresaw the possibility of… complications?”

You shook your head, stomach twisting.

“Not once?”

“I didn’t think about it,” you admitted, voice small. “I thought we were just—we were focused on the baby.”

Tommy snorted, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah? Well, neither of you seemed focused on it when you were sneakin’ around.”

You flinched again.

Joel finally looked up at him, his expression dark. “We weren’t sneakin’.”

“Sure as hell felt like it,” Tommy shot back.

Tess sighed, leaning forward, her gaze flicking between the three of you. “Alright, let’s just call it what it is: things got complicated. Lines that were there for a reason got crossed. And the problem wasn’t you trying for a baby—it was everything that happened outside of that agreement.”

She gestured between you and Joel. “You broke the boundaries you set. Maybe you ignored it, maybe you thought you could handle it, but now you’re here. And not because the plan failed, but because you broke your own rules. You had sex outside of what you all agreed to.”

A brief pause. Her eyes scanned each of you, as if silently asking any of you to deny it, before she tilted her head.

“So let’s cut to it. Why are you here? What do each of you actually want?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know, okay?” His voice cracked slightly. “I just—I ain’t ready to throw away my marriage, but I also ain’t stupid enough to pretend like nothin’ happened.”

Tess nodded, absorbing his words before turning to you. “And you?”

Your throat felt tight. “I—” Your hands fisted in your lap. “I don’t want to lose either of them.”

Tommy’s head snapped toward you.

Joel’s fingers twitched.

You swallowed, your voice steadier now. “My marriage with Tommy is important to me. He is important to me.” You turned toward your husband, eyes pleading. “But things are complicated. Because Joel is important too.” You hesitated, shifting your gaze to Joel’s hands, his knuckles tight and white where they pressed together. “I don’t want to just cut him out of this just because of one mistake.”

Tommy’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t interrupt. His fingers drummed against his knee, his gaze flickering between you and Joel like he was waiting for something.

Tess sat forward slightly, pen poised. “And Joel?”

Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t wanna make things worse than they already are,” he muttered, voice low, unreadable.

Tess hummed, unimpressed. “That’s not really an answer.”

His fingers tapped against his knee. “Ain’t got another one.”

You turned toward him, heart pounding. “Joel.”

His jaw flexed, his eyes staying downcast away from you.

You didn’t push right away, letting the silence stretch between you before trying again, voice softer this time. “What do you want?”

His throat worked, but he didn’t speak.

Tess glanced between you both. “It doesn’t have to be a speech, Joel. Just say what’s in your head.”

Joel breathed in a slow, heavy breath, rubbing the heel of his hand over his mouth. His fingers dragged across the stubble on his jaw. When he finally looked up, his eyes locked onto his brother. “I know what we agreed to,” he said, voice steady but low. “I know this was supposed to be your kid, that I was just…” He trailed off for a second, shaking his head, like the word didn’t sit right with him. “That I was just helpin’.”

The room felt very still. 

Joel shifted, his knuckles flexing against his knee. “But shit changed, Tommy.” His voice roughened. “I can’t just—" He exhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. “I won’t just step back like this don’t mean nothin’ to me.”

The weight of it settled between all of you. Tommy’s knee bounced, his hands gripping his own upper arms where they were crossed. His mouth pressed into a hard line, but he didn’t speak, didn’t argue.

Joel swallowed, gaze flicking downward for a second before lifting again. “I ain’t askin’ for—” He hesitated, his jaw flexing like the words were hard to force out. “I don’t even know what I’m askin’ for.” His eyes flickered to Tommy’s. “But I do know I ain’t gonna be left out to dry.”

“No one said you would be,” you tried to soothe, your hand reaching to rest on his forearm, shaking your head. His skin was rough, warm, solid beneath your touch.

Your eyes traced the worn lines of his face, the quiet tension in his jaw as he looked at his brother. He was handsome in a way that felt etched into him, shaped by time and hardship, by everything he’d carried.

And you knew—better than anyone—how much Tommy meant to him. That neither of them trusted anyone as much as they trusted each other. That this needed to be amended before anything else could carry on between the two of you. You took your hand away from his arm.

Tess let out a slow breath. “Okay,” she murmured, nodding slightly. “Thank you, Joel. I think everyone needed to hear that.”

Joel’s fingers flexed again, and this time, his gaze flicked toward you, studying you for the first time since you arrived. There was something there—a charge, a quiet pull that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and you were only noticing it now, now that everything had changed.

You let the silence stretch as you kept your eyes on his, trying to read between everything he wasn’t saying. That he wanted to be part of this, that he wasn’t going to give this up easily.

Then Tommy sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Then we gotta figure out what the hell we’re actually doin’ here.”

Tess tapped her pen against her notepad. “Right. So let’s talk about our options.”

“Options?” Tommy echoed, his voice edged with skepticism.

Tess nodded, uncrossing her legs only to recross them the other way. She leaned forward slightly. “The way I see it, there are ways to make this work—even if none of them are simple.” She flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. “But make no mistake: it’s going to take work.”

Her pen tapped lightly against the paper as she continued. “Let’s start with the obvious: you can walk away from this entirely, go your separate ways—but none of you seem too eager to do that. Or, you and Tommy could stay together, work on the marriage, and Joel can remain in the background. Be some kind of father figure to this child and nothing more.”

She lifted a brow and looked directly at him. “But I’m not sure, with how far this has gotten, that that’s actually what you want.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked, tension shifting through his shoulders as his eyes dropped to the floor.

Then, quiet but certain, Joel said, “It’s not.”

Your chest tightened. The urge to reach for him surged again, stronger this time, but you didn’t move. You let him sit in the silence he’d chosen, even as it said more than anything else could.

Tess gave a small nod, like she’d expected that answer.

Joel didn’t elaborate. Didn’t look up. But the shift in the room was immediate. Whatever this had started as—it wasn’t just about the baby anymore.

Tess paused, giving the moment space before she spoke again.

“So the third option…How do we feel about the possibility of an open relationship?”

The silence that followed was thick, charged.

Tommy looked at you. You looked at him. Then at Joel. Joel stared at the floor, his jaw tight, expression unreadable.

Tess leaned her elbows on her knees, voice calm but direct. “I’ll be honest—I rarely see that work in situations like this. But it’s an option. If you’re willing to set clear, honest boundaries—and actually respect them.”

Tommy let out a breathy, humorless laugh, running a hand down his face again. “Boundaries. We’d need real ones this time. Ones that actually get followed.” His voice was edged, not cruel, but firm. “Not just shit we say and then ignore the second someone gets all… worked up.”

You tried not to let the flush creep onto your face as you kept your eyes on Tess as she went on.

“Now, let’s talk about Sarah.”

Joel immediately stiffened, his eyes shooting up to look at the doctor. Tommy did too.

“She doesn’t need to know about any of this,” Joel said, voice sharp.

“Not right now,” Tommy agreed. He turned to his brother, “But eventually, she’s gonna ask questions. And if we’re talkin’ about raising a baby together too, we can’t just not think about how this looks to her.”

Tess nodded, writing something down. “And if you don’t figure out what you actually are to each other, she’s gonna pick up on that long before you’re ready to have the conversation.” She flicked her gaze between all of you. “Kids are perceptive. The more unsure you are, the more confusing it’s gonna be for her.”

“When the time comes,” Joel said, measured, “I’ll tell her.” He glanced at Tommy, then at you. “Not before. Not unless she starts askin’.”

Tess watched him closely. “And if she does?”

Joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Then I’ll explain it to her. In a way that makes sense.” His eyes flickered between you and Tommy again. “She don’t need to know more than what’s right for her age.”

You let out a slow breath, nodding. “Alright.”

Tess closed her notebook. “Alright. It’s a start. But you’ve got work to do. This isn’t just about a baby anymore.” She looked directly at Tommy. “It’s about your marriage. About your relationships with each other.” Then her gaze flicked between you and Joel. “And whether or not you two can actually handle boundaries, or if this is just a slow crawl toward something blowing up in your faces.”

You swallowed. Joel’s hands clenched.

Tommy just sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The walk into the parking lot was a quiet one, with the buzzing of unsettled energy between the three of you. Once outside the door, you all seemed to turn to each other, waiting for someone to speak.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice soft. “Both of you. For coming to this. I know it was…” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Weird,” Joel offered, with a dry edge.

“Necessary,” Tommy muttered, crossing his arms.

You nodded, arms folding across your chest. “So…” you trailed off, unsure what came next. None of you were.

Tommy gave a short sigh and looked off toward the lot. “I’ll go grab the truck.” He didn’t wait for a response—just turned and walked, shoulders tight, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

You and Joel stood in the stillness he left behind.

He glanced at you, then away, rocking slightly on his heels. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say right now.”

You huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah. Me neither.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, like something was caught just behind his teeth—but he didn’t speak.

And you didn’t reach for him, even though you wanted to. Even though your hand twitched like it might. To squeeze his, to graze his wrist, to pull him close and maybe even kiss him goodbye. But it was still too weird. Too soon.

So instead, when Tommy pulled up and the tires crunched on the pavement, you stepped forward and let your fingers brush lightly over Joel’s shoulder. Just for a second. Just enough to say something without having to speak.

The window on Tommy’s side rolled down, elbow braced on the edge. He was watching his brother with a resigned look in his eyes.

Joel met his eyes. They exchanged a short, silent nod. Nothing more.

You climbed into the passenger seat, heart thrumming. Joel stayed standing where you left him, hands in his pockets, watching as the truck pulled away.

And even though nothing had been said… it felt like something had shifted. Just enough to make it through the rest of the day.

For mid-October, the sun sure was baking you in the bleachers. But it was the good kind of heat—cozy, not oppressive. The air smelled like dust and hay and horses. Behind you, the fair buzzed with life—kids screaming on the roller coasters, bells ringing as prizes were won, music from the concert stage floating over the field like static.

The Austin Fall Festival was in full swing.

Tommy sat beside you on the sun-warmed metal bench, one hand deep in a bag of kettle corn, the other resting easy on your knee. Down in the arena below your seats, another bull rider went airborne, thrown like a ragdoll into the dirt. The crowd let out a collective wince.

“Damn,” Tommy said, watching the guy scramble to his feet. “That’s gonna bruise.”

You snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Bruise? That man’s spine just folded in half.”

Tommy grinned, leaning in. “Bet I could do better.”

You raised a brow. “You can’t even get outta bed without your back crackin’ like fireworks.”

He laughed, mouth full of popcorn, then pressed a quick kiss to your lips—warm and familiar. “True. But I’d still look good tryin’.”

You smiled as you sipped your soda. The air smelled like caramel and something fried—probably the funnel cake stand you passed earlier. You sat close enough to the arena that you could hear the thud of hooves, the pop of the announcer’s mic, the wave of cheers and groans rolling through the stands behind you. It felt electric.

Sarah was up soon. Her first barrel race. She’d been buzzing about it for weeks.

You leaned into Tommy’s side, and he brought his arm up to wrap around your shoulders, giving you an affectionate squeeze.

This was good. A sense of normalcy again.

Then, a familiar face caught your eye making his way up the bleachers. Joel had a bag of cotton candy in one hand and was weaving through the crowd with ease up the stairs. He reached your row and slid in beside you, a small smile already on his face.

“Just left Sarah with her trainer,” he said, a little out of breath. “She’s up in the next few.”

Then he leaned in to greet you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek meant to be just a casual familial ‘hello’. But still, his stubble scraped your skin just enough to leave a spark, and he smelled like horses and leather and that subtle cologne he always wore. It hit somewhere low in your stomach, but you didn’t let it show. 

He greeted Tommy with a nod, and popped a puff of cotton candy into his mouth.

You made a face. “Ugh. How can you eat that stuff?”

Joel grinned around the sugar, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s what makes me so sweet.”

You laughed, shaking your head and taking another sip of your soda. Tommy reached down for more popcorn, his arm brushing against your back as he dropped his hand from your shoulder, and Joel leaned forward to watch the next event being announced.

You sat between them, shoulders brushing, the sun warming your back, the crowd rising around you.

For a moment, it almost felt like things could settle. Like the three of you could fit into this new normal—comfortable, easy, like it was supposed to be this way all along. At least you hoped. 

The announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, calling out Sarah’s name, and your heart gave a little skip.

“There she is,” Joel said, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees.

You leaned, too, eyes scanning the gate. Sure enough, Sarah was there behind the posts on her horse, nerves painted all over her posture even though she tried to play it cool. Even from here, you could just make out the furrow in her brow—the same quiet, determined look she got from her dad.

“She’s gonna kill it,” Tommy said beside you, resting his hand high on your thigh. He gave it a gentle squeeze, leaning into you as he said, “Ain’t no way she don’t win.”

You smiled, but it felt slightly delayed. Joel’s knee pressed against yours as he leaned close on your other side, eyes still locked on the arena.

“Hope she don’t cut that second barrel too close,” he muttered, mostly to himself, his voice low and rough. “She keeps doin’ that in practice. Gets excited and leans too early.”

“She’ll be fine,” you said, but you could hear the tension in your own voice. Joel’s hand had come to rest behind you on the bench, close to your lower back. Tommy’s fingers were still on your leg.

Sarah burst out of the gate, and the crowd roared. The three of you shot to your feet as her horse charged forward, hooves kicking up dust. She moved fast—tight, clean—rounding the first barrel like she’d done it a hundred times.

Joel was grinning ear to ear. “That’s my girl!”

His arm slid around your back, his other hand curled into a loose fist, pressed just beneath his mouth as if to contain the rush of emotion building in him. The hand at your back caught in the fabric of your blouse, fingers curling there, like he was tethering himself. Like he was bracing.

You tried to focus on Sarah, but all you could feel was the heat of his fingers, the way he clung to you, like your body was hyper aware of him.

You smiled, cheering, barely breathing, eyes fixed on her horse thundering toward the second turn. She hugged the barrel tight—too tight. A little wobble, a gasp from the crowd, but she corrected at the last second.

“She’s got it,” Tommy said beside you. His hand came to rest against the small of your back—right below where Joel’s hand was already bunched in your shirt. The two touches nearly met.

Neither of them moved.

Sarah charged toward the third barrel. Clean. Her final sprint down the home stretch brought the stands to their feet.

The three of you clapped, cheered, whooped, your heart racing, the electricity between the two men fizzing silently beside you. Tommy’s hand splayed wide across your backside. Joel barely moved, watching the timer screen flash across the display.

“That’s a good run,” he said, low and proud. His fingers loosened from your shirt, but he didn’t move his hand away.

“She’s gonna place,” Tommy agreed.

“She might win it,” you added, turning your head to look at them.

Both of them were already looking at you.

You smiled, flushed from the excitement—but something in the way they each looked at you made your skin feel hot for an entirely different reason.

Neither of them said anything, and for a second, the moment just… hung there. Their hands on you. The roar of the crowd fading into something muted.

Then the announcer called the next name, and the energy around you snapped back into motion.

Joel pulled his arm back to grab the cotton candy. Tommy slid his hand away like nothing had happened.

But your body remembered. And so did theirs.

After catching up with Sarah after her event, she was still buzzing with adrenaline. Practically bouncing.

“Did you see how fast he took that last curve?!” she gasped, practically skipping between you and Joel. “I was freaking out when the second barrel started to tip—did you see that?! Were you guys watching?!”

Joel was all pride and smiles as he walked beside her, teasing and nodding along, soaking in every word. She rambled on about her trainer’s horses, how they’d competed at Rodeo Austin for real, how she couldn’t wait to do it again. Eventually, she managed to talk the three of you into a round at the BB gun booth.

All four of you took a stance—Sarah coached dramatically, and you, predictably, failed miserably your first try. Joel and Tommy moved to the next round, and you watched from the side with Sarah, both of you hollering in support.

“Hit it! Hit it!” Sarah screeched at her dad. You let out a whoop as Tommy nailed the bullseye again and again.

When the game runner handed him a giant teddy bear, Tommy swung it into your arms with a triumphant grin before kissing you full on the mouth, unbothered by the crowd.

You laughed against his lips, hugging the bear tight, bouncing a little despite yourself.

“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah groaned, tugging at his arm until he pulled back from the kiss, grinning at her wide-eyed look. “Win me one too! Please?”

Tommy’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Joel, clearly amused that he was the one winning today. Joel rolled his eyes, but you caught the tightness in his jaw, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long as he glanced at your oversized teddy hitched on your hip.

“Go on, then,” Joel said, nodding toward the booth. “I’m gonna grab another beer.”

“I’ll join you,” you added quickly, glancing toward Tommy. But Sarah was already dragging him away, his hands back on the BB gun, ready for round two.

You and Joel peeled off quietly, heading toward the food and drink stands.

“Sarah was beggin’ for a funnel cake earlier,” Joel said, hands in his pockets. “Okay if we stop by one of the stands?”

“Yeah, ’course,” you murmured, falling into step beside him.

The walk was quiet—not awkward, exactly, but the air between you had thickened. Every step felt like it carried the weight of something unsaid.

You hadn’t talked much since the therapy session. Not really. Not about anything that mattered. The three of you had agreed to give it space—to breathe, to not immediately push into definitions or rules or boundaries.

But space didn’t feel like clarity. It felt like walking on eggshells. Like waiting for someone else to speak first, only no one ever did.

You weren’t sure what this was supposed to look like now. The idea of exploring an open relationship had been thrown out into the room like a life raft, but no one had said if they were actually ready to grab onto it. Not Joel. Not Tommy. Not even you.

You made it all the way to the counter before either of you spoke again.

“Make that two funnel cakes, please,” you said, just as Joel ordered Sarah’s.

He raised an eyebrow.

“What?” you laughed, lifting a shoulder. “Can’t help the cravings.” You reached for your wallet. “I’ll get Sarah’s too.”

Joel stopped you, his hand catching your wrist as you moved to your back pocket.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, already pulling out cash.

Then, quieter—low enough that the vendor wouldn’t hear, but just loud enough for you—he added, “Guess that sweet tooth runs in the genes.”

Your heart stumbled a beat. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t smirk, didn’t wink, but you could swear there was a twinkle in his eye when he turned back to you as you both stepped aside to wait for your order.

And just like that, the silence settled back in—only now it wasn’t neutral. It was charged.

When the funnel cakes came, you didn’t hesitate—tearing off a bite, still warm and soft, powdered sugar sticking to your lips.

You sighed in delight. “Oh my God.”

Joel was watching you when you looked up. That slight smirk on his face.

“What?” you asked, mouth full.

“You got a little somethin’,” he said, gesturing vaguely near his own mouth.

You licked your lips automatically, tongue sweeping the corner.

“Nope,” he murmured, chuckling. “Still there.”

Before you could try again, his hand reached out. Fingers warm and rough as they curled under your chin. His thumb dragged gently across your upper lip, brushing away the sugar with a slow swipe.

You froze—your breath caught somewhere in your throat as your eyes searched his face. The lights from the festival sparkled in his eyes, and behind him the sky had deepened into a wash of orange and violet.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he moved.

His lips brushed yours—soft, hesitant—like he wasn’t sure if this counted as crossing a line, or if the line had disappeared altogether. But he didn’t pull back right away. Instead, he paused there, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your mouth, and for a second neither of you moved. 

You stood still in that sliver of space where touch becomes choice, where you could pretend it hadn’t happened yet. But then his mouth pressed into yours fully, slowly, like he was tasting something he already knew. It wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate, drawn out and gentle. 

His hand stayed at your chin, his thumb pinching just barely as if to steady you, and your lips parted instinctively beneath his. You felt the sigh in his chest more than you heard it, like something deep inside him had let go the second your mouths met. 

Your hands stayed at your sides, fist clenched around the paper tray still holding your funnel cake, the other hugging the teddy bear to your side, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. It wasn’t a kiss born from adrenaline or jealousy—it wasn’t the kind of kiss that begged for permission. It simply was. 

When he pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. It was slow, like he didn’t really want to stop, but knew he had to. His lips hovered a moment longer—just close enough that you could still feel the heat of him—and then he stepped back half a breath. You didn’t dare move. Couldn’t. You stood there staring at him, your lungs burning like you’d been holding your breath the entire time. Joel’s eyes dropped to your mouth again, and then, with a subtle flick of his tongue, he licked the last trace of powdered sugar from his bottom lip. The gesture was unthinking, automatic, but the sheer sight of it landed somewhere low and electric in your stomach, like a match being struck.

And then the world came rushing back in.

The noise of the fairgrounds—the buzz of voices, the bark of game operators, the soft whir of rides—returned all at once, like someone had turned the volume back up. You swallowed hard and looked away, trying to force air into your lungs, trying to stop the trembling in your fingers. Joel didn’t say anything. He just nodded once, almost to himself, and turned to start walking back toward the game booth. You followed beside him, the heat still high in your cheeks, your steps too careful, like if you moved too fast you might lose your balance.

You glanced up at him once, just to see if he was as composed as he acted, but the faint pink flush at the tips of his ears gave him away.

“Dad!”

Sarah’s voice snapped your head up. She was running toward you, a giant stuffed horse clutched in her arms, nearly half her size. She was beaming. “Can I go find Claire and Maddie again? They’re headed to the ferris wheel!”

Joel handed her the funnel cake without hesitation, “Yeah, go on, just stay where we can see you.”

“Thanks!” she chirped, already spinning away with her prize in tow, the funnel cake tipping dangerously as she ran off.

But your eyes weren’t on her.

They were on Tommy, just catching up to you—beer in one hand, the other stuffed in his front pocket, a smile on his face as he watched her go. When his eyes found yours, they flicked to Joel beside you, and something in his expression changed. Not angry, not suspicious… but aware. Like he was conscious of some shift between the two of you.

You tried to will the pink from your cheeks, steady the pulse in your throat as you stepped toward him and offered your funnel cake like nothing had happened.

“That kid had me goin’ three more rounds to get her that prize,” Tommy chuckled, clearly trying to break whatever tension had settled back between the three of you as he tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth.

Joel let out a quiet laugh, eyes following in the direction Sarah had run off. “Better go catch up with her before I lose ’er.”

Tommy nodded, then glanced at you. “Think we’ll call it a night after this. She’ll be wired for another hour and then crash hard.”

You smiled, grateful for the exit.

As Joel nodded and began to step away, Tommy called after him casually, “Hey—when you drop her off, mind swingin’ by the house? Think I left that box of tools in your truck bed last week.”

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure.” his eyes landed on you for the briefest moment, “See ya in a bit then,”

Tommy gave him a two-finger wave, then turned his attention back to you, the last bite of funnel cake pinched between his fingers, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walked out of the fair.

The drive home wasn’t long, but it felt like it stretched forever.

Tommy’s hand had been on your thigh from the moment he slid into the driver’s seat—steady at first, but now, it was creeping higher with every turn he made. His fingers flexed just at the top of your leg, the pad of his thumb brushing over your jeans in slow, distracting strokes.

“Tommy,” you said, a quiet breath more than a word.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, too casual for the way his fingers were moving now.

“You’re bein’ handsy.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “Yeah, well. You’re lettin’ me.”

This wasn’t like him.

Yes, Tommy was affectionate—always had been. Touching your lower back as you passed through a crowd, brushing his lips over your shoulder while you stood at the sink, nudging your knee under the table just to remind you he was there.

But his gestures had never been… naughty.

Never anything that lit a fuse under your skin like the way his hand was gripping your thigh now. Never anything that made your breath stutter in your chest just from the press of his fingers curling possessively around your skin.

He was usually more careful with you. Gentle.

Tommy was the kind of man who waited until you were both tucked under the covers, warm and safe, soft and sleepy, before climbing over you with a smile and a kiss to your neck. The kind of man who made you smile first, made sure the world had quieted before he pulled you under.

You turned your head, looking at him from the passenger seat. He was focused on the road, jaw tight, eyes hard on the curve of the pavement as he turned into the neighborhood. But there was a spark there, flashing hot and alive beneath his usual easy exterior.

Your gaze slid down as he shifted in his seat, and your eyes caught on the undeniable shape in his jeans.

Heat bloomed in your face. Your chest. Lower.

The tight bulge in his lap pulsed like a secret between you, and it made your thighs press together involuntarily. But it wasn’t just the fact that he was aroused—it was that he wasn’t hiding it. That he was feeling you up in the front seat of the truck, on your quiet neighborhood street, away from the safety of the four walls of your bedroom.

Tommy, who usually waited until the house was dark and the doors were locked. Who kissed you slowly, slid his hands under your shirt and whispered “you okay?” even after years of being together.

He just slid his hand between your legs and gripped your inner thigh like he’d been thinking about it all night.

It sent heat rolling through you, sharp and dizzying. Not just from the touch, but from the awareness of how out of place it was. How unlike him it was to let go like this, to need like this, especially outside the safety of home.

And God help you—you liked it.

You pressed your legs together, your breath catching in your throat, trying to remember how to sit still while every nerve in your body screamed at you to climb into his lap and ride him right there in the middle of the road.

He felt your squirming as he pulled into the driveway, the tires crunching softly over gravel. The second the truck shifted into park and the headlights clicked off, the cab was swallowed in quiet shadow, only the streetlamp catching the edge of his jaw.

He turned toward you, that smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth—the kind that made your stomach flip. His hand slid from your thigh to the top of your seat, arm stretched across the backrest, his gaze drinking you in from the other side of the bench.

“C’mere,” he said, low and smooth, nodding for you to slide over.

You bit your lip, heart thudding, and obeyed without a word—scooting across the cracked leather until your thigh brushed his.

His hand dropped from the headrest to cradle the back of your neck, warm and firm. The other left the steering wheel, finding your cheek, fingers spreading across your jaw like he needed to anchor you in place.

And then he kissed you.

Not the sweet, half-thought kisses he’d given you throughout the day. Not careful, not playful. This was deep. Needy. Starving. Like he’d been holding it back for too long and didn’t care anymore if it showed.

His mouth slanted over yours again and again, open and hot, tongue sweeping past your lips like it belonged there. The soft sounds he made—those low, growling hums that rumbled in his throat—sent heat surging through your core.

Your breath stuttered as his grip on your neck tightened, his other hand trailing slowly down from your face to trace along your body until it was back at your denim clad thighs. He gripped hard, his palm sliding up along the seam of your jeans, squeezing just enough to make you shift in your seat.

When he tugged gently at the base of your hair, just at the nape, a moan slipped from your throat before you could catch it.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

He huffed a breath against your skin, already moving to your neck, kissing a line down the column of your throat. His mouth was open, his tongue slow, dragging heat behind every press of his lips, and then—teeth. A soft bite that made your body jolt.

“Wanted to get my hands on you all day,” he muttered between kisses, voice muffled against your skin. “Lookin’ so pretty,”

You whimpered, nails curling into the fabric of his shirt as he worked lower, pushing your neckline aside with one hand just to mouth at the new skin he found there.

You were panting now, flushed all over, your thighs pressing together as he kissed, bit, sucked like he was trying to brand you.

“Tommy,” you breathed, completely undone, and when he looked back up at you—lips swollen, eyes dark—you barely recognized the hunger in his face.

“Get your ass inside,” he rasped. “Now.”

You climbed out the passenger door, giddy like a teenager all over again, your skin still tingling from his hands and mouth and voice. As you made your way up the walk, Tommy’s hand came down in a playful smack against your rear, making you squeal and laugh over your shoulder at him.

He didn’t smile—not fully. His eyes were too dark, too focused. But the edge of his mouth twitched like he was barely holding himself together.

By the time you reached the door, his chest was already at your back, his arms snaking around you, mouth grazing your ear. “You drive me crazy, baby… you know that?” he murmured, voice low and breath hot.

You fumbled the keys, giggling as he pressed closer. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands to himself.”

“And you didn’t stop me,” he whispered, nuzzling your jaw. “Didn’t want to, did you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

The door clicked open and the second you were inside, his hands were on you again—spinning you around, backing you up against the wall just inside the entry. His mouth crashed into yours, deeper this time, slower but no less desperate. His hands slid up your sides, over your waist, thumbs hooking into your belt loops to keep you flush against him.

He kissed you like he hadn’t touched you in weeks. Like he’d been starving for you.

By the time you pulled apart for air, you were both breathless and a little dizzy.

“Upstairs,” he murmured, voice ragged, his hands slipping down to grab yours, guiding you behind him.

At the top, he didn’t even pause—just pulled you straight into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind you with one solid thud. And then his hands were back on your hips, his mouth on your throat, and whatever this was—it wasn’t slowing down anytime soon.

Your back hit the bedroom wall with a soft thump, and Tommy barely gave you time to catch your breath before his mouth was on you again, pressing into the curve of your neck, open and hot, his hands splayed across your hips like he couldn’t keep his hands still.

You gasped as he nipped at the base of your throat, your hands tangling in his shirt, gripping the fabric tight. He groaned softly against your skin, one hand sliding up under your top, rough fingers skimming over your ribs like he needed to feel all of you.

“Tommy—” you breathed, but it came out more like a sigh.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling hard, eyes dark and locked onto yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head before the words even formed. “Don’t.”

That was all he needed.

He tugged your shirt up, slow but sure, breaking contact just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His eyes dropped, sweeping over your bare skin like it physically pained him to look away. One of his hands slid behind you and unclasped your bra in a smooth motion, and let it slide from your shoulders. His hands were reverent, warm and wide as they came up to cup you, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and the groan that left him was raw, almost pained.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, like a thought spoken out loud.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his stomach and chest. He helped you the rest of the way, yanking it over his head and tossing it behind him. His mouth was back on you before you could get a good look, lips trailing heat down your collarbone, your sternum, the swell of your breast. He kissed your flesh until you were arching into him, fingers tangling in his hair.

His hands moved to the button of your jeans next, and you gasped when he popped it open and dragged the zipper down, his knuckles grazing the skin just below your belly. You toed off your shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the carpet barely registering over the pounding in your ears. His hands slid to your waist, and he dropped to his knees, pulling your jeans down inch by inch, kissing the skin he uncovered like it was a map he already knew by heart.

By the time he got your jeans off, his mouth never left your skin, kissing along your hip bone, his breath hot and shaky. His hands slid up your thighs, slow and worshipful—until they weren’t. Until they were gripping.

His fingers dug into your flesh, pulling you closer as he moved up to kiss your stomach, chest, throat—claiming every inch like it was his and his alone. You were breathless by the time he kissed you again, and when he pushed you back onto the bed, you went willingly, your back sinking into the sheets, arms stretching above your head.

He hovered over you, eyes tracing every inch of your face. And then something flickered there. Something sharp.

“You let him touch you like this?” he asked, voice low but tight, as his hand moved between your legs, cupping you over your panties. The lace was already damp beneath his fingers, your arousal bleeding through the fabric. He dragged a finger along the center, slow and deliberate, and you felt the heat bloom deeper as the pressure built.

Your breath caught. “Tommy—”

“Just tell me,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, then your throat. “Did he touch you like this?” He pressed the heel of his palm in, slow but firm, dragging a moan from your lips even as your brows pulled together.

“Stop,” you breathed, trying to push up on your elbows. “It doesn’t matter.”

But he shook his head, his hand sliding your underwear down your thighs, slow and rough all at once. “It does to me.”

He kissed you again—deeper this time, almost bruising until his hands guided you to roll over, his touch less gentle now, more insistent. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees, chest pressed into the bed, your face turned toward the pillows. You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt him—hot and hard, the blunt weight of his cock pressing against you.

You arched back into it instinctively, needing him to forget everything else, to just feel this—feel you.

“You’re mine,” he breathed, pushing into you with one steady thrust that made you gasp, your fingers curling into the comforter. “Always been mine.”

You moaned, eyes shutting tightly as he moved inside you—rougher now, his rhythm firm, controlled, but not cruel. Just desperate. Like he had something to prove.

Every sound that left him was strained, thick with emotion—his hands spreading across your hips, his thumb trailing up your spine like he needed to feel every piece of you to believe this was real.

The sound of your moans and Tommy’s grunts filled the air, the sheets rubbing against your skin beneath you, it was almost loud enough to drown out the front door opening.

But then you heard his voice.

“Tommy?”

Your eyes flew open, breath catching in your throat. That was Joel’s voice coming from downstairs. Your mind scrambled to remember why the hell he was here. And then you remembered Tommy’s request. Some stupid tool box he needed.

Tommy stilled for half a second—just long enough for your heart to lurch—before he started moving again, slower this time, deeper. Like he was doubling down.

You grunted, biting your lip to swallow the moan that threatened to give you away. Your hand scrambled for the edge of the sheets, something to grip, something to hold you to earth.

Your blood ran hot and cold all at once.

Joel’s voice came again—closer. “You home?”

“We’re up here,” Tommy called back, voice completely steady.

No.

Your entire body tensed under him, your head whipping to the side, eyes locked on the closed bedroom door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, panicked, but he only dropped more of his weight onto you, one hand pressing flat between your shoulder blades, the other tightening around your hip. You were locked in place beneath him, your breath coming fast.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Tommy cooed, his voice sweet but mocking as his hips kept moving, slow and steady and deep. “Ain’t gonna stop now.”

There was a creak on the stairs.

Your heart slammed into your throat.

“Tommy,” you hissed again, but it came out half-broken, your voice catching in your chest.

And then—

The door swung open.

“Jesus—” Joel flinched hard, turning away with a grunt and lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “What the hell, man!?”

Tommy didn’t stop.

His grip on you tightened, his thrusts slowing just a hair—but only to lean down, breath hot against your ear as he rasped, “That what you wanted, huh? Him seein’ you like this?”

You whimpered, caught between mortification and a heat that made your knees weak.

“Tommy—please—” you gasped, struggling half-heartedly beneath him.

But he was gone.

“Think you can just fuck my wife whenever you want?” Tommy growled, looking over at Joel now, chest heaving, voice thick with rage and something else—something darker. “Think you do it better?”

Joel turned slightly, eyes caught somewhere between fury and disbelief. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind—”

“Have I?” Tommy snapped, his voice low and dangerous as he fucked into you harder now, like he was trying to prove something with every movement. “’Cause she’s drippin’ all over my cock right now. You seein’ this?”

You let out a broken sound, face buried in the mattress. You wanted to crawl out of your skin—and yet the way Tommy was holding you, the filthy things coming out of his mouth, the heat between the three of you…

It was too much.

Joel’s mouth opened like he was about to say something else—but he didn’t.

He stared.

He stayed.

And your heart nearly exploded as Tommy chuckled low in his throat, thrusting deep and slow again like he wanted Joel to see it.

“That’s right,” Tommy said, never looking away. “Go on. Watch. See what it looks like when a man takes care of what’s his.”

“Call this takin’ care?” Joel said, voice low, sharp with something mean and taunting beneath the surface.

Your eyes flicked up, wide, and found his—and the heat there made your breath catch.

“Tell me, little brother,” Joel drawled, “you ever felt her come all over that dick of yours?”

Tommy’s movements faltered. Just for a second.

You felt it—his grip loosening slightly on your hips, his breath catching.

Your heart was in your throat, beating so hard it hurt.

Joel stepped forward, slow, measured. His eyes dragged over your body—not like it was new to him, but like he knew every inch of it already. Like he could trace it blind, by memory alone.

“Didn’t think so,” he murmured.

Then his gaze locked with yours.

“Should we show him, sweetheart?” he asked, and your stomach dropped clean through the mattress. “Show him what he’s been missin’?”

Your mouth parted, no sound coming out.

Joel tilted his head, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Think my pissy little brother needs some pointers?”

Tommy let out a rough breath behind you, a mix between a growl and a scoff, his hand sliding up your spine possessively.

“She’s my goddamn wife,” he snapped, but his voice wasn’t steady anymore.

Joel’s gaze flickered up, darkening, “Then fuckin’ act like it.”

The silence was deafening—so thick you could hear your own pulse in your ears.

Tommy’s hands flexed on your hips again. And then he thrust—hard. Deep. A sound ripped out of you that wasn’t quiet at all.

And Joel’s expression changed. Softer. Almost smug. Almost… proud.

“She sure makes the prettiest sounds, don’t she?” he said, and he approached the bed. Your skin felt like it was on fire as Tommy stilled completely, but he was still hard inside you to your surprise.

“Turn her over,” Joel said steadily.

Tommy’s head snapped toward him. “Get the hell out.”

“You invited me in here, little brother.” Joel’s tone was exasperatingly calm. 

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Both men. In the room with you while you were naked and taking your husband’s cock.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, wild and uneven, like it was trying to warn you. Or maybe it was just overwhelmed.

You didn’t know where to look. Joel, standing there with that infuriating calm like this was just another Tuesday. Tommy, still inside you, bristling with fury, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead as he tried to process what was happening.

And you—trapped in the middle, hips pinned beneath the man you married, body still burning for the one you hadn’t stopped thinking about since that first night.

You should’ve felt humiliated. You did. But your skin still tingled everywhere Joel’s eyes touched.

Tommy was quick to snap at his brother, “And now I want you out.”

Joel didn’t flinch. “And what do you want, sweetheart?” he asked, gaze cutting to you, his head tilted slightly as his eyes took in the flushed features of your face.

You exhaled slowly, your lungs feeling like they’d deflated. Your mouth was dry, but you licked your lips anyway, then turned your face to look back at Tommy, biting down gently on the inside of your cheek.

Tommy’s face twisted in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“Just…” you breathed, heart pounding in your throat, “let’s just see. It could be fun.” You swallowed. “We haven’t made any rules yet.”

Tommy looked between the two of you—his jaw tight, his eyes wide, stunned. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before he finally pulled out of you, breath ragged. “Alright. Turn over.”

You moved quickly, your skin flushed and glowing, body still trembling as you flipped onto your back. The sheets were warm under you, your thighs still slick, still open.

Behind you, you heard the unmistakable rustle of clothes—the metal clink of a belt, the soft drag of a zipper—and then Joel was there.

The heat of him hit you first. He was so warm, and as he stepped to the side of the bed, the mattress dipped slightly with his weight.

“This is so fuckin’ weird,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head as he moved to kneel between your legs again.

You sat up a little, cupping his face, dragging your hand down the center of his chest, his stomach. “I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes. “If you don’t want this, we stop. Say the word.”

Tommy stared down at you for a long second. His lips pressed together, pulled inward like he was thinking too hard. His eyes flicked to Joel, then back to you.

He sighed, jaw clenching. “Just this once. And if it doesn’t work—”

“Never again,” you finished softly, nodding.

Only then did you glance up at Joel.

He nodded once, slow and assured, his hand already moving to the bulge in his briefs. Your eyes followed—broad chest, tan skin, strong forearms—and you couldn’t help yourself. You leaned back, just slightly, hand drifting up to cup him through the fabric. Joel exhaled, low and rough, eyes fluttering shut as your palm rubbed against him.

“Show him,” you said softly.

His eyes opened again, sharper now, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Not sure he deserves it after all that attitude,” Joel muttered, voice teasing but laced with heat.

“Joel—” you warned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes—but his voice was dark now, thicker. “But then it’s my turn.”

You watched him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down with one slow motion that revealed all of him—hard, heavy, already flushed. Your breath caught at the sight, heat flooding through you like a second pulse.

He fisted himself gently, watching you, waiting.

Above you, Tommy shifted. You turned to look at him and his mouth was drawn tight, eyes hard with conflict. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he moved closer, settling between your legs again, hands sliding up your thighs.

You stared up at him, unsure if he’d really go through with it. But then he lined himself up, his cock dragging through your folds, and you gasped at the contact.

He sighed low, almost like relief, as he sank into you with one long, slow push. The weight of him settling into your hips, the feeling of him filling you again—it made your head fall back, your mouth falling open.

The tension in the room turned molten.

Tommy’s hands slid to your thighs, gripping tight like he needed something to hold on to. His eyes flicked up to Joel, who was still settled at your side, close enough now that you could feel his presence, warm and electric.

You barely registered Joel moving until you felt his hand close around your wrist. Firm. Certain. He guided your hand to his cock—thick and hot and heavy—and curled your fingers around him like he was placing something sacred into your palm.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t hesitate.

You wrapped your lips around the head, soft and swollen and already leaking, and sucked—slow, reverent, like you’d been dreaming of this since the last time. And you had been.

Joel hissed through his teeth, his hand threading through your hair as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled him deeper. “Good girl,” he muttered. Your entire body clenched at the praise.

Tommy groaned above you, building up his thrusts, erratic and messy as you pulsed around him.

“Slow down,” Joel said, calm, instructive. “Long, even strokes. Deep.”

Tommy cursed under his breath but obeyed, grinding into you with a slower, heavier rhythm that made your whole body arch forward, your mouth taking Joel deeper.

“Good,” Joel murmured. “Now thumb her clit.”

You whimpered around his cock, the sound thick and broken. Tommy’s thumb slid over your swollen clit in soft, careful circles, and your whole body clenched around him.

“She’s grippin’ the hell outta me,” Tommy breathed. “Fuck.”

Joel’s voice was right above you now, rough but steady. “Spit on it.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Spit on her clit. She likes it messier.”

You moaned, mouth full of Joel, your thighs twitching.

Tommy grunted again, but when you felt the warm wet hit of spit on your skin, you moaned loudly, hips bucking. His thumb slid through the slickness building there, the glide smoother, filthier, perfect.

“That’s it,” Joel growled. “Keep her right there. Thumb her just like that. Don’t stop. Her throat is squeezin’ me so good when you do that.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your body was clenching up, something coiling in your spine and hips as he kept up the pace. Joel’s cock dragged across your tongue, thick and pulsing, while Tommy thrust into you—slower now, more precise, but still not quite enough.

You loved Tommy’s rhythm—the care in it, the way he was doing everything to get you there, the way he wanted to get you there. But your orgasm wasn’t building the same way. It was harder to catch, harder to ride. Joel’s cock had a weight, a stretch that reached something deeper in you—something that made your body respond instantly. With Tommy, it took more. He was only slightly smaller, narrower, not lacking, just… different.

Still good. Still yours. But different.

“She’s close,” Joel said, voice ragged now, eyes locked on your face. “I can feel it.”

Tommy groaned, cock twitching inside you as you clenched down hard. “Jesus, she’s—fuck, she’s so tight.”

“You wanna come for Tommy, sweet girl?” Joel asked, still beside you on bed, one hand fisted in your hair where it spilled across the bedspread, thumb brushing softly over your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his—and in the same breath, Joel guided his cock back between your lips, sliding into your mouth with a slow, deliberate push that made your throat stretch and burn in the best way.

You gagged softly, the movement rippling through your body. Tommy moaned at the sudden convulsion of your walls around him, his one hand gripping your hip so hard it would leave bruises. The other kept circling your clit with his thumb, your eyes warring between rolling back and trying to focus on Joel. 

“Fuck—she just—goddamn,” Tommy breathed, his hips faltering for half a second before finding that rhythm again. Deep, slow strokes that had your whole body arching beneath him.

Joel pulled back with a wet pop, a string of spit and precum connecting your lips to the flushed tip of his cock. You were gasping for breath, whimpering and moaning as he leaned down close, hovering just over your face, thumb wiping at your mouth like it was his.

You were hovering now, your spine tingling with the build up. So close. But not there yet. Your body wanted more.

And Joel knew.

Of course he knew.

“Tommy’s got you so full, huh?” Joel murmured, voice like gravel soaked in honey in your ear, low enough that only you could hear. “Still not enough to make you come, greedy girl?”

His breath brushed the shell of your ear, and your whole body twitched.

You couldn’t answer—not with words. But your eyes found his, wide and pleading, glassy with need. You looked up at him from where your head rested on the sheets, Joel crouched beside you now, shadowing over your face like he could read everything you couldn’t say aloud.

And he could. He always could.

Your chest rose with a broken breath as your mouth parted—no sound, just air. One of his hands stayed tangled in your hair, grounding you. The other drifted down, palm dragging with reverence over your chest, and when it reached your breast, his touch went still.

He watched you as if testing the waters. The second your back arched into his palm, just a little, the faintest tremble of pleading… he smirked.

“There she is,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your nipple slowly and deliberately before twisting and palming, kneading your flesh. Your thighs jerked and your eyes fluttered closed, breath stalling in your throat.

Joel leaned in, voice like silk soaked in heat.

“Gonna have to beg him for it,” he murmured, this time loud enough for his brother to hear, dragging his thumb over you again as your back arched once more. “Go on. Show him how sweet you sound when you’re right at the edge.”

He kissed your temple, lips warm and just barely there before sitting up again.

“Show him what you gave me.”

Your breath was a broken thing, chest heaving, your legs locked around Tommy’s waist as his cock filled you over and over again, his thumb grinding against your clit with every thrust. You could barely speak—but you tried.

“Please,” you whispered, blinking up at Tommy. “Please don’t stop.”

His eyes were wide, blown out, sweat dripping from his brow, “Fuck,” he muttered. “Say it again.”

“Please, Tommy,” you gasped, fingers gripping his arms. “Please let me come—need it—need it so bad.”

Joel’s hand moved from your hair to stroke slowly over his cock at the edge of the bed, gaze flicking between your face and Tommy’s. “There it is,” he murmured. “You hear that? That’s yours, little brother. Make her fuckin’ come on your cock.”

Tommy’s rhythm picked up, driving into you with slow, hard strokes that hit deep, his thumb never stopping the delicious circles over your clit just like Joel had told him.

Your head fell back. Your thighs shook. Your whole body started to come apart.

As your jaw fell open, Joel took your mouth again—his cock thick and slick as it pressed past your lips, filling your mouth with one steady thrust. You welcomed it greedily, your moan muffled and broken, your tongue flattening beneath the weight of him.

Your back arched off the bed, body seizing with pleasure as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave—white-hot, all-consuming. Joel’s hand was back in your hair, holding you down, guiding your mouth as your throat fluttered around him, his cock pressing deeper with every pulse. The other squeezed and twisted your breast as you rode your high.

Tommy groaned loudly above you, his voice rough, desperate, like he’d just been torn open.

“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, and his hips jerked once, twice—then stilled.

You felt it. The heat of him spilling into you, thick and heavy, your cunt already so wet and wrecked it only made you twitch harder around him. His breath stuttered out in harsh bursts, body shuddering as he emptied himself deep inside you.

“That’s it,” Joel growled. “That’s a good girl, baby.”

He fucked your mouth with slow, controlled strokes—gentle now, reverent—before finally pulling out, letting you fall back against the bed with a gasp, your chest heaving as your climax still rippled through your body.

Your vision blurred at the edges, nerves lit up like static. You barely felt Tommy at first—his hands adjusting on your hips, his breathing shaky.

Then, after a long, weighted pause, Tommy slowly eased back, slipping out of you with a wet drag that made your entire body jolt. You gasped softly at the loss, walls still fluttering from your orgasm, sensitive and aching.

The room went quiet again, thick and buzzing under the surface. You could hear Tommy’s breathing above you, could feel the shift in his body as he sat back on his heels, one hand sliding down your thigh as if to steady himself. He moved slowly to sit against the headboard, breathing heavily.

Your pulse thrummed at your neck, loud in your ears. You turned your head toward him, your skin flushed, lips swollen, heart racing. Tommy’s eyes found yours—dark, uncertain, something different behind them. Not anger or sadness, but something new and raw.

“Tommy,” you whispered, voice low, hoarse. You swallowed. “Can he…?”

You hesitated, heat prickling across your cheeks. You weren’t even sure what words you were looking for. You just knew what you needed.

“Can Joel… please?”

Tommy’s eyes scanned your face, then dropped to where your thighs were still parted, to the slick between them, to the tremble in your breath. He took a slow inhale, like he was weighing the cost of the question. Then he nodded. “Go on then. Show me what’s worth all this trouble.” You could swear there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a faint crinkle at the edge of his eyes. Not quite a smile. Maybe a dare.

Joel was already moving.

His hands found your body—confident, warm, rough as ever—as he pulled you up onto your knees and flushed your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around you easily, like they belonged there. Like he knew this body like the back of his hand.

You inhaled sharply at the feel of him behind you—solid muscle, the heavy press of his cock nudging against your lower back. He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear. His voice was low, rich, and dripping with something that made your skin tighten.

“Hope you’re payin’ attention, little brother,” Joel murmured, his grip tightening on your waist. “Gonna show you just how sweet she sounds when she gets what she needs.”

You watched Tommy’s jaw clench, and you muttered a short warning to Joel, “Stop,” 

Joel ignored you and his hand slipped down between your legs, fingers gliding through the mess Tommy left behind, gathering it in his fingers and spreading it through your puffy center, making your thighs shake.

“Jesus,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Still so wet.”

He let his fingers trail back up to your hip, palm splaying across your stomach as he held you there—against him, for him, like he was staking his claim right in front of Tommy.

Then he shifted. You felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance, thick and already slick from your mouth. Your breath caught.

“Hold on to me,” Joel murmured. His other hand slid up, cupping one of your breasts, his mouth brushing just behind your ear as your arms held tightly to his splayed over your torso.

And then he pushed in—slow, deep, deliberate.

Your body seized the moment he started to push in. The stretch was immediate—thicker, deeper, unforgiving. Your legs trembled, a broken moan slipping from your throat before you could stop it. It felt like your body forgot how to breathe, how to think—every nerve lit up as he filled you, inch by inch, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

Pressure bloomed deep in your core, sharp and aching, and still he kept going, his cock dragging against every hypersensitive spot until your thighs were shaking, your nails biting into his arm.

You gasped—"Joel!" sharp and high—and your head fell back against his shoulder like you couldn’t hold it up anymore. Your mouth parted, but no words came out. Just sound. Just a helpless, wrecked whimper that made Joel groan behind you.

Joel gritted his teeth, voice strained through a groan. “Fuck. Always so tight for me, baby. Takin’ me so good. Feels like he barely even touched you."

“Fuck off,” Tommy snapped from somewhere below you, voice rough, and you didn’t need to look to know he was watching—his breath hitched, uneven.

Joel noticed, too.

“My little brother’s gettin’ all worked up again,” he rasped, his cock sliding deeper, arms tightening around you. “Look at him, baby. Watchin’ you take my cock like this.”

You lifted your head just enough to find Tommy’s face—jaw locked, hand slowly fisting his already hardening cock as he sat back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

Joel’s hand slid back between your legs, fingers circling your clit with unrelenting precision as he fucked you slow and deep.

“Talk to her, Tommy,” Joel said roughly.

Tommy shook his head, jaw clenched. “I—I don’t—”

“C’mon,” Joel grunted, thrusting into you harder, making you cry out. “You don’t want me talkin’ all this shit? Huh? Even if it makes her this wet—” his fingers slid lower, gathering slick, “—thinkin’ of us fightin’ over this sweet, perfect pussy?”

He fucked up into you hard as he growled, and it made you gasp in pleasure.

“Then talk, dammit.”

Tommy’s breath stuttered. You looked at him—desperate and open, mouth parted. You watched his throat bob as he tried to swallow whatever pride or hesitation was left.

Then, finally, his voice came low, rough, uncertain.

“You like this, baby?” he rasped, the words strange in his mouth but soaked in truth as he leaned forward, looking up at you. “Like me watchin’ while he fucks you?”

You moaned, the sound unholy and obscene as your body twitched. You tried to nod while Joel’s cock dragged deep again, slow and relentless, the stretch still too much, still perfect. 

“Oh, she fuckin’ loves it,” Joel growled in your ear. His palm slid up your chest, fingers curling over the other breast as he kept your back flush to him. “That look on her face? All fucked-out and needy.”

Tommy let out a shuddering breath. His eyes never left yours.

“Look at you,” he said, a little bolder now. “You’re so pretty like this. Letting us ruin you.”

Your breath hitched. Your thighs were shaking again, a whimper escaping as Joel’s fingers found your clit once more, slick and swollen. He rubbed you just right—tight, insistent circles that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Joel grunted. “You close again, baby? I can feel it. You’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

Tommy leaned forward, looking up at you as he reached for your trembling legs, rubbing your skin and kneading it in his hands as his cock twitched in his hand, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for us. Show us how much you love bein’ ours.”

That did it.

Your body clenched hard, a cry ripping from your throat as the orgasm slammed into you—fierce, fast, and overwhelming. You trembled violently, hips jerking, mouth open but wordless as you came again, harder this time, unraveling between them.

You were still shaking when your body started to shift—Joel's cock still buried deep, grinding against your overstimulated walls with every slow, hungry thrust. You reached forward, chest dropping toward the bed, bracing yourself on your hands as you whimpered through the aftershocks.

But you weren’t done. Not even close.

“Tommy,” you gasped, voice hoarse and half-broken. “Let me—please, let me touch you. Wanna make you come again.”

You reached for him blindly, your hand finding his thigh as he knelt close, cock hard again in his grip.

He looked stunned, blinking at you like he couldn’t believe it. “Jesus, baby,” he muttered, and he looked up at Joel, “How the hell are you still goin’ after that? The way she gripped me when--”

Joel gave a low, breathless laugh behind you, his thrusts never faltering. “Not my first time, remember?”

He leaned forward over your back, his voice rough and possessive in your ear.

“She gets like this,” Joel said, fucking into you harder now, making your arms tremble. “Once you open her up, she just needs. Can’t help herself, can you, baby?”

You moaned, loud and desperate, your hand finally wrapping around Tommy’s cock again, bringing it into your mouth.

Your husband groaned, hips twitching toward your touch. “Fuckin’ insatiable,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

Joel grinned, lips brushing your shoulder before pulling back to straighten, gripping your hips. “She’s gonna milk us dry.”

You moaned at the filthy words, too far gone to be embarrassed, too full to care. You rocked between them, wrecked and desperate—Joel’s cock dragging deep inside you with each powerful thrust, your mouth stretched wide around Tommy’s length, tongue flattened along the underside.

Every time Joel thrusted forward, it shoved you farther onto Tommy’s cock. Your throat clenched, gagging slightly, and both men groaned—low and guttural at the dual sensation of your body constricting around them.

Your eyes watered, spit pooling at the corners of your lips as you tried to breathe around it, the slick sounds obscene in the best way.

Tommy’s hand came to your cheek, his thumb stroking gently along your jaw as he looked down at you. His face was tight with restraint, flushed and glassy-eyed, jaw twitching, “Look so pretty with a cock in her mouth, doesn’t she?”

Joel grunted behind you, slamming deep, making your body jolt forward. “Sure does,” he growled. “Takin’ us both so good, baby. Just like that.”

You whimpered, the only sound you could manage, body fluttering with overstimulation, throat spasming around Tommy’s cock as he hissed through his teeth.

Joel’s grip tightened, his thrusts getting faster, more desperate, and you could feel the wave starting to build again—relentless, all-consuming. You didn’t know how much more your body could take.

“Come on, baby,” Tommy groaned. “Fuck—your mouth feels so good, sweetheart. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

Joel leaned in, his voice thick with heat. “You gonna come again with your mouth full, baby? Think you can come for both of us this time?”

Your whole body responded—tightening instinctively, like those words alone triggered something deep inside. Joel’s hand slid beneath you, and you flinched with a soft gasp as his fingers found your clit again—soaked, swollen, aching from how close you already were.

It was too much. Too good. You couldn’t take it, and yet your body begged for more.

The touch was too light at first—then perfect. Circling. Pressing. Your spine arched, your thighs trembled, and your moan vibrated around Tommy’s cock, still heavy and hot on your tongue.

You could barely register where one of them ended and the other began—just pressure and stretch and friction and heat. Joel’s thrusts stayed deep and punishing, perfectly timed with the slow drag of his fingers.

Suddenly your whole body locked, muscles spasming as another orgasm tore through you—sharp and blinding, your vision whiting out as you clenched hard around Joel’s cock, milking him through every brutal thrust.

You moaned around Tommy’s length, the sound desperate and guttural, and that was all it took for either of them.

Joel cursed behind you—low, rough, wrecked. He thrust once, twice more, then buried himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside you with a broken growl. His hands were shaking where they gripped your hips, holding you there like he couldn’t let go.

The hot pulse of him filled you completely, thick and heavy, and the sensation only dragged your orgasm out longer, your legs trembling violently beneath you.

Tommy let out a choked moan above you, his hips stuttering as your throat fluttered around him. His hand cupped your cheek, and with one more shaky breath, he came—spilling into your mouth with a soft, desperate, “Fuck, baby.”

You took it all, swallowing around him as gently as you could, the muscles of your throat still spasming from Joel’s final, deep thrusts.

Then—finally—everything slowed.

Tommy pulled back with a groan, slumping onto the bed beside you with a heavy exhale, one arm flung over his face as he tried to catch his breath. Joel eased out of you from behind, and you whimpered at the emptiness, already missing the stretch of him, the weight. Your body felt boneless, dazed and trembling, as you rolled to your side and melted into the mattress beside Tommy.

Joel didn’t stay far. Within seconds, he collapsed on your other side with a low, satisfied grunt, still half-wrapped in heat and sweat. His arm slid beneath your head, pulling you gently against his chest until you were tucked in close, skin to skin, your cheek resting just below his collarbone.

You were fully tangled between them now—Joel’s leg brushing yours, Tommy’s chest warm against your back, his hand finding your thigh and resting there like a grounding weight.

The heat of three bodies lingered in the air—sticky and quiet and strangely comforting.

Tommy’s hand found your stomach and gave it a slow rub, and when you looked over at him—he was watching you, not angry, not brooding. Just… tired. And stunned.

You let out a laugh. A small, breathless one, but real.

Then another.

Your face tucked against Joel’s arm, shoulders shaking with laughter, and Joel chuckled too—low and lazy, like he couldn’t even muster the energy to be smug, “Troublemaker.”

Tommy let out a breathless huff, still holding you tight, and nuzzled into the curve of your neck. “I’m not sure I survived that,” he murmured, and then he started laughing too—open, surprised, stunned, “Feel like I blacked out halfway through,”

You turned your head toward him, smiling wide, and kissed the side of his mouth. “You were perfect.”

The three of you fell into an easy silence, wrapped up in sweat and warmth and the quiet hum of something unspoken—something new.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, his chest shaking from a chuckle, “Think we’re gonna need a bigger bed.”

And for the first time in a long time, the three of you were laughing together.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma @leenieweenie12 @possiblyafangirl @alitaar @mads198-9 @emmaoc10 @auteurdelabre @the-last-twin-of-krypton @lilasskicker2 @levislegislation @flowercrowns-goodvibes

[leighsartworks216]

Sweet Tooth

Sylus x gn!Reader

I was nodding off while writing this cuz 1. I need a nap so bad and 2. It's just so peaceful the vibes of this fic are really nice

Edit: fixed some minor phrasing

Warnings: biting, kissing, established relationship, fluff, food/baking

Word Count: 1,771

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

No matter how long you spend with Sylus in the N109 Zone, your sleep schedule remains persistent. Sure, you stay up as late as you can to spend the night with him while he’s up and about, but the darkness, warm ambiance, and your body’s own internal clock turn against you sooner or later.

Sylus does the same for you, too. He grumbles about it, but he does enjoy spending the morning with you when you’re extra cuddly, searching for the last vestiges of your sleep before you have to get up. He’s better at staying awake, but you catch him dozing a lot, head tilted back and eyes closed as he lounges in a chair near you. It’s adorable. You love the effort you both put into trying to maximize your time together.

But today, Sylus is conked out. He was gone for most of the night and came back worn and weary. He didn’t have any visible injuries, but when you cupped his cheek and used your Evol, you could feel how drained his own was. He nearly fell asleep right there, eyes closing dangerously as he leaned into your touch and the soothing warmth of your ability. You dragged him to his bedroom, kissed his forehead, and told him to sleep. He mumbled vague threats about you waking him up, but they fell into silence before he finished any of them.

With the mansion to yourself for the day, you have to find ways to occupy yourself.

The twins and you play Kitty Cards for a bit, but they cheat so horrendously and tease you for losing, so that’s out until Sylus can sit behind you and glare at them any time their fingers try to slip more than one card from the draw pile.

You go through his books. A few are interesting; texts about Protocores and Evols stealing your attention for a time. But they have you yawning and wanting to crawl into bed with Sylus.

You even go to his dedicated exercise space, but without a partner to spar with, you don’t even work up a sweat before leaving.

Normally, you aren’t so restless. Any other time you had to spend the day with yourself, you were able to settle on something for long stretches of time, even into the night if you weren’t careful. Now, you can’t sit still for 30 minutes.

You check the time. 9:56. It’s not even 10 yet and you’re already struggling to come up with things to do. You fall into a couch in one of the lounge rooms with a humph, pulling out your phone and preparing to fall into a doomscroll through old Moments posts.

Fortunately, one of the first few posts is the perfect motivator not to: a recipe promising to be the number 1 rated chocolate chip recipe. You click on the article and scroll through until you reach the comments.

These are the best cookies I’ve ever had!!!

mmmnn wanna eat the dough raw its sooo gooooood

Tossing my store-bought cookies out rn I will only be making these from now on

It seems promising enough… You look at all the ingredients you need. It also seems simple enough for you to manage without burning the place down. You’d be surprised if the kitchen wasn’t already stocked with everything listed. But just in case…

You head down to the kitchen where the chef is coming up with meal suggestions for dinner. He’s jovial, always red in the cheeks and bright eyed. You wonder how he got hired on. You ask for help gathering the ingredients you need, and he’s happy to bounce from cabinet to fridge getting everything. Once they’re all laid out on the counter, you thank him and ask if you can have the kitchen to yourself. He bows and tells you to have fun, going over his list of notes as he leaves.

You turn the oven on, setting it to the correct temperature and letting it preheat. You forgot to ask the chef about bowls and measuring cups, but you find them easily and set them on the counter with the ingredients. Once you have music playing (quietly) on your phone, it’s easy to lose yourself in the process.

The world hones in on each step. You measure out the flour and sugars, mixing them together with a whisk. Without any preplanning, you have to soften the butter in the microwave before you can add it. Eggs are cracked against the countertop, calcium-rich shells scraping quietly as you set them aside to throw away later. A dash of vanilla, and a generous amount of chocolate chips, and the dough is ready.

You find a couple baking sheets and line them with parchment paper. As you roll small amounts of dough in your hands, you bounce on your feet, excited to taste your sweet treats in just 15 short minutes. You pinch off a little extra from one dough-ball and pop it into your mouth. If this was a preview for the finished product… You hurry to get them into the oven and set a timer.

To distract yourself from constantly checking the time, you clean up your mess. You put away what you remember the designated locations of, and set the rest aside for somebody else to deal with.

Hm, you should probably leave some for the chef, as a thank you for letting you borrow the space. And save a few for Luke and Kieran, or else they’d bug you for “forgetting” them for the rest of your days.

You open up cabinets until you find plates. There’s a set, the perfect size to divide the batch of cookies between three parties. You reach for it, stretching to be on your tip-toes. You gasp as a hand comes into your vision. When you try to back up, you hit a wall of muscle. A clingy wall of muscle, if the way his arm wraps around your waist and holds you there is any indicator. He grabs a plate from the stack.

“Ah, I need three,” you quickly tell him. He sighs, but does as you say, bringing down three plates and setting them on the counter. As soon as his hand is free, you’re being fully embraced by Sylus, both arms holding you close to him as he presses his face into your neck. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair. “Did I wake you up?”

It doesn’t seem like he’ll answer for a moment, until he breathes in deeply and presses a soft kiss along your shoulder. “No. I could smell whatever you’re making through the whole mansion.” His voice is quiet and rough, affected by his slumber.

You smile and turn your head to kiss his forehead. “I’m making cookies,” you say. “They’ll be done soon. I was gonna leave some for the chef and the twins. But most of them will be just for us.”

You glance at the timer, anxious to know how much time is left, but you still have several minutes before you need to worry about it. You tap his arms and he reluctantly loosens his hold, enough for you to turn around and hug him back. His arms tighten once more.

“You’re clingy when you’re tired, you know that?”

He huffs a laugh against your skin. “As if you haven’t insisted on having me carry you around everywhere before because you were, quote, ‘too tired to walk anymore.’”

You tug playfully at his hair. He groans and bites your neck. It’s not harsh, but it does sting. You’re sure it’ll leave a mark regardless.

“Now you’re just being mean,” he growls.

You laugh and kiss his cheek. “Only a little. I think it’s cute.”

He doesn’t answer. His teeth nibble lightly along an invisible path, interspersed with light kisses. One of your hands combs through his soft hair, scratching his scalp lightly as you pet him. The other trails slowly along his back, side, and around to his stomach, searching for injuries hidden beneath his clothes. He notices, but he says nothing.

“Are you okay?” you whisper to him.

He pulls his mouth from your skin, finally lifting his head to look down at you with half-lidded eyes. The striking red of his irises seem softer right now, like the delicate plumage of a cardinal. “I’m alright.”

You study his face, as if you’d know if he was lying to you. But you believe him. So you nod and press a feather-light kiss to his lips. He sighs at the contact, like he’d never been touched so sweetly for hundreds of years. It’s such a beautiful sound.

The oven’s alarm startles you out of the moment. Sylus groans with a frown, letting you go and stepping away until his back hits the kitchen island. Your hand squeezes his side apologetically before you pull away.

You don a couple of oven mitts and open the oven door. The cookies are all aligned on the baking sheets, golden brown and slightly oozy from the overkill of chocolate you added. You excitedly pull each pan out and set them on the stovetop, before turning off the oven.

The recipe says to let them cool for five minutes… but you don’t have the patience for that today. You grab one of the plates from the counter and a spatula from a drawer, and carefully deposit some cookies onto the plate. You’re positively beaming when you bring them over to Sylus, holding the plate up to him.

“Want one?”

He hums. “Yes, but…” He takes the plate from you and sets it behind him. “You’ll burn your mouth if you eat one now.”

You half-heartedly glare up at him. “C’mon, Sy, I’ll be careful. I worked hard on these!”

“And you can stand to wait a few more minutes to taste the fruits of your labor, sweetie.”

“You just want more cuddles, don’t you?”

“Of course.” He grins. “Is there any better way to pass the time?”

You sigh, long and dramatic. But you wrap your arms around him, resting your head on his chest, right over his erratic heartbeat. He tangles a hand in your hair this time, cupping the back of your neck to hold you in place.

He feels the exact moment you go to reach for the plate and snatches your hand away from it, holding it captive by intertwining your fingers together. “Sneaky, but I’m not tired enough to pull that trick, kitten.”

You chuckle and press your nose against his septum. “It was worth a shot.”

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Letters to No One - Chapter 3: The Things We Carry

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Reader (wlw).

Theme: Ghostwriter x Athlete | Slow Burn | Angst | Emotional Intimacy | Happy Ending.

POV: 2nd person (you), emotion ally immersive.

Setting: Barcelona, Present Day.

Previous chapters: chapter 1, chapter 2

ACT: I

Writer's note: really hope you enjoy this series as much as I enjoy writing it.

You’re in her apartment again.

It’s the third time now, and still, she hasn’t told you why she chooses here over a café. Maybe it’s the way the silence doesn’t echo. Or maybe she’s just tired of being looked at. Here, she doesn’t have to perform.

She sits cross-legged on the floor, back resting against the couch. No makeup. No façade. You sit opposite her, notebook untouched in your lap, voice recorder silent for now.

She’s twisting a hair tie between her fingers, her thumb moving in small anxious circles. You’ve learned to wait when she does that.

You don’t speak. You let the quiet do the asking.

Eventually she says, “Can we talk without it being for the book?”

You blink. “Of course.”

She hesitates. Then reaches forward and turns off the recorder herself.

Her eyes don’t meet yours when she speaks. “You know I tore my ACL last year. Everyone knows that. It was all over the news.”

You nod softly. “Yeah. I remember.”

She’s quiet again. Then:

“I didn’t think I’d come back.”

Your stomach drops.

“Not just physically,” she clarifies. “Mentally. I couldn’t see myself on a pitch. I couldn’t see myself at all. I’d wake up and feel like my body had betrayed me. Like I wasn’t anything without the game.”

You watch her closely. Not just her words. Her hands. Her breathing. The way her voice falters around the edges.

“I was in bed for days at a time. Told everyone I was rehabbing. But I was... disappearing.”

You move slowly, placing your notebook aside. “Did anyone know?”

She finally looks at you. Her eyes are darker now. Tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.

“Maybe they guessed. But no one asked.” A bitter smile. “Or they asked the wrong things. ‘How’s your knee?’ Not ‘How are you?’”

You whisper, “How are you now?”

It’s a simple question but it stops her cold.

After a long pause: “Better. Not fixed. Just... better.”

You nod. “That counts.”

She tells you about her dad after that.

Not in some poetic, sweeping moment. Just in pieces. Fragmented. Like it still hurts to name all at once.

“He died when I was a teenager,” she says. “I used to dedicate every game to him. Still do. Even now. But I think people forget that he was a person, not a symbol.”

You listen.

“He wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes. But he saw me. Not just as an athlete. As a girl who liked drawing, and hated math, and had posters of Xavi and Shakira.”

You smile. “Taste.”

She almost laughs. “I was eleven.”

Then she says quietly, “I still look for him in the stands sometimes. Like maybe if I score the right goal, he’ll come back.”

The silence between you grows tender. Not heavy. Not sharp. Just real.

You realize you can’t sit here and pretend not to feel this. Not just what she’s saying but what it’s doing to you.

So you say:

“My last relationship ended because I was too quiet.”

Alexia looks at you. Eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“I thought listening was enough. I thought being safe was enough. But eventually she said I felt like a mirror. Not a person.”

Alexia doesn’t speak. Just listens. The way you’ve been listening to her.

“I’ve always been the one behind the words,” you admit. “Ghostwriting, editing, never bylines. I’m good at being invisible. But sometimes... I don’t want to be.”

She nods slowly. “I know that feeling.”

For a moment, there’s nothing between you but breath and softness.

Then she says your name. Again, slower this time. A deliberate invocation.

You meet her gaze.

“I don’t think you’re invisible,” she says.

And it’s not flirtation. It’s not kindness. It’s truth.

Your throat tightens.

You reach for the recorder, but don’t turn it back on. Not yet. Instead, you open the notebook and quietly write down what she just said.

Alexia watches you, eyes lingering.

When you’re done, she asks, “You’re writing that for the book?”

You look up at her, your smile small but honest.

“No,” you say. “This one’s for me.”

That night, you write in Letters to No One.

You close the file with your hands shaking a little.

She let me see the broken pieces today. And instead of feeling honored, I felt responsible. Like I’d been trusted with something delicate. Something living.

And maybe that’s what intimacy really is. Not touching. Just being allowed close enough to watch someone tremble, and choosing not to run.

I didn’t fall in love with her voice. I fell in love with her pauses.

Because you know this isn’t just a job anymore.

And you don’t know how to stop.

----------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 4: The Turning Point

[glasvera]

Rivals Bruce Banner with fem reader he’s a total dork in love with her and it’s just fluff of the two being lovey dovey 🥰

Oh, this was a treat to write!

Oxytocin and Dopamine

Bruce Banner x Fem!Reader

Description: Bruce works too hard, even if the world needs his expert mind, and you're always ready to help him relax when he needs it.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Nothing but lovey-dovey fluff!

A/N: I like to think that I am moderately smart, but then I have to go and write someone who's smarter than me, and I feel like a fumbling toddler. Still, I hope I captured that adorkable charm.

Word Count: 1.3k

“Bruce…?”

Your voice enters before you do as you step into the lab he’d been working in. Better to announce your presence than accidentally startle him if he’s working with something delicate. Or, worse yet, to cause him any undue stress that might unleash Hulk. Hulk shared in Bruce’s affections of you, of course, but you knew firsthand just how clumsy he could be.

Though, it would seem you don’t need to worry about either of those outcomes, as you are instead greeted by the sound of soft snoring. A tender smile draws upon your lips. He’s passed out on his keyboard with his cheek typing a long string of letters into a document that should have only been a few pages yet was now quickly approaching twenty. His glasses are smashed against the side of his face, and the curve that should go over the bridge of his nose is instead poking against his eyebrow.

Setting the coffee you’d brought him down gently onto a desk away from any electronics, you wheel a stool over to sit next to him. Your fingers brush soothingly through his dark brown hair as you try to ease him awake.

“Honey,” you coo, tilting your head and leaning towards him as you caress his cheek. “Sweetheart, you fell asleep again.” Your words are accompanied by an airy titter. His face twitches under your touch, nose scrunching and lip pulling back into an involuntary sneer. One last snort catches in his throat as his eyes slowly blink open.

“Mm… what…? Oh,” he murmurs sleepily, adopting a dopey smile when he looks at you. “Hey there, beautiful.”

You giggle softly as your fingertips continue delicately tracing the lines of his face. “You’ve been typing the letter ‘s’ into this document for several minutes now, you know.”

He sits upright with a start, shaking his head before fixing his glasses to sit properly on his face again. “Oh, this? Um… yeah! This is just my translation for our reptilian allies, see? Sssssssss…” He hisses playfully. You giggle and rest your head on his shoulder, amused by his antics.

“Ah, how could I have overlooked that! Oh, but you might want to edit this part,” you tease, pointing to a spot where he had typed a “d” instead of an “s”. “I think this might be a curse word in their tongue.”

“Good eye, my love. This is why you’re my favorite assistant,” he praises, chortling and placing a kiss to the top of your head before he gets to removing the “translation” his sleeping self had worked so hard on typing out.

You snuggle against him, careful to leave him enough room so as not to hinder his typing. “So, what’s been keeping you up so late? The bed is lonely without you,” you bemoan. As if to answer your question before he speaks, you notice multiple diagrams of machine components, all meticulously labeled with accompanying descriptions as to each part’s functions.

“Artificial sunlight,” he mutters before letting out a long, drawn out yawn. His cheek rests against your head. “If Dracula wants to create a pocket of eternal night, we need a way to combat the vampires in the meantime while the others figure out a way to reverse the process entirely. I’ve examined the effects of different wavelengths of light, approaching it like one might design a grow light for plants, but it still needs something else…”

“Would caffeine help?” you suggest before wrapping your arms securely around his waist. “I brought you some coffee.” You nod your head towards the cup that you’d gotten for him.

“You really are too good to me,” he responds fondly, turning away from the monitor to face you properly as he returns your embrace. “But, loathe as I am to admit it, I may simply need a break to clear my head.”

You perk up at that, resting your chin up on his shoulder to look up at him. “I may have a few ideas…” you muse with a cheeky grin, drawing a circle around one of his shirt buttons with the pad of your index finger.

He smirks as he looks down at you, brushing the back of his hand along your cheek. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he hums before cocking his head to the side.

“I think I am,” you purr, your smile only growing wider.

-----

Twenty minutes, four blankets, one set of string lights, and at least a dozen pillows later, a glorious fort has been constructed in the corner of the lab. Coffee had been set aside in favor of hot chocolate, and professional attire was forgotten and replaced by the comfiest pajamas the two of you had on hand here.

Your knees curl up towards your chest as you cradle your hot cocoa in your hands. Bruce situated himself behind you with your back leaning against him, his arms wrapped around your waist and his legs spread on either side of you. Your cheek and the side of your neck are being constantly littered with fluttering kisses, and you can feel his smile with every press of his lips. A contented hum vibrates in your chest.

“I thought this was supposed to be relaxing for you,” you chide playfully before meeting his lips in a chaste kiss.

“Pampering you with affection is relaxing for me,” he argues, squeezing your waist a bit tighter. “I think more clearly after a proper snuggle.” He smiles into the crook of your neck before adding, “Plus, the oxytocin released really is good for the mind. And, when I’ve suffered failure after failure with different prototypes, these bursts of dopamine help me get back to it in no time.”

“You had me at the first explanation,” you titter, taking a sip of your hot cocoa.

“Oh, don’t lie; you like it when I ramble on with scientific explanations,” he teases, and you can feel his laugh rumbling in his chest through your back.

You crane your neck, pretending to ponder it for a moment with your lips screwed to one side of your face. “Hmm… I suppose I do. I also just very much enjoy the sound of your voice.”

You set your mug down, turning sideways in his hold and draping one arm over his shoulder. His hold on your waist loosens, and he brings a hand up to cup your jaw, sweeping his thumb back and forth over the soft skin. The look he gives you is terribly tender, staring down with hooded eyes the color of rich chocolate and smiling ever so gently.

“I enjoy everything about you, you know,” he breathes softly, his gaze traveling over the contours of your face, committing it to memory for the umpteenth time since he’s known you. His thumb brushes over the plush of your bottom lip, and you lean into his touch.

“Didn’t realize it was a competition,” you tease, your breath whispering against the pad of his thumb.

He chuckles. “Never. Just a proclamation. One I will make as many times as you need to hear it.”

Your heart clenches in your chest, and you flash him a brilliant smile. He always knows how to make you fall in love with him all over again. Leaning down and nuzzling into his chest, you let out a contented sigh.

“So, Dr. Banner… what does kissing do, then?” you ask while your finger toys with the collar of his soft fleece pajama shirt.

He quirks a brow at your formal usage of his name. “Kissing…? It releases oxytocin and dopamine in addition to serotonin. Chemicals that make you feel good and crave more,” he explains.

“Good to hear,” you purr. It’s all the warning you give him before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into a passionate kiss.

After all, that prototype could stand to wait a few hours more.

[mrnightingale]

Charles Rowland Week #7

Free day: Ophelia - @charles-rowland-week

I FINISHED. WOOOHOOOO!!!!

Bro I'm so happy and excited and omgomgomgomg I FINISHED. I never get to finish any of the challenges/prompts/dynamics I participate in time bc always something happens but NOT THIS TIME DARLING I'M UNSTOPPABLE!!!

Actually, I think I like the color version even more than the pencil one??? 'Ello??? Me? Proud of my coloring? tHIS LIFE IS AMAZING WHEN YOU GREET IT WITH OPEN ARMS-

(Let's pretend I didn't messed up the water effect and ended up painting it black)

I'd like to eventually do this a proper digital illustration so I can detail more the flowers and fix the water, but I think it looks pretty good??? Like, I'm not a classic painter but the concept is there.

Flowers:

He's holding a White Lily, and has a broken pearl necklace bc of that agerblade's Monty illustration (I'm absolutely obsessed with that one), the little ones around him are Forget-me-not's bc of Edwin's "our deaths didn't matter", they have to matter, there's also Chrysanthemums, who usually symbolize Death, as well as Poppies, that are also symbols of the Greek God Hypnos, personification of Dream and father of Morpheus, so, Sandman Reference with these two, and on the right there are also some Roses and Hyacinths.

Aaaaaand HERE'S THE FULL FINISHED PAGE!!!

I think it looks nice, putting all together and with the same colors and that. I draw the half skeleton half face to complete the last blank space and I really like that one, if there's an Edwin Week I'll do the same mirrored.

Actually I really improved a lot with the coloring, I think I'll use the markers more often. I still don't like the 2 and 3 but I learned from that so it's good, and at the end it doesn't ruin everything as bad as I thought... Maybe. Maybe I'm being too optimistic after 3 hours drawing and editing the pics non-stop.

Fuck, I'm starving. I need sugar. I'll go eat smth, bye bye.

[canaryy15]

This would’ve been way more useful to make BEFORE doing the lineart so my designs weren’t so inconsistent but meh

All we’ve got is coloring…Unfortunately i had an unexpected Stagecraft rehearsal show up so i might not be done today BUT. IM DETERMINED THIS WILL NOT BE ABANDONED.

Some design notes and the ref i used for the pose below

Found it on pinterest but from the watermark it’s by @unagiiidr4ws_109 ?? I believe?

But uhh design notes!

I really need to find a set fish im gonna make Martyn a hybrid of before i draw a shot of him on redlife… Basically these are their green life skins but on their red lives they are FULL FISH

Scott was originally just an axolotl but i usually draw his scales blue so i just went “..blue axolotl” And here we are.. I might change it if i go into more research but it’s really just because of Last life with the axolotl guys!

Martyn is…Brown…fish… I have no idea honestly brown just felt right?? He was originally going to be a pufferfish but i dont know how the hell to make a pufferfish into a hybrid so that is for another time

Also at the start of making the animatic i was unsure about Martyn’s double ears but i am coming around to them!! Obviously for the listener stuff! It makes it easier for my headcanon of the double life skins as well.. There’s a shot with a DL flashback and for designs of that season i make the soulmates share a design trait! So like for my designs, Pearl has a unicorn horn and Scott has wolf ears/tail, Cleo has double ears and Martyn has kinda zombie skin, etc! So the double ears make that easier because if i didnt have that i’d just give cleo a headband LMAO

But yeah not really any other notes!! I think the last thing i like to think about these designs is that scott braided martyn’s one braid and there was originally two but it just fell out LOL

Yippee!

EDIT: Ive watched through my lineart and oh my god martyn’s design is so inconsistent only because of the BRAID. I mean its fine for the first few frames, and then it switches sides, and then it DISAPPEARS LMAO

Im too lazy to fix it just dont uh look at it…

[effietrinket1619]

the tiktok war: jessica cruz

i have no self control.

a continuation of this, inspired by this. part three

Bruce found Jessica Cruz a couple of hours after his failed confrontation with Jordan. She was sat at one of the long benches they used to eat communally, smiling into a mug of something steaming as she talked quietly to someone over her ring. The conversation moved in starts and stops as she spoke, fond exasperation in each word.

"I know it's hard," she was saying through a sip, "but that's the point. If you're not being challenged, then there's no reason behind doing the extra work. ...No one is gonna dismantle the education system because you don't wanna do homework! Even we have hard limits and I'm pretty sure the US president would have a stroke if one of us strolled into the White House for any reason." Jess then laughed as she listened to the response, completely hidden from Bruce as it was likely being projected through her ring for her ears only. "Ask Kyle for help. ...Okay, sure, he's not a great help with Biology but I think it's a little mean to call him completely useless."

Bruce sat down in front of her, miffed when her attention didn't swing towards him immediately. He cleared his throat and she continued to ignore him, her gaze only snapping up when he rumbled, "Jessica, I want to--"

Jessica put up a hand with a stern expression, eyes flashing. "I'm talking to someone here. Wait a moment, please." Blinking and a little cowed, he settled back to wait if only not to draw attention to himself. "Okay, tell you what. If Guy gets back from his scan and he's not dead on his feet, you go ask him. You'll have a better time with him than asking Hal about this stuff. He does know way too much about Korugarian biology for some reason... No, Keli, I don't think you should ask him why... Because I don't wanna know either!"

The voice at the end jabbered on for a little more. Jessica sighed and stretched. "I'm not sure. Guy and Hal should be by soon and John's probably off doing whatever. I'll wrap up whatever I'm doing here and then I'll come down. Finish your homework in the meantime. ...Oh, what happens if you don't?" Jess fixed Bruce with an inscrutable look. "Well, I've heard a rumour that kids who don't finish their homework find a Bat hiding under their beds. ...And how do you know I'm lying? Ask Hal about it. He's definitely had that experience before."

Bruce resented whatever half-cocked lies Hal was baking about him behind Bruce's back. He also wanted Jessica to know that it wasn't true. Bruce had only been waiting on top of Hal's bed when he'd walked in and he clearly hadn't let go of it.

Jessica hung up without much fanfare and leaned back in her chair with her mug pressed in her hands. "Yes?" she chirped, raising an eyebrow.

Unable to resist, Bruce asked, "Was that Keli Quintela?"

With a perfect poker face, Jessica said, "Who?"

"The--the person you were just talking to."

She took a long sip from her mug, looking thoughtful for a moment. "I wasn't talking to anyone just now."

Blinking, Bruce muttered, "But you--"

"What's up, Bruce? Is it something important?"

Taking a moment to compose himself, Bruce continued. "I just wanted to bring up my concerns about Hal's TikTok account--"

"My account," Jessica said with a pleasant smile. "It's my account. I'm doing the filming and editing and I come up with a lot of the content ideas. Simon and Kyle help and Hal is the main star but the work is all me."

"...Right." Keeping his voice measured and pitched a little higher, he went on. "I was hoping to talk to you about content you make that could potentially compromise the identities and lives of members of the caped community."

Jessica's smile never wavered as she delivered her response, entirely poised with her mug pinned delicately between her fingertips. "There's no way I could compromise anything. I edit and recheck everything I post down to the last millisecond if I have to. No one's drawn the connection yet and no one will."

"Fine," Bruce ground out. "If not you, then Jordan. He can't be trusted with keeping his mouth shut."

Jessica chuckled into her mug. "Oh, if you think Hal can't keep a secret then you'd be so surprised."

Bruce felt himself bluescreen for a moment. Hal...keeping secrets? From Bruce? After his particular history? "What the hell does that mean?" he growled, sitting up a little straighter.

Her response was airy. "Don't worry about it. Nothing apocalyptic yet, unfortunately, but we can only hope. Anything else?"

"Yes. My first and only point. I want you to delete the account. I don't think it's safe for the child you allegedly have and I believe it could cause genuine harm to certain individuals both in your team and in others. It would be the responsible thing to do and I know that you want to take the best possible steps forward for the future. That is my advice to you."

Jessica stared at him, mulling over his words syllable by syllable. It was a minute or two before she opened her mouth again and Bruce honestly wished she hadn't. "First of all, I never asked for your advice. If I needed advice from an older hero, I'd go to Clark or something. Secondly, I have made close to thirty videos on that platform already. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of videos where our alleged kid makes an appearance. I have never shared her age, name or face publicly. I don't even let her stand in front of the camera."

Bruce nodded along. "Yes, very smart of you to do but--"

"I'm not done." Jessica leaned forward, cradling her cheek in one hand as she studied him. "Maybe I could take your 'advice' at face value if it wasn't public knowledge that Brucie Wayne's got a TikTok account too, run by his tech savvy son, Tim Drake. I know for a fact that you won't take this advice yourself and delete your own account so why should I?"

"It's pointless. Jordan doesn't have a public image to maintain."

"Neither does about 90% of the platform. Also, have you ever heard of the word 'fun'?"

"It only draws unnecessary attention towards you."

"Some might say that we already draw plenty of attention by just existing." Her smile widened with every passing second and it was grating on Bruce's nerves. "This attention is actually mostly positive. It's a nice change. Especially for Hal."

"And how long will that be sustainable? Jordan is not the type to sell himself for views."

"He isn't," Jessica said with a grin. "He couldn't care less about what we put up. I ask him if he wants to be in front of a camera that day, he says yes, we film whatever and then he never thinks about it again. He's a huge hit."

Grinding his teeth together so much, Bruce was momentarily worried he would wear the enamel away, he seethed, "Jordan does not need to have such an extensive online presence! He doesn't need fans making edits of him and--"

Bruce made himself shut up if only out of growing fear for the expression of pure and unadulterated joy growing on Jessica's face. Her eyes sparkled as they scrutinised him and her next words punched the breath from Bruce's lungs.

"Oh my God," she whispered, "you're jealous of Hal."

"What?"

"You're jealous that Hal's more popular on TikTok than you are!" Her excitement grew with each word and Bruce needed to nip this in the bud before it got out and bloomed uncontrollably. "That's why you need my account gone. It's not security or the kid but because your ego's bruised and now you're throwing a tantrum!"

He stood, hands splayed flat against the table and loomed over her. "Cruz, you'll stop this train of thought right now, or--"

"Heya, J-Bird! What'cha doing over here?"

A new voice had Bruce whipping around. It was Baz, mask gone so Bruce could see the genuine malice behind his eyes even if his smile was friendly. He leaned heavily against a comically large, construct folding chair. "Baz," Bruce said coolly, "we were just--"

"Hey, Simon! How was patrol?"

Baz shrugged, not moving from his spot. "Fine. Hal had me drop a couple of guys off at Oa before I came back so he could make the PTA meet. How was that?"

"I don't think he's killed anyone yet," she chirped.

"Thank God. What were you doing over here?" he asked, gesturing between her and Bruce. "Seems spirited."

"We were just talking, weren't we, Bruce?" Jessica said sweetly.

Bruce nodded. "And I--"

"We're actually done here." Jessica rose and walked away to dump her empty mug into the sink. She strode to Baz and looped her arm through one of his. "Wanna pick up some pastries on the way home?"

He grinned, glancing sharply at Bruce. "Absolutely I do. I've been craving a good slice of carrot cake since I left. Do you think they'd have those cream puffs?"

"Oh, I love those!"

And Bruce was left there, standing in the dust. He looked up just in time to catch Jessica's wink and quietly resolved himself to destroy any and all footage that existed of this interaction.

[airandyeah]

Crying For Help (Alpha!Higuruma X Omega!Reader X Alpha!Nanami) Pt.15

My Masterlist Series Masterlist

It had been a few weeks since the move.

Nanami’s apartment, sleek and spacious with its clean lines and soft, muted tones, was now less bachelor-pad, more home. Somehow, your mugs had multiplied in the kitchen cabinets, your sweaters were draped over the back of the couch, and Higuruma’s collection of legal thrillers had made their way onto the built-in bookshelves alongside Nanami’s first editions. The three of you had slid into the shared space with an ease none of you had dared expect.

It helped that the apartment was closest to the firm—just a short commute. One vehicle most days, quiet conversations over coffee during traffic. You usually took the middle seat, Nanami driving with one hand on the wheel and Higuruma beside you, reading case notes or stealing sleepy kisses when the red lights lingered too long.

Mornings were slow but efficient: Nanami made the coffee, Higuruma read headlines aloud, and you tried not to burn the toast. You all moved around each other like you'd been doing it forever, a rhythm built on touch and unspoken cues—hand brushes at the sink, shirt cuffs fixed, scenting nuzzles tucked in before work. The occasional soft growl if someone got too possessive over the last croissant.

At night, Nanami cooked when he wasn’t buried in paperwork, and Higuruma insisted on cleaning up even if you all took turns. Sometimes you fell asleep on the couch while the two of them talked work across the table. Sometimes it was the other way around—you catching Higuruma half-asleep with his tie askew, Nanami’s shoulder a pillow.

There was a comfort in it. A warmth. Even in the silence, you felt tethered.

It wasn’t perfect. Sometimes Nanami got too in his head, worrying about stability, about boundaries. Sometimes Higuruma retreated into a quiet storm of thoughts and you had to draw him out gently. And you—well, some nights your omega instincts curled like a tide and you had to seek them both out, bury yourself between them like your nest wasn’t complete without their weight.

But they were yours. And you were theirs. ~~~

The day started like any other.

You sat between them in the car—Nanami driving with his usual calm precision, Higuruma sipping coffee beside you, his knee gently bumping yours every time the car hit a rough patch of road. Everything felt normal. Stable. Warm.

Until you walked into the office.

It started small—just a few glances, subtle and fleeting. You chalked it up to coincidence. Maybe they were just surprised to see you all arriving together again. But then came the whispers. The way eyes trailed after you when you moved down the hallway. A few poorly concealed sniffs.

Your stomach knotted. Was your blouse inside out? Did you spill something on yourself at breakfast?

You made it to your desk with a practiced grace, setting your bag down and pulling out the day’s case notes, but your pulse was ticking too fast. Something was off.

When you caught Gojo dramatically fanning himself as he passed your desk—nose crinkled and grinning—you narrowed your eyes.

“What,” you asked, voice low, “the hell are you doing?”

He waggled his brows, leaned in, and whispered, “Didn’t know you were so busy last night, sweetheart. Bold move not replacing the scent patch.”

Your blood ran cold. “What?”

Gojo only laughed, breezing away with a wink. You blinked, hand immediately darting to the side of your neck where your scent patch sat. It was still there—still pressed neatly against your gland—but when you sniffed… you caught it.

Faint, but unmistakable.

A blend of cedar and smoke. Earth and honeyed spice.

Them.

The patch hadn’t worked. You reeked of them. Of two Alphas. Of nights wrapped between bodies and hands and growls that still echoed in your bones.

You almost died on the spot.

Face burning, you bolted to the nearest bathroom, locked the stall, and pulled your compact mirror from your purse. With trembling fingers, you peeled back the patch.

Defective. There was a tear in the edge—subtle, but just enough.

Just enough for the whole damn office to smell your embarrassment.

You cursed softly under your breath, face in your hands.

This day was going to be hell.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Nanami.

Nanami: “Stay in the restroom. I’m handling it.”

You didn’t even have time to respond before another message followed:

Nanami: “Someone is on their way with a fresh patch. Don’t move.”

A wave of relief flooded you, but it did nothing to quell the embarrassment burning beneath your skin. You sat on the toilet lid, legs bouncing, palms slick with residual panic. How many people had caught it? How many more would?

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. “Omega coming in,” a gentle, feminine voice called. You stood quickly and cracked the stall open.

She was older, kind-faced, and moved with the calm authority of someone who had been through worse a hundred times over. She didn’t comment on your flushed face or the way you barely met her eyes.

“He sent me with a spare,” she said softly, handing over the sealed patch from a small pouch. “Always keeps extras in his office. Said it might happen one day.”

Of course he did.

Nanami Kento, ever the planner.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice a little hoarse.

She offered a knowing smile. “It happens to the best of us. Don’t sweat it.”

And then she was gone, the soft click of the door echoing behind her.

You changed patches quickly, peeled away the defective one and wiped the gland with a cool cloth from your bag before applying the new patch firmly. The scent cut off instantly, the air finally sterile again.

You exhaled and leaned back against the stall, letting your eyes close for a second.

God, you owed him for this one.

And when you finally stepped out of the restroom, a message was waiting.

Nanami: “Crisis averted?”

You bit your lip and typed back:

You: “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you. Lunch on me?”

His reply was near-instant.

Nanami: “No need. Just… next time, let me check your patch before we leave the house.”

Later that afternoon, when the office buzz had dulled to quiet clicks of keyboards and the distant hum of the copier, you found yourself passing by the break room. Unfortunately, that also meant walking into Gojo Satoru’s line of sight.

His grin was immediate.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little omega heartbreaker,” he sing-songed, leaning dramatically against the counter. “Tell me, sweetheart, what would HR say about that little scent bomb this morning?”

You froze, coffee halfway to your lips. Your entire body tensed.

He clicked his tongue, eyes glittering with mischief. “Actually—don’t answer that. I think I already know. Scandalous.” He gasped. “Unprofessional. Alpha bait.”

You opened your mouth, either to snap or to stammer—you weren’t sure which—but you didn’t get the chance.

“Satoru.”

The deep, unimpressed rumble of Suguru’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

You turned just in time to see Geto walking over, hand reaching out calmly… and then grabbing Gojo by the ear.

“Wha—OW! Babe, not in front of everyone!” Gojo whined, flailing uselessly as he was tugged away like a delinquent schoolboy.

Suguru didn’t even blink. “Apologize and be nice, or I’ll make you review budget sheets for the next month.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Gojo sent you one last glance over his shoulder, eyes watering from the ear pull, but still grinning. “You’re lucky your alphas are hot and terrifying.”

And then they were gone.

You blinked, sipped your coffee, and muttered under your breath, “I need hazard pay.” ~~~ Just as you were settling back at your desk, phone finally on Do Not Disturb and coffee halfway gone, your screen buzzed with a quiet notification.

Suguru Geto

Apologies for Gojo earlier. Would you and your alphas be open to a double date sometime soon? Nothing formal—just dinner. A chance to talk about a few things.

You stared at the message, reading it twice.

Double date.

You, Nanami, Higuruma.

Him and Gojo.

The implications weren’t lost on you—but neither was the intent. It wasn’t about prying. If anything, it felt like a peace offering. A bridge. There were things only another unconventional pairing could understand. Especially in a firm like this, where instincts simmered just beneath tailored suits and office protocol.

You

Depends. Will Gojo be muzzled? 👀

The response was instant.

Suguru Geto

Emotionally or physically?

You laughed out loud, earning a few glances from nearby desks.

You

Either works. We’re in. Just tell us when.

There was a pause before Suguru’s next message came through.

Suguru Geto

Friday evening. We’ll make a reservation. And don’t worry—I’ll keep him in line.

Your phone buzzed again almost immediately after.

Gojo Satoru

I HEARD THAT.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. The week just got a little more interesting.

Alpha Suguru always has me fanning myself Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @ollyissleepy , @erintaro , @hellv1ra Perma Tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine , @nina-from-317

[ichigo-plasma]

Taking Mikoto Kayano To The Sanrio Store! (John Tags Along Too)

On The Menu: fluff, cute stuff, Orekoto is so tsundere but since Mikoto loves you he admits he kinda likes you too... or whatever..., please put ribbons in Orekoto's hair

A/N: One of Mikoto’s hobbies listed on his profile is shopping so let’s take Mikoto on a shopping date to the Sanrio store! Where do we take our boyfriends next?

A/N: Mikoto Kayano's Sanrio character is Aggretsuko and I will not have it any other way.

Boyfriend!Mikoto who gets startled when you run over to him sitting on the couch after a long day of work, excited to spend his weekend with you, and you show him your phone showing him that a new Sanrio collection is dropping. “Alright, alright, I’ll take you! Let’s get there early so you can get everything you want.”

Boyfriend!Mikoto who takes you to get bubble tea before heading to the mall. “You’ll need energy for all this shopping, right?”

Boyfriend!Mikoto who chuckles softly as you practically run toward the store. “Wow, you’re really excited for this, huh?” He thinks it’s adorable.

Boyfriend!Mikoto who follows closely behind as you rush inside, looking at the sheer amount of pink and pastels everywhere. He is shocked as he says “…I have never seen this much cuteness in one place before besides in your area of our bedroom.” (and you... he thinks to himself... you are super cute...)

Boyfriend!Mikoto who lets you tug him toward the display of the new collection, nodding along as you excitedly explain each item. “Ohh, I see, I see… so this is limited edition? That means we have to get it, right?” He has been working hard at work so he has plenty of money to spoil you, his cute S/O.

Boyfriend!Mikoto who watches with amusement as you grab a My Melody plush and hug it tightly. “That one’s cute. She's cute like you. You match well.” he says as he watches you.

Boyfriend!Mikoto who isn’t super into Sanrio (he keeps up with it to know what is trending as a designer but he is so busy with work he doesn’t have time to get into it except for using the cute stationary you gifted him to use at his work desk :{{{{, someone please draw Mikoto with cute Sanrio pens and stationary reader gifted him ), so he relies on you to keep him up to date. “Wait, so this blanket resells for how much??? But it only costs $20?” He is shocked at how much some of the items resell for and he listens to you like a diligent student.

Boyfriend!Mikoto who smiles as you light up while picking out Kuromi merch. “You always go straight for her. Isn’t she the same character on that stationary that you gave me a while back?”

Boyfriend!Mikoto who doesn’t pick anything up for himself (he’s a pretty minimalist guy I think he is too busy for trinkets), but if you hold up something and ask if it suits him, he’ll humor you. “A Cinnamoroll tote bag? Hmm… You think I could pull it off?”

Boyfriend!Mikoto who helps move all your things to a shopping basket as your hands start to fill up. “Don’t worry, I got it. You just focus on finding what you want.”

Boyfriend!Mikoto who listens patiently as you ramble about a less popular character he’s never heard of. “Ahh, so that’s Kirimichan? It’s a salmon… erm, are you meant to want to eat him?”

Boyfriend!Mikoto who tries to stay calm as the store starts getting really crowded, the bright colors and chatter making his head feel a little fuzzy. His fingers tighten slightly around the bags and he goes to a corner of the store to calm down a bit. While in the corner however, he suddenly gets a message from work telling him he’ll need to stay overtime on Monday till the last train to fix issues a client is having with their design request. God… he can’t ever catch a break… right when he was able to forget about work… why… why…!

Boyfriend!Orekoto who exhales slowly, a small smirk replacing Mikoto’s usual soft expression. He comes back over to you and you can tell he isn’t your sweet Mikoto you initially came to the store with earlier, “Wow, you really want all this cute stuff? Do we not already have enough at home?”

Boyfriend!Orekoto who feels a bit bad when you look at him pouting like a hurt kitten after that remark and he starts to feel a bit bad and worry that he might hurt your relationship with Mikoto if he makes fun of your cute hobby…. “Shit... Sorry… my bad, get mad at me for that, not him. Go ahead, I won’t get in your way babe, have fun shopping.” He sighs.

Boyfriend!Orekoto who gets flustered and tries to shove you away when you hug him but it is no use and he just accepts it… he will admit it does feel kind of good… he can kind of understand why Mikoto likes you so much... “Alright now get off of me and go enjoy that white rabbit cinnamon roll thing and yellow pudding blob.”

Boyfriend!Orekoto who stays in the corner watching you run around trying not to lash out and yell as you shove cute hairbands on his head and run away before he can stop you. “Ok! Haha very funny now hurry up and buy your things so I can get you out of here.”

Boyfriend!Orekoto who hands over Mikoto’s card at checkout like it’s his money. “Go ahead, babe. He’s been wanting to spoil you for a while now.”

Boyfriend!Mikoto who wakes up later back on your couch at your shared home with a confused look on his face, his eye twitching as he stares at the receipt in his hands. “…Babe... H-How did you buy this much?”

Boyfriend!Mikoto who looks through the bags, confused when he finds an Aggretsuko hoodie in his size. “D-Did… I pick this out? When did I do that?” (Aggretsuko fits Mikoto as a character perfectly I am sorry)

Boyfriend!Mikoto who sighs as you giggle, realizing what might have happened. “Oh no. You picked something out for him, didn’t you...?” (I headcanon that Mikoto is kinda aware of his other personality in modern AUs but not fully able to interact but as his S/O you’ve probably told him and he is happy you accept him as he was worried it’d scare you away)

Boyfriend!Mikoto who shakes his head but smiles when he sees you happily going through all your new Sanrio goodies. “…Well, as long as you got everything you wanted, I guess I don’t mind.”

[coraltinyrose]

Brief Silence, Ongoing Progress

Sharing a sketch I did to plan my prior sketches and updating you on progress... Summary: The project is progressing nicely, but that means fewer posts as I keep editing the fanfic (not drawing art). Detailed story: Lately, my breaks have been super focused on improving the fanfic and it needs to keep like that. Actually, I need a short of a break before I continue working on either (fanfic/art). It has been an intense couple of days of editing at every free minute, so all bits of the story were fresh in my mind as I made changes that involved a lot of back and forth in between chapters.

As of now, the story's 2 POVs are finally woven together to my best ability. And all major inconsistencies I could find are fixed. Some descriptive areas turned into proper scenes, too. Which extended the current draft to... 17k words!? *panics* The next phase is still story stuff like adding bits to paint the scene (smells, location description, clothing,...). Though I also need to cut whatever is repetitive. So the word count will go down, right? RIGHT? Then the last phase will be the "written improvement". This includes steps such as changing the tense in half the story -ugh-, or looking for echoes. And an English check. And a beta reader check (♡♡♡!) + apply their relevant feedback. And art!

Hopefully, the written improvement phase can be done gradually and chapter by chapter. I may be experienced in storytelling, and I love the entire process. But this became almost overwhelming for my first creative writing attempt. I really hope it ends up decent. If only ONE person enjoys it, I will be happy that I put the effort into sharing it.

Anyway, no release dates or such yet. This is a rare project where, even if I'm personally committed to release fully, I do it for fun 100%. Adding a timeline defeats the purpose unless the content is much closer to release-ready. So, before taking a short break, I felt like sharing the progress since it looks like some people are curious to read it already. OMG so humbled! And I didn't want to worry if I "disappeared" for a while.

For viewers enjoying my fanart, I do have a big craving for more fanfic parts I want to draw. It will be cute. Or dramatic. Oh, poor characters. Love them.

(I will add a part of this update to my pinned post too)

TTYL~ ____ *Characters by Takahashi Rumiko sensei

[wannabe-cartoonist-blog]

Last Game hair style fixes, in order of who needed it most.

I've never liked the canon hair styles in Last Game. They're either hideous, or just simply don't fit the characters/style of the main series. I get its a (mostly different) art department and meant to age the characters up, but most of the time, they simply just look off-model to me. I know I'm not the only one who's got issues with the hairstyles in this movie too, so I did my best to fix them up and give them styles that I personally think suite them. Originals below cut as well as my explanations! Important to note, these are my preferences/headcanons for them so take everything I'm about to say with a grain of salt.

**Akashi isn't here, because believe it or not, I actually think his hair looks the best out of everyone in LG.

I wouldn't change it. I like to draw him with neater hair/his bangs pushed out of his face when I age him up, but for the summer after the Winter Cup - when LG takes place - the canon hair is exactly the sort of style I think he would/should have. I like the allegory that the rough chop is something he did when his mental health wasn't good, so now as his mental scars heal, it's growing back out. ❤️

Midorima

A neater/shorter hairstyle does fit Mido's character/personality, but the LG hair simply just doesn't look like the same hair type we see in the main series. Mido's hair has got the slightest wave to it (which I tend to over-exaggerate whenever I draw him).

With this in mind, I went and gave his hair some more body/volume by extending the sides. (You'll see a lack of volume/body is the key issue with the other LG hairs as well).

Murasakibara

Mura's hair in this movie looks so so flat and greasy. Now I didn't do the best job fixing it up, but this is basically how you'd go about doing it; just add more flowy strands. His hair is pretty pin-strait in canon, but there's lots of flowing strands, even when he's not moving much, which give it a clean-look.

When it's all just one limp form, like the movie does, it appears unclean as opposed to just long and sleek.

Momoi

Another victim of the lack of body/volume. The style they gave her is also simply bad, like she just took a pair of scissors and cut in a straight line. There isn't even really any style to it. Its kinda just laying there on her head, which is not what her hair usually looks like in the main series. There's always strands/some lift to it. Also Momoi has always had some sort of bangs/framing pieces in her face, so for her whole forehead to be out was just a tiny bit jarring.

I think the style I came up with is a little more mature while still having personality and life to it. Plus, LG takes place in the summer, so a shorter hair style would be more comfortable in the heat.

Kise

Kise I don't think I did a good job of fixing to my liking either. It was hard to edit it without making it look bad in general, because I really don't think this choppy sort of style suites him like at all, so it was too much to change. Now his hair is one of the better drawn ones in this movie for sure, but it feels more like a Kagami hairstyle than a Kise one to me. I just don't think his modeling agency would let him have such a choppy, hard-to-style haircut. I also think a more polished look fits his handsome, princely sort of appeal that makes him popular with girls.

Aomine

Alright, now its time for me to be playful and silly with some out-there hair styles. Aomine (and Kagami's hair) in Last Game I don't mind. After Akashi, I would say Aomine looks the best. BUT. We have NEVER seen Aomine with long hair, even in flashbacks when he's a child.

So for him to finally decide to grow out his hair - in the SUMMER HEAT - just feels like a weird move to me. Feels out of character. He strikes me as someone who likes his hair out of his face when he plays ball and just wants to roll out of bed and not worry about brushing/styling it or anything. The animators also aren't consistent in this movie and sometimes his hair looks particularly long in the front and back, which again, I don't think he'd like. This picture below and the ones above are from the same movie/take place within like a week of each other, yet look so different.

He looks cute and it definitely gives him a more youthful look; which is a weird choice, because they want to age up everyone else but Aomine in this movie. So, I think a fade would really suite him (I don't think I drew it that well tho). Keeps his hair short and out of his face but also ages him up a little more with a mature style.

Kagami

Alright, Kagami's look here is pure indulgence. @knbposting said "Kagami with a mullet" and I haven't stopped thinking about it. Sue me. His LG hair isn't bad and makes sense for his character and the time of year. But its just sorta plain. Honestly, Kise's hair style in this movie would probably suite Kagami more. I always liked how in the main series, Kagami's hair is a little scruffy in the back so I really wanted to lean into that.

Is a mullet suitable for the summer heat/something he'd like? Well, maybe not but I think it ages him up while also seeming like something he'd get at some point in his life. So here we are. I will end this with saying this is probably the longest he'd ever let his hair get.

Kuroko

Finally, we have Kuroko, whose hair I've barely changed. Now, the animators/artists do a really bad job of keeping his face on-model (eyes too beady, features too sharp) but that's a whole 'nother issue, and I managed to find a scene where they kept him on-model lol. I think a shorter, neat style is good for the summer and suites him, but a main feature of all the hair throughout the main series is the spikes/strands of hair on nearly every character - Kuroko especially - so I just added a tiny bit more here.

And that's the end! If you read all the way to here, thanks for coming to my insane-person rant.

[jijunbzz]

Honestly speaking I have no idea how to draw birds but I tried with all my might to edit this sprite. But Hybrids AU I suppose? Also I am not a biologist/zoologist so stuff here is purely hypothetical Basicly in the AU there are Humans and Hybrids leaving in the City (add some singularity messing up the genome in past or something). I had the idea that there are those who almost like humans (aka mammals too) and those who are not. Sinclair as an ornithoid (bird-like type of hybrids, just in case it is not the right translation), is on the "far from humans side" of the deal. In case anyone wonders there are 10 families ( types?) of hybrids there So. What should we know about bird hybrids? Well *fixes my glasses*. - They are, as expected, have a lighter body and fragile bones to be able to fly, so be careful! One harsh kick and they might not get up after that. Though just like with ordinary birds not all of them can fly, some are only able to jump high or just walk around with their huge pretty tails out. It depends on the fact if they have legs or claws, and if they have wings (some have only tail and claws no wings for example, but they're usually really pretty). - Another thing to be aware of it's that their bodies are hotter in temperature also they might eat more often than others. Fast matabolism may be a pain. - Last but important part is that ornithoids need space! A lot of space! Their wings and tails can be huge, especially if they're big birds, so let them stretch those out once in a while! Note to all managers here: don't forget to make a note that they need holes in uniform too

[akitofr]

ℑ𝔫𝔣𝔬 𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔱 ☆

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‘⸊ˎ

Nanette ᯓ or ☆ Sora! (✭ Others on prns page! ꉂꉂ(ᵔᗜᵔ◍) ✭) 

♪- Any ︴All  -♬

﹏Eng︴Esp﹏ {I prefer speaking english, sorry! (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞}

☢︎⚠︎- Warning! I am a mentally ill minor so I may vent a lot, these may include themes of (Sui, Od-ing, sh, ed, sa) But I'm gonna try and keep vents under a specific tag and on my sideblog now! I also have episodes (and quite frequently as of right now, the summer of 2025, due to stress, very sorry!) 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

♡- Vocaloid, Project Sekai, Twisted wonderland, Enstars, Fragaria memories, Milgram, Hypmic, etc. 

♫♯ - PinocchioP, INABAKUMORI, NAKISO, Isonosuke, Iyowa, Masarada, Sasuke Haraguchi, DECO*27, Giga, Weezer, Tyler The Creator, Tsumikusa,  Bungaku Miyamori, etc. 

☾ - Cutecore, grunge, Dark girly, gurokawa, gyaru, scene, goth, girly kei, etc.! 

≛ - Baking, gaming, posting, drawing, doing school work, shopping, editing

✭- I like all animals but I will sometimes frequently talk about, dogs, cats, sharks, shrimp, other fish.

.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡

☮︎ - Let's keep the peace! Do not interact if: You support Israel/Are a Zionist, you support Zionists (influencers, companies, you know the deal!), Are a Mizuboy/Cisgirl Mizuki believer, if you dislike any project sekai character including npcs (Not including parents or American npcs cuz I don't care about them), adding into the last part if you especially dislike Kanade Shiho Haruka Airi Akito Or Rui, you are Anti-Double (do not want people who kin the same character as you to interact), You are very rude about being a non-sharing yume (ex. you harass people instead of blocking), you are a paraphile, you post about darkshipping a lot, you are a lolicon (some of these are up for exception but usually that just means thin ice and I'll block you whenever!) 

I also block freely! ~☆

◍ - Friendship, while usually temporary, is great! I'm more likely to be your friend if: You don't judge people by their age, are under 19-20 (if u are at that age I'll most likely js be one of those moots you barely talk to, I'm sorry I just have a big fear of getting groomed ☹️), Have similar interests to mine! (Keep in mind I make kms/kys jokes and jokes abt my trauma a lot!) 

♾︎ - Est timezone, moving to Cst soon though (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Tags! ♡

[Name] ♡ - Mutual and I yapping 

Eepy.. - Venting 

Reblogged!! - let's take a guess... 

Sideblogs

@angel-qiqi (idk this ones meaningless but too important to delete)

@urfave-isthreateningsui-yay (gimmick blog where I make characters threaten suicide)

Links -

Strawpage (buncha stuff! Has my other links nd music and u can send me gimmicks and stuff!)

Bsky (I have to fix it also I'm not often online there)

☆ other! -

Husband(/p) - @riftty-rifter-rebellion

Wife(/p) - @star-staruck

Son - @mickkikikikikikikikikiki

Brother (he's actually my friend!) - @bbeastchuuya

Sister (also actually a friend, one of my best friends!) - @starzrei

Best friend! - @megumis1glazer mw her as well!

SuperFav oomf - @kinorabee (sorry for tag but ily vro/p)

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̽‿̩͙‘⸊ˎ

Stay safe, bye!! ♡

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

I GOT SO EXCITED WHEN YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTS!!! can i request a pietro fic where him and the reader are both avengers and they are best friends, but the reader has the biggest crush on him (she manages how to hide well) and they get assigned to a mission in hawaii and have to pretend that they're married and are there for their honeymoon? and that pretending to be the reader's husband and doing everything together like a couple made pietro realize that he also had feelings for her. one day they both go to a restaurant and have some drinks and he builds enough courage to finally kiss her (in the rain😼)

(i know it's cheesy but i just love the idea😭😭 and also, sorry if there's any mistakes, english isn't my first language hahah)

hii!! omg I love this and cheesy things hehe!! and don’t worry, your english was great! apologies, I had a nightmare writing this, I finished writing it then went to edit the next day to find chunks of my paragraphs were missing :(( but thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

—

fake dating

pietro maximoff x fem!reader

word count: 811

✧.┊ MASTERLIST

As you and Pietro are the two youngest members on the team -with the exception of Peter- you were often paired together for lots of missions. Being best friends had its perks, especially for trips away where it was just the two of you. 

You were both assigned to Hawaii to "collect intel", as Cap lightly put it. The pair of you undercover: smitten newlyweds on your honeymoon. Usually, you weren't a fan of these kinds of aliases, but this was different- it was with Pietro.

It allowed you to tap into your true and hidden romantic feelings towards him without over-complicating everything. Fake dating was like a compromise to you. It felt like it gave you a brief chance to date him without the consequence of doing the real thing.

The moment you boarded the plane, the mission began, and you were all over Pietro- leaning into him and stroking his arm, giggling at his jokes and sharing stories with the elderly lady beside you. 

It all felt natural, and you didn't know where to draw the line. You admit you may have gotten a little carried away, but you couldn't help it- it just felt so right to date Pietro, like you could finally be your true self without keeping a part of you locked away. 

The first several days of the trip went smoothly, completing all tasks assigned within the first few hours of the day, leaving you both together for many hours doing touristy things.

Each day was slightly different- snorkelling in the ocean for one and eating lunch with the locals for another. You both wanted to make the most of your 'vacation,' so you chose activities you couldn't do anywhere else, nor would you have time for otherwise.

As the days progressed, so did things with you and Pietro. You would find yourselves flirting and touching with no one around- no one to prove things to. He grew more comfortable being romantic with you, a lingering touch to your hand or a soft smile when you speak- just small and possibly inconsequential moments that felt too sincere to be fake.

Today was the last night of the trip before heading home in the morning, so you and Pietro decided to have dinner at your favourite quaint restaurant on the beach, much like a final farewell to the town you both grew to adore. 

Everything was perfect- the scenery, the food, the company, even. It was the best end to an already great trip. 

By now, you were on your final course of the night, sharing a desert as you chatted in your usual friendly way. 

You sit up straight, pointing the spoon at him. "You suit it,"

His head cocks to the side, evidently confused. "Suit, what?"

"Y'know... the sun— being away. You seem happy," you smile, placing your spoon aside. "Haven't seen you like it for a while." You shrug, glancing out into the ocean to avoid his fixed gaze.

"I do?" he grins, pointing the spoon at you like you did him. "Same with you... it's nice to see."

"Maybe it's the company," your smile widens, turning back to face him.

He chuckles, itching his foot closer to yours under the table, slyly bumping into it. "Maybe."

After dinner and more drinks, you find your tipsy selves on the beach, sitting in the sand, huddled together under a blanket to keep warm. Pietro's arm draped over your shoulder, holding you close to him as you look out into the ocean. It all felt so familiar, like second nature- as if this was how it should be between you. 

Sure, you've cuddled like this many times before, but this was not like those times- this was different. It was intimate- sincere. Pietro pulls away, glancing over your face as a gentle smile forms, watching the way yours mirrors his. 

"Looks like it's gonna rain," you divert, suddenly aware of how real this all feels between you. 

He hums weakly, his smile faltering as he slowly leans towards you, his low gaze focused on your lips. 

"Might storm," you whisper, adding.

"Mh-hm," he softly replies, almost as if he wasn't paying attention. He slips his hand up to cup the side of your face, his palm resting on your jaw, guiding you closer. 

"It might—"

He cuts you off with a small shush, quietening your blabbering mind before brushing his lips over yours, kissing you soft and sweetly. It felt like months of repressed longing poured into a single, beautiful moment. A moment you've long been yearning for.

As you pull away from one another, you wish you could stay here forever. Stay in paradise. 

But as much as you hated to think about it, you'd be leaving tomorrow, and all you could think about was how things would be when you go back home. 

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

pietro taglist: @astermath @thewinterv @earth-elemental18 @lunnnix @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @randomawesomeperson102 @queerponcho @selfryed @daenerys-supremacy @dontknownameauthor @mrsbarnesxxx @honestly-who-even-is-this @simplyreflected