Atlas stood bent over the counter in their shared apartment, carefully chopping a red bell pepper with the precision of someone who didn't want to lose a finger. She was in the middle of explaining something mundane—when Demitra snuck up behind her like a mischievous gremlin. Without warning, Demitra pressed herself against Atlas's back and began dramatically humping her.

"BOOM SHAKALAKAA!" Demitra yelled, her voice echoing through the kitchen. "YES GAWD!"

Atlas froze, knife still in hand, before a slow chuckle escaped her lips. "What the fuck, Mia?" she said, laughing despite herself. "What is wrong with you?"

Demitra only doubled down, grabbing Atlas by the hips for more exaggerated movements. "I'm appreciating the view, papi," she said, punctuating her words with another pelvic thrust. "This ass? FAT. Absolutely delicious."

Atlas, unable to stop laughing, set the knife down for safety reasons. "You're out of control," she said, turning to face Demitra.

"So?," Demitra said smugly, before yelping as Atlas easily scooped her up and threw her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Oh, you wanna play games?" Atlas said, her tone teasing as she carried Demitra across the kitchen.

"Put me down, Bertoni!" Demitra squealed, though she was laughing too hard to sound serious.

Atlas gently set her down on the counter, standing between her legs with her hands on either side of her. "Now, what's gotten into you today, huh?"

"I told you," Demitra said with a grin. "I'm appreciating you. I got the whole package—good looking chef, athlete, with a prime-grade ass. How could I not?"

Atlas rolled her eyes but leaned forward to kiss Demitra softly. "You've been hanging out with Eli too much," she teased, referring to Demitra's equally chaotic younger sister.

"Maybe," Demitra admitted, wrapping her arms around Atlas's neck.

Atlas kissed her again, her smile lingering against Demitra's lips.

Once they had settled down from their impromptu kitchen antics, Atlas returned to cooking while Demitra perched on the counter, watching her work with an amused expression.

"You know," Demitra said, swinging her legs, "you look really hot when you cook."

Atlas glanced up, eyebrow raised. "Is that why you're staring at me like a weirdo right now?"

"Obviously."

Atlas shook her head with a laugh. "You're impossible."

"And yet, here you are, stuck with me," Demitra shot back, reaching over to steal a slice of red bell pepper from the cutting board.

"Hey, those are for dinner," Atlas said, swatting her hand away too late.

"Relax, chef," Demitra said, popping the pepper into her mouth. "I'm quality control."

Atlas sighed dramatically but couldn't keep the grin off her face.

The timer eventually went off, and they returned to the kitchen to retrieve their dinner from the oven. Demitra insisted on taking a picture of the meal before they dug in, but Atlas—starving at this point—kept trying to sneak bites while Demitra set up the perfect shot.

"Atlas, I swear to God, if you touch that one more time—"

"What? I'm taste-testing!"

"You're ruining the aesthetic! Lock in!"

Atlas held up her hands in surrender, her face a picture of mock innocence. "Fine, fine. I'll wait."

Once Demitra finally snapped a photo that met her standards, they sat down to eat, their usual banter filling the room as they shared the meal.

"This is why I let you cook sometimes," Demitra said, pointing her fork at Atlas. "You eat less when you're in charge of the food."

Atlas smirked. "True, but you know you like it when I take over the kitchen."

"Who knows," Demitra admitted, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled.

After dinner, they cleaned up together, working in sync as they washed dishes and wiped down the counters. Demitra hummed a tune under her breath, and Atlas couldn't help but glance over at her, her heart swelling with affection.

They finished cleaning, and as the night wound down, they found themselves back on the couch, cuddled up under a blanket. Demitra rested her head on Atlas's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

"Hey," Demitra said softly.

"Hmm?" Atlas murmured, running her fingers over Demitra's baby hairs.

"You're my favorite person, and you're all mine." Demitra admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Atlas smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Right back at you, mami."

And as they sat there, wrapped in each other's warmth, both of them knew they wouldn't trade this for anything in the world.

The end.