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riotwritesthings · 3 days ago

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An Agony We Deserve (Throwing Off Sparks)

WinterIron, M, 5.8k, WIP - reluctant soulmates, angst, drinking, mentions of past ships

There are legends. Soulmate bonds have started and ended wars, they used to reshape the world without any warning. People would change in an instant, abandon and betray everything, become completely unrecognizable, but those are just legends- It can’t be- But they are.

This chapter suuuure went a direction. I really hope you enjoy and don't want to burn me at the stake ahaha

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

~~~

Chapter 3: the ceiling starts to swerve

“This is Colonel Rhodes.”

Rhodey sounds exhausted, and stressed, and Tony knows that as usual it’s at least ninety percent his fault. There’s a cacophony of noise in the background, and Tony’s willing to bet that he’s having a hell of a day.

He wishes he didn’t have to make it worse.

“Hey SourPatch,” Tony forces himself to say in greeting, his throat suddenly dry.

“Holy shit,” Rhodey says in a rush of air, his voice dropping in volume halfway through. There’s a shuffling sound, and then all the background noise is cut off by the heavy thud of a door closing. “Tony, what the hell happened?” He demands in a strained, tense whisper, "you- are you okay?"

“I- I’m fine,” Tony lies.

He’d hoped that hearing Rhodey’s voice would feel comforting, familiar.

Instead he feels… nothing.

No, not nothing. He is relieved to talk to Rhodey again.

But it feels more like- Some small part of him is relieved to have a link to the world. Anything outside of this weird little- soulmate bubble they’ve accidentally set up for themselves, some reminder of what’s real. But even that slice of relief is-

Disconnected.

There’s no warmth to it, no rush of calm comfort that Rhodey’s voice usually gives him. He remembers their decades of friendship perfectly clearly, but- There’s no connection to the voice on the other end of the line, like he’s talking to someone else.

Like he’s talking to a stranger.

Tony’s breath catches wetly in his throat and his eyes burn.

Fuck this stupid bond.

It’s already apparently taken most of his self-control and personal space, replacing them both with- with a stranger. It took all of his plans and goals in Berlin, and probably any remaining scraps of trust his team had in him.

And now this inexplicable thing, some weird imbalance of chemicals or something, is taking his oldest, closest relationship.

Barnes- Bucky- is still staring out the front window, keeping an eye out for whatever and pretending not to listen.

Tony is painfully aware of the distance between them, of the tension winding Bucky’s shoulders up tight. Tony can feel it like a pull in his own chest and if the phone weren’t mounted to the wall he would go over there-

He viciously shoves that thought down, shoves down the ache in his sternum.

Rhodey is still talking on the other end of the line, repeating his name in an increasingly frantic tone, and it’s a struggle to focus on that.

It’s so much easier to focus on the mere feet separating him from Bucky, the way it felt to wake up next to him. Whatever it is that’s been twisting Bucky tighter and tighter since they woke up-

“Tony-”

“I’m here,” Tony says quickly. “I’m okay.”

Over by the window, Bucky’s shoulders twitch up a little higher.

“What happened in Berlin?” Rhodey asks, sounding impossibly more freaked out than he had before.

And that’s the big question, isn’t it? Laughter bubbles up in Tony’s chest before he can stop it, high-pitched and hysterical.

“I’m- It’s- I really can’t get into it right now,” Tony says weakly around slips of laughter that he can’t contain, and he can hear Rhodey’s worry spiking.

Reading his best friend even without seeing him is still as familiar as breathing, but Tony doesn’t *feel * anything.

Not like he can feel Bucky trying and failing not to shift on his feet, painfully curious and trying to fight it. Or maybe just trying to hide it, Tony can’t quite tell but he’s sure that if he got closer-

It’s making it really hard to focus on the conversation. And fuck, he wants to talk to Rhodey. He swears he does. But suddenly it’s not as easy as it’s always been.

“Are you-” Rhodey asks carefully, his voice low, “are you still with him? Are you being held captive?”

The ‘again’ goes unspoken and Tony fights down another hysterical giggle.

He is, but not in any of the ways Rhodey would be expecting. He’s being held captive by himself, by an inability to leave Bucky behind that is so deep-set the idea hasn’t even fully occurred to him.

“Yes, but no, he- he’s here, but it’s nothing like that,” Tony says, because that’s the easy answer. “This is not a Taken situation.”

“That’s not- never mind,” Rhodey says, and things must be really bad if he’s not taking the time to correct Tony on the finer points of action movies.

Fuck, why doesn’t he feel anything?

“So- What then?” Rhodey asks slowly, struggling to wrap his brain around the situation when Tony can’t tell him anything. "Did- I mean, you didn’t- did you kidnap Barnes?"

Tony laughs again and part of him wants to say yes. They kidnapped each other, and themselves, and now they’re holding themselves hostage.

But he knows Rhodey is in no mood for vague jokes.

“Why and how would I have done that?” Tony asks with a strangled chuckle. He remembers the way Barnes had been fighting before they ran into each other, all vicious, brutal efficiency. Even if he’d had his suit, Tony’s not sure he could have gotten The Winter Soldier out of there against the man’s will. At least not alive.

"I don’t know," Rhodey says in a huff, annoyance briefly winning out over his worry, “but Rogers is convinced that you absconded with his friend for some reason.”

“Why?” Tony sputters out while Bucky twitches again.

The other man is more tense than ever, wound so tightly that he’s about to snap. Tony can feel it in his teeth and he wants to dig his fingers into the muscles of Bucky’s shoulders, feel the warmth of him as the tension slowly fades-

"You tell me," Rhodey shoots back. "I’ve seen the security footage, Tones, and no one knows what to think. It looks a hell of a lot like the two of you just- left together."

“That is-” Tony says with a wince, “the extremely short version.” He can tell Rhodey is about to jump in with more questions, and Tony really wants to get to the reason he called. “So, what are people saying, exactly? Other than Steve.”

Rhodey lets out a long, heavy sigh, but tells him.

It’s about as bad as he expected.

There are people who think Tony was captured by the mysterious terrorist, and of course people who think he went rogue and recruited Bucky for his own nefarious purposes. About half of the team thinks it’s some kind of mind control, which would probably break Tony’s heart if he stopped to let himself think about it. But he just urges Rhodey to continue.

Ross has managed to convince a concerning number of people who matter that Tony is some kind of sleeper agent for Hydra, taking back possession of their soldier. Which is an insulting angle for the man to take, he can’t even imagine Tony as a high-ranking undercover genius?

And apparently, Steve thinks Tony kidnapped his best friend. Tony isn’t sure if he should be offended or not. Honestly, he can’t figure out what Steve thinks his reason would be.

“All in all, about half the world is hunting the two of you for one reason or another,” Rhodey finishes. He doesn’t waste a second before demanding, "Now are you going to tell me why?

“I’m sorry, Platypus,” Tony says, and he means it. He wishes he felt it. “I just- I couldn’t-”

Tony knows how he wants to finish that sentence.

‘I couldn’t let anyone take him, couldn’t not go with him, couldn’t fight it.’

But he can’t say any of that out loud, it’s still too raw and terrifying even in his own mind. The power that the bond has over him is still- It’s like a light that’s too bright to look at directly, he can’t face it fully yet.

And he definitely can’t put it into words or he’s pretty sure he’ll throw himself right back into a panic attack.

“I- There was- a thing, and we had to get out of there,” Tony finally says weakly. “And I- I can’t explain it any more than that right now.”

He can hear Rhodey’s displeasure with that answer, but Tony doesn’t feel as guilty as he should. He feels guilty that he doesn’t feel more guilty.

Tony’s chest clenches and he can feel Bucky fighting the urge to turn away from the window to look at him.

“I will, eventually,” Tony promises and hopes like hell it’s not another lie. “I just- I have to wrap my head around this first,” he adds, “and- hopefully my brain won’t fucking explode in the process.”

Rhodey blows out a hard sigh and then asks, “You’ve really gotten yourself into it this time, haven’t you, Tones?”

“You have no idea, SourPatch,” Tony says, fighting down another strangled laugh. He tears his gaze away from Bucky for probably the first time in the conversation so he can rub at his dry eyes. “First I have to- fuck, figure out how to fix this.”

“Well,” Rhodey starts slowly, "it would help a whole hell of a lot if you brought Barnes back-"

“No,” Tony cuts him off, surprising everyone with the vehemence in his voice.

When he drops his hand away from his face he catches Bucky’s eye for a moment, wide and so blue, before Bucky whips his head back around to the window.

“I can’t do that,” Tony continues, trying to keep his tone normal, “he- he’s innocent, Rhodey, he wasn’t even in Vienna.”

He doesn’t need Bucky nodding at the window to confirm it, somehow Tony knows. He’s felt it in the confused tension still wound tightly through Bucky’s chest. In the quiet, terrified exhaustion that started to set in as soon as they made it out of Germany.

Bucky doesn’t know why, or how, but he knows he’s being framed. So Tony knows it too. And he knows that true to Bucky’s word, he’s so used to not having control that he’s not even surprised to be used in this new and creative way.

Rhodey sighs. "Well then, bring him back and prove-"

“C’mon Platypus,” Tony cuts him off again, “you know it isn’t that easy. Someone already got to him while he was in ‘safe custody,’ and if that doesn’t happen again then he’s likely to get ‘disappeared,’ and I can’t-”

Tony’s voice comes to an abrupt stop as his chest clenches painfully, his throat pulling tight. The thought of someone trying to take Bucky away-

The force of the fury that rushes over him knocks the air out of his lungs. Through the pounding of blood in his ears all he can think is that he can’t let that happen, he can’t- he won’t.

No one is going to take his soulmate away from him, not at any cost.

Somewhere far, far beneath the weight of that knowledge, the rational sliver of his mind that remains is terrified to find out what price he’ll be willing to pay.

He doesn’t even want a- but he won’t be able to fight it any more than he’s been able to resist the bond until now, he already attacked Natasha without thought- What else would he do-

Bucky lets out a low, pained sound that Tony snaps out of his spiraling thoughts.

The fuzz and dancing spots fade from his vision as he drags in a shuddering breath, and he sees that Bucky is still politely staring out the window. He can tell that Bucky isn’t actually seeing anything though, too caught up in his own thoughts, in the tension pulling his shoulders painfully tight.

Tony forces himself to take another slow breath, and Bucky relaxes minutely.

"Hey, Tones, Tony-" Rhodey is saying in his ear and it filters slowly into Tony’s consciousness, so much less important than watching Bucky’s hand shake as he balls it into a fist.

“Yeah, yeah I’m still here,” Tony forces out, his voice rough.

He must sound really bad, because Rhodey takes pity on him and doesn’t ask any more questions.

“Look,” he says, almost as gently as he spoke when Tony first came back from Afghanistan, “I’ve been working to clear up all the most ridiculous lies. Are you safe right now, wherever you are?”

Tony only has to stare at Bucky’s back for a second before the man nods stiffly.

“As safe as I can be in a haunted shack,” Tony replies with a weak attempt at a smile, hoping that Rhodey can hear it over the line.

“Okay,” Rhodey says, “okay, here’s the plan.”

~~~

Tony is not a fan of the plan.

He doesn’t like that Rhodey is fighting Ross and his ridiculous lies for him. He doesn’t like that he’s just supposed to wait until Rhodey can make sure that they won’t be black-bagged the second they step foot back on the grid.

And he especially doesn’t like that he’s supposed to wait here, in the farmhouse from hell. With its outhouse and its single broken bed.

Despite the size of the mess, part of him had been looking forward to cleaning it up. Arguing with Steve and rich old senators is at least familiar, would make him feel like he still has some semblance of control over his life.

He was really fucking looking forward to feeling in control again.

Instead he’s still stuck out here, just him and Bucky.

It’s like they’ve left the rest of the world behind and Tony- He needs to get back to the real world. He can’t fight the bond but maybe he could- could ignore it a little more with other people around, with all the complicated problems that he can’t- He can barely remember right now.

The Accords, the Avengers, SI and everything, it’s all so far away. And if he doesn’t get back to it soon-

He’s not sure that he’ll want to.

With a frustrated sigh Tony finally stops glaring at the phone hanging on the wall.

Bucky is still standing at the front window, resolutely pretending to ignore Tony’s conversation. Despite everything, Tony feels a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay, excellent ignoring,” Tony says with a huff, “you can stop now.”

After a second of hestiation, his fists still clenched, Bucky turns to face him again and-

Blue.

Tony’s next inhale is so much easier, like his lungs are filling fully for the first time since Bucky stepped across the shack. It’s so damn nice, all the stress of the phone call melting away. The guilt and the distance of hiding from his best friend are inconsequential.

The real world is all mistakes and panic attacks. Why does he need-

Bucky’s gaze drops to the floor and Tony’s chest pulls tight again.

Something is still tearing Bucky apart, and he doesn’t know what.

It’s been getting worse and worse since they woke up, since whatever occurred to him and ruined their relatively peaceful morning. And Tony doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t think it’s just Bucky taking his turn with the panic attack. It’s related to being stuck here for an unknown amount of time, the tension spiked sharply when that part of the plan came up, but that’s not the whole story.

Whatever it is, it’s stabbing through Bucky’s lungs and turning his stomach, making it almost impossible to breathe. Tony can feel it like a phantom pain in his own chest, he can feel it crawling its way up Bucky’s throat.

The silence stretches as Bucky stares at the floor and Tony stares at him. Tony’s pulse is picking up as the tension builds.

It- it’s bad. It’s hanging over them like an anvil, like a guillotine, and Tony stops breathing as Bucky takes a shuddering inhale.

Bucky opens his mouth, and Tony tries to brace himself.

But all Bucky says is, “I was tryin’ not to listen.” His tone is sheepish but his voice is tight, nearly strangled.

Tony lets out a hard rush of air. Part of him wants to pry, most of him wants to pry, but-

He shouldn’t even know that something’s wrong with Bucky. They don’t actually know each other, they met yesterday.

Without the bond he wouldn’t be able to read Bucky at all, or at least not nearly this well. If he tries to pry- It’s like he’s giving into the bond. Accepting it.

And he can’t do that.

So Tony forces himself to let it go, to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s carefully blank face.

“If we’re stuck here, there better be food,” Tony says as he turns towards the small kitchen. “I am not above eating you for survival.”

After a couple of seconds Bucky silently shuffles after him, like he just can’t help himself.

There is food, and most of it is still safely packed in cans and sealed jars. Even if it doesn’t look very appetizing. There’s no coffee, though, which means that Tony’s headache is only going to get worse.

While Bucky hopefully determines if the water is safe, Tony slams through the cabinets a final time. He’s not pouting, but he’s also not actually expecting to find anything else.

Until he discovers the large jar of clear liquid hidden in the back of a high cabinet.

“'S that moonshine?” Bucky asks, suddenly standing just close enough that Tony can feel the rumble of his voice.

“Samanė, I believe,” Tony says, already unscrewing the lid, “which, basically the same thing.”

He’s trying to ignore the shiver running down his spine. And he’s trying even harder to ignore the urge to lean back into Bucky and chase the feeling.

It may not be the best idea at the moment, but Tony does need a distraction. And if he’s stuck here then he’ll take what he can get.

~~~

"This’s strong," Bucky says, squinting into his chipped glass.

Tony hums in agreement.

He’s not sure where his own glass is. He knows he had it when he dropped down onto the couch.

Before he can work up the effort to look for it Bucky is picking Tony’s glass up from the ground and offering it to him. Tony takes it with a grunt of thanks. Bucky quickly returns to staring into his own glass.

His next swig of the strong liquor doesn’t burn, just settles nicely in the warm pit of Tony’s stomach.

The tension is being forcibly melted out of his limbs. All the problems are being drowned out by the pleasant buzzing between his ears.

He considers the other man, because through the warm haze nothing else matters. And he can’t quite remember why that matters right now.

Bucky decided to sit in front of the couch when Tony sprawled out over the entire thing. He’s been shooting Tony increasingly un-subtle looks as they drink. With the way he’s leaning back, if Tony just moved his leg a little it would press against the strong, tense line of Bucky’s shoulders.

Tony takes another sip and forces himself to stay still.

Bucky glances over him again. The faintest hint of pink is spreading across his cheeks.

They’ve been carefully not talking since they started drinking. They don’t really need to.

But Tony still finds himself asking, “Is this- is it doin’ anythin’ for you?”

Bucky looks over at him and Tony tips his glass in explanation. Bucky’s lips twitch as he nods. He returns his gaze to his half-empty glass, then downs it.

"An’ it’s disinfectin’ my throat," Bucky says with a cough and a wince.

“Good,” Tony says as Bucky grabs for the jar again, "pretty sure you’re drinkin’ most of it. And if you’re just doin’ it to feel the burn I will- I’m gonna be mad."

Bucky snorts as he refills his glass.

“And Steve can- can’t even get drunk,” Tony adds.

The words slip out before he can think them through. The way that Bucky flinches minutely at the name isn’t really a surprise. Tony feels bad for bringing it up, he feels-

A lot of things.

He slid further down against the arm of the couch at some point and he’s mostly staring at the stained ceiling. His shin is pressed against the line of Bucky’s shoulders and he doesn’t remember doing that either. It takes effort to lift his head enough to keep Bucky in his field of view.

Now that he’s started Tony can’t seem to stop talking. The words are bubbling up in his throat and he can’t quite remember why he shouldn’t let them out.

So much for their unspoken ‘no speaking’ agreement.

"Still can’t believe he thinks I fuckin’- That I kidnapped you," he says with a snort.

Bucky’s metal thumb moves restlessly around his glass. It clicks against the chipped rim.

“No of-ffense,” Tony adds. He rolls his head along the arm of the couch to stare sideways at Bucky. “You just- you seem more the kidnapper- kidnappy type.”

He watches with fascination as emotions make their way across Bucky’s face. Wondering if he should be offended followed by reluctant amusement. Tony can feel all of it.

And he can feel the cold knot that wraps itself back around Bucky’s lungs as soon as the moment is gone. Tony still can’t put a name to the feeling and he’s getting pretty sick of all the things he can’t explain.

Like what’s bothering Bucky. And the fact that he has a soulmate. And why Steve would even think-

“Wait,” Tony says, failing his way upright. He spills a good half of his drink on his undershirt and takes a split second to wonder when he lost his dress shirt. “Wait,” he says again and has to blink a couple times as the room spins, “wait, did- tell me I didn’-”

He trails off, trying to tell through the haze of liquor if what he’s remembering is real. Bucky looks up at him again, and Tony’s breath catches.

Fuck, when is that going to stop happening? He already has enough trouble breathing.

Bucky is still staring at him and Tony struggles to remember what he’d been about to say.

“Was- Is there any truth to the rumors of- of war-torn lovers?” Tony asks, alarm creeping into his voice. "Did I steal Captain America’s boyfriend?"

The way Bucky’s eyes go wide and his shoulders hunch up around his ears says plenty, even as his mouth opens and closes wordlessly.

Tony groans as he flops heavily back down onto the couch. At least he doesn’t spill his drink this time. There’s a laugh building in his chest, edged with hysteria. It certainly explains a lot.

“I think he might- he might actually kill me,” Tony says to the shifting patterns on the ceiling.

They fall into silence while Tony tries to wrap his head around just how fucked up this is. He can hear Bucky finishing off another glass. His own drink is suddenly sitting a little too warm in his gut.

“It wasn’-” Bucky says slowly and Tony cranes his head around to look at him. “It wasn’ really like that. Or- We jus’- We never-”

“Never quite found the right time?” Tony guesses when he trails off. Because isn’t that how all the tragedies go?

Bucky nods into his empty glass, his expression twisted in misery.

The hot pit of something in Tony’s stomach is getting worse, starting to crawl its way up his throat. He’d almost think he’s about to be sick except-

He’s jealous. It’s jealousy burning its way through his chest, familiar but twisted.

Which is stupid for so many reasons, but the biggest one is that he doesn’t need to be. According to all the legends Bucky can’t- They’re stuck together now. Neither one of them can leave.

Tony has to remind himself that it’s because they don’t have a choice. It shouldn’t be comforting, to know that someone can’t leave him, can never even want to-

No, he wants Bucky- Someone, he wants someone to have a choice about staying with him.

He tells himself that’s what he wants. He wishes he believed it.

“I need more- more booze,” Tony says as he pushes himself upright, "way more booze for this fuckin'- conversation."

Bucky hands him the jar, turning towards him in the process. Tony squints at the amount of liquid remaining before taking a swig directly from the jar.

"You- What’d you mean, rumors?" Bucky asks. His eyebrows are pinched and it’s-

Definitely not adorable.

Tony hums and takes another sip, stalling.

“You, uh-” he says slowly, “the two of you- may have been a brief topic. In my- Um, in my queer history elective?”

Bucky blinks slowly. Then he lets out a long groan and drops his face to the couch cushion next to Tony’s thigh.

“Sorry,” Tony says with a wince and does his best not to laugh. “Is that- Is it better or worse than bein’ a ghost?”

“Worse,” Bucky mutters into the couch.

Tony decides not to tell him about the recovered sketches that were shown in that class.

When Bucky eventually lifts his head again it’s to steal the jar of Samanė back and take a long drink. His face is distinctly more flushed and loose strands of hair are clinging to his forehead.

The rest of the room is spinning, but Tony has no problem focusing on the tired blue of Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky looks away again, embarrassment and some new flavor of guilt twisting him up. There’s no sadness though, and Tony’s pretty sure that’s the reason for at least half of the guilt.

“You- Don’ feel bad,” Tony says and nudges his knee against Bucky’s shoulder. “Who- I mean who hasn’t had a big ol’ crush on Steve?” He adds sarcastically.

He slowly realizes he’d forgotten to add any sarcasm to his voice as Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. Tony could try to play it off, but he can feel his own cheeks warming. And Bucky will see right through him.

“There was a fan club at my boarding school,” Tony says defensively. He’s not sure if it helps his point or not.

Bucky snorts out a laugh halfway through taking another drink and winces. Tony doesn’t feel bad for him. But he can’t stop talking.

"And then I met Steve, which- He’s- I mean, I guess I don’t have to tell you-" Tony finds himself saying, despite swearing he’d never admit this to anyone.

It’s easier than he would have thought. The battle of New York and everything that followed feels so far away now. He remembers all the feelings, the hurt followed by longing and the sting of rejection when Steve- when no one stayed-

But it’s like it all happened to someone else. Like he read it in a story.

Bucky is still watching him, arm propped up on the couch. The flush of liquor doesn’t hide the complicated mix of emotions moving over his face as he waits.

"Not that anythin’ ever- y’know, happened," Tony finishes quickly and doesn’t bother wondering why he needs to assure Bucky of that. “He never- And I’m me, so-”

Tony sinks his teeth into his lower lip, cutting himself off. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. He starts to open his mouth, and Tony cuts him off too.

“And then someone came back to life,” he says with the best glare he can work up at the moment, “an’ there- there went my chance. Or my delusional dream of a chance, anyways.”

Bucky winces apologetically and offers him the liquor. Tony laughs and takes it while he watches the other man clench his jaw. This time he knows exactly what Bucky is feeling.

“Super weird backward jealousy pangs, right?” He asks knowingly and tries not to be pleased about it. He fails.

A wry smile pulls at Bucky’s lips as he nods slightly. He drops his gaze to the couch and watches himself pick at the worn fabric.

“An’- An’ what about now?” Bucky asks without looking up. “Was- I-Is there-”

It takes Tony a second to figure out what he’s asking, and then he huffs.

“No, no worries,” he says, leaning forward slightly to pat Bucky’s metal elbow. “You’re not the- the homewrecker here, jus’ me.”

For a second he doesn’t even remember that that wouldn’t have been true, a couple of weeks ago.

The breakup with Pepper had been so fresh and raw even- fuck, just a day ago. When he’d been reluctantly admitting it to Steve and fighting down a twisted mess of emotions. Now it doesn’t hurt any worse than when his first crush had laughed in his face.

The soulmate bond makes one hell of a bandaid, and at least that’s something.

Bucky is still staring at him, like he can see Tony going over all of that in his mind. And he probably can. Tony’s hand is still resting on the other man’s metal arm, and he wonders if Bucky can feel it.

The silence stretches and Tony takes an uncomfortable swig of Samanė. He should probably move his hand, but he doesn’t.

“I am- 'M pretty good at chasing people off all- all on my own,” he can’t help adding, and Bucky’s eyebrows furrow again. “Don’ make that face at me,” Tony says and lifts his hand to poke Bucky between the eyebrows instead.

Bucky blinks and his face softens in surprise. Then he laughs, and Tony grins as his heart thumps in his chest. Bucky reaches up to grab Tony’s hand and pull it away from his face. Their fingers fit together without any effort and Bucky’s skin is surprisingly soft against his.

“Why d’you- you keep-” Bucky starts and then trails off, distracted. He runs his thumb over a burn scar on the side of Tony’s hand.

Tony’s breath catches and doesn’t restart as Bucky’s thumb moves down to his palm. He can feel the swirls of Bucky’s thumbprint against his skin. Every drag sends a bolt of warmth through him that the warmth of the liquor can’t compare to.

He inhales shakily when Bucky looks up at him, caught in those blue eyes.

What had they been talking about? He doesn’t remember now.

Bucky licks his lips and Tony stares. The way they’ve been drinking, they probably taste the same- And once the thought hits him Tony has to know-

He’s not sure which of them leans forward. Maybe him, because the room is spinning again. Bucky sighs and Tony can feel the rush of air against his cheek.

Tony shifts his fingers against Bucky’s wrist and realizes he can feel Bucky’s rapid pulse. He’s pretty sure his own heart is beating in time and he’s still moving closer.

It’s like he’s being pulled in, like he doesn’t have a choice.

Does he even need a choice? This feels- Why does he need anything else when this is so-

Right.

He can almost feel Bucky’s lips against his. Tony’s eyelids flutter as he struggles to keep them open.

He wants-

Beneath his fingers, Bucky’s pulse skips. It stops entirely for a terrifying second, then starts racing sickeningly. Something cold rushes through Bucky and he sucks in a sharp breath as he jerks away.

His hand slips away from Tony’s.

It’s just like this morning. The same icy chill running through Bucky as he pulls away. The same gut-twisting feeling that’s- It’s like guilt but so much more complicated.

It's different than when they were talking about Steve, or anything else. It’s-

Part of Tony doesn’t want to know.

Bucky won’t meet his eyes. He’s curling in on himself, withdrawing.

And Tony can’t let that happen. He can’t let this keep happening. He can’t-

He tightens his grip on the nearly empty jar and swallows thickly.

“Alright, out with it,” he says.

“What?” Bucky asks, practically flinching. He pulls his arm off the couch and curls it into his chest.

“Out with it,” Tony repeats, his voice shaking. “Whatever you need to tell me, just spill. It- It’s been driving you crazy all day and that- it’s driving me crazy.”

Bucky goes carefully still. He doesn’t look up. He’s not breathing.

Tony waits. He bites his lip again so he won’t start demanding answers.

There are already so many things right now that he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand. He needs to know.

What could be so bad?

This isn’t- Bucky isn’t supposed to be able to pull away. He can’t, that’s not how it- This isn’t fair.

Tony can’t completely swallow down a hurt noise. His eyes burn. It feels like his chest is cracking open, his lungs filling with ice- with snow-

Bucky’s gaze flicks up to him and then down again, expression pained. Blue eyes haunted.

Neither of them are breathing now.

He can’t stop thinking that none of this is fair.

Tony doesn’t- he didn’t even want a soulmate and now- The thought of Bucky pulling away is gutting him. It’s not fair that something as stupid as a secret is cracking his chest open.

It isn’t fair of him to need answers, either. Part of him knows that. They’d still be strangers, if they had a choice-

But they don’t.

“Bucky,” he says, his voice a harsh croak. A plea. He wants to reach out, but he doesn’t.

The other man flinches like he’d shouted. Tony waits.

Finally Bucky drags in a shuddering breath and tears his eyes away from his own hands. He practically snatches the jar from Tony and finishes off the Samanė in one long swallow.

Tony’s stomach churns as he continues to wait.

Bucky takes another steadying breath and fixes his gaze over Tony’s shoulder. His jaw clenches. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

The crater in Tony’s chest gets deeper.

“N-Nine- Nineteen Ninety One,” Bucky eventually manages to get out. His voice is raw and his eyes are glazed, unseeing. “December n-ninet-teenth.”

That’s all he says for a long moment and Tony is still waiting.

He doesn’t even recognize the date for a split second, and then he’s just confused.

“I-I was-” Bucky continues haltingly. The feeling of cold gets worse. “I- It wasn’ an accident.”

It doesn’t makes sense. Tony knows that date, but it was- His parents died in an accident. He knows that. He-

“What?” Tony asks flatly. Blankly. He doesn’t feel anything. He doesn’t- it doesn’t make sense.

Bucky swallows thickly. His cheeks are wet and all the color has faded from his face.

Tony wants to reach out, but he doesn’t.

He can’t move.

“December N-Nineteenth,” Bucky says again. His hands are clenched together so tightly that they both shake. “It wasn’ an- I-I was there, I- I’m th- I-”

Bucky’s voice cuts off, strangled. He clenches his jaw.

There’s a sick feeling rising in Tony’s throat, and he’s not sure which of them it belongs to.

“You- what’re you-” Tony starts to ask, gasping the words out.

But he doesn’t need to.

Bucky blinks rapidly and then meets Tony’s eye. He looks so-

It-

Everything hurts.

And Tony-

He knows.

#my fic #winteriron #starkbucks #bucky/tony #buckyxtony #an agony we deserve #riot writes #reluctant soulmates

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moonstruckme · 1 month ago

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Would you ever consider writing something with Remus x reader where she is at Hogwarts and gets her period but doesn't realize it and bleeds through her clothes? I feel like remus would be so sweet😭❤😛

(sorry if this is a strange request!!! thank you)

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader gets a period, there's some mild teenage awkwardness

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 583 words

An unfortunate consequence of his plan is that Remus is likely going to sound like he was checking out your ass.

The truth is only that you’re sitting directly in front of him, and when you stood to bring the vial of your potion to Professor Slughorn, Remus’ eyes merely happened to glance across the spot on the back of your skirt. He doesn’t think anyone else has seen—it would be much better for both of you, actually, if your potions partner or some other menstruation-bound friend of yours were to notice and clue you in—and it’s really a rather inconspicuous stain, but still. Remus thinks he’s ethically required to tell you.

When class lets out for lunch, Remus lets his friends go ahead, catching you by the elbow when you start out of the room.

“Hey.” He tries on a smile. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

You glance to your friend. “Just me?”

“Only for a moment.”

Your friend smiles at you as she turns to go, and at the entry to the classroom Remus can see James looking in his direction with a particular sort of knowing smile. Fine. They can all assume what they like.

Remus watches everyone file out, and you stand in front of him, holding your textbook to your front. “What is it?”

“Right. I’m sorry, I just thought you’d want to know,” he keeps his voice low, trying not to wince, “it looks like you’ve a stain on the back of your skirt.”

Immediately, any suspicion goes from your expression. Your eyes flare and you take in a tiny breath, turning your head to try and see. “Really?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just there.” Remus gestures feebly towards the spot, and you take the end of your skirt in your hand, pulling it sideways so you can see it.

“Bollocks,” you breathe. “Thank you for telling me. Merlin, this is embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says quickly. “I just wanted to…make you aware.”

You press your lips into a sort-of-smile. “I appreciate it. Thanks, Remus.”

“Right.” He nods stiffly, starting for the door. “See you around, then.”

Remus makes it halfway through the door before realizing you’re still standing where he left you. You’ve set your book down on the table and are chewing your lip, looking lost. He feels like an idiot. Of course, telling you about the problem didn’t fix it. You still have a stain on your skirt, and the only way to remedy it involves first walking through hallways full of students back to your dorm.

“Here, let me…” Remus lets his robe drop from his shoulders, balling it up awkwardly before holding it out to you. “That ought to cover it long enough for you to get changed.”

Your eyes are wide. “But won’t you get in trouble with McGonagall?”

“She likes me,” Remus admits. He doesn’t mean for it to sound as boastful as it does, but luckily you look more amused than repelled. Your smile is a welcome sight. “Anyway, I can nip back to my room to get another before lunch is over.” He presses the robe into your hand. “Take it.”

You do, sliding your arms through the sleeves. It doesn’t quite fit, but it works well enough not to look too out of place.

“Thank you,” you say again, voice softened. “Really, Remus. Thanks a lot.”

Something in Remus’ chest gives a giddy kick at the way you say his name. “Don’t worry about it.”

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riverwalsh · 10 months ago

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nicole my love !

where do you stand on brat tamer!frank …… would he be quick to react? grabbing your jaw after you give him attitude, raising his eyebrows at you with a warning “watch the mouth, yeah?” in that thick raspy voice? or is he rubbing a warm hand in circles on your lower back, quietly muttering a “don’t gotta act out for attention, baby.” i need 2 knooooow 🤗

— princessbrunette ♡

an; thank u for the request princess, sorry it took so long but i love u dearly 🤍 i always seem to take your requests in a little crazy direction so just bear with me (also note to everyone please ignore the verb tense changing like halfway through it turned into something of a drabble and i don’t feel like fixing it. so enjoy.)

cw; female!reader, mentions of blood/violence, cockwarming. that’s about it.

18+ only mdni

i think frank would be pretty good at reading you. he knows what makes you itch; like when he leaves his boots, carelessly splattered with the blood of a lowlife (or three) that will surely be named in tomorrow morning’s newspaper, strewn haphazardly on the living room floor for you to trip over when you get home. or, when you ask him about said lowlife(s) and he brushes you off, mumbling something about how it doesn’t matter anyways, and they got what was coming to them, before disappearing for the third night that week. it makes you feel so goddamn lonely.

it was these things, among others of course. sometimes frank castle was just so goddamn stubborn it made your skin crawl.

buuuut, frank also knows what makes you feel better. knows how to handle you when you start letting your irritation show. he’d just accept your little quips and snide remarks for a while. let you take out just a little bit your pent up frustration out on him—i mean, he kinda deserves it sometimes, right? he knows this, you know this. and yet, he knew exactly when to make it right.

“fuck you, frank,” you muttered as you frantically pulled your shoes on, already late for work. everything had already gone wrong for you that morning—your first alarm didn’t go off, your shower was lukewarm at best, and you burnt your last bagel. and now, as you were ready to leave, frank suddenly decided he wanted to talk.

“whoa, whoa, whoa, hey.” his tone was firm, a hand coming out as if in warning. as annoyed as you got, you hardly ever swore at frank. “what’s wrong with you?”

there he is.

“what’s wrong with me?” you asked incredulously, grabbing your keys off the hook. “wha- what’s wrong with you?! you’re fucking gone almost every night this week, i’m getting calls from karen practically every five minutes-”

“she’s just-“

“don’t you fucking dare play dumb like you didn’t ask her to check in on me,” you cut him off quickly, pointing an accusing finger at him. you knew how you were being but you couldn’t help it at this point. “i can handle myself, frank. maybe if you just told me what the fuck was going on i could just-”

“you could just what? hm?” his voice was quiet, but commanding. his arms crossed in front of him as he postured intimidatingly toward you, eyebrows raised in a silent challenge to keep talking. your mouth snapped shut immediately, heart jumping as you lowered your hand that was still hovering mid-air.

you swallowed thickly, putting your keys into your bag with less of a rush, suddenly more careful of your movements. he watched you thoughtfully for a moment, before slowly making his way toward you, boots heavy as they met the hardwood below. you could do nothing but stare at him as he came closer, irritation suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

“you, uh…” he paused, not for lack of words but simply dramatics. “you think you’re pretty tough, that right?”

“i never said that,” you replied quickly, shaking your head and averting your gaze. his hand was quick to grab your chin, forcing your head up to look him in the eye.

“‘i can handle myself.’ ain’t that what you just said?” his voice was low and rough, like he’d just swallowed sandpaper. your breath came out trembling, and when you didn’t answer fast enough for his liking, his grip grew tighter, rattling you a bit. “you answer me when i’m talkin’ to you, girl.”

“y-yes, that’s what i said,” you answered, voice wavering slightly. his gaze was piercing, eyes searching yours for a moment before releasing his grip, leaving you stumbling backwards into the front door.

“everything i do is for you,” he starts, adam's apple bobbing as he reaches out to place a more gentle hand on your arm, thumb rubbing your skin in soft circles. his eyes are still ablaze, and the dissonance makes you shiver. “everything, everything i fuckin’ do out there is to make sure none of my shit makes it back home to you, you got that? i’m not gonna let anyone lay a finger on you.” you find yourself nodding, mindlessly, letting his words soothe the irritation that had built up inside you. his calloused fingers find their way back to your face and he rubs his thumb across the plush of your lower lip, gauging the intensifying rise and fall of your chest.

he knows you. he knows what you need.

he nods almost curtly in understanding, letting his touch linger a bit longer just to feel the warmth of your shaking breath. “now you watch your goddamn language when you’re speakin’ to me, sweetheart. go on.” he jerked his head toward the door before turning around and heading for the kitchen without so much as another glance in your direction. “you’re gonna be late.”

you were in fact a few minutes late to work, but you were exactly on time getting home, that’s for sure. maybe even a few minutes earlier than usual.

and frank was waiting for you, of course he was. it was barely five minutes from walking through the door before he had you completely stripped, sitting obediently still in his lap as you wept into his shoulder.

“easy,” he cooed, squeezing your hips to keep you from rocking too much. “you quit all that cryin’ and start talking.”

your tears darkened his shirt as you clung to him helplessly, stuffed full of his thick cock and intoxicated by his voice.

“i-i just wan’you to talk to me, frank,” you cried, grasping weakly for purchase on his shoulders. “you get so distant and push me away…but i just wanna be helpful to you.” your voice was quiet and almost conspiratorial where you whispered into his neck, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses into his warm skin. “i just-

“hey, hey, hey,” he cut you off, grabbing your neck to pull you back and look into his darkened eyes. his voice was rough with restraint—it was nothing short of a miracle he was holding it together, what with you clenching around him desperately with every breath. “none of that. you wanna know how you can help me?”

you nodded fervently.

“by stayin’ your ass right fuckin’ here,” he grit, eliciting a pathetic moan from you as he drew you in impossibly closer. “by wakin’ up in the mornin’ and goin’ to work like you have been. by doin’ what i say, when i say it. by trustin’ that everything i do out there is for you, it’s for you.” he punctuated his words with a press to your lower back, guiding you to roll your hips against him slowly. “that’s how you can help me. you got that?”

“yes, frank, yes, yes,” you whined, letting his words placate you as you began to move against him with more eagerness. “i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry-”

“shh, shh, shh, you don’t apologize,” he soothed, his voice strained, blunt nails digging crescents into your plush skin. “you don’t apologize to me, girl, you just take what you need baby, you take it from me, yeah? you take it and then we can talk, baby, just fuckin’- oh, fuck- you just take it-”

so yeah, frank knows how to handle you and your bratty attitude just fine.

#princessbrunette #frank castle #frank castle smut #the punisher #frank castle x reader #frank x reader #frank castle x you #frank x you #the punisher smut #frank castle x f!reader

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honeekyuu · 5 months ago

Text

genius. [akaashi keiji x f!reader] chapter two.

>>You struggle to pay rent on your limited graduate student salary, and your worst enemy agrees to help you out.

You realize you need to find a partner for your faceless porn account, and Akaashi Keiji is the only man who meets all your requirements.<<

series status: [ongoing]

taglist: [open]

@kodsuken @onlytendoguesses @kakeru-eem @itslawful @rikari0913

tumblr didnt let me tag some of you -- please check your settings and let me know :'))

previous. || masterlist. || next.

a/n: im never writing a 30k chapter ever again in my entire life. i hope you like it :))))

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

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

Akaashi arrives on Saturday morning at 8am. You’re making coffee when he knocks.

It feels almost illegal to be filming porn so early in the morning, but Bokuto had texted a large group of people at 2am, inviting everyone to a party that same day, and you’d sleepily texted Akaashi instead of responding to the group message.

“Come over at 8 if you plan on going to Kou’s thing,” you’d said. It’s the only text you’d sent him after his impromptu video message, and you’d hoped at the time that he wouldn’t be offended by it. “Otherwise, come at 11 like we planned.”

“8,” is all he’d responded, and you’d gotten the feeling Bokuto’s text had woken him, too.

He looks exhausted when you open the door, and you latch onto that so as to not be overcome by the weird tingling feeling that’s starting to swirl in your stomach at the sight of him.

“Hi,” you say plainly, looking him over. He’s wearing a pair of grey sweats – a different pair than last night’s, you hope – and a black t-shirt, his hair falling into his eyes and his glasses barely staying on his nose. He’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. You point to it now. “What’s that?”

“Three changes of clothes, so all the videos are different,” he mumbles, his voice tense. “Do you have coffee?”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face. “Akaashi Keiji, are you a crabass in the morning?”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you have coffee or not, Y/n? Because I need to go to the shop downstairs if-” He points over his shoulder in the direction of the elevator, but you wrench the door open, waving him in with a laugh.

“I made it, I made it.”

He gives you a snippy hum and makes his way through the foyer, leaving his shoes behind as he moves to drop his bag by the couch. He goes straight to your kitchen, and you wonder if his usual polite tendencies only show themselves post-caffeination.

“Cup?” he calls from the other side of the wall, and you follow him in there, seeing that he’s opening all of your cabinets.

You laugh. “I’ve never seen you not be a good guest-”

“Cup, please, Y/n – I’m dying.”

“Last one on the right.” You chuckle to yourself and open the fridge, pulling a bottle of cream out and leaving it on the counter. He meets you halfway, setting two mugs between you and reaching for the pot of coffee just as the machine is beeping its completion.

“Breakfast?” you ask, already reaching for the fridge again while he pours a heavy cup for each of you. You have eggs, and you’re sure there’s bacon in there-

“Do you have pop-tarts?” is all he says. You stay silent, just staring at him. He cuts you a tired glare. “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t be perfect all the time.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Does anyone else know you’re this humble?” He takes a defiant sip of his coffee instead of answering you, sighing contently afterward. You move to your pantry, extracting a variety pack of pop-tarts. “Here,” you say, sliding it to him.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, poking through it and deciding quickly on the smores flavor. “I’ll get lunch. Chinese?”

“Free food is good food,” you respond, mixing your coffee with cream and sugar from the little jar on the counter. You watch him rip the plastic open with his teeth. “Do you need… I don’t know, a toaster or something?”

“Nope.” He talks through a mouth full of smores pop-tart and walks off, disappearing into the living room. You stare after him, laughing in shock as he goes. You’ve never seen Akaashi Keiji like this.

You move to the couch with your own pop-tart (strawberry) and sit on the opposite side. He already looks better, his fingers tangled in his hair as he chugs coffee that’s scalding hot.

You feel odd starting right away with a conversation about the filming plan, so you take a quiet sip of coffee. “So… how was your night?”

Akaashi chokes on pop-tart crumbs.

Your face burns with realization. “Oh– I…”

He shakes his head, laughing while he coughs. “You did that on purpose.”

“I didn’t!”

“How was your night?” he asks, meeting your eyes. You purse your lips – you hadn’t responded to his text, after all.

“It was… fine.”

“Fine, good? Or fine, bad?” You don’t answer, and he gives you a meaningful lift of his brows. “Some feedback would be nice.”

“Well, you let me know when you make your own porn account,” you joke. “I’ll be sure to leave a comment.”

“Hey, now.” He tuts and shakes his head. “I showed you what I thought of your video. I think a little reciprocity’s fair.”

“I’m about to take my clothes off for you,” you argue. “I think that’s your reciprocity.”

He hides his smile behind his hand. “Fair enough.” He downs the rest of his coffee and then sighs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I needed that.”

“Clearly,” you mumble, leaving your own drink and pop-tart on the coffee table. “Better, crabass?”

“Better,” he says plainly, accepting the nickname. “What’s the plan?”

That quiet tingle returns, prickling in your fingertips and toes. “Uh…” You stand, moving toward your bedroom. “I suppose I should figure out what I’m wearing, but… generally, I was thinking we could film enough for three or four videos? I can fill the rest of the week in with solo videos.”

“Okay,” he says behind you, and you hear him stand and move to the hallway. “Is what I’m wearing now okay for the first one?”

You leave the door cracked while you change. “Yeah, that looks good!” you call, pulling out a yellow crop top and a black, lacy thong. You grimace down at the set. You usually don’t put much thought into your outfits, but having Akaashi here makes you a little self-conscious. “Which video should we do first?”

“Well, I’m not sure that 8am is the best time for freaky, screaming, headboard-slamming sex, Y/n.”

You laugh to yourself. “Something softer? With the morning sunlight coming in through the window?”

“That sounds better. I’ll get the windows in the room.”

You change into the set quickly and stand in front of your mirror, fixing your hair. You look down at yourself, turning back and forth, and decide to forgo the bra. There’s no point in it, but you do feel a lot more exposed now. “Are we gonna talk for any amount of time, or are we starting?” you say, a little louder so he can hear.

“We should probably figure out the order of the videos,” he responds, back in the living room now.

“Okay, then I’ll get a sweater.”

What you walk out in is more of a moomoo than a sweater, and Akaashi tells you as much.

“You look stupid,” he says, amused, when you stop outside your bedroom door.

“Be quiet – wearing nothing is a cold affair.” You scoop your coffee from the table and follow him toward the hall, but he stops before you can get there. You have a whiteboard hanging on the wall in the living room, one with your research ideas and spare thoughts. He takes the marker now, hovering over an empty spot, and looks down at you expectantly.

“Order?”

“Not on my precious board,” you complain, and he rolls his eyes.

“Fingering for the first one? And then I was thinking something with the desk,” he says, writing down the first point quickly.

“I think oral’s probably good. Both kinds.” When he grimaces, you nudge him. “Would you rather do isolated videos, or have me give oral as foreplay in every video-”

“Isolated sounds lovely,” he says quickly, starting to jot that, too, but you stop him with a slight laugh.

“Why don’t you like having your dick sucked, Akaashi? Is something wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he argues. “The attention’s just a little weird. I prefer doing other things with the time.”

You tilt your head at him, brows furrowed. “You feel weird about the attention?” He meets your eyes briefly, and you spot the scowl forming. “Sorry, have you never gotten good head before?”

“Shut up,” he bites. “I just get a little lost in my head. Makes it hard to enjoy it.”

You blink. You think you can understand that – having an overactive mind must make it hard to relax. You can’t say you don’t know what that’s like.

“Okay, then,” you say, taking the marker from him. “You just need to get out of your head.” You write ‘Give Akaashi Good Head’ under his first point, and he snorts.

“Good luck,” he mumbles.

“I don’t need luck,” you beam at him, confident. “What’s next? The desk?”

“I can eat you out there,” he says plainly, taking the marker back, and you’re suddenly caught off guard again by his jarring language, as though you hadn’t just done the same. You blink rapidly.

“O…kay. And then?”

He shrugs. “Bed? Sex?”

“Right,” you say, nodding. “Sex. Sure.”

He eyes you while he writes. “You’re getting nervous.”

“It registered while you were talking.”

“Registered for me last night,” he says, capping the marker and replacing it. “I’ll take over while you process.”

“Shut up,” you say weakly, letting him lead you down the hall anyway. “When’d you process? When you were coming to a video of me?”

He has the decency to blush. “Somewhere around there, yeah.”

You snicker, leaving your coffee on the dresser. “Shall we? Before I get cold feet?”

“Does your rent due date get cold feet?” he asks, moving to the chest. He extracts a small vibrator and a dildo, and then, after careful consideration, he puts the dildo back. He moves to the couch with the vibrator and settles down with a sigh.

You nod at his question. Right. You’re here to make rent. This is a business arrangement. You can do this.

Your eyes scan the room. He’d popped one of the windows open and raised the blinds for all of them, making the room just a little chilly but overall comfortable and sunny. There’s a golden glow in the room, birds chirping peacefully, and you smile, pleased with the environment.

“Okay!” You say, mostly to hype yourself up, and strip from the moomoo. You leave it on the bed, shivering slightly, and turn toward Akaashi. He’s looking at you blankly, but you can see a pink tinge in the tips of his ears. You take your phone to the tripod, bending at the waist to set the camera up. You change all the settings the way you like them, keeping him in frame to position the phone right.

You realize upon glancing at him in the front view that he’s got his eyes on you.

“Are you staring at my ass?”

He jumps, meeting your eyes in the camera. And then he scowls. “Don’t scold me. I’m processing again.”

You snicker, shaking your head and pressing record before joining him on the couch, a good foot or two of space between you. “I’m just fucking with you.”

He eyes the camera, seeing both of your faces in frame. “You’ll crop it?”

“Zoom and crop,” you reassure. “I’ll even send you the login to my account so you can review the videos before they post.”

He nods, seemingly comforted by that. “‘Kay.”

You swallow. “... ‘Kay.”

It hits you in this moment that you haven’t been with a man in three years – and that Akaashi Keiji is one very handsome man.

He looks at you expectantly, lifting his brows. “Wanna start?” he asks, in a voice gentler than before – you’re struck with the thought that Akaashi is one of those men whose soft features make him all the more masculine. Long eyelashes that make his eyes darker, a lean frame that makes him tower over you, a voice so soft that the depth of it is striking.

You like men like that.

“Right.” You blink rapidly, panicking at the realization that he might just be your type. Panicking because you hadn’t noticed it before. “Okay. Uhm-” Your face warms, worsened when he starts to smirk. “Oh!” You say, an idea coming to you. “Music! Maybe music will help-” You rise, starting to question where you’d left your speaker, but Akaashi’s hand wraps tight around your wrist, warm and secure.

“God,” he says, laughing slightly. His grip drags you down, your knees hitting the couch and your body slumping against his. You yelp when you land, and he releases you in favor of sliding one hand around your waist and the other around the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. “You’re a mess,” he jokes, his voice suddenly a lot closer than you’d prepared for.

When his lips touch your throat, the room starts to spin.

Your whole body breaks out in goosebumps, starting from the crown of your head and melting down over you.

“Oh,” you breathe, your head falling to the side all on its own, resting against his hand and giving him better access. He drags his lips across your throat, kissing the skin quietly and easing the tension in your muscles. You slide trembling fingers into his hair, holding tight as he uses the hand on your hip to pull you half onto him, your legs dangling between his knees.

There are a hundred different sensations you’re struggling to come to terms with. Every touch of Akaashi’s skin to yours is new, because there’s never been a situation where you’d needed to make physical contact with him. His hands are large and his fingers are warm. His mouth is warmer, and his tongue and teeth send shockwaves down your spine with every pass and nip of your skin. His body is hard against yours, and, when your free hand searches for somewhere to anchor and lands on his bicep, you realize that Akaashi’s endless wardrobe of cardigans, sweater vests, and button-downs has done remarkable things to hide his physique.

He’s strong, strong enough to hold you steady as you all but go limp in his arms. And his hair tickles against your skin, but it smells nice. He smells nice – he hadn’t put cologne on this morning, but he smells nice. And his eyes are dangerously blue when he pulls back to look at you, that deep blue that’s close enough to a dark green to be confusing in the golden light of the morning.

“Princess,” he whispers, and you start, staring down at his lips. They’re pink and look soft – they are soft, you register. You know that now. You know what his lips feel like. “Do you plan on doing anything at any point?” he asks, and you blink, meeting those blue-green eyes again.

Oh, right.

Right.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Just… took me a second to get used to it.”

He doesn’t quite smile, but it’s close enough. “Second’s up, darling. Take your shirt off.”

You nearly laugh, your face warm, and then you shift, using your fingers in his hair to tilt his head away. “Gimme one more second.”

It is way too satisfying to hear the way his breath hitches when you press your lips to his throat. His skin tastes the way you imagined it might – like soap and salt, clean and chilled against your tongue. You let your hand roam his body while you kiss him, your teeth sucking marks into his skin while your fingers curve over his shoulder and across his chest. You wonder if he’s as affected by all of this as you are. If he’s as confused, if his nerves are as electrified by the newness of it.

His fingers leave your hair to latch onto your leg instead, fingertips sliding across the skin as he runs his hand slowly up and down your thigh. When your hand drops to front of his sweats, he manages not to jump. His fingers dig into your skin, and he lets out a rough breath, but he manages to not make it look like you’ve never touched each other before. You palm him slowly, doing your best not to react when his cock jumps under your fingertips. You keep kissing him, palm tracing the outline of him as he grows hard at your touch, his breath short in your ears.

He doesn’t say anything else to you, only anchoring both hands to your waist after a moment and hauling you up. You gasp quietly, lifted and turned until you’re on your knees, straddling his thighs. He looks up at you, and you see that his eyes have darkened since you’d last looked at them.

“Take your shirt off,” he says again, and it’s not a joke this time. You cross your arms over your chest and hook trembling fingers under the hem of your crop top. Your stomach flips in a moment of nerves and anticipation, but you brush it aside, lifting your shirt clean over your head and dropping it to the couch.

Akaashi’s fingers tighten on your waist, and you only have time to slide both hands into his hair before he leans forward and takes one nipple in his mouth. You gasp loudly, a quiet moan leaving you. He takes the other breast with one hand, sucking and dragging his teeth over one nipple while his thumb tweaks at the other. You moan louder, fingers tightening in his hair, and your thighs shake. You lose the strength to hold yourself up when, eyes shut and eyelashes fluttering prettily against his cheeks as he suckles you, he slides his hand blindly up your body and pushes his thumb against the seam of your lips.

Your knees give out, and you collapse into his lap with a breathy moan, the sound parting your lips and granting him the room to slide the pad of his thumb against the flat of your tongue. His head stays nestled against your chest, his ministrations never stopping, and you moan loud around his thumb – for the camera, because you realize suddenly that all that’s visible is your back and the supporting hand Akaashi has pressed to the center of your spine.

When the sound leaves you, admittedly a little performative, the rest of his fingers tighten around your jaw, and he releases your nipple from his mouth with a quiet pop. He lifts his head to meet your eyes, lips pink and wet, and he uses the thumb in your mouth and the fingers on your jaw to grip you, pulling you close.

“It’s annoying when you fake sounds like that,” he whispers, eyes hazy but piercing straight through yours. You stare back, your own eyes wide. He lifts a brow. “Understand?”

You nod back dumbly, and he pulls his thumb from your mouth. Both hands fall to your waist, and he mumbles ‘turn’ close to your ear. You let him turn you around, settling between his thighs with your back to his chest, your heart beating loud in your ears after the way he’d spoken to you.

“Do you need to fix the camera?” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, and you lean forward shakily, pulling the tripod closer and lowering it so only your mouth and below are showing. You relax your head against his shoulder, sighing nervously when he cups both breasts in his hands.

You arch your back a little dramatically, glad that he seems to realize that some things need to be performative, and spread your thighs, hooking them over each of his. He slides his hand up your chest and pushes the middle two fingers into your mouth. You wrap your lips around them, tongue swirling around the tips, and you hear his breath stutter in your ear. His hips push against your ass, and you realize with a rush of heat and a flip of your stomach that he’s properly hard now.

You twist one of your arms behind your back and slide your palm against him carefully. He groans low against the side your head, pulling his fingers from your mouth. His hand falls to your pantyline, and he slips his fingers past while you’re distracted with touching him.

You jump when his wet fingers, cold from the air, make contact with your heated core. “Oh, my-” He swipes two tight circles over your clit before sliding his fingers through your folds, repeating the motion a few times – just the way you like it.

He’d paid attention during that video last night, then.

“Mm,” you groan, feeling his middle finger push gently against your entrance. You grip him harder behind your back, and he shudders against you, his teeth grazing the tip of your ear.

“You’re really wet,” he breathes, teasing weakly. “How long’s it been, again? Three years?”

You arch your back, nearly distracted by the way he pushes his fingers through your folds. “Take your pants off, then. Let’s see how long you last.”

You feel him grin against your ear, and that does something to the flip of your stomach and makes you twitch when he swipes the pads of his fingers over your clit. His free hand pushes at the lace of your panties.

“You first, princess,” he breathes, and you lift your hips in compliance. “Your viewers are gonna wanna see how you look with two of my fingers buried inside you.”

Your heart explodes in your ears, and you go limp against his chest, your head turned and your face pressed to his neck when you moan weakly. He laughs quietly, jostling you and the million tiny needles pricking your skin as his comment sinks into you.

Akaashi gets your underwear off of you with very little help from you, and then he pries your thighs open with both hands, your whole body on display while he holds you, still fully clothed. “Shit,” he whispers to himself, fingers hooked behind your knees and pulling your legs open a little further. Your eyes flutter open, and you find his gaze flicking between the camera and your body, his lips parted as he looks down at you.

“Like what you see?” you whisper, pulling your arm out from behind your back and wincing when it aches. He adjusts you, sliding one arm around your waist and pulling you tight against him. The other lifts, the same fingers from before finding your mouth. You let him in, whining when you taste yourself on the pads of his fingers and shivering when he murmurs ‘there you go’ against your ear.

When his fingers find your core this time, all you can do is breathe out shakily and relax against him. He swipes twice and dips toward your entrance. You manage to keep the video in mind, arching your back and cupping your hands over your breasts, kneading and touching yourself for the camera. Akaashi nudges the tip of his middle finger past your entrance, and the moan that falls past your lips is breathless and shocked.

You purse your lips, your body trembling as it realizes that someone who’s not you is doing this. Akaashi pushes his lips to the crook of your neck and tries again, using two fingers to work you open carefully. Your breath is shallow and harsh in your chest by the time he gets both fingers inside you comfortably, his cock twitching against your back.

“God, you’re tight,” he breathes in your ear. The pads of his fingers brush up against the spongy spot that’s normally so hard for you to reach on your own. “You need to relax.”

“Trying,” you bite, breathing hard. “Your hands are a lot bigger than mi-mm-” You jerk when he starts to move, thrusting his fingers slowly and curling them inside you. “Fuck,” you breathe sharply, a rush of heat washing over you. He picks up the pace, flicking his wrist and snapping his palm against your skin. Your mouth falls open, breathy, high-pitched moans tumbling out with every push of his fingers into you, and your hips start to roll against his hand, entirely unconscious. You can’t remember the last time you’d gotten a stretch like this, and there’s a brief moment of insanity where you imagine calling Akaashi Keiji any time you need to get off.

It should be embarrassing, the way your body’s reacting, but your brain is full of static, and you can’t hear much aside from your own breathing and the low moans buried in Akaashi’s throat, quiet with each push of your core against his hand. He’s rocking his hips slightly against your ass, his fingers stalling and stuttering after a moment. He lets out a harsh breath on your skin, and you manage to crack your eyes open enough to see he’s got his eyes squeezed shut and his forehead pressed to the side of your head. His lips are parted, breath warm on your sweat-chilled skin, and, when your walls flutter around his fingers, his hips jerk against you, breath hitching on his inhale.

“Fuck,” he breathes to himself, his chest rising and falling faster now. “Fuck, fuck-”

He reaches out blindly with his other hand, patting the couch frantically. You don’t have the energy to look, but the buzz of the vibrator coming close makes you whine. When it touches your skin, his fingers finding your clit with ease, your back arches and you cry out, the extra sensation too much.

“Oh, I’m- I’m gonna-”

Akaashi holds you tight, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Come on, come on, come on, com-”

You gasp loud, twitching and jerking against him while you come around his fingers. There’s a warmth that spreads over your lower back, but you pay it no mind, your ears ringing too hard and your body shivering too much against him.

Your hand clamps onto his wrist, pushing the vibrator just far enough away from your body that you can catch your breath. Heart thundering in your chest and throat, you focus on regaining control of your limbs, your fingers and toes numb.

You’re not sure how long you lie there, splayed open on Akaashi’s lap as you try to remember your own name, but you do shiver and whine when he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. He runs them through your folds one more time, the touch to your clit making you twitch against him again. He breathes a shaky laugh into your ear and rests his hand on your inner thigh, sighing quietly.

“How was that?” he asks roughly, his breath as unsteady as yours.

“Mhm,” you hum. “‘s good. Nice. Well done.” His laugh is delirious, and it draws your own spare breath into a tired chuckle. “Dude, I can’t feel my toes.”

He laughs harder. “I just came in my pants.”

“Is that what that was?” you ask, turning your head enough to look up at him. His cheeks are flushed a pretty red, and his eyes are glazed over slightly. You reach lazily behind you, fingers dipping into the wet warmth on your lower back. He gives a pained groan when you whisper ‘nice’ in a voice that’s horribly smug, and he scrubs the bottom of his shirt over your skin to wipe it away.

“I haven’t done that since I was a teenager,” he complains, dropping the vibrator on the couch and reaching for your panties. He helps you put them on, propping you up while you complain about being lifted. When you pull away from him, sitting up properly between his legs, he laughs down at himself. You look back, finding a wet spot on his sweats and his t-shirt stained with cum.

He meets your eyes, ears burning. “You can’t give me head today. This is embarrassing.”

You laugh loudly, turning to reach for your phone and end the recording. “Okay, fine. You got off easy this time.”

“Yeah, you can say that again,” he mutters, and you drop your face to your hands, groaning.

“Can we take a small break?” you ask. “I dunno if I can handle more right now.”

“Yeah, I should change anyway.” He climbs out from behind you, taking your coffee cup with him as he heads back to the main room. You pull your shirt back on and then stand on shaky legs, padding over to the bed for your cover-up. Sitting on the couch in your Bokuto-sized onesie and going through your phone, you send the video to the locked photo album in your camera roll and try to recover from the small shockwaves still sparking through your body.

Akaashi returns in fresh clothes a few minutes later, black jeans slung low on his hips and a white t-shirt hanging over the hook of his forearm. You realize, by the wet edges of his hairline and the few wet strands that hang over his eyes, that he’d washed his face and freshened up. You also realize, with a sneaky peek at his lean build, that you hadn’t been wrong about the physique he’s been hiding.

“Couple questions,” he asks, holding both cups of coffee as he makes his way to you carefully, the open pop-tart packs pinched precariously between his knuckles. You sit up, taking yours and thanking him quietly. He sits beside you, sipping happily at his fresh coffee and letting out a large sigh when he’s done. “First, when do you want to eat lunch? Because, by the time we’re done, I’m gonna be crabby again.”

You snort, checking your phone. It’s already 9:15, you realize with surprise.

“Oh. Well, if we keep this pace…” You blink a few times, thinking. “We could order around 11?”

“Between the desk scene and the bed scene?” He lifts his mug to his lips again, and you lift a brow.

“Why? You think it’ll only take thirty minutes to fuck me? Just in time for delivery?”

He coughs into the cup, splashing hot coffee all over his face. “Fuck-” He tosses his clean white shirt in your lap and wipes at his face with a wince. “That’s not what I meant-”

You bite your lip, laughing quietly. “Sure, we can order before the bed scene.”

“You’re such a-” He shakes his head, cleaning his hands on his jeans.

“A what?” you tease, leaning toward him with a smile. He leans toward you, too, his brows lifting.

“A brat.” He leans away, leaving you with warm cheeks and a set of rapid blinks. “May I continue, or do you need more time to be annoying?”

“The floor is yours, Your Highness,” you say, picking at your pop-tart before leaving it on the little coffee table to your left.

He gestures to his jeans. “I put on a real outfit because I was thinking we could make it more… roleplay-ish.”

You hear his intended question. “I can find an outfit for that. What’s the vibe you’re going for?”

“I don’t really know. Something… spontaneous. Like you invited me over and things got out of hand, or something.”

You squint playfully at him. “I can’t tell if you read a lot of smut or watch a lot of porn.”

“I have an active mind.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes when you make fake gagging sounds.

“You want me in a school-girl skirt?” you joke, but he cuts a glance at you.

“You have one?” He laughs when you smack him on the arm. “I’m just saying – I’ve never seen it.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “When would you have seen it?!”

“We run the same circles!” he tries. “I see a lot of you on a daily basis.”

You groan, turning away from him and giving your coffee extra attention. “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a schoolgirl miniskirt to Bokuto’s biweekly parties, Akaashi. Use that brain of yours.”

There’s a pause, and then he chuckles to himself. “Oh, I get it – I should have scrolled a little longer on your account last night.”

“You’re so irritating,” you say, standing. “Is that what I’m wearing? I need to change.”

“Let’s see it, then,” he says, waving a polite hand at the door.

You pad to your room, your head swimming slightly. It’s weird, you think as you search your closet – you’d spent an hour reveling in new discoveries of Akaashi Keiji, but the moment things had ended, you’d gone back to normal. Is it the continued absurdity? Is it some weird, twisted form of suspended disbelief – where, when the camera’s rolling, you’re allowed to forget who you are with him? And, when it’s done, you’re able to snap back to reality without issue?

And does he feel the same?

You choose an outfit while hyper-analyzing him, sliding on a matching bra-panty set while wondering if he’s thinking the same about you. Zipping your plaid miniskirt while considering if things would be this easy with Bokuto or Kuroo, or if things are easy because it’s Akaashi – because of that strange sense of detachment you’d noted before. Tying your hair up and tucking a white button-down into the skirt, the first three buttons undone, while secretly hoping that things continue to be this strange and simple.

You’re still messing with your hair by the time you head back to the spare room, and you barely notice the way Akaashi’s eyes go wide when he sees how short your skirt is.

“Okay, I see what you mean.”

“Oh, yeah?” you laugh. “Think I should wear this to the party tonight?”

“Sure, if you want to put on a live show.”

You roll your eyes, straightening your clothes. “Slutty schoolgirl enough for you?”

“Incredibly,” he says, standing and pulling his shirt over his head. “Shall we?”

You move the tripod toward the desk by the windows, setting your phone up so it’s level with your chest. “I think we should probably walk into frame if we’re going for roleplay.”

“Okay.” Akaashi stands at the open window nearest the desk, peering down to the ground level and then out across the way. You hadn’t lied about your balcony yesterday – your apartment doesn’t face the street, because your residential high-rise looks out to water. The nearest building this tall is across the river. Still, he glances at you. “Do you close these when you film here or leave them open?” You don’t answer, your face warming instead. His lips split in a knowing grin. “I see.”

“It’s not what you think-”

“So, you’re not an exhibitionist?”

“Not a big one!”

He turns away, backing out of frame and waiting for you next to the end of the bed. “I don’t know about the degrees of exhibitionism, but I’d say leaving your windows open while I eat you out is pretty up there. Freak.”

“Do you always have to talk?!” you snap, embarrassed and a little warm from the way he’d called you a freak. “Always talk, talk, talking. Some of us like our windows open, Akaashi. It’s not like anyone can actually see.” You press record angrily and stomp over to him. “You can never just shut the fuck up-”

His hand flies out, latching onto your waist and dragging you the rest of the way to him. You gasp, hands landing on his chest as he pulls you flush to him.

You’re no less unprepared for his mouth on your throat this time around. You stumble back, grabbing onto his t-shirt to keep yourself standing while he sucks on a spot under your ear.

“‘m I still talking too much?” he murmurs, walking you slowly into frame. You card your fingers through his hair and trust him to not let you fall on your ass.

“Always,” you breathe, that strange suspension of disbelief setting in when you bump against the desk and Akaashi slips his fingers around the backs of your thighs to hoist you up. You lean up, pressing your lips to his jaw and kissing carefully down the line of it. He tugs your shirt free of the skirt and undoes two of the buttons with one hand, the other hooked under your knee so he can slot his hips between yours. Then he nudges you away, taking over.

You let him touch you, his fingers fondling and groping your body while you lean back on your hands with a sigh. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, teeth nipping at your collarbones while his hands slide your skirt under the curve of your ass. The material bunches at your waist, and he slips your panties off of you and throws them somewhere behind him. When he meets your eyes, you catch the glint in them.

“Maybe you should do something about that. Since you want to be a freak.”

You narrow a glare at him, heart skipping a beat when he says that stupid name. You let him pull your thighs open, and then you reach between for the button on his jeans. He lifts a brow, interest piqued, as you undo his pants and push them past his hips. You slide your palm against his boxers, smiling up at him when he sucks in a breath.

“You like that, baby?” you ask, your grin widening when he narrows his eyes. “Even though someone could see?” His cock jumps under your hand, and your eyebrows fly to your hairline. He has the decency to look embarrassed. “Oh?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, knocking your hand away. You shrug it off, pushing that hand into his hair.

“Then say I’m not a freak,” you say, pulling tight. He doesn’t seem to mind it, but he does narrow a glare and an irritated grin at you.

“You’re not a freak, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice saccharine. “But you love it when I call you one.” He lifts his brows when you say nothing. “So what does that make you?”

You glower and push down on his head, and he drops to his knees with a snicker. You check the camera quickly, making sure that his face is hidden behind your thigh. Keeping your hand on the side of his head to provide more coverage, you try not to shiver when Akaashi presses his lips to the inside of your thigh. When he hooks both your legs over his shoulders and holds on tight, you whimper quietly.

And then the bickering and the nerves all fall away. The flat of his tongue presses to your core, and you make the mistake of looking at him with wide eyes.

Akaashi’s eyes are a lot bluer when he’s got his face between your thighs.

You suck in a sharp inhale, legs trembling when he drags his tongue over your folds, slow and torturous. You’re unable to keep eye contact with him, a flush rising to your cheeks and your stomach flipping with nerves every time you glance down, because he’s staring right back at you.

Finally, he lets his eyes slide shut, his movements more intense now that he’s not focused on anything else. Your fingers shake in his hair, and your chest rises and falls with something akin to a live wire straight to the veins. Akaashi’s fingers tighten on the tops of your thighs, and he shuffles closer on his knees, his head bobbing as he slides his tongue, velvety and searing hot, through your folds before latching onto your clit.

“Oh, my God-” Your body twitches when he suckles gently, his lips soft around the nub. Your grip tightens on him, and your hips rock forward of their own accord. He follows your lead, finding his timing within the rhythmic cant of your body’s response, and soon, he has you gasping and moaning audibly.

His glasses sit knocked askew and pushed up against his forehead the more certain he becomes between your thighs. You feel the cold metal on your skin and glance down blearily. A fresh wave of heat washes over you when you realize that they’re smeared with dewy drops of you, and you move them shakily off his face and set them beside you on the desk. Akaashi’s hands respond, sliding up and over your hips, reaching for you. He finds the last button on your shirt and undoes it with a flick of two fingers, and there’s something about the way he moves, skilled and smooth, that makes you shiver visibly in front of the camera.

One of Akaashi’s hands slides up your torso, and he cups your breast firmly through your bra, squeezing and twisting at your nipple until you start to squirm, a whine building in your throat.

“Too much,” you whisper, and he pulls his mouth away from you with a warm huff, his lips wet and glistening when he looks up at you.

“Color?” he murmurs, his breath sharp against your core with each ragged exhale.

You purse your lips. “Green.”

“Then stop complaining,” he says, already lowering his head again. When he pinches your nipple this time, it comes with the aid of the tip of his tongue, pushing carefully against your entrance.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, eyes wide and fingers tugging his hair tight enough to hurt. He pushes once more and then relents, sliding up to suck hard on your clit. You choke, your body arching and trembling against him when he lowers his head and tries again, slipping gently in this time and moaning against you when you squeeze your thighs around his head. He uses both hands to hold tight to your waist, grounding you against him and keeping you from wriggling too much while he fucks you with his tongue. Your skin burns with every drag of his tongue against your walls, and you reach the summit alarmingly fast. “Wait, wait, wait-”

He slides out of you, and your chest bursts with air, gasps coming to you in choked breaths and shaking thighs. But then he leans up, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard, his teeth brushing against the nub in a way that feels a lot like Akaashi putting his hand on your back and shoving you right off the cliff with no warning.

You scream, your head thrown back and your back arching painfully as you see stars. You feel a slight pain in the back of your head, but you don’t register that you’d hit your head on the wall until much later, when the stars are gone and your vision isn’t blacked out any longer. When all that’s left is the camera rolling and your fingers aching where they’re clenched in Akaashi’s hair.

He’s pressing kisses along your thighs slowly, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips. He glances up when your lungs finally relax, your breaths much longer and drawn out now as you find yourself again.

“You okay?” he mumbles against the inside of your knee, examining you through long, dark eyelashes. “You hit your head.”

You nod dumbly and meet his eyes, flames licking up your navel when you catch the thinly veiled heat in his expression. “It can’t be fair that I’ve come twice and you haven’t come at all.”

“I came once,” he reminds you quietly, the breath of his whisper seductive on your thigh. His lips brush over your skin, feather-light and wonderfully soft, and his tongue tracks the path of his mouth, too, warm and wet and drawing your breath short in your chest again. “But I wouldn’t mind taking you up on a second time.”

Your skin heats, the air buzzing in your ears and your heartbeat audible in the silence between you. You nod shallowly, your lips parted, and his eyes flit around your face, searching you. He must like whatever he finds, because he doesn’t respond. He only stands slowly and towers over you, his shirt pulled swiftly over his head and dropped on the desk next to his glasses. He leans down and wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting you up.

You gasp, wrapping yourself tight around him as he crosses the three steps to the bed, the tripod with your phone dangling between his knuckles. He sets it down on the end of the bed, and then he drops you unceremoniously on the mattress. You bounce lightly on it, staring up at him with wide eyes, and he nods at the camera.

“Need to set up?”

“O-Oh. Right-” You blink rapidly, crawling over to the edge and adjusting it quickly while he comes to stand at the side of the bed. You scoot back after, your head facing the top of the bed, and make sure you’re centered in the frame before looking up at him with wide eyes. You purse your lips, skin buzzing with anticipation. “Okay – ready.”

Akaashi lets his eyes roam your body – they land on your shirt, lying open uselessly on your shoulders and showing off your pretty, black bra. Then down to your skirt, bunched up against the tops of your thighs when your knees are bent like that. You do the same, shamelessly – drinking in his body, lean and lanky but muscular all the same. With those black jeans sitting so low on his hips that you can trace the dark trail of hair that disappears into his boxers, an invitation.

You take it, sitting up on your knees and reaching hesitantly for his unbuttoned jeans, your eyes on his. He says nothing, but his lips part when you hook your thumbs into his boxers and start to push them down.

“Shit,” he sighs under his breath when you get his pants down, his cock hard and smeared with precum. You inhale sharply, staring at the pretty curve of it – pretty like his long fingers and his warm lips and his piercing blue eyes. Pretty like the thumb he’d put in your mouth. You want to put this in your mouth, too – your mouth is already watering, funnily enough – but he’s already told you no.

So you settle for wrapping your fingers around him instead, satisfied with the quiet hiss he lets out. You stroke him a few times, twisting your wrist and running your thumb over the slit slowly, the way you’d seen him do it last night. He cards his fingers through your hair, holding loosely.

“How many times did you watch that video?” he asks quietly, the teasing edge in his voice lost to the breathless sigh he lets out after. “You’re doing it the way I like.”

That makes your heart swell with pride, and you can’t help the smile you give him, bright and giddy. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.”

He chuckles back. “The academic uses her gifts for good.”

“You callin’ me smart, baby?”

He rolls his eyes, taking your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up. “How about you focus, huh? I’ll admit you’re smart when you get me off.”

You sit up a little straighter at that, pursing your lips and mimicking how he’d touched himself last night, flicking your wrist hard around the base and softening your touch at the tip. He swallows when you repeat the motion, his grip on your hair tightening, but he gives you nothing else, his eyes devoid of emotion otherwise. It spurs you on, targets the piece of you that seeks validation. He’d only given it to you once, but you’re eager to hear it again.

“How’s this?”

He just lifts his brows. “What’s wrong? Already need my approval?”

You scowl, returning to the task at hand. It doesn’t take long, not with the way the muscles in his abdomen keep tightening, or the way he’s breathing shallowly through his nose, or the way his hips start to push up to meet your fist halfway. No, it doesn’t take long at all.

But before you can get him off – before you can have the satisfaction of him swearing over you as he comes on your skin – he wraps a hand around your wrist, stopping you.

Your eyes fly up to his, alarmed and disappointed. “What?”

His cheeks are flushed, lips a little swollen from what you can only guess is biting, but he just moves your hand and reaches down to remove his pants. “Lie down. Shirt off.”

You strip from the button-down and toss it uncaringly off the edge, scrambling back to where you were before and leaning back on your elbows with growing anticipation. Your stomach flips when he starts to climb over you, his eyes searching yours. There’s a glint in his eye that seems to signal that he’s processing this, too – that you’re about to have sex. That, out of everyone – out of everyone you actually like – you had decided to come to the one person you don’t like. To the one person you hate most days, because of the way he is and the way he treats you.

But it’s the way he is and the way he treats you that had made him perfect for this.

So, out of everyone, it’s Akaashi Keiji that you’re getting into bed with.

Your tongue darts out when he settles between your legs, your skirt falling up to your hips when your thighs open for him. He glances back and checks the camera frame once before leaning down over you. His brow is furrowed as he slides his cock through your folds, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he feels you. He pushes his hips forward once, twice, and then re-angles himself on the third, his fingers lining the head of his cock up against your entrance.

You watch him when he finally slides into you, the rest of the world lost in a dull buzz that fill your brain.

When he nudges the tip past your entrance, gliding slowly past your walls, his chest rises and falls with the breaths he’s keeping trapped inside, but he’s short of breath nonetheless. His skin is radiating warmth in that way that you find pretty, just like the rest of him, and his eyes are dark when they meet yours. His eyebrows twitch the further he sinks into you, and his lips – pink and wet and pretty – are parting as he bottoms out, and he lets out a soft sigh.

The dull buzz is cleared away like smoke, and you realize there’s a needy moaning echoing in the room, one that can only be coming from you.

“Oh, my God,” you cry, falling back on the mattress when he starts to thrust into you. “Oh, my God, holy shit-” Your heart is pounding hard in your ears and throat and veins, and you’re caught between wanting to claw at the comforter desperately and wanting to hide your face behind your hands.

Akaashi drops down over you, caging you in with one arm as the other bends back, his hand tight on the underside of your thigh as he picks up his pace. You gasp, unable to find enough air in the room to fill your lungs. One of your hands finds his wrist by your head, clamping on tight, and the other smacks down over your eyes – you can’t look at him, not when you’re like this. Not when you’re sweating and breathless, not when your stomach is fluttering with some unfamiliar mix of nerves and desire with every bump of his hips against yours.

Not when you’re realizing that no one else has ever made you feel this way before.

“Look at me, princess,” he grunts, and your stomach flips at the ragged sway of his voice.

“I-fuck – I can’t-” you whine, but the sound catches in your throat when he angles his hips and the head of his cock smacks right up against your g-spot. You gasp loud, your grip on his wrist tightening with all your strength. “Oh, my God-please-”

“There?” he asks quietly, and he drives his hips forward at that angle once more. You cry out when he hits it again, but then he stops.

He stops, just hovering over you silently.

The hand on your face drops in shock, and you stare up at him. “What-”

“I told you to look at me.”

“You-” You want to smack him so badly. “You can’t just stop-”

“Can’t I?” He tilts his head, eyes filling with disinterest, despite the breathy quality of his voice. “You weren’t listening to me.”

You remember now, the things he’d said yesterday.

‘Is it alright if I’m a little mean?’

Fuck.

“Uh-fuck,” you laugh pitifully. “Fuck. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” Your chest starts to fill with a strange feeling, a clawing that reaches for your throat when he only stares, dissatisfied. He doesn’t seem happy with you, and – for every piece of you that doesn’t give a fuck what Akaashi Keiji thinks in any other situation – there’s a panic that’s starting to swirl in you at this very moment. “I’m sorry, please don’t stop-”

He draws his hips back, and the panic forms into a knot all at once when you realize he’s pulling out.

“No, no, no-” You dig your nails into his shoulders, keeping him close and staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “No, please, I really am sorry.” The clawing in your throat starts to burn, and your eyes sting at the thought that he’s decidedly finished with you. There’s a rational part of your brain that knows he isn’t. He can’t be. You’re still filming. But the part of you that’s very rapidly become addicted to the feeling of Akaashi fucking you is panicking hard enough to make tears fill your eyes.

His cock twitches inside you when you start to sniffle, and the word ‘dacryphilia’ floats through your brain, the ghost of a memory.

If he wants you to cry, you’ll cry.

“Please, baby,” you murmur, your head falling back on the mattress and your nails clinging to him. You let yourself sink into that panic and your vision blurs, the tears hot and embarrassing as they stream down the sides of your cheeks onto the bed. “Please don’t stop.”

You don’t see his reaction when you give in to him, but you hear his shaky breath. And you certainly feel when he relents, because he’s pushing slowly back into you. You find yourself whispering ‘yes, yes, yes’ as he’s coming back to you, and the tightness in your throat starts to loosen.

“You gonna listen?” he murmurs, and you nod again. “Because I’ll stop. I’m fine either way.”

He’s bluffing, your brain tries to tell you, but fresh tears are burning your eyes and you’re choking on the lump that’s reforming at the base of your throat. He can’t stop, he can’t. You don’t know what you’ll do if he stops.

“Please, don’t-” you sob, shaking your head. “I swear I’ll listen.”

Your heart jumps when the mattress dips by your head again as he cages you in. When his other hand finds the underside of your thigh again, the bruises his grip had left the first time ache as his fingers fill those prints once more. He leans down toward you, and you blink through the tears just enough to meet his eyes.

“Cover your mouth,” he whispers, staring down at you with a dangerous glint in his eye. You’re quick to slap your hands over your mouth, terrified of taking too long and testing his patience. He doesn’t smile at your obedience or give you any visual signal of satisfaction, but his eyes do trace your face meaningfully. “Well, if you’re gonna be that good for me, I guess I can let you have it.”

He thrusts his hips forward sharply before you have any time to process what he means. You scream, your back arching when he slams up against your g-spot, and you’re distantly grateful that he’s minding the noise limits on your apartment while he decidedly fucks you into oblivion. He keeps that pace and that angle, and his head drops down beside yours as he does.

“Let’s make a deal,” he says, breathless and rough in your ear. “You listen to me when I talk to you, and I’ll abuse your tight little cunt as much as you want.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your body starting to go numb as the pressure builds in your navel for the third time in one morning. “Sound good?” he whispers, swallowing hard after. You nod frantically, and his panting becomes audible in your ear. “Fuck, I’m close. Where should I-” He starts to pull his hips away, but your hands fly off of your mouth and grip hard on his biceps.

“If you pull out right now, I’m going to fucking kill you,” you say, staring straight into his eyes. Your eyes burn, and you’re sticky and warm, and you know you look like a mess, but you keep your eyes directly on his. “We just made a deal.”

He stares, wide-eyed, and then breathes out a laugh. “Okay. I hear you.” When his hips touch yours again, it comes with him dropping down to his elbow and carding his fingers through your hair tight. “But I want you looking at me.”

You’re surprised by that, because it feels oddly intimate for him to chase an orgasm while looking into your eyes – but then he finds that special pace and angle, and you can’t think of anything but giving him what he wants, just so he doesn’t take away what you want.

You look right into those blue-green eyes as your navel curls and twists, despite every urge to let your eyes roll back and your mouth hang open. You slide your arms around his neck and look into his eyes, clinging tight as he takes full control of your body – prying you open and kissing that particular spot inside you that no one else has ever found before. You look into his eyes up until the very moment you find that summit, the morning light golden and warm and blinding. You find him there, too.

You won’t realize it for a long, long time, but something slides into place and locks tight when your body registers that the last thing you see before falling off the edge is the dark cyan of Akaashi Keiji’s eyes. When it registers that the last thing that he sees – before his eyes roll back and his forehead drops to yours, his hips stuttering and stalling as he fills you – is you.

You think you might have fallen asleep in that spot, because you’re not sure if it’s been minutes or hours since you moved. Your body trembles under him, and you feel him starting to release you achingly slow – his elbow cracks when he lifts off of it, and his breath is taxed and heavy while he pulls out of you. He holds you like that for a minute, just long enough for the creampie to be visible to the camera, and then he sets your thigh down gently. But you whine anyway, because there’s a horrible soreness that’s starting to set into your muscles and bones.

“Shit,” he whispers. “That was-”

You let out a weak laugh, immediately groaning at how it rattles your body. “This Chinese food is going to be the most glorious meal I’ve ever earned.”

He laughs back, that delirious one that comes when he’s struggling to find himself. “I forgot to order it between the desk and the bed.”

“I don’t think we would have made the thirty-minute deadline.”

He laughs harder, collapsing back down on his elbows. “God, I think I’m dying. I don’t know if I have the stamina to be a porn star.”

You groan, planting both hands on his chest and pushing him slowly off of you. He hits the mattress beside you with a sigh, and you curl up in place. “This was hard. I’m tired.”

“There’s no time to be tired. It’s already-” He sits up slowly, reaching for your phone to end the video and check the time. “-noon, apparently.”

“Noon?!” You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Four hours, holy shit.”

“I need food,” Akaashi mumbles to himself, rising off the bed with a groan and searching the floor for his boxers. He finds and trips into them on his way to the door, muttering ‘phone, need my phone’ as he goes. You roll off the side of the bed unceremoniously, swiping your shirt and underwear off of the rug and slipping them back on.

“We were supposed to change,” he calls from the other room. “You’re a slutty schoolgirl in two videos.”

“I don’t care,” you whine, stumbling back into bed and lying flat on your face, your voice muffled. “Let me be a slutty schoolgirl, fuck.”

“Do you still have your pop-tart?” he asks, back in the room and completely ignoring your complaints. “What do you want for takeout?” You hear him snatch the plastic package off the little coffee table by the couch. “I’m eating your pop-tart-”

“Oh, my God, Akaashi, just eat the fucking pop-tart,” you snap, growing crabby. There’s silence, and then he flops down on the bed beside you.

“Maybe you should eat the pop-tart.”

A laugh bubbles and bursts in your throat, and you start to giggle uncontrollably. “What the fuck did we just do?”

“Burn a lot of calories,” he jokes through a mouth full of your strawberry pop-tart. You turn your head toward him, watching as, half-naked beside you, he scrolls through the delivery menu of the nearest Chinese takeout place. “I’m getting kung pao chicken.”

“Ew.” You wrinkle your nose. “Peanuts.”

He looks at you in confusion. “You’re allergic to peanuts?”

“No. I just don’t like them.”

“Oh,” he grumbles, turning back to his phone. “That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid-”

He flaps the silvery plastic of the pop-tart in your face. “Eat this and tell me what you want before I get double kung pao-”

You snatch the stupid pastry away from him, watching him lift his hand in defeat and whisper ‘okay, crabass’ as you stuff your mouth with sugary nothingness. “I want beef and broccoli.”

He grimaces. “Boring.”

“Get out of my house, Akaashi-”

“I got it, look-” He brandishes the screen at you, showing your food in the online cart. “What else?”

“Egg rolls. Crab rangoon. Maybe some pot-stickers, too-”

“You’re just trying to spend my money,” he complains, adding it all anyway.

“We’ll make it back soon enough.”

He meets your eyes, and you both seem to re-realize how you’ve just spent a full Saturday morning. It settles in then, the arrangement you’ve made with Akaashi Keiji. Saturday mornings and weekday evenings, a suspended disbelief that you’ll never be able to explain to your friends. Pop-tarts in your slutty schoolgirl skirt, Chinese food in his boxers. A series of life experiences that can never leave this apartment, shared with the singular person you’d tried so long to keep out of your life entirely.

Akaashi blinks, and you blink back, infinite realizations passing by all at once.

He turns his head back to his phone. “Fried or steamed pot-stickers?”

You turn your face back into the mattress, your voice muffled. “Fried.”

–

While the food’s on its way, you leave Akaashi to wash up in your bathroom. You disappear into your bedroom and change, hearing when the sink stops running and the door opens.

“In here,” you call, pulling your hair back as you head to your desk that’s pushed against the wall shared with the living room. He appears in the doorway in a pair of athletic shorts and a hoodie, his hair and face damp and his glasses a little foggy from the moisture on his skin.

“Should be ten more minutes,” he says, checking his phone. And then he glances around your room in a way that appears casual, but you can tell he’s curious.

“You can come in,” you joke, waving him in. You take a seat at your desk, shaking the mouse attached to your monitor to wake the computer up. “I’m gonna give you account access now before I forget.”

He hums, wandering your room slowly and taking it all in. The photos of your friends on top of your dresser, the plushies on your bed that would be embarrassing to show anyone that’s not him. The bookshelf in the corner, filled with fun novels and academic textbooks alike.

“I have a few of these,” he murmurs, crouching and thumbing through the volumes. You smile to yourself, logging into your account while you respond.

“The smutty romance novels? No wonder you’re such a creative porn star.”

“You’re funny,” he says, not an ounce of humor in his voice. “You’re missing the Cambridge handbook on Korean morphosyntax.”

“‘s here,” you nod at the small pile of books on your desk, spines facing outward. “I keep the best ones close.” You hear him approach behind you, your eyes busy locating his own account and inviting him as a collaborator.

But then his hand reaches past your head, and you realize with a drop of your stomach that he’s plucking a paper off the top of a pile that you keep next to your books.

A paper with his name on it, published in Syntax last year, on Korean case marking. It’s full of pen, highlighter, and sticky tabs – your thoughts on his work.

“Oh?” he says, his voice dreadfully smug. “You keep the best ones close, you said?”

“Shut up,” you say, shaking your head. “Research is research-”

“Good research gets cited. You gonna cite me, Y/n?”

“I’m sure you’re no stranger to good research, Akaashi Keiji. I’d be stupid not to.”

“So-” He steps closer, and your lift your eyes to his reluctantly. He looks excited. “-you’re including the case marking, then? In the dissertation.”

You roll your eyes. “Would you like me to say ‘thank you, Akaashi, oh Brilliant One’?”

He lifts his brows with a smirk. “Yes, actually. I would.”

“Kiss my ass,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head and returning to the task at hand. “Now that I don’t have to find a second job, I might actually have the time to include it.”

“You would have made the time anyway,” he says confidently, and you give an exhausted sigh.

“Okay, I gave you access. Can we-” You stand, snatching the paper back and dropping it on the pile. “-exit the research chat, please?”

“Why?” he prods, following you out the room. “Worried I’ll make good points without our referee around to keep me in check?”

“The fact that you need to be kept in check in the first place is a bad sign.” You flop down on the couch with a sigh, and he follows. “You’re so abrasive.”

“Being gentle doesn’t get you published,” he argues, and you snap back quick.

“Shockingly, I still managed it.”

“You got published?” He lifts his brows, turning to you with interest. “Where? When?”

You sigh. “Language and Cognition,” you mutter, watching his eyes go slightly wide before flattening out again. “End of the month.”

“Holy shit,” he says, nodding and looking away. “Language and Cognition. That’s top-shelf stuff.” You think that might be a compliment. The first he’s ever paid you. “It’s about time.”

The compliment is magically negated.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You say, heated.

“Nothing!” he laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“You’re saying it took me a long time to publish-”

“Considering your skillset,” he argues pointedly. “Yes. I’d say I’m surprised it took this long.”

“Are you insulting me or complimenting me?” You throw your hands out. “Choose, Akaashi.”

“Don’t wanna,” he says childishly, smiling in a way that’s intentionally irritating. You scoff, but his phone pings with the delivery notification before you can pick a fight. He stands, disappearing out the door to get it, and you take a long, deep breath to relax yourself. You turn the TV on, flicking through the options before landing on the nature channel.

He slips back in after a few minutes, bag dangling from his fingers. “What are we watching?”

“Squirrels fighting for their territory,” you say, completely entranced by the action happening on the screen.

“Seriously?” he asks, stopping by the couch briefly to look at the TV.

“Look at them go,” you whisper in amazement, shaking your head as you watch two squirrels positively tear each other apart.

“Are you in the habit of watching the nature channel?” He wanders to the kitchen while he asks, and you let him struggle to find bowls and unpack the food.

“Every night,” you say, distracted. “Relaxes my brain.”

“God, you’re insane,” he mumbles from across the room.

“Well, what do you do to relax?” you ask. There’s silence in the kitchen, and your attention’s torn from the screen as you look over your shoulder at him. He’s frowning slightly down at the food while he serves it, and you grin smugly. “Oh, I get it. The stick in your ass is there for a reason.”

“Fuck off,” he breathes with a shake of his head. He carries both plates to the couch, handing you one and staring with skepticism at the TV. “We’re really watching this?”

“Look how that one stands on his hind legs and asserts his dominance!” you exclaim, pointing excitedly at the TV before stuffing your mouth full of beef and broccoli. “The other one’s totally gotta give up his acorns now.”

Akaashi sighs, digging into his food with a shake of his head. “Squirrel social dynamics and Chinese food. My Saturday morning.”

You eat in relative silence, the only comments coming from your enthusiasm about nature and his quiet, exasperated laughter. Finally, he sighs, setting his empty plate on the coffee table.

“I should go.”

You nod, reaching to mute the TV. “I gotta edit these videos and draft one to post tonight. What time’s the party?”

“Starts at 9,” he says, standing slowly. You purse your lips, realizing that you’ll have to see him again today – in public, where you’ll have to pretend you hadn’t spent the morning together.

“Okay.” You nod. “See you then.”

There’s a moment of silence, where he seems to realize the same thing you had, and then he just nods, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Kay. See ya.”

The apartment echoes with the click of the door behind him.

You stare at it, feeling a bit weird, as though the entire affair is finally starting to crash down over you now that he’s gone. Your phone buzzes on the table, and you shake off the feeling, snatching it up. Your heart beats a strange little rhythm at the sight of his name.

[1:24 PM]

Akaashi: dont forget to cover your hickies tonight

“What?” You stand, padding to the bathroom quickly. The reflection in the mirror is horrid, your throat already bruising on both sides. “This motherfu-”

You: youre such a dick.

He sends back a shrugging emoji and nothing else, and you move around the apartment with a little more stomp than usual, minimally annoyed as you clean up the tables and put the leftovers away before returning to your desk to edit the videos.

–

Keiji arrives at Bokuto’s townhouse at 9 o’clock on the dot, knocking quietly. It’s Tsukishima who opens the door, just lifting his brows in greeting before leading him back through the living room. There’s no one else here, and Bokuto is filling bowls with chips in the kitchen.

“Hey!” he calls excitedly. “I’m so ready to be trashed!”

Keiji sets two handles of vodka and a case of Coke on the counter. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“Good, of course! Life is good!” The kinesiology student starts organizing the bowls by color, smiling to himself while he talks. “Research is good, friends are good, life is good!”

There’s a knock on the door, and Keiji’s heart jumps without his permission. He glances at the new arrivals that enter when the host yells ‘it’s open!’, and he’s oddly disappointed to see it’s just some of the people in Bokuto’s cohort.

Tsukishima dims the lights in the main room and connects his phone to the speaker, and Bokuto starts to dance while he chats up his friends and preps the kitchen with more food. Keiji stands off to the side, pouring himself a drink and nodding politely when a guy he recognizes greets him.

Thirty minutes go by like that, with Keiji standing in sight of the door and glancing up, a little nervous, every time it opens. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, but he does know it’s your fault.

He’d felt it when you’d texted him a couple hours ago, too – it was only to let him know that the video for tonight had been edited, but he’d still gotten a strange twinge of anxiety when your name had popped up on his phone. He had watched the video back, impressed at how you’d edited the tattoos out and muffled both your voices – creating what’s essentially a quiet, faceless video with only your moans to show for his performance. He’d also refrained from watching the video in too much detail, because even just skimming through it, he’d felt renewed desire stream through his veins.

He wonders if it would be too much to go back and watch it later tonight, when he has too much alcohol in his system to worry if it’s weird.

Tsukishima finds him again after a while, lingering with him in the corner. “Research?”

“‘s good,” Keiji says, lifting his drink to his lips – the second in half an hour. “Finally started writing the dissertation chapters. Should be done next year.”

“God, I’m jealous,” the blond laughs quietly. “With working at the museum, everything takes twice as long for me.”

Keiji hates that his first thought is you – that that could have been you, too. “Did your advisor tell you when you’re s’posed t’finish?” He should slow down. Water, maybe.

“Two years,” Tsukishima groans, emptying his cup and then reaching for the vodka again.

“That’s what Kuroo has left, too.”

The blond shoots him a side glance. “So?” Keiji sees the tinge of pink at the tips of his ears, so he shrugs.

“Just an observation.” The door opens behind Tsukishima, and his eyes flit to it, just over the blond’s shoulder.

It’s a couple he doesn’t recognize, but Bokuto clearly does, his ‘hey, hey, hey!’ audible from here.

“Who are you lookin’ for?” Tsukishima dips his head into Keiji’s way, an eyebrow arched and his words slower than usual from the alcohol. “You keep doin’ that.”

Keiji blinks and clears his throat. “No one. It just-” The door opens again, and you walk through it with Kuroo and Yachi. Keiji’s throat dries up. “-catches my attention.”

Tsukishima glances back, but if he notices that you’re clearly what Keiji had been waiting for, he doesn’t say anything. He just whips his head back around, swallowing hard and taking an aggressive swig of his drink.

God bless Kuroo Tetsurou.

Keiji watches you greet Bokuto and some of his friends, your smile wide and your hugs generous. His eyes scan you carefully. You’re wearing a pair of black jeans that hugs you in all the right places – places he knows now – and red long-sleeve shirt with a v-cut so low that his mouth waters slightly. You’d covered the bruises on your throat, and there’s a piece of him – small but troublesome – that’s a little dissatisfied to see the skin smooth and mark-free. Especially with the way you giggle at something Bokuto says, the taller man smiling down at you and holding your waist in a friendly way. Keiji swallows and brushes that odd little feeling away.

His heart flips over itself when you turn in his general direction, and he’s quick to turn back to Tsukishima, blinking rapidly. He feels weird – he wants you to notice him there, wants you to say something to him, even though you’d both agreed not to act any different. You’ve never spoken to him at these parties unless absolutely necessary, so he shouldn’t be wishing for anything of the sort.

But he wants to know that you feel weird, too. That you want his attention, too. That you don’t know why, either.

“So,” he clears his throat, getting the history student’s attention. “The museum. Have they gotten back to you about the full-time position?”

“Not explicitly,” Tsukishima responds, seeming equally grateful for the distraction. “But they basically said it’s mine whenever I’m done.”

“That’s good. Makes things a little less stressful,” Keiji says, pointedly looking down into his cup, because he feels you behind him, passing by. Your perfume makes his nostrils flare, and a shiver – traitorous and laced with want – runs down his spine.

“Hey, Tsukishima,” you say, brushing past the taller man. “Good weekend so far?”

The blond nods. “A little pissed to get a 2am text of Bokuto screaming, but otherwise, yeah.”

You laugh gently, and Keiji’s skin floods with goosebumps. He looks at you without meaning to, and a white-hot heat sears through his stomach, because you’re already looking back. You don’t greet him or betray any visible emotion when he makes eye contact, but he sees your breathing change, and there’s a warmth that makes your skin glow in the dim light.

You’re nervous. He’s making you nervous.

And that’s a dangerous little piece of information for him to have access to.

“Y/n,” he says, rolling your name around on his tongue like he’s tasting it for the first time. He’s glad that Tsukishima’s distractedly looking over his shoulder at Kuroo, because he doesn’t see the way your breath catches or the way your spine straightens.

“Akaashi.” It’s weak, and your voice wavers on the last syllable, cutting out and filling with the breath that you draw in sharply. His body hums when he hears it, and the urge to hear it again – the urge to witness your poorly concealed emotions – grows to the point of being unbearable.

He wants to make you nervous.

“Get started on those case marking materials yet?” He’s careful to reference the LEM meeting only, not the things you’d talked about this morning. Still, it makes you swallow, and you pluck a red solo cup from the stack before reaching for the vodka.

“Do you really want to talk about research here?” you ask, mixing it with some of the orange juice that Yachi had dropped off a few minutes ago.

“Why not?” he says. “Tsukishima and I are.”

You level a grin at the blond, who’s tuned back in at the sound of his name. “Don’t you want a night off, Tsukishima?”

Keiji doesn’t hear what his friend’s answer is. He’s too busy dragging his gaze slowly down the length of your body while the taller man’s talking to you. You shift slightly, and his eyes find yours. You’re flitting your gaze between his and Tsukishima’s, trying to stay engaged with the conversation but also clearly distracted. Keiji just stares, his eyes unyielding on yours whenever you meet them. You drink urgently from your cup, chugging until it’s empty and then reaching back to make another, a grimace tugging on your lips.

He looks away, because he can hear Bokuto storming into the kitchen.

“Hey, my favorite pals!” He slings his arms around Keiji’s and Tsukishima’s shoulders, and Keiji tips forward into you. You yelp, barely managing to steady your drink on the counter. He slips his arm around your waist to catch himself – definitely not for any other reason – and he hears you gasp in his ear at the contact.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, head swimming with alcohol.

“No, you’re not,” you whisper back heatedly. But Keiji can feel you leaning into him, too, your fingers brushing on his arm.

It fills his chest with a giddy excitement – the realization that you can’t help yourself, either.

He decides in that moment – in the mere milliseconds where Bokuto’s straightening and exclaiming in Tsukishima’s ear that the friend group should collect by the couches in the living room, the two of you completely unnoticed – that he doesn’t want to stop doing this. He doesn��t want to stop provoking you, even though he very well should. Because he can see that you don’t want it to stop, either. Because you’re searching him with wide eyes and the kind of attention that he could get high off of.

Because, in a single morning alone, Keiji’s learned to recognize when you’re turned on.

The flush of your cheeks and the tug of your bottom lip between your teeth. The way you hug yourself, like you’re worried you might do something with those hands if you don’t. The uneven pattern of your breathing, your chest rising and falling with attempted recovery.

God, he thinks he’s turned on, too.

He swallows, leaning away and letting Bokuto sweep the three of you away into the living room. You’re still pressed to his side unwillingly, your body heat making him shiver with excitement – you smell the way you did this morning, like warmth and the laundry detergent of the sheets he’d fucked you into. Like the memory of your tears and the way you’d begged him not to stop, the memory of your walls fluttering around him and the way your back had arched when you’d come–

He scrubs drunkenly at his scrunched eyebrows, stumbling to wherever Bokuto had guided him and throwing himself down on the couch. Even with his eyes closed, he knows that the body that lands next to him is yours.

When he opens his eyes, the world a little blurry and tilted, Kuroo and Yachi have joined the group – Hitoka’s on his other side, and Bokuto’s taken the armchair, Tsukishima and Kuroo sitting awfully close together on the floor. It always happens this way – the group of you always end up in your own corner, the rest of the party carrying on without the host needing to entertain. The music is always thumping just loud enough that everyone has to raise their voices to be heard, but it’s never annoying. Never too much, never overwhelming. It’s why all these people always come back – Bokuto Koutarou’s parties are always the perfect escape.

He’s starting to understand why, tonight.

The night goes on like any other. Yachi rambles about her current dissertation progress, clearly excited to talk about her graphic design and marketing ideas. Bokuto engages her excitedly, asking if she could help him make some recruitment flyers for the volleyball class he’ll be teaching next semester. Kuroo whispers things to Tsukishima, the smirk on his lips pressed to the blond’s ear and Tsukishima’s cheeks burning with a cherry-red blush.

Which leaves Keiji with you. Surrounded by friends who are much too drunk and distracted to care what he does.

So he settles into the couch, spreading his legs to get comfortable – at least, that’s what it looks like. No one questions why he never intrudes on Yachi’s space, why he angles his body toward yours, why his knee bumps yours and then stays there. No one asks why you suddenly look nervous or why you silently decide to let his thigh press against yours. Why your own thigh, radiating gentle warmth, presses back after a moment – although it’d be completely in character for you to make some snappish remark about respecting personal space.

No one asks why your fingers twitch on your leg, your pinky brushing up against his leg, stretching toward him and then retracting.

No one asks about the slight bulge in his jeans. Or the arm he stretches across the back of the couch – in your direction, not Yachi’s.

Your breath catches, and you lift your cup to your mouth quickly. “Cut it out,” you hiss, hidden, and he smiles down at nothing.

“‘m not doing anything,” he breathes back, unheard over the music.

“Bullshit.”

He laughs softly, but he knows you’re right. So he extracts himself, standing carefully and pointing in explanation toward the hall when Bokuto looks up at him curiously. He pushes through the crowd, rounding the corner and taking the stairs up to the second floor. The music is quieter here, and he knows that no one else would venture this far – because everyone knows Bokuto, but no one knows Bokuto. Not like the group of you.

He disappears into the bathroom by Bokuto’s bedroom, clean and uncrowded. His phone screen reads 11:08 when he checks it – endless parties just like this, and tonight, he’s barely managing an hour and a half in the same room as you. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, breathing deep. His vision’s still a little blurry, and his head is still swimming. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are heated, betraying how you’re affecting him.

He fixes himself in his jeans so it’s a little less obvious and then runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh. Now that he’s alone, he can see that he definitely needs to sober up a bit. He needs to act right, because he knows the stakes are high. His brain feels clearer, and it’s sinking in that he’s pushing the line with you. That there’s something about you – something about this morning – that makes him want to forget the rules, when he really shouldn’t.

Maybe he’s just too drunk. Maybe he’ll be better about this when he’s sober.

The memory of you crying under him flashes in his mind, and he has to shake his head, leaning his hands on the counter. Maybe those memories won’t come when he’s in control enough to stop them. He has to hope that they won’t, because right now, his mental faculties aren’t listening to him.

Right now, he’s thinking about how you’d squirmed in his lap when he’d fingered you. About how your head had knocked back lightly against the wall when you’d come on his tongue, sweet and warm and wet enough to make him just a little bit obsessed with you. About how you’d looked up at him with wide eyes while you’d jerked him off, asking if you were doing okay. Asking for his approval.

Keiji’s breath comes hard now, and he shakes his head again in a weak attempt to clear it.

The way you’d moaned like a proper porn star when he’d pushed into you for the first time.

The way you’d felt around him, velvety and tight and like no one he’d ever been with before you.

The way you’d clung to him, desperate and scared when he’d threatened to pull away – pleas on those plush, pink lips and tears in those pretty little eyes. Bullying him rudely to his orgasm.

“Fuck,” he breathes. He needs to get it together.

He thumps himself lightly on the head a few times with the heel of his hand, silently begging his boner to go away as he turns to leave the bathroom.

You’re standing on the other side of the door, a frown on your face as you lean against the wall.

Fuck.

“What’re you up to, Akaashi?” you demand drunkenly, your lips pushing out in a whiny pout that makes his cock twitch in his jeans.

Fuck.

“What?” he says, trying to slip past you toward the stairs. You get in his way.

“We decided t’be normal,” you slur, stepping close to him. Your perfume clouds his brain. “You’re not bein’ normal.”

Your chest bumps against his when he tries to move past again, and he finds his hands on your waist before he can think it through.

“And you decided t’follow me up here,” he breathes tightly, walking you back quickly into the wall. Your eyes go wide when your back bumps against it, but the gasp that falls past your lips is because he’s pushing his hips against yours, still half-hard. “You did this.”

“I didn’t-I haven’ done anything,” you try, glancing down in hazy surprise at where he’s pressed against you. “You’re the one who keeps touchin’ me and– and teasing me.”

“Yeah? Is it fucking with you?” he coos, mocking. “Welcome t’the club.”

Your eyes search his. “'Kaashi,” you whisper, slurred. His eyes drop to your lips.

He doesn’t like it when you say his name like that. Soft and pleading.

It makes him want to do terrible things to you.

“Careful, Y/n.”

He doesn’t mean to say it like that. He’s actually asking you to be careful, because he’s not in his right mind and you’re making it worse. You’re making everything worse, and he’s more than happy to blame this on you. But the way it comes out – the way he talks to you – is with a tone he knows better than to use outside the bedroom.

He watches the tension leave your body, and you start to blink up at him rapidly, your face burning and radiating heat into the very limited space between you. He watches your demeanor change – watches you swallow nervously and break eye contact, watches you purse your lips and breathe shallowly – and something in him aches for you.

For the first time all day, he regrets sleeping with you. Because now he’s not sure he can ever recover.

“Uhm,” you start, voice shaky. “Maybe we should go back-”

“Akaashi! Y/n!”

You gasp, and your hands find his chest. You shove hard, and he stumbles back toward the opposite wall with wide eyes. You both turn toward the stairs, watching Bokuto trip and fall up the last few steps. He looks down the hall with wide eyes, giggling loudly when he sees you.

“There you are!” And then he narrows his gaze at you dramatically, examining the situation as he stands. “Oh, no-” He pouts, crossing his arms. “Are you two fighting? This is a party! We’re with friends!”

Keiji sobers instantly, eyes flying to yours as the reality of the night hits him. As he realizes how close you’d come to getting caught, and on the very first day at that. You look just as alarmed as he feels. He doesn’t know how he could ever have explained what’s just happened to anyone else. How things had gotten that far.

He turns without a word and brushes past Bokuto. He barrels down the stairs, ignoring Bokuto’s cry of ‘eh?! where’s he going?!’ and heading straight for the door. It slams behind him, and he races out of the building and toward the street.

He swears loudly on the entire walk home.

–

It isn’t until noon on Sunday that you wake up, groggy and disoriented. You slap your hand around on your bed blindly for your phone, the sunlight that’s streaming through the window making the room feel hot and making you groan. You retrieve your phone from the depths of your bed, squinting at it with a growing headache and a serious case of dry-mouth.

There are some texts from Kuroo and Yachi, asking if you feel as positively terrible as they do, and an all-caps text from Bokuto to the massive group chat, thanking everyone for coming to the party. There’s even a text from Tsukishima, asking if you got home alright and if you know where Akaashi had gone.

Akaashi.

You roll over and bury your face in the pillow, groaning loudly. He’d left so abruptly, and you’d even texted him – multiple times – to drunkenly ask where he’d gone and if he was okay. You check those texts now, clicking into the thread.

[11:16 PM]

You: whewred yiu go>?!?!

You: are yoim okai???

[11:59 PM]

You: akaaaaaashiiiii

You: whyaw didn yoo leave so sunddnly?

[12:39 AM]

You: at lest tellme if tju got ahaome safew

[9:19 AM]

Akaashi: im fine thanks

Your lips twist into a scowl, and you throw your phone down, minorly annoyed by his response. He’d run out of the party without a single word, after teasing you all night and then pinning you up against the wall and fucking with your head. And now he’s going to act cold to you, like he hadn’t admitted to wanting you last night?

Whatever.

You kick your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the throbbing pain in your head as you stumble down the hallway to shower and get ready for the day. You make a pot of coffee and rummage through your fridge for something that’ll fix your hangover, and then you settle down at your desk and check your personal email, just to see if the new video with Akaashi had been received well.

There’s a string of emails sitting right at the top of your inbox, the last received at 10am.

[10:00 AM] Account Updates (Oct. 22) – New Followers: 2,139; New Comments: 608; New Video View Count: 87,903

[9:36 AM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $500.

[5:02 AM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $400.

[3:47 AM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $300.

[1:59 AM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $200.

[10:29 PM] Congratulations! Your new video has made over $100.

You stare at the subject lines, your head swimming.

“Holy shit.”

You log into your account in a rush of adrenaline, unable to believe this is really happening. You click quickly into your profile and scroll down to the section for profit information.

$529 dollars, made off of the video of Akaashi fingering you.

That’s almost everything you have in your bank account – doubled in one night.

That’s rent.

“Holy shit.” You sit back and stare at the number for ten minutes, watching in growing shock as it flicks to $535 and then to $541 in that span of time. You’ve got 137 message requests sitting in the top right corner – 137 more opportunities to make money, if you just dedicate an hour or two a day to sending off quick and flirty one-liners to the horny men flooding your inbox.

Your hand reaches for your phone, because you have to tell Akaashi the amazing news – but then you remember how odd his last text had been. You frown slightly and put your phone back down. You don’t have anyone else to talk to about this – and you want to talk about this, to marvel and wonder at how this could have happened – but you don’t want him to ruin your mood, either.

So you don’t. You don’t tell him – if he wants to know how the video did, he can look for himself. He’s a collaborator on the account now.

You just roll your shoulders back and pull up your video editing software, getting to work.

You have money to make.

–

“Are you okay?” Yachi says the next morning, watching you with thin amusement as you yawn so wide that your jaw cracks. You nod sleepily, following her into the coffee shop.

“Just a long night. ‘m okay.” You scrub at your brow, suppressing another yawn while you wait in line. You’d spent most of yesterday editing the other two videos and responding to messages, and then you’d taken three hours to record solo content, staying up until nearly 3am editing those videos, too. You’d hoped that the solo content wouldn’t lose you followers, actually, since it had been clear just how well-received the partner content is.

But the work had been worth it, because you’d posted one of the solo videos last night and woken up to 500 more followers and another $300 in profit, both from the video with Akaashi and from the spillover of the new followers going back through your old videos and the new solo video. It turns out your solo content is good; it just hadn’t gotten enough traction to make any money. Now, there’s a lot of traffic to even your first couple videos, and every video is bringing in money.

So, even though you’re falling asleep while standing in a coffee shop at 9am, you feel that every moment of sleep lost was a moment of incoming financial peace.

“D’you know what you want yet?” Yachi asks, peering at the menu. “I’m not sure.”

“You get the same thing every time,” you state simply, only smiling when she shoots you a sideways glance. “But I can go first, if you’re totally not sold yet on your medium almond milk vanilla latte.”

“Yes, please,” she says brightly, and you cut past her to get to the counter. You order your drink and a breakfast sandwich, feeling for the first time in weeks that there’s no crippling guilt when you spend the money. It feels nice, being able to give yourself even this small treat.

“Y/n!”

You flinch at the booming voice, already identifying its owner. You turn, stepping off to the side to let Yachi order while you smile at an excited Bokuto. The man bounds up to you, arms swinging, and you’re left wondering how he could possibly have any energy this early.

“Hi, Kou – How was your Sunday?”

“Oh, you know.” He shrugs. “Spent it cleaning vomit out of my rug. But I slept like a little baby, so I feel great today!” He glances past you. “Hitoka!”

The little blond woman flinches at the volume, much like you had, and turns after she pays, joining you with a grin. “Kou! Still on to talk about those recruitment flyers later?”

“Oh, God, yes! I need you!” Bokuto seems to almost vibrate in place, and you let them talk, keeping an ear out for your order while you shut your eyes to let out a deep yawn.

“Hi, Yachi.”

The yawn dissipates in your throat. You snap your head around, finding Akaashi hovering at Bokuto’s shoulder. He’s smiling politely down at Yachi, one hand tucked into his fall coat and the other gripping an extra-large coffee cup. The tired look in his eye tells you he’d lost sleep over something, even though neither Bokuto nor Yachi comment on it.

“Hi, Akaashi,” Yachi says. “We missed you at the party after you left.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he laughs quietly. “I started to feel pretty sick, so I left.”

“Aw, that’s unfortunate,” she commiserates. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am, thank you.” He nods, his body language and manners betraying that well-spoken, gentle demeanor that everyone speaks so highly about. You wonder how many people know that Akaashi’s a complete mess before he’s had coffee and anything but gentle in bed.

He turns to Bokuto now, speaking softly. “Ready? I have to teach.”

The silver-haired man nods happily, waving at you and Yachi. “Gotta go! See you lovely ladies at lunch!”

You wave him off, flicking your eyes to Akaashi. He’s got his gaze on you as he passes, emotionless and bordering on disinterest. He doesn’t say a word to you, and then he’s gone, leaving you in the wake of his silence and his annoyingly attractive cologne.

You frown slightly, only pulled away by the sound of your name at the counter. You collect your drink and breakfast, finding Yachi scowling deeply beside you as she stares out the door.

“What an asshole,” she grumbles, only shrugging when you bite out a surprised laugh. “He didn’t even say hi to you! That’s so rude.”

“That’s just how he is,” you mutter, staring down at the lid of your cup.

That’s just how he’s always been. So why does it feel so much worse now?

–

It happens again, only twenty minutes later.

You’d left Yachi at the crossroads separating the Linguistics building and the Marketing building, waving and wishing her good luck with her morning of teaching and dissertation work. You’d trekked up to your office, dropping your things off and heading back down to the first floor quickly in order to make some copies of the handout for your Syntax discussion. You stand in the administrative office while the copies print, and then – after a full minute of arguing with yourself – you make the copies for Akaashi’s section, too. Because the two of you had always had that system, and you wouldn’t allow him to see that he’s affected you enough to impact your professional relationship.

You leave them in both mailboxes and head to the elevator, your coffee sipped slowly as you make your way down the long hallway. There’s an open classroom door on your left, a quiet voice slipping out and echoing in the empty hall.

“...the exponence of morphological features will arise differently depending on the language and its family – take agglutinating languages, for example-”

You glance toward the room, knowing that soft, steady voice anywhere.

Akaashi’s turning his back to the classroom, lifting his right hand toward the chalkboard, when you see him. He’s shed his fall coat, folded over the back of his chair now, and you take him in properly as you pass, as though in slow motion. He’s wearing his standard black slacks and white button-down, but there’s no accompanying sweater vest on top today, completely changing his cozy, boy-next-door vibe into something much more flustering.

He’s got the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled haphazardly up to his elbows, which you know is a public speaking habit of his. His left hand sits tucked into the pocket of his slacks, a few thin, silver bracelets stacked on that wrist and his tattoo easy to spot on his right forearm as he lifts it to the board. His hair falls into his eyes a bit, and his glasses sit neatly on his face, perfectly completing the dreadfully sexy professorial energy he’s exuding.

You’re hit with a wave of attraction, worsened when his gaze finds yours through the open doorway. He holds the eye contact as he turns, and you see it’s that same, detached look he’s giving you. But whatever he’s seeing on your face – likely mortifying, given the warmth flooding your face – has one of his eyebrows lifting, a scowl pulling on his lips. He tears his eyes from yours, finally pressing the chalk in his hand to the board in front of him.

“Languages like Korean, Japanese, and Turkish – although in different language families – bear their exponence in a transparent manner, with morphemes stacking in a particular way depending on how the morphological features are assigned and collected…”

You pause just past the door, out of sight, and feel entirely out of place with the strange gnawing sensation that’s beginning to form in your chest.

–

You try your best not to let him get to you throughout the day, but you still find yourself sitting in your office half an hour before lunch, anyway, wondering if you should try talking to him. You know he’s across the hall, and you wonder if maybe you just need a few minutes alone with him to figure out why he’s acting so strange. Had the party really screwed things up that much between you?

You stand and head to the door, stepping into the hall and even making it as far as the single step to his door, your hand raised to knock, before you stop. You hesitate. Maybe he’s upset with you, for whatever reason. Had you done anything bad at the party? No, you don’t think so. It had mostly been his doing, even though he’d blamed you for it outside the bathroom. You don’t think you’d actually done anything except be there, and he can’t really be mad at you for that.

Still, you turn back to your office, suddenly uncertain about confronting him. You return to your desk, settling down with a conflicted sigh and opening your laptop to keep working until lunch.

Your phone buzzes on the desk.

[1:45 PM]

Akaashi: what is it?

Your heart jumps, and you type quickly.

You: nothing

Akaashi: you were going to knock

You: it’s fine

Akaashi: just tell me.

You groan, trying to figure out what to say. ‘I wanted to see if we’re okay’ is completely unhinged and a little bit crazy, and ‘Just checking on you after the party’ is entirely out of character for you. So you just sigh and type up the best excuse you can.

You: was just gonna tell you the first video made over 500

You: and my other stuff is making money now too

You: my rent for november is covered

You: so.. thanks ig

There’s a minute or two of silence before he answers, a minute or two that feel distinctly longer.

Akaashi: …

Akaashi: you were seriously coming to say that to me?

Akaashi: out loud? here?

Akaashi: really, y/n?

You bristle, filled with an irrational anger. Obviously, that’s not what you’d been going to his office to talk about, because obviously you know better. But you hadn’t been able to come up with anything better to tell him, and now you’re being scolded for it.

And how dare he say that to you, after he’d been all over you on Saturday night? In front of all your friends, no less?

You type an angry response.

You: well i didnt DO it, did i?

You: unlike you, i have decent judgment of what should and shouldnt be done in public.

Akaashi: excuse me?

Akaashi: wtf is that supposed to mean??????

You: use that brain of yours and figure it tf out.

Akaashi: you have decent judgment of what shouldnt be done in public?

Akaashi: yet you just LOVE to keep your windows open

Akaashi: dont you, y/n

There’s a piece of you, larger than you’d ever admit, that loves to be the person who makes Akaashi Keiji’s perfect little walls come crashing down.

You: at least thats done in the privacy of my own home

You: not the privacy of someone else’s

You: especially not with all our friends right around the corner

Akaashi: oh go to hell

You: see you there, freak.

You throw your phone down and let out an irritated scream that echoes off the walls of your office. You’re certain Akaashi’d heard it, but you can’t bring yourself to care what he thinks or doesn’t think of you today.

You work until lunch, distracted and angry while you respond to emails and grade a few assignments. When Bokuto texts your small group chat asking about lunch, Kuroo’s expected response of ‘We meet every SINGLE day, Bokuto!’ coming in only seconds later, you slam your laptop shut and pack up.

Akaashi’s leaving his office at the same time as you. He frowns instantly when he sees you, and you scowl openly at him.

“Think you might have a banshee in your office,” he says tightly, pulling his door closed and walking off ahead of you. “There was a demonic scream echoing in the hall earlier.”

You roll your eyes, following him to the elevator. “Worry about your own office, Akaashi. There’s an icy bitch inhabiting your desk.”

He snorts, jamming his finger against the down button. “That’s real classy, Y/n. Can you afford lunch today, or do you need a loaner?”

You whip your head around, staring up at him in shock. His eyes slide shut right away, jaw clenched, and he lets out a deep sigh. When he looks at you again, his gaze is full of regret.

“Sorr-”

“I’ll take the stairs,” you snap, turning on your heel and marching toward the stairwell.

“Y/n-” You hear him follow behind you, even as the elevator dings with its arrival. You throw the door open, ignoring as it slams against the wall, and stomp down the five flights of stairs. He barely stops the door from shutting in his face, his voice echoing in the empty hallway as he flies down the steps after you. “Y/n, come on-”

“Fuck you,” you spit, refusing to look at him even as he’s catching up to you on the landing between the third and fourth floors.

He wraps his hand around your bicep, spinning you around to him. “I’m sorry, okay? That was fucked up-”

You snatch your arm back. “Why did you follow me, Akaashi? You want your 20% now or something? Sorry, I have to transfer it over to my bank first, if that’s fucking okay with you.”

His face scrunches up in irritation. “That’s not what I was saying-”

“You want me to cover your lunch? How’s that? You worried I’m not good for my word?” You spin back around, continuing your march. He sighs angrily behind you.

“You’re so fucking insufferable sometimes,” he snaps.

“Then cut your losses and get out while you can, asshole.”

He’s silent for a moment as he follows you, and then he’s bitter with his response. “You need me.”

You whirl around, cornering him against the wall by the fire exit on the first floor. Your voice drops to a hiss, rage seething in your veins as you lean up into his face. “I’d rather be homeless than fuck you again, Akaashi Keiji.”

He grits his teeth, and he takes your face in one hand, fingertips digging into your cheeks and squeezing tight. You let out a quiet noise of surprise, eyes widening marginally. His eyes are dead of emotion now, but you can see in the fluttering clench of his jaw that he’s angry with you.

“Don’t-” He squeezes your face and pulls you closer, breath fanning out over your lips. “-make threats you can’t follow through on, Y/n.” He lifts his brows knowingly. “You need me.”

You shudder in his grasp, eyes flicking between his and chest heaving with angry breaths. There’s a moment of panic in your chest, because you do need him. You do need him, but he doesn’t need you.

Then why is he so adamant about keeping you?

You scan him quickly, realizing that his chest is heaving, too. That he looks just as frustrated – that his eyebrow is twitching and that his eyes are searching yours. That he’s swallowing hard, waiting for your response.

He needs this, too. You don’t know why, but that much is clear to you. And it’s enough.

“What’s wrong, Akaashi?” you murmur, watching his eyes drop to your lips when you respond. “Worried I’ll find someone else to fuck and throw you away?”

His fingers tighten on your face, but you see it – the panic that you feel, reflected in his eyes. It makes your chest swell with satisfaction, and something else you can’t place. Something like relief.

“Shut up,” he hisses. “Shut up, Y/n-”

His phone rings in his coat pocket, loud and jarring and ripping you right out of this moment with him. His eyes widen, and you raise a hand to smack his arm away, and then you stumble back as he fumbles for his phone.

It’s Bokuto, if the muffled screaming on the other end is enough to tell you anything.

“Hi, Bokuto,” Akaashi mutters, the heat in his voice gone – the polite, sweet, soft-spoken walls coming right back up, brick by brick. “Yeah. I’m on my way.” His eyes flick to you, empty. “Yeah. She’s with me.” He stares right into your eyes, that dead expression solidifying on his face. “Yes. I’ll tell her to check her many messages.”

You pat your pockets quickly, wondering how you could have been so caught up with Akaashi that you’d missed something. Your eyes go wide when you look at the screen – it’s been ten minutes since you’d said you’d meet them for lunch, and Bokuto’s spam-called you six times.

[2:36 PM]

Kou: Y/N!!!!!!! ARE YOU OKAYYYYYYY??????

You type back a quick response.

[2:41 PM]

You: yes omg sorry im omw now

Kou: PLEASE DONT BE FIGHTING WITH AKAASHIIIIII

You: we’re not i promise!!! be there soon

“We’re not gonna have time to eat,” you mumble to yourself – you both need to be in Syntax in twenty minutes. Akaashi brushes past you, heading out the fire exit door.

“Walk fast and eat faster, then.”

You follow behind, sighing heatedly. “I hate you,” you bite under your breath.

“Yeah, well-” His long strides don’t have any intention of accommodating you as he heads to the dining hall. “-I’m not so fucking fond of you, either.”

By the time lunch is over, even Kuroo’s texting you asking if something had happened.

–

Tuesday morning doesn’t go much better.

You’re still angry from the day before, short of patience as you get ready to bike to the LEM meeting and already itching for another fight by the time you settle into one of the chairs in the lab room. Other people file in slowly, and you manage to mask your anger long enough to smile at everyone and ask about their weekend. Your advisor pats you on the shoulder in a fatherly way when he enters, sighing deep as he settles in beside you.

“You’re not presenting today, right?” he asks, checking his phone for emails idly.

“No, I don’t have the pilot data yet,” you mumble regretfully. He just shrugs, shaking his head.

“You have a lot going on. No need to stress about it just yet.” And then he eyes you over his bifocals. “Have you figured something out, though?”

You warm, because Akaashi’s cologne is drifting into the room, just over your shoulder. You know that he’s heard it, because he lingers for just long enough before moving to the TV that you can tell he’d been caught off guard.

“Yes,” you say under your breath, your ears burning. “I figured something out, thank you. I should be good to start data collection next week.”

“Good to hear.” Your advisor nods, and you let out a steadying breath. “Okay,” he says, louder and to the group, clapping his hands. “We have Keiji for updates first, and then-” he points between two of your other cohort-mates. “-you two can fight over who goes next.”

You watch Akaashi go straight into his 20-minute run, explaining some updates he’d made to his theoretical framing and some more thoughts he has for his dissertation. You, as usual, are convinced of his logic, but there’s something about the way he refuses to look at you – cyan eyes passing over you like you’re a ghost – that makes your blood boil. Something about the way he nearly rolls his eyes when he accidentally does meet your gaze, because he can certainly see the burning anger all over your face.

Maybe that’s why – even though you don’t have a single piece of criticism to give him – you open your mouth when he asks ‘Any questions?’ in that gentle tone you hate so much.

“I have one.”

Everyone’s head whips around to you, because you never speak during Akaashi Keiji’s Q&A session.

But it’s Akaashi’s reaction that spurs you on. His eyes fly to yours when he hears your voice, and you watch shock, confusion, irritation, and – finally – vague interest flit across his face in a matter of milliseconds.

“Okay?” he says, the confusion slipping through in the uptick of his voice.

“Your proposed analysis – what are the implications it has for research testing native Korean speakers?”

He lifts one eyebrow, and you feel the room shift.

“You’re asking me-” The other brow joins in now. “-how my research applies to yours?”

You clench your jaw, searching his gaze. He’d said it like he was offended, but you can see he’s pushing you. “I’m asking how your analysis can be used by other linguists in the field – not just to study the grammar of native Korean speakers theoretically, but to study the grammar empirically. With real data-”

“I have data-”

“You have judgments,” you snap. “Native Korean speaker judgments from your consultants. Two consultants, yes?” He nods, and you nod back. “Right. And you expect your two consultants’ individual grammars to speak systematically for the whole of the Korean grammar?”

It’s a cheap shot, but a valid one – for someone else. Not for Akaashi. You know this well enough, that the primary job of theoretical syntacticians is to formulate analyses and proposals of a language’s grammar. You know well enough that it’s not his job to figure out if his analysis will make the cut if tested with a large sample of speakers.

That’s your job. And the job of experimentalists more broadly. It’s your job to take his theory and prove it right or wrong. It’s only his job to craft his logic and evidence in a way that makes the argument worth proving.

And Akaashi knows that, too.

“What would you like me to do, Y/n?” he asks tightly. “Would you like me to run the experiment myself and put you out of a job?”

“Okay-” your advisor starts to cut in, but you speak over him.

“What about all the previous research, Akaashi? The research that’s tested syntactic analyses which differ from yours but still find supporting results? Would you like the field to throw all that away and believe you instead? How do you account for those findings? What’s the bigger picture?”

His eyes light up, molten hot. “What I’d like is a unified syntax of Korean case marking, which the field has been missing for decades. It’s up to someone like you to test my theory; it’s up to someone like me to take your results and update my analysis, over and over and over again until we get it right. That’s what linguistics is about.”

You lean forward, elbows digging into the wooden table. It’s quiet enough in the room that you can hear him breathing across the room, ragged and rough and irritated.

“If you want someone like me to go through the trouble of testing your theory, you should do a better job of convincing me it’s worth my time.” You glare hard at him, your heart skipping when you watch that wall come down. He looks exactly the same, poised and perfect and well-mannered, but his eyes betray how badly he wants to tell you exactly what’s on his mind.

So you smile at him, cold and mocking, and push him over the edge. “Or else linguistics will move on without you.”

“Okay!” you advisor says, looking between you and Akaashi with wide eyes. “I think we get it, you two. Let’s move on to someone else, please – I’m too old for this.”

You stand quickly, the chair scraping across the floor, and barge from the room.

“Y/n!” your advisor calls just as the door is slamming behind you. A moment later, you hear his voice again, muffled. “Keiji!”

The door swings open, and the sound of the lab erupting in chaos echoes through the hall, your advisor’s ‘okay, okay, settle down everyone-’ muted by the door shutting again.

“What the hell is your problem?” Akaashi bites behind you, and you glance back while you walk, finding him stalking after you. You roll your eyes, heading for your office.

“You heard my problem. Your research is isolated and inapplicable-”

“Inapplicable-”

“Goodbye, Akaashi,” you snap, unlocking the door and shouldering your way inside. You throw it shut behind you, but his hand slams down on the wood, startling you. You whirl around with wide eyes and watch him slam the door, the frosted glass window rattling from the force. The two of you are left in the silence of your office, both of your breaths audible in the space between you.

“Inapplicable?” he hisses again, eyes glinting.

“What do you want me to say, Akaashi?” you bark, letting him get in your face. “You want me to just ignore that you’re not thinking about the consequences of your own research?” You poke him hard in the chest. “If you don’t take responsibility for the work you’re putting out into the field, then don’t expect me to be okay with fumbling to use your grammar to explain my data.”

He pushes forward, cornering you against your desk. “That’s exactly what your job is, Y/n. It’s your responsibility to figure out what speakers are doing, just like it’s my responsibility to figure out how to explain that. And you’re not stupid enough to believe otherwise. We need each other-”

“No, what I need-” You stand tall, feeling his breath mingle with yours in the space between your lips. “-is to not be handed another ‘grammar of Korean’ that’s been decreed into a fucking void.”

He doesn’t say a word, just letting his eyes flit between yours angrily. He’s breathing hard, just as hard as you are, and his eyebrows are twitching as he glares down at you. You hold your ground, whispering an admission to him.

“You might be a genius, Akaashi, but you really need to be put in your place sometimes.”

You watch in real time as his demeanor changes.

The anger drains from his body language and his face, leaving him with shock and a lip that’s curling in amusement as he stares down at you with wide eyes.

“Oh, is that right?” he breathes. “And-what? You think you’re gonna do that for me?” You start to protest, but he just takes a step forward, sudden and forceful, and you take a surprised seat on the desk with a gasp. He towers over you, that smile dangerous. “You really think you can do that, Y/n? When you aren’t even confident enough in your own work?”

Your brows furrow, offended. “What-”

“With your shy little smile and your uncertain little laugh when you present to the lab-” he whispers, breath fanning over you as you stare up at him. “With that fucking look you get in your eye,” he growls under his breath. “Like you don’t know what to make of your own research. Of your own skills. Makes me fucking sick.”

You try to stand, but he just leans down, planting his hands on either side of you. His nose brushes yours, and his eyes fill with a heat that isn’t anger. It’s something else, and you can’t place it.

He lifts his eyebrows. “You think you can put me in my place? That would mean we’re on the same level, wouldn’t it? Is that what you’re saying?” When you don’t respond, he speaks slower, like he’s talking down to you.

“Are you a genius, too, Y/n?”

You scowl at him. “I’m not beneath you, Akaashi. I never have been.”

He shifts, and you finally place it – that heat in his eyes, the one that burns through you and makes your heart race.

It’s excitement.

It excites him to fight with you like this.

And the smile that stretches across his face, tinged with what you can only describe as pride, is starting to excite you, too. Because fighting with him feels good. Because you can see that it makes him feel good, too. It feels good to be pushed like this, to show someone else who you really are and be accepted for that, good or bad.

Especially the bad.

This may be the first time you’ve ever been glad that Akaashi Keiji treats you differently.

He steps impossibly closer to you, and you find your thighs parting to let him into the space before you can realize it. His smile grows, and his breath hitches in time with the lurch of anticipation that fills you, because he’s leaning down over you, forcing you to collapse back onto your elbows.

“If you’re a genius, Y/n,” he whispers, carding his fingers ever so gently through your hair. You shudder, chest heaving with a gasp when he pulls taut, fisting your hair painfully in his hand. His eyes twinkle with that terrifying excitement that makes your veins sing for him, and you’re distantly aware that he’s hard against your inner thigh. “Then I want you to fucking act like it.”

The shaky breath you let out is laced with a moan, and his gaze flies down to your lips, his smile stretching into something wild and wicked. He meets your eyes again, that blue-green gaze piercing when he asks–

“Do you think you can do that?”

You shiver, the reaction visceral and entirely visible to him. He smiles and whispers ‘I thought so’, his breath forming goosebumps on your skin.

And then there’s a hard knock on your office door.

“Y/n?” your advisor calls, his blurry shadow visible through the window as he stands just on the other side of the door – on the other side of the terribly compromising position Akaashi has you in on your desk.

Your breath catches, and you struggle against him. “Akaashi-”

He pulls you up quickly with wide eyes, and you both frantically fix your appearances in silence for the half-second it takes you to call ‘It’s open!’ to the door. Akaashi latches onto your arm and drags you forward in a panic, stepping behind you to partially shield himself from view – you have to keep from snickering, because the door’s being pushed open cautiously.

Your advisor stands in the doorway, examining the two of you with wary eyes. “Are you both alive and in one piece?”

You and Akaashi nod. “Sorry for storming out like that,” you say. “I was… a bit heated.”

The old man snorts. “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell. We had to end early because no one could focus.” He looks over your head at Akaashi. “And you left all your stuff in the lab. Were you heated, too?”

Akaashi clears his throat. “Uh… a bit?”

Your advisor sighs and shakes his head. “I’m gonna start putting you two through hell if you don’t cut it out. Force you to say nice things about each other, or look into each other’s eyes for a full minute, or something.”

You laugh nervously. “We’re fine. Sorry.”

He rolls his eyes but moves on. “Did you both apply for Ling Expo? We talked about it in the meeting, but some members of the group went missing.”

You flush, shifting your weight. Akaashi’s fingers find the back of your shirt, tugging you back to where you were so he can remained covered.

“Yes,” he says behind you. “I submitted the abstract last week.”

You nod in agreement. “Me, too.”

The man sighs, nodding back. “We’re all going again this year, so make sure to block the weekend of November 15th off.” You both make noises of understanding, and he takes a moment to look between you. His eyes narrow as he examines you, and then Akaashi over your head, and then you again. He purses his lips and hums. “There’s something about this situation that makes me want to make you leave this door open, but I’m not your father, so…”

A rush of heat washes over you, and Akaashi coughs awkwardly behind you.

“Are you allowed to say that?” he mumbles, and your advisor throws his head back, giving a belly laugh as he shakes his head.

“It’s none of my business what you two get up to in your free time.”

You chuckle nervously. “Are you allowed to say that?”

His laugh, loud and booming and satisfied, can be heard down the hall long after he’s gone.

–

Keiji collapses into his chair, slumping down over his desk and burying his face in his folded arms.

“Fuck,” he groans, muffled and inaudible outside of himself. He thumps a fist on the desk twice, overwhelming embarrassment flooding every cell in his body.

What the hell was he thinking, cornering you against your desk like that? Why is he entirely incapable of containing himself when he’s alone with you? What had you done to him – what witchcraft has taken hold over him?

When he’d woken up on Sunday, he’d spent several hours in a puddle of dread, unmoving from his bed as he’d stared at the ceiling and contemplated what to do. He’d chalked most of his behavior from the party up to the alcohol, but he also knows himself well enough to know that he’d only acted that way because those feelings – those desires that had been threaded under his skin – were lingering somewhere unreachable inside him.

He’d decided by the end of the day that he would need to overcompensate in order to keep your mutual friends from catching on to the fact that there’s a live wire inside him that sparks dangerously every time he even so much as thinks about you. He would need to be more detached than ever if he were to stand any chance of keeping this arrangement with you a secret.

And then he’d overdone it, in that cafe yesterday morning. He’d ignored you deliberately, and he could feel almost instantly when your energy had shifted. And when he’d seen you pass by his class, he’d been a mix of surprised – because seeing you had thrown his heart into his throat and had scattered his thoughts like loose paper – and desperate not to let his students see that he’d lost his train of thought. So he’d scowled at you like you were the last thing he’d ever want to see, and, in the midst of rattling off knowledge that’s been sitting idly in the back of his mind for years, he’d felt a twinge of regret that he’d reacted that way.

And he’d known that you were coming to check in on him. He’d known – by the way you’d lingered at his door, by the way your weight had shifted, by the way your steps had sounded so uncertain – that you were confused. That you wanted to know why he was acting this way. But he’d felt an overwhelming panic at the idea that you might be able to sense his real feelings for what they are – that you’d be able to see just by looking at him that he’s almost concerningly attracted to you. So he’d lashed out over text, and then he’d lashed out at the elevator bay, because even when you’d called him an ‘icy bitch’, all he could focus on was the snarky edge to your voice and how badly he’d wanted to smother it.

When you’d threatened – emptily, but anxiety-inducing nonetheless – to put this arrangement to bed and move on from him, he’d lost his mind in that stairwell. He’d lost his mind, and he’d let his nerves show. And you’d latched onto them instantly, because, as he’s coming to learn, you can read him a little too well.

And that’s terrifying.

It’s terrifying to wonder, in a room full of all of Keiji’s peers – in front of his own advisor, for fuck’s sake – if his attraction to you when you level him with that challenging glare is as palpable to everyone else as it is to him.

It’s terrifying to wonder if you can see what a confused, muddled mess of a man he’s become since sleeping with you. Ricocheting between wanting you and hating you and somewhere right in the middle, where he feels both.

He’s found himself in that middle ground often over the last 48 hours.

And then he’d cornered you against your desk, not even ten minutes ago, and bullied you to your limit – forcing the admission of your own capabilities from your lips like psychological torture, entirely unable to hide how much that had excited him. How much it had affected him, watching you fold like that for him.

But you’d shown yourself to him, too. You’d shown him how excited you’d gotten when you’d realized how he was feeling. You’d shown him that this terrible, confusing knot of uncontainable want that twists in his gut when he meets your eyes–

It’s mutual.

And that – that is more dangerous than anything before it.

Keiji sits up, hands shaking slightly as he presses circles into his temples and leans back in his chair. He slides his laptop in front of him and opens it, navigating to the site for Ling Expo in order to clear his thoughts.

A small part of a much larger conference event that hosts multiple different departments all engaging in their own specialized events for three days straight, Ling Expo is held every year in mid-November and boasts the largest gathering of linguistic scholars in the whole of Japan.

At least, that’s what it says on the home page when he scrolls through it.

In reality, the LEM members – all students of his advisor – are carted away for a weekend to Tokyo’s largest hotel and conference center, regardless of whether or not any of them are presenting. He gets out of a Friday of teaching and spends three days networking, and – luckily – hanging out with his friends, because every department at this university has a group that goes.

Thankfully, it’s all paid for by the university. And, hopefully, he might not find himself in any weird academic standoffs with you this year. The two of you had always been careful not to let your rivalry become clear externally, because that reeks of a lack of professionalism, but there was always something that would tip the weekend into a mess of underhanded comments and awkward encounters in the extensive buffet line.

Maybe this time, things would be different.

Well, things are already different, so he’s not really fooling himself with this positive thinking. Because different could be good or bad.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he closes the tab for Ling Expo while he extracts it. It’s a text sent to the group chat of the larger friend group, only ever used when Bokuto’s too impatient to text both of his smaller groups.

[12:17 PM]

Bokuto: DID YOU GUYS SEE THERES A NEW CLUB OPENING TODAY????

Bokuto: WE H A V E TO GO!!!!

Keiji sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needs is to get caught in another terrifying encounter with you, especially at some crowded club with all his friends there to witness it, but he knows how Bokuto can get when he’s told no. So he just opens his calendar, checking what else he would have had planned tonight.

There’s nothing, but there is something for tomorrow night that catches his eye and makes his heart lurch.

‘Research Updates’ is blocked off from 8pm to midnight, seemingly innocuous. Just as it had been on Saturday morning, from 8am to noon.

He sighs, staring down at the scheduled time. Is that still happening? Surely, it would be, right?

But, things between you the last two days had been anything but cordial. And you had threatened to end the arrangement, even if it had been empty.

You text the group chat back, an agreement to go, and he sighs quietly.

He supposes he can go, too.

–

The booming music pounds in Keiji’s head as he squints around in the dark. There’s a pair of hands on his shoulders, guiding him through a sea of people he would rather not be pressed into at the moment. He’s glad he’d decided to change into jeans and a t-shirt, because the slacks-button-down combo would have him soaked in sweat already.

And he’s especially glad you decided to change into a slinky black dress that he never would have guessed that you would own. You’re pushing through the crowd just in front of him now, and he’s sneaking glances down at you as the group fights to find an empty booth.

“There!” Bokuto eventually yells, stretching one of the hands on Keiji’s shoulder out over the distance, locating a singular empty booth. Keiji flinches at the noise, but he follows after you, anyway. You’ve got two hands on Yachi, who has two hands on Kuroo, who has two hands on Tsukishima, who’s complaining while he parts the crowd with his massive frame and leads the group to the table.

Keiji contemplates putting two hands on you, too, because it’s objectively most efficient for keeping the group together. But he doesn’t know how you’ll react – not after his total lapse in judgment in your office earlier. He doesn’t know if you even want him to touch you, now that your head’s probably a bit clearer than it’d been while you’d been trapped under him.

But then there’s a rush of people bumping into him, and he loses you for a moment, so he reaches out as soon as he finds you again – he justifies it as listening to instructions, because Bokuto’s screaming ‘Grab onto her, Akaashi!’ in his ear.

His hands slide across your waist, and a shiver runs down his spine at how you feel under his fingers. You jump at the contact and glance back in panic, probably thinking he’s some weird stranger trying to make a move. When you see it’s just him, you relax a little, but then your eyes fill with nerves, and you’re whipping your head back around to face away from him.

The crowd sways and shifts, forcing the line of you to bunch up in order to not be separated. Bokuto stumbles forward at some point, propelling Keiji right into you. You yelp, tripping, but he catches you, hauling you back against his chest. His breath catches and his heart rate picks up at the feeling of you pressed against him – your perfume wafts over him, and he finds himself leaning down close to your shoulder to breathe it in.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, tensing when his left hand subtly leaves the safety of your waist and slides around you, nestling you back against him more.

“Nothing,” he mumbles back, swallowing and retracting his hand back to your waist. “Just-nothing.”

You glance up at him, hearing his fumble, but it must be too dark to see the flush that spreads across his cheeks, because you only look forward again and focus on following Yachi. He examines you while the group nears the shockingly still-empty booth – he realizes your dress is riding up your thighs, likely from the stumbling and shoving that’s happening in this crowd right now. It rides up enough that he can see the lace edge of your pantyline, and he has to swallow hard, distracted by a memory of lace in other ways.

He reaches down, shielded by the dark, and tugs on the hem of your dress, pulling it back down over your ass. You yelp, looking up at him with alarm.

“Akaashi!”

He shakes his head tightly, turning you back to the front and leaning down toward you. “Your ass was out – I was fixing it-”

You sigh loudly, turning your mouth to his ear. “You can’t just put your hands on me like that-”

“I can’t?” he bites, not an ounce of heat behind it. “You were fine with it earlier-” He grunts, because you’re driving an elbow into his gut.

“Dumbass,” you grumble, but he sees the warmth in your ears, and he smiles despite himself.

Tsukishima reaches the table, and the six of you pile into the rounded booth that’s certainly not meant for six. Keiji’s chest presses against your shoulder, and you’re kind enough to angle your body with his so that you’re not digging into his chest painfully. Bokuto calls out across the table.

“I’ll get drinks!” He disappears back into the crowd, and Keiji wonders for a moment if Bokuto can carry enough drinks for six people. Kuroo seems to have the same thought, the man smacking Tsukishima on the arm and pointing out into the ocean of bodies.

“Go with him!”

The blond shakes his head forcefully. “No fucking way – you go!”

Kuroo groans but pushes Tsukishima out of the booth so he can stumble back into the crowd. Keiji relaxes with a sigh as the four of you left fill the booth more comfortably. Yachi starts rambling brightly to Tsukishima about the club, making comments about the music and the dancing. The blond just blinks back at her with empty, unseeing eyes, nodding occasionally. Keiji gets the feeling he can’t hear a word she’s saying.

You shift next to Keiji, your thigh bumping against his, and he finds himself tracing his gaze over your body while you look out at the dance floor. You feel him looking, and you glance up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to ask me to dance,” you say, your voice barely audible to him. He just tilts his head and gives you a knowing look.

“I don’t dance, Y/n.”

“Oh, you’re so cool,” you mock, cooing at him. He narrows his eyes at you, excitement spilling into his body when he sees how you tense at the glare. It makes him feeler bold – bold, like he’d been in your office, even though he’d sworn to himself only moments after that he wouldn’t do that again.

He swears you’ve cast some sort of curse on him.

He brushes two fingers over your thigh, tugging at the hem of the dress before letting it snap back to your skin. “Where’d you get this?”

You warm, looking up at him with practiced disinterest, but he can feel when your breath changes. “I’ve had it forever.”

“I like it.”

You purse your lips, frowning up at him. “You’re being weird.”

“Am I?” he asks, letting those two fingers trace circles into your thigh and smiling when he feels the goosebumps on your skin. Your eyes flit around his face, and he can see that, under the confusion, there’s anticipation. You’re waiting for him to do something.

“Y/n, look!” Yachi yells next to you, and Keiji pulls his hand back into his lap. He watches as you try, still flustered by him, to follow your friend’s excited pointing into crowd. He tampers a satisfied smile, only pulling his gaze away from you.

It lands on Tsukishima, who’s watching Keiji blankly.

Keiji’s heart drops to his stomach.

The blond flicks his eyes between the two of suspiciously, and then his gaze drops to Keiji’s throat, because he’s swallowing nervously. Tsukishima lifts both eyebrows and then looks away, returning to Yachi’s excited monologue about the well-planned design of the club architecture and decor.

Keiji’s skin hums with adrenaline and anxiety. What is he supposed to do if Tsukishima questions him? Or worse – tells Kuroo?

As if summoned by the devil, Bokuto and Kuroo reappear – they’re holding two trays of shot glasses each, and Keiji stares in shock as Bokuto lines up five shots in front of Keiji.

“Those are for you!” his friend exclaims, doing the same for you. Keiji stares at the shots.

“This’ll put me in the hospital, Bokuto-”

“I have to teach tomorrow,” you add, giving a laugh of exasperation. Bokuto waves it off.

“A problem for tomorrow!” he yells, already picking up one of his own shot glasses. He holds it out toward the middle of the table. “To new experiences!”

Keiji sighs, lifting one of his up, too, to clink against Bokuto’s, and the rest of the table follows.

“To new experiences,” he mumbles, knocking the shot back.

–

Well, Bokuto hadn’t been lying about new experiences, Keiji thinks drunkenly.

His head swims as he stares down at the five empty shot glasses in front of him, wondering where his drinks had gone. You sway beside him, holding a cocktail in both hands as you sip at it – your shot glasses are equally empty, and Keiji’s not exactly sure where you’d pulled an extra drink from.

He watches through blurry vision as Yachi and Bokuto wriggle wildly on the dance floor together, far away enough that he can only tell it’s them by their ridiculous height difference. Kuroo and Tsukishima sit huddled on the other end of the booth, heads bent together as they whisper likely obscene things to each other.

Keiji had worried for about thirty minutes that Tsukishima would tell Kuroo what he’d seen, but the blond seems to have decided that it’s none of his business what happens in this club tonight. Keiji’s grateful for it, especially now that he can see Tsukishima slipping out of the booth, his hand tight in Kuroo’s and both their faces flushed from whatever they’d just talked about. They disappear in the direction of the bathroom, and Keiji snorts to himself.

“‘s one way to do it,” he mumbles, and you lean toward him heavily.

“Hah?” you say, your body pressed against his. “What’dya say?”

“Nothin’,” he slurs, shaking his head. And then he looks down at you, taking you in. Taking in the fact that the two of you have been left alone here in the dark, still visible but not noticeable. He shifts his body toward yours, pressing your sides together while he reaches to pluck your drink from your hands. “What’s this?”

“Hey,” you pout, reaching for it, but he just holds it behind him, forcing you to lean up into his face. Your eyes go wide when you realize how close his are, and he grins down at you, open and unfiltered.

“What is it, Y/n? Can I try?”

“No!” you complain, pressing your body against his as you stretch for the drink. Keiji slips his free arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Just one sip?”

Your outstretched hand drops to his shoulder, and you say nothing about the arm he has around you. “You’re annoying,” you mumble, glaring hazily up at him. “Get yer own drink.”

He tilts his head toward you, the tequila in his breath mixing with the vodka in yours. “But I wanna taste yours,” he whispers, and your cheeks warm – he hadn’t meant anything sexual by it, but he’s not complaining if you’re taking it that way.

He lifts your drink to his lips, keeping his eyes on you and reveling in the way yours drop to his mouth, and takes a sip. It’s just a Vodka Cranberry, which he’d already guessed by the scent of your breath. He puts it back down on the table, letting you have it again. “Thank you,” he jokes.

“Whatever,” you mutter, cradling the drink again. “Why’ve you been so mean to me this week?”

“Aw,” he coos. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yeah,” you say plainly, pouting. “You made me mad. Made me wanna do bad things.”

Desire spikes in Keiji’s body. “What kinda bad things?”

“Made me wanna be mean to you, too,” you say, oblivious to the way Keiji’s looking at you now. “Made me wanna hurt your feelings, too.”

“You did do that,” he says, laughing at you. “You were so mean.”

“Not mean enough!” you argue, leaning comfortably against him as he holds you. His hand gravitates from his lap to yours, the fingers he’d just had on your drink now cold and damp against your heated skin. You shiver at his touch, and he feels his jeans start to tighten. He draws small circles into your thigh with the pad of his middle finger, his intentions plausibly deniable even though his knuckles brush up against the hem of your dress every time.

“You don’t think calling my work ‘isolated and inapplicable’ is mean enough?” he coos down at you, watching with satisfaction as your lips part and you let out a shaky breath, because his middle finger is slipping once under the hem of your dress before completing the circle. He feels a shock of excitement fly down his spine and spread out across his skin, that live wire sparking in his chest.

He glances out briefly at the dance floor, confirming that Bokuto and Yachi are still jumping around and that Kuroo and Tsukishima have completely disappeared. He’s glad to know that he has more time with you. More time to slide his cold fingers across your flushed skin, more time to feel your body press tight to his. The thought of getting caught like this – with his arm wrapped around you and his fingers hidden under your dress – passes through his mind, and he can’t help that the live wire crackles dangerously, or that his jeans are uncomfortably tight on him now. But, still, he’s glad that no one’s seeing what’s going on over here.

He doesn’t want to share this with anyone else quite yet.

“Hey,” you grumble in his ear, low and whiny enough to make his cock twitch painfully. You grip his face with one hand, turning him back to you. Keiji stares down at you with wide eyes, his breath caught in his chest when you glare up at him and mumble, “You’re not payin’ attention t’me.”

He lets out a weak laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry – were you saying somethin’ important?”

Your pout deepens, and Keiji feels himself leaning toward you, his eyes fixated on your mouth.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I was talkin’ about how you deserve to be bullied.”

He huffs in amused disbelief, just staring down at you. “Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“I have a question.”

“Mm?” You tilt your head, attention his. He starts running his fingers over your skin again, watching when you shiver.

“Are we still meeting tomorrow? Or was I too mean this week?” He swallows hard, hoping you’ll understand what he’s asking. If things are too tense between you – if the arrangement can’t be recovered, after all of his screw-ups this week.

Your eyes widen, flitting between his, and he grows a little nervous. But then your face warms, and you shift under his fingers, and your eyes drop quickly to his mouth before lifting again.

“I thought we were…” you breathe. “Are we not?”

His skin hums with the need to feel you underneath him again, the possibility of having that tomorrow night no longer hanging in the balance. But still, he has to check. “Not gonna find someone else to fuck ‘n throw me away?”

You giggle at his quote of your own words, and you shake your head. “Unfortunately for me, there’s no one else who meets all my requirements.” You grin up at him, your eyes full of humor, as though what you say next is stupidly obvious.

“‘s gotta be you, 'Kaashi.”

Keiji really regrets sleeping with you.

–

On Wednesday at 7:30pm, you find yourself slapping your hand around on the bedside table for the alarm that’s going off. You find your phone, shutting it off and tossing it down on the bed next to you.

You’d woken up at 7am this morning, dreadfully hungover, and dragged yourself to campus to teach. You’d stayed in the department until the very first moment that you were no longer needed, and then you’d Uber’d home, throwing your stuff on the floor in your foyer and climbing back into bed.

You repeat the process now, but you feel significantly better after the extra sleep. Instead of the hangover, however, your brain is burdened by the knowledge that Akaashi will be showing up at your door in thirty minutes. You groan, not for the first time today, at the memory of the humiliating things you’d said and done last night. At the way you’d draped yourself all over him and pouted up at him like an idiot, admitting that he’d gotten to you with his behavior this week.

At the way you’d admitted that there can be no one but him in this stupid arrangement.

You grumble the entire time you wait, stomping around the apartment until you hear his knock at your door.

When you wrench the door open, he looks mildly unsettled, and you know that means he’s as nervous as you.

“Hi.” He shifts his weight awkwardly, hoisting his duffel bag high on his shoulder. He flits his eyes around your face and then down to your pajamas, brows lifting. “Did you just wake up?”

“I took a five-hour nap,” you sigh, letting him in.

“Did you not eat dinner?” he asks, setting his bag down in the spot by the couch that’s slowly becoming his.

“No,” you mumble, wandering into the kitchen and digging through the pantry. “Not super hungry, anyway – just hungover.”

“Oh.” His voice sounds a bit tense, and you realize belatedly that he might have been asking if you wanted to eat dinner with him. You purse your lips, groaning to yourself. Things are still uncomfortable with him – how could they not be? You’ve spent the week bouncing back and forth between being insatiably furious with him and completely folding whenever he gets too close. Even if he seems to have reciprocated some of the confusing feelings wracking your brain lately, it can’t be easy to be dragged back and forth by your mood swings.

You emerge from the kitchen holding out a packet of smores pop-tarts to him, the strawberry flavor open in your other hand. He stares down at it and then takes it, eyes on yours. “Thanks.”

“Your leftovers from Saturday are still there,” you offer, nodding back to the kitchen. “If you want them.”

“Man, you really do hate kung pao chicken,” he jokes lamely, swallowing hard as he opens the silver packaging. You wander toward your room with an awkward sigh.

“Uhm… how many videos should we film today?” You flick your lights on and move to the closet, leaving your pop-tarts on the dresser. There’s a creak in your doorway, and you glance back to find Akaashi leaning against the door frame, his fingers tapping on the crinkly wrapper while he chews slow and drags his eyes around your room.

“Dunno… Three? Four?” He flicks his eyes to you and then away again. “Same deal as last time? Foreplay first, then sex?”

You nod, digging through your drawer full of lingerie. You look him over briefly, ignoring when he tenses under your gaze. He’s wearing baggy, light blue jeans and a form-fitting black t-shirt, tucked into his belt. You hum, plucking a simple white set from the dresser and then reaching into your closet for a pair of shorts and a baby pink graphic tee, a cute strawberry drawn on the front. You brandish the clothes at him in question.

“Girl-next-door enough?”

He nods, eyes lingering on the white lace in your left hand. “Sweet and innocent.”

You shrug jokingly. “Just like me.”

“Yeah, okay,” he snorts, shaking his head. You don’t move, and he lifts his brows at you as he’s lifting the chocolate-filled pastry to his mouth. “What?”

“Uh…” You give him an expectant look. “I have to change.”

“Oh–” He lifts off the door frame and turns in place, staring out into your living room. “Is this good?”

You roll your eyes and strip from your pajamas, tossing your shirt at the back of his head. He chokes on his snack upon contact, and you laugh while you pull the lingerie on. He clears his throat quietly.

“So… you think my research is inapplicable-”

You groan, your shoulders tensing in preparation for a fight. “Please, not now, Akaashi-”

“I’m just wondering if you meant that, or…” His voice is joking, and you know he’s just talking shit in order to fill the silence, but you’re still a little rough when you brush past him, fully dressed now.

“You know I didn’t,” you admit quietly, padding over to the spare room and hearing when he follows. “You said it yourself – I’m not stupid enough to believe that.”

“But you said it.”

“You say a lot of things, too.” You glance at him while you fluff the pillows on the bed. “What is this? Why are you picking a fight right now?”

He shakes his head simply. “Just making conversation.”

“Well, can you make conversation about anything else-”

“Like what?” he argues. “We can talk about research, or we can talk about what positions you want me to fuck you in today-”

“Okay,” you say, flushing. And then you swallow. “What… positions are we doing?”

Any heat that had been in his eyes melts away, and he lets out a breathless laugh. “Seriously?” When you shrug, a smile crosses his lips briefly before he’s smothering it. “Which one’s your favorite?”

Your eyes go wide, and you start to fluff the pillows more aggressively now, your face burning. “They’re all fine.”

“No,” he jokes, stepping close. You’d left your phone on the dresser by the door, and he brings it with him when he approaches you. “You definitely have a favorite.” He slips the device into your awaiting hand. “Tell me.”

You square your shoulders, scrolling through your apps to dim the string lights and change the color, bathing the room in a soft, pink glow. “It’s doggy,” you say without looking at him. “But they’re all fine.”

“Doggy,” he breathes back, nodding. “Understood.”

“Whatever,” you bite, gesturing to the bed in embarrassment. “Can we–?”

He lifts his brows with a grin, waving you toward it. “By all means.”

You sigh, climbing onto the bed and pointing toward the selfie stick you keep on the desk. “I’ll just hold the phone for this first part.” Akaashi goes to get it, and you slot the phone into it with ease. “Okay. Ready.”

He props himself up next to you, both of you leaning against the headboard. You click record and fix the zoom, centering yourself in the frame.

“Okay,” you breathe, settling for looking at him in the camera, because you don’t know if you’re brave enough to meet his eye right now. “We’re good. Uhm…” You think quickly about how this should go. “Just look at something on your phone, maybe, and then come in whenever you think you should.” He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, and you joke nervously. “Not your email, though. Nerd.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a hint of a smile. “Dumbass.”

You smile, refocusing the camera until neither of your faces are visible. You mess with your hair, watching the ends of it flutter on the screen, and trail your hand down your chest, kneading your breasts slowly and letting out slightly performative sighs. Your fingers dance along your thighs and between your legs briefly, and you see in the frame that Akaashi’s thumb has stopped scrolling. You don’t turn to look at him, but you do smile to yourself, watching his wrist start to go limp as he watches you, distracted.

When you slide your hands under your shirt, your fingers moving the fabric as you squeeze and touch, Akaashi slowly moves to put his phone on the table. He shifts closer, turning his body toward yours, and his hand slides across your thigh. The touch makes you shiver, his palm searing hot on your skin and his fingers kneading at the inside of your thigh appreciatively. You hear him breathe in sharply, and then he presses his chest to your shoulder and drops his head to your neck.

The feeling of his lips on your skin is more intense than it had been on Saturday. You have no idea how, but you’re impossibly more sensitive tonight, and even the breath that fans over your throat between kisses has you panting. He sets two fingers on the wrist that you have hidden under your shirt, tugging your arm away from your body and angling you so he can fill the space.

His hand disappears under your top, and a quiet moan falls past your lips – because he’s cupping your breast, his palm warmer and larger than yours. You start to tremble, your stomach flipping with anticipation and desire every time his fingers move against you. You don’t know why everything feels so different tonight than it had only four days ago, but it feels like Akaashi’s experiencing the same.

His breath is ragged in your ear, and his lips are shaking slightly on your skin, even though all he’s done is touch you. His hand moves over your body almost nervously, fingers exploring in a way that falsely reminds you of anxious inexperience.

You turn toward him. “What’s with you?” you whisper, looking him over with wide eyes. He lifts his head, and you see that his pupils are blown wide. His cheeks are flushed slightly, and his lips are parted and wet.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. And then he tugs on your shirt. “Take this off.”

You hand him the camera stick, and he makes sure to keep you in frame when you peel your shirt off and toss it to the end of the bed. You kick your shorts off, too, while you’re at it, leaving you in your matching lingerie. He hands the camera back and scoots ever closer to you, his hand sliding across your body impatiently while he presses himself to you. You let your head drop and lean your weight against the headboard, letting him explore as he pleases.

When his fingers start to dip curiously between your thighs, that nervous anticipation is firing up. You spread your legs, breathing hard as you struggle to keep everything in frame, and he wastes no time, his middle two fingers sliding over your clothed core.

“Oh-” you moan loudly, much louder than you’d expected, given that he’s barely touched you.

Akaashi notices it too, it seems, because he lifts his head to stare at you, wide-eyed. “What was that?” he breathes, and you shake your head, your lips pursed in embarrassment.

“I was faking it,” you try, despite knowing what he’d told you last time about that.

He lifts his brows, and you see that it doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t buy it. “Liar.” He touches you again, circling your clit roughly through your panties. Your eyes widen, and your lips tremble when your breath comes out. He stares down at you in wonder, watching with a growing smile as you react much more intensely than you had on Saturday. “You’re sensitive today,” he notes quietly, a little satisfied.

You don’t bother denying it, not when he can clearly see how your body is reacting to him. “So are you,” you just whisper, eyes dropping to the front of his jeans. He’s already hard. “I haven’t touched you at all.”

He shakes his head, his fingers massaging into the wet spot in your panties with purpose. “‘s not a prerequisite.”

You lift your brows at the admission. “Good to know.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not like you’re gonna do anything with that information.” He pushes your panties to the side and touches his fingers to your soaked core, and you both gasp at the feeling. He breathes hard, eyes heated as he stares down at you. “You’re not brave enough.”

“Don’t-” you hiss through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to moan when his fingers push experimentally against your entrance. “-tempt me.” You reach your free hand toward his jeans, fully intent on unzipping them and touching him, but his hand comes down on your wrist – a smack of admonishment, gentle but firm. He narrows his eyes at you when you look at him in shock.

“I’m not gonna make it that easy for you, princess.” He pulls your thigh open over his legs to free up more space for himself, and then he’s dropping his head back to your neck and nudging against your entrance more seriously.

You’re wet enough that it only takes one try for both fingers to push into you, pressed against your walls and stretching you out.

You gasp, your head falling back and bumping against the wall. “Oh, my God-”

Akaashi’s no better, his mouth open against your throat and his breath sharp and jagged. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his voice distracted and stunned. “Fuck.”

“I’m,” you start, swallowing hard when he starts to move. “I’m not gonna last long-”

He groans, curling his fingers inside you and pressing hard against that spongy spot that makes you nervous. “I want you to squirt for me,” he breathes into your ear.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “What?” you say, high-pitched and shaky. “It’s-That’s not easy-”

You’re lying. It is easy for you, scarily so. And with the length of Akaashi’s fingers – with the way he knows how to press up against that spot every single time – it’s going to be so embarrassingly easy that you’re worried you might never live it down.

“I want it,” he breathes, persistent. He sounds a little urgent, bordering on desperate. “I want you to make a mess on my fingers.”

You whine, squirming against him as he picks up speed. You feel it forming, that pressure that’s different from the normal coil in your navel. “Uhm-I-” Your breath picks up, and his palm slaps against your skin when he slams his fingers into you again. The sting of it, repeated twice more, shoves you closer and closer to that dangerous pressure. “Mm-I’m gonna-” you heave, your body trembling in his arms and your hands struggling to keep the camera straight.

“Give it to me,” he whispers, groaning when your walls start to tighten around his fingers. “Be good and give it to me.”

You black out.

You black out, and you have no idea what happens when you do. You can’t feel anything, your entire body numb and light, floating on nothing. You feel your muscles spasm sporadically with the aftershocks, but you have no idea what had happened to get you here. Your hands are limp on the bed, but you can’t bring yourself to care if the camera had captured the moment. You feel Akaashi’s fingers still inside you – still moving – but you can’t do much more than listen as he pants in your ear and whispers ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ against the side of your head.

When you finally come to, you realize that you’re lying in a puddle. And Akaashi is hovering over you, his face flushed and his eyes full of disbelief and a burning heat.

“‘zzat good?” you slur, your head slumping against his shoulder, and he laughs against you, shaking his head.

“Holy shit, Y/n,” he breathes, laughing harder. “That was-fuck.” He jostles you gently. “Are you… Let me get you some water,” he says, shifting you, but you groan in protest.

“Did you come?” you breathe, dazed, and peel your eyes open to look at him.

“No.”

“Then take your pants off,” you say, plain and direct. He looks into your eyes for just another moment, gaze tracking you and analyzing your energy, but you just level a frown at him. “Do you want to come or not, Akaashi?”

His brows lift, and his eyes flick down to the soaked blanket under you. When his gaze finds yours again, that heat is back.

He stands quickly, leaving you to shake the numbness out of your bones as he strips and moves impatiently to get the tripod. He sets your phone up with practiced fingers, and you sit up, shaking your head to clear it and sliding your panties and bra off.

“God, that was intense,” you breathe with a laugh. He glances back at you, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You sure you’re good?”

“Super good.” You nod once, and then you beckon him toward you. “Hurry up, before I start to care what you think again and get embarrassed that that just happened.”

His burst of laughter echoes off the walls, and you feel pride at having drawn it out of him.

And then he climbs over you, and everything that’s not him fades into the background.

His eyes are steady on yours, but he moves with a decided lack of control, and that – his urgency – makes you more nervous than anything else. You lie back against the pillow and spread your legs for him, watching with bated breath as he shoves his boxers off impatiently and slots himself between your thighs. He leans over you, and one of his hands clamps down over your mouth while he lines himself up at your entrance.

He takes a breath, eyes flicking to yours, and you see the anticipation in them. Like he’d been waiting for this all week.

You’d been waiting, too, you realize.

He sinks into you in one press of his hips, and your back bows off the mattress. You moan loud against his palm, your eyes rolling back, and the groan he lets out – unfiltered, desperate – embeds itself into your skin. You struggle to breathe, to find your lungs when all you can feel is Akaashi inside you.

Your eyes focus and unfocus, searching uselessly for him while he slams his other hand down on the headboard to steady himself before setting a pace that makes your vision flicker. Your hands fly up, too, pressing back against the headboard to keep you from crashing into it.

Akaashi’s hand falls from your mouth when he realizes that you’re not making noise, and it becomes clear that you can’t. Your mouth just hangs open, breath ragged and short while you gasp. Your eyes meet his, and he grins down at you.

“How’s that, princess?” he teases, panting tightly. “Still wanna find someone else to fuck? Or am I really the only one?”

He’s taunting you, torturing you. It makes some part of you angry – the part that hates him, so distant right now – and you try to argue.

“You’re only bitching-” You gasp sharply when the head of his cock bumps against your g-spot, scarily accurate like last time. “-because you got what you wanted-”

His next breath comes in a low growl, and he angles his hips so that he can hit your weak spot more easily. Your body shakes with each slam of his hips against yours, but you hold onto a shred of your sanity.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s so needy for me-”

“Look in the mirror, asshole,” you bite, using every ounce of your energy to keep this up. But he presses two fingers against the seam of your lips, shoving them into your mouth. You choke around them, and he moans, because your walls flutter tightly around his cock at the feeling of his fingertips hitting the back of your throat.

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up and get me off,” he snaps, gritting his teeth when your tongue curls wantonly around his fingers. “Maybe if you’re good at it, I’ll let you come again.”

You whine, despite yourself, and feel that twinge of need – the one that had reared its ugly head on Saturday. The need to give him what he wants, to fold for him and do what he says.

And then it hits you–

That this is what you’d felt all week.

That the gnawing in your chest and the frustration in your bones and the disorienting need to get his attention – good or bad – is exactly this. This need to bend to Akaashi Keiji’s will, because he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

You’re filled with an overwhelming rage, and you nip your teeth against his fingers – not hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to shock his system.

Akaashi’s eyes go wide, and he hisses and draws his fingers from your mouth, wet and dripping saliva on your skin. “What the fuck?”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you snarl, one of your hands leaving the headboard to shove against his chest. He stops moving, sitting up on his knees and staring down at you in confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

You shove him again, and he catches your wrist, his eyebrows furrowing.

“You’ve been messing with me all week on purpose,” you spit, and then you sit up, startling him. You use the moment to latch onto him and roll him onto his back, swinging your leg over his waist and straddling him. He stares up at you, wide-eyed, as you try to take control of this. “You’ve been hot and cold, and rude and flirty,” you snap, lifting your hips just enough to sink down onto him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his eyes roll back briefly, a quiet moan slipping past his lips. You plant your hands on his chest, finding a rhythm in his lap that has him gripping your waist tight. You grit your teeth and talk through the waves of pleasure, the ones that start in the crown of your head and make it hard to focus.

“You teased me at the party. And then you acted like I didn’t exist at the coffee shop.” You struggle to keep your breath, your movements growing unstable. His eyes search yours, alarmed.

“What-”

“You acted like I was a burden all day on Monday, and then you fucked with my head in the stairwell.” You glare down at him, hating wide-eyed way he’s watching you. “You fought with me in my office – you liked fighting with me-” You thump your fist weakly down on his chest while you bounce in his lap, angry – but not angry enough. It’s starting to fade into something else. Frustration that he’d played you, and confusion that he looks so confused. “And then you treated me like I was the only thing you could see at that stupid fucking club last night.”

The humilation creeps in – the embarrassment that you’d let this happen. You’d let him humiliate you. It makes your eyes prickle, and you squeeze them shut angrily. Akaashi slides his fingers roughly into your hair, holding tight when you try to shove him away.

“I hate you,” you say, choked and upset and refusing to look at him.

“Listen to me-”

“I hate you-”

“Listen to me.” He fists your hair tighter, jostling your head with enough urgency that your eyes fly open to find his. He’s glaring up at you now. “I’m not doing any of this on purpose.” You’d stopped moving in his lap at some point, too overwhelmed, but he bends his knees now, angling you against his thighs. You gasp when he starts to move, thrusting his hips up and using his one-handed grip on your waist to keep you steady.

“You think I wanted this?” he barks, snapping his hips up and bouncing you roughly against him. “You think I wanted to lose face at that fucking meeting? You think I wanted to fight in the stairwell like that?” His face twists into an angry scowl, and it’s your turn to be confused. “You think I want to get drunk and be unable to keep my hands off you? Huh?”

What-

What?

Akaashi’s hand slides out of your hair, dropping to the base of your throat. His fingers wrap around your neck, and your stomach flips with desire when he squeezes tight. You sigh in relief, the feeling of his palm against your throat when you swallow heavenly. He uses his grip to pull you close, until your nose brushes his. He sets a brutal pace with his hips, fucking up into you while he stares you down angrily.

“You know better than that,” he hisses.

You start to shake over him, your desire mounting. “I-”

“You do know better, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice dangerously even. His eyes burn with anger. “Why are you acting like that? You told me you were smart.” His voice shakes a little, and you can see him struggling to keep up – his cheeks flush and his ears burn red, and he’s starting to pant, broken in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“I am,” you whisper, a bit whiny now. “I am smart – you’re just too confusing.”

The anger in his eyes solidifies into something worse. Something cruel and wicked.

“Then stop trying so fucking hard,” he snarls, slamming his hips up into you. You dig your nails into his shoulders, his sharp inhale clear in your ears. “Stop trying to figure this out.”

You shake your head hard. “I won’t. I can’t-”

“Oh, you can’t?” He mocks, and the edge in his voice kicks and shoves you right to your orgasm. “You won’t, is that it? Even though I just told you I’m not doing this on purpose?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The idea that Akaashi’s just as affected as you are – just as much a victim to whatever this is as you are – fills you with a terrifying feeling. A feeling close to freedom, close to something that makes you want to throw everything away and give in to him. Because it’s not his fault, either, then. Because – if he’s not doing this intentionally – then there’s no one to blame.

And if there’s no one to blame, then you’re going to stop fighting the way you feel around him.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes open without your permission. Cyan stares back.

“You think I’m doing this on purpose?” He’s breathless and frustrated, searching your face. “Look at me.” His eyes are filled with emotion – that same caution you feel, not wanting to give into this if you’re not going to give in with him. His grip tightens on your throat, and he pulls you close, whispering into the breath of space between your lips.

“You know me better than that.”

When he falls, he takes you with him. And, as much as you want to fight it – kicking and screaming – you don’t.

You just wrap yourself around him and fall.

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #akaashi keiji #akaashi smut #akaashi x reader

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kookslastbutton · 5 months ago

Text

just one kiss ༓ kth (m)

✑ Summary: You and your husband always seem to want each other at the most inconvenient times. Tonight, it happens to be right when you're about to sleep before your next work shift. You find it harder and harder to say no.

pairing: Taehyung x reader (f.)

genre/AU: PWP, fluff, smut, established relationship, married au, comfort

word count: 3.6k

warnings: softdom!taehyung, sub/minor switch!reader, swearing, kissing, asking for consent, f*inger*ng, ✨sensual✨ but also r*ough penetrative s*x (oc on the birth control), big d*ck, light neck b*ting/sucking, praise kink (both), body worshipping, pleading (tae just wants to please...), hint of possessiveness, hint of banter, m*ssionary/two ways, t*t sucking/f*ndling, impr*g kink (both), multiple org*sm, mentions of aftercare, Tae being a little whiny at first, he calls her baby/darling, mentions of vintage, rated R movie

now playing: Where I Belong by Bobby Bazini, Drops of Jupiter by Train

a/n: I have nothing to say other than I've been on a writing spree this week and this happened....heh 😅 Taehyung's Type 1 photos made me do it! Okay, bye! Hope you enjoy 🤍

Taehyung looked more than handsome when he came home tonight, the buttons of his dress shirt undone just enough to let your eyes greedily wander his smooth, tanned chest. The sleeves were neatly rolled up to his elbows too, displaying his rather muscular biceps.

He’s been working out with the guys more frequently the last few months and yes, you’ve been silently benefiting from it.

Of course, you loved the way he looked before too —he’s sexy either way.

Despite feeling very much teased by your husband (though it wasn’t his intent), your evening consisted of dinner and a movie instead. It's an old, vintage film he's been dying for you to see for ages—an underrated classic assigned by his college professor during his final semester. When you caught sight of the VHS tape in his hands earlier, you quickly connected the dots of what the evening would look like.

But while both of you initially immersed yourselves in the black-and-white film, things gradually changed about halfway through when a number of rather steamy scenes started playing.

"It's not exactly about the sex," your husband explains as matter-of-factly as he can. "It's passion between the two main leads who've been repressed for so long. Not only by society but also from their own set of social standards. They're finally breaking free."

"Gotcha," you nod, "I suppose it's a turning point for them then." You continue watching the movie until one of the leads begins climbing over the other, stripping the other of their clothes. "God Tae, they're really showing a lot here. I wasn't expecting this much action for a movie made in the 40s."

Tongue in cheek, he studies your somewhat taken aback facial expression. "You see why it's such an underrated film for its time?"

"Mhm," you reply, your throat suddenly feeling dry. "I'm, uhm, I'm beginning to see."

Once you're certain his attention is back on the TV screen, you sneak a quick look at him. He’s completely serious, appreciating the artistic direction of the film. Meanwhile, you on the other hand are suddenly getting very distracted by past images of your husband's naked body flashing through your mind (No thanks to the film he’s chosen).

Fuck __, get it together, you scold yourself.

You're never typically this affected by a cinematic sex scene for fuck sake.

"You okay?" His deep voice jolts you in surprise.

You smile, hoping you seem composed. "Uh, yes, fine. Just...enjoying the movie."

Taehyung hesitates for a moment, appearing somewhat suspicious, then responds with a simple, "Good. I'm glad."

Once the movie ends, you both climb into your shared bed, feeling mutually exhausted. You're rolled on your side now, him behind you with a hand secured around your waist. Taehyung's embrace feels so comforting with how close he holds you.

But then, you feel a subtle poke in your lower back and it tells you everything you need to know about where his next agenda is heading; he’s hard.

You’ve been pretty worked up since your head hit your pillow yourself, however, the movie took over three hours to finish. Your body is not nearly strong enough for any messing around tonight, plus you have work in less than eight hours. You simply do not have the time or energy.

Taehyung thinks otherwise.

“Baby?” his breath tickles your skin as he presses himself against your back. Long, gentle fingers find their way under the material of your shirt easily. The touch is cool against your warm skin, causing you to shiver ever so slightly. “Baby, are you awake?” he tries again, voice laced with the richest honey.

Fuck, you curse to yourself, he’s decided to use that voice; his seducing voice. Okay fine, who are you kidding— it’s his normal voice. After all, it doesn’t take much for him to turn you on with that naturally husky voice of his.

You can’t give in though. You seriously have work at the crack of dawn, and if you let him have his way now, you’ll be at it all night. Taehyung likes to take his time with you whenever you're intimate, per usual. Or, alternatively, the two of you end up abandoning all self-control, choosing to go round after round instead.

“Mm,” you let out a sleepy groan, “Not tonight, Tae. I have work in the morning.”

Subtly, you close a hand over his to stop his movements. Somehow, during all your thinking, they managed to travel dangerously close to your boobs.

“I haven’t even told you what I want yet,” he protests, a near pout.

You stifle an amused chuckle. “I'm no stranger to what you’re doing, Tae. We’ve been together far too long for me not to know. I can also feel you in my lower back,” you note, referring to how hard he’s gotten. “Tomorrow we can do whatever we want. Wait one more night.”

Your husband buries his face into the crook of your neck, attempting to snuggle into you. “Promise?” He presses a feather-like kiss to the delicate area and you can’t resist the faint moan that it elicits. Your neck has always been highly sensitive, which your husband knows all too well.

“I promise,” you barely manage to form a reply.

“Seal it with a kiss?” He asks as innocently as he can. Though, you have to question his antics. You really wanna turn your head around and kiss him like he wants, so badly. But what’s stopping you? The fact that his lips are always so soft and you know you’ll be after more.

Fuck, now you want him.

"We kissed plenty of times earlier, didn't we?" you struggle to keep yourself composed, voice cracking.

"Not nearly enough. Please, baby, I missed you the entire day. One kiss.”

God, you sigh inwardly, he’s too fucking hard to say no to.

“We’ll go to sleep right after,” you state as sternly as possible, twisting your neck until you're eye to eye with your husband. It’s dark in your bedroom, but you can tell by how lust-blown his eyes are that he’s just drinking you up.

“You’re so beautiful,” he rasps, catching you completely off guard. You blush instantly, cheeks flaring with warmth. You hope your husband won’t notice due to the pitch blackness of the room, but he does, given the cheeky smile that spreads across his face. “Oh god, I love you so much,” he says, then presses his lips firmly to yours in a passionate kiss.

Not another word slips out from either of you for the next half minute, your mouths instead moving against each other rhythmically. You both let out breathy moans as your tongues begin fighting for dominance (your husband wins easily). You didn’t mean for it to go this far, really you didn’t. Nonetheless, here you are in a heated make- out with your husband, one hand lifted above your head to thread through his silky hair.

Taehyung grunts the rougher you pull and slides his own hand to your inner thigh, gripping it tight and prying it open. Naturally, you roll on your back which he gladly takes as his opportunity to pull you towards himself.

With your bodies facing each other on your sides, his bare chest comes flat against yours, Taehyung lifts one of your legs until it comfortably snakes around his hip.

“Tae,” you struggle to catch your breath as he begins planting kisses up and down your neck, “We can’t…I...have to work.”

He doesn’t reply, choosing to suck along the delicate part of your neck instead. Your eyes roll up in response, every nerve in your body feeling like they’ve been set on fire.

“Tae, baby-” you start again, but he hushes you.

“Darling,” he coos, “we’re kissing right now. I’ll stop if you want me to, but don't you think work can wait for a while?” He then nips at your jaw before capturing your lips again. They’re going to be bruised if he keeps this up. “Do you really want me to stop? Say the word and I will.” He’s looking at you now, patiently waiting for your answer. You think he’s quite sneaky for leading you into his honeytrap, but who are you fooling…you want this.

“You’re right, screw work.” You then pull yourself over his body, forcing him to lay on his back as you sit up and straddle him. “I love you.” You then lift your top over your head, revealing your naked chest to him. He’s seen it a million times and each time he looks at you with such widened eyes, so full of awe.

“I-“ he starts, bringing his hands up to gently caress your sides. The pads of his thumbs circle over your skin soothingly and you hum in satisfaction. “I love you too,” he finally says. “You’re so fucking amazing. My best and worst dream wrapped into one giant tempt-“

“Okay Tae, shh," it's your turn to hush him now, sweet as you can as you roll your hips forward and into his. It's just enough to draw out a throaty moan. “I think it’s clear we both love each other quite a lot hm? Because I adore you too," you add.

He nods in understanding.

“Then,” you lean forward until your centimeters from his face, ass in the air. “Fuck me.”

A growl like you haven’t heard before instantly drops for his lips. Taehyung grabs your waist with sturdy hands and flips you both over, his body hovering over yours so closely as your back hits the mattress. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, fingers dancing along your sides. “May I?” You know exactly what he’s asking for so you nod.

“Please do.”

His palms move up to your breasts not a second later, thumbs rolling over the hardened peaks. Your back arches into hands at the friction, eliciting soft, drawn out moans from both of you.

“Shit,” he swears, hands tightening around you as he gropes your tits, “I want to suck them,” he deadpans and you nearly choke at the bluntness. Usually, he asks permission for a second time, but he doesn’t this time…not that you mind the subtle change.

“Go ahead,” you give him the green light and it’s all he needs before bringing his lips down to close around your boob. Your jaw clenches as his tongue sensually licks around a nipple, gently biting it now and then. It’s clear that the wetness between your thighs only increases with every movement. “Please, need more. It feels so good, but it’s not enough…fuck!”

You gasp when his tongue suddenly moves from your breast and latches itself to the ridge of your neck. You want to tell him not to leave marks where you can’t cover them up, however, he’s far too convincing that you don't.

“I know baby,” he hums, disgustingly seductive, “we’ll get there but let’s be patient, hm? Your body looks so perfect right now. Wanna savor it a little longer. Is that okay? Will you let me do that?”

The gentleness of his request, paired with his ridiculously deep voice, sends literal shivers up your spine. You want him to fuck you here and now, yet you feel yourself bending to his will. But no, that won’t work tonight. You hate to say it but you really are pressed for time.

“I-Taehyung if we don’t fuck soon, it’ll be dawn and before we know it I’ll have to leave and the last time we tried-“

“Alright, easy darling,” he relaxes you from your long winded argument with a small chuckle, “I concede. I’ll fuck you.”

You feel yourself clench in anticipation as you watch him get up to remove his pants, swallowing hard when his generous length meets your eyes.

You shouldn’t stare.

It’s not polite to stare.

You’re shameless, truly, because you can’t take your eyes off of him.

“Look at me, baby,” Taehyung calls you out of your daze, to which you quickly lift up your chin to meet his piercing gaze. “Tell me what you’re thinking in that pretty head of yours.”

“I…want to suck it,” you admit, no longer able to hold yourself back.

Your husband hums at your response and climbs back towards you on the bed, stopping near your legs.

“Suck what?”

“Uhm, well,” your voice wavers and you don’t know why, other than the fact that you are getting major distracted by the way his fingers smoothly guide your knees up, prying them apart.

“Yes? I’m still listening.”

Being that you’re wearing shorts, Taehyung moves his head between your spread legs and presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Say it,” he encourages, “we both know the answer anyway.” You can feel him practically smirking against your leg.

“Don’t be cocky,” you counter, not yet realizing the weight of your reply until Taehyung directs his gaze on you with an amused expression.

“I think we both concluded a long time ago that that’s pretty near impossible for me, don’t you think?” He replies, earning a brief chuckle from you. Not before a small, exaggerated eye roll of course.

“Alright, you win. I want your cock,” you say, “No more of this cat and mouse game, but I'm so riled up. I need you inside me. You’ll let me suck you off tomorrow though, right?”

“If that’s what you want, darling. I’ll do anything for you.” He grazes the band of your shorts before continuing. “For now, these are going to need to go.”

You nod and he slips the thin material, along with your underwear, off your body. “Fuck,” he swears, taking in your naked form. “I’ll never get over the fact that you look like this. So beautiful, and only mine to see. Fuck. I don’t deserve you.”

With a single finger, he begins tracing up your center, easily feeling the wetness that’s gathered between your thighs. You don’t have time to feel even a shrivel of embarrassment when he begins sinking into your velvety walls, all the way down to the knuckle.

“Oh god, n-no, you deserve it. You definitely deserve it,” you stutter, back arching into his touch as he curls his finger in you. He then slips a second finger next to the first, to which you involuntarily clamp down on. “Fuck, your hands feel so good, Tae.”

Your praise evidently encourages him as he moves his fingers faster in you, curling them against your sweet spot repeatedly until you’re sure your neighbor, the one who lives across the street from you, can hear you.

“I’m gonna come!” You suddenly shout, the first orgasm of the night washing over you in the seconds following. When Taehyung slips his fingers out of you, it’s no surprise that they’re completely covered in your come. Per usual, he cleans them off himself and your core clenches at the action.

“I need to feel you,” he says shortly, bringing his body over yours until he’s directly above you, eye to eye. “Please, I’m so hard right now.”

You nod eagerly, feeling similar. “I need you too. Please...please fuck me.” The tip of his cock drags along your entrance, sliding against your slit before finally pushing in. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles together.

"Shit," he swears, bottoming out in you, "So wet, you're so wet, baby."

He starts a slow, steady pace at first, fucking into you deeper with each thrust of his hips. It's not rough, but rather sensual, as he loves nothing more than sinking himself into slowly, until you're letting out moan after moan, his name the only word on your lips.

"Let me hear you, darling," he coos, dragging his length all the way out before pushing back in, "I want to hear all your pretty moans tonight. Fuck, you feel amazing, do you know that? Such a perfect pussy."

His praises make you absolutely delirious as you toss your head back, eyes fluttering shut to bask in the pleasure.

"Am I making you feel good, too?" he continues. "Let me know if I am. I wanna make you feel nothing but mine; my darling, my wife."

"Yes, fucking yes. You're making me feel amazing Tae-" Your arms wrap up around his upper back, nails digging into his shoulder blades helplessly. Taehyung winces at the slight pain but doesn't stop his movements, preferring to bury his face into the small juncture between your neck and shoulder instead.

He then returns the favor by nipping at the area with his teeth, not enough to hurt, but enough that you give a short yelp. He licks over it after, soothing it gently.

"Oh g-god," you moan breathily, "I-I think I'm gonna come again." You find yourself clenching around him right then, and it takes your husband off guard as his balance slips, his body falling into you immediately. His elbows manage to re-stabilize himself and to your demise, allows him a new angle to fuck you from—one that's deeper, faster, and causes your legs to wrap around him tighter.

"Come for me," he nearly growls, gradually picking up his pace as he thrusts himself into you rougher, "I wanna feel you come on my cock. Can you do that for me, baby? Fuck, don't hold back."

"I'm c—" You have your release before the words have the chance to fully form, your husband covered in you for the second time of the night. "Please," you start a plead. "I want you to come too. Tell me how you want me. On my hands and knees, yes?"

With a soft hand, Taehyung lovingly caresses your face and presses a tender kiss to your lips. "I want you just like this, actually," he says, not an ounce of demand in his tone, "that way, I can see your beautiful eyes when I fuck into you. But I want your legs over my shoulders....if that sounds good to you."

As if you didn't just have your release, you feel your thighs threatening to clamp together at his request. "Yes," you agree hurriedly, "Anything sounds good, I just want you. And I want you to come too.”

With that, Taehyung straightens his back, throws your legs over his sturdy shoulders, and starts fucking into you mercilessly. He's fucked you sensually, worshipped your body from head to toe, praised you, and now? He's gonna finish in you.

"Holy shit," his grunts are labored as he chases his high, desperate to finally have his release. "Too m-much...so fucking good! I'm going to breed this pussy tonight, tell me how bad you want it, baby. Tell me...please."

It's inevitable that his desire to get you pregnant slips out, as it happens nearly every time you fuck. You share the same desire too, however, contrary to what just fell from his lips, he most certainly will not be getting you pregnant tonight—you're still on the pill. One of these days you might just let both your dreams come true, but for now you'll play into the fantasy.

"I do, I want it so bad," you moan, legs shaking as his cock plunges into you, his hands gripping around your hips. "Give me your babies, Tae, I want the—"

"Shit, I'm gonna come!" he suddenly announces, his thrusts growing messier as he twitches in you. He's dangerously close to finishing, and so are you; for the third time of the night.

"Come in me, baby," you struggle to say, "You deserve it so much, fuck, come in me Tae! Don’t stop, I wanna feel you cover me.

"Fuck!" He thrusts in you one last time before the cord within him finally snaps, ropes of his come filling you up instantly. He then lazily fucks you a few final times, attempting to ride out his high before setting your feet back on your mattress.

"I can't believe," he pants, now laying on his back beside you, "we nearly skipped all of this tonight."

"Yeah well, I was tired," you reply. "But I was also extremely wound up and that movie we watched might have had something to do with it."

Taehyung turns his face to you with a playful smile. "I know," he says simply. "I could tell from how hard you were trying to concentrate on the movie that you'd rather be jumping me."

"I-What? When did I give that impression?" You meet his eyes in shock. You thought for sure you were keeping yourself pretty well under wraps.

"Darling," he draws your face towards his to peck your lips, "you can only sneak glances at me so many times before I'm bound to notice. Not to mention the amount of times you excused yourself to get a glass of water when you had one sitting in front of you, on the coffee table, the entire time."

"Oh," is all you reply with, warmth spreading on your cheeks.

"For future reference, if you want to pause the movie and hm, do other things," he exaggerates his words, lifting a corner of his mouth into a faint smirk, "you only need to ask. I'll never say no to you."

"Evidently, same here," you chuckle lightly, "I'll consider it for next time. I'm actually really tired now."

"Me too, we should clean up and get to bed. I'll get you a towel," he rolls off the bed and heads straight for your joint bathroom.

"I love you!" you call out, though you're unsure that he heard you until he pokes his head out from the doorframe.

"I love you too, stay there okay? I'll be back in a second," he flashes a grin at you, then ducks back in.

Well fuck, you think, you're never giving him up—ever.

a/n: yeah, he's my dream 🫠 Now, I'm going to be good and go continue my series lol.

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

#taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #bts imagines #bts fanfics #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts smut #bts au #taehyung x reader #fic:justonekiss #kookslastbutton

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livwritesstuff · 8 months ago

Text

Steve’s oldest daughter Moe is unusually quiet on the drive home from her college apartment in New York City.

She was supposed to be doing this drive with her younger sister Robbie (who had bullied Steve and Eddie into letting her bring a car with her to college), but then Robbie and her friends had actually managed to squirrel away enough money for an impromptu trip to D.C. for their spring break, and Moe had still wanted to visit home even without a ride.

Steve had made a whole show acting all put out over having to make the four hour drive between her school in NYC and their house in the Massachusetts suburbs (twice, he’ll add — he’s been on the road for six hours so far with a couple more to go) but, truthfully, there isn’t much he wouldn’t do to spend time with his kids, especially since the older two have firmly graduated to young-adult status, and he easily could have put her on a train.

“So what’s goin’ on with you, Moe?” he finally asks when the quiet stretches a little to far.

Moe shrugs, and then she says, “I was wondering something.”

“Go for it.”

“You and Dad, like…you were older when you started dating, right?”

Steve pauses for a moment, allowing himself to consider what might qualify as older to his twenty-one-year-old daughter.

“I guess it depends on what you mean by older,” he settles on telling her.

“I mean, you weren’t in high school anymore, even though you knew each other in high school.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, “I was halfway through grad school, so twenty-six, I think, and you know Dad’s not even a year older than me.”

Moe nods in return, and then she asks, “And you were friends before anything else happened? Like, for a while?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve replies, “Dad, and Aunt Nancy, and Aunt Robin were my best friends. Still are, obviously, just…different over time.”

“But, like, how–” Moe stops, and Steve can tell without needing to look away from the road to check the way her eyebrows are furrowed, the way they’re crinkled in the middle just like they always are on the rare occasions Moe can’t find the words she needs. She lets out a short exhale, “How did you know that it changed?” Before Steve can answer, Moe shakes her head, “How did you know that what you were feeling wasn’t, like, friend things anymore? Or, like, that it was more than just friend things.”

“Uh,” Steve pauses, running a hand through his hair, “Honestly, Nancy kind of told me.”

Moe’s head turns in his direction.

“Aunt Nancy told you?” she asks, “Pop…that’s so lame.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happened.”

“Why?”

Steve thinks about it for a second. It’s funny, he doesn’t actually put too much thought into that time in his life – the seven years that had lapsed between becoming friends with Eddie in the aftermath of everything with the Upside Down and when they’d finally gotten together. That was nearly thirty years ago, after all, and Steve hasn’t ever really been the type to dwell on the past. He takes a moment to dwell on it now and remembers how long it had taken him to notice the dull ache behind his ribs and the anxious somersault his stomach had done every time Eddie so much as looked his way.

“I mean – yeah, you’re right. It’s…it’s not easy when you’re close with someone for a long time and then the way you feel about them changes, because, you know, it’s not – I mean, it’s not like it changes overnight. It’s gradual, so…yeah, it’s not easy.”

“Yeah,” she quietly agrees.

“Nance, just – well, you know Nance. She just clocked it before I did, and I guess she didn’t have the patience to wait it out. Once I knew though, it was, like, super fucking obvious. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t known before.”

Moe’s laugh is nervous in a way Steve isn’t sure he’s ever heard before, and if there’s a friend of Moe’s she might be feeling differently for, he thinks he might have an idea which one. Moe is a hell of a lot smarter than him though, and this conversation is telling enough that she won’t need things spelled out for her in the way he had with Eddie thirty years ago.

“It was hard,” he continues, because he has a feeling Moe might need to hear more even if she isn’t asking for anything specific, “I – I mean, I actually liked dating when I was your age, believe it or not. I thought it was fun, or whatever, and it wasn’t really a thing that made me nervous, you know? With your dad, though…shit, I was terrified, because it’s a different kind of risk than just shooting your shot with someone you run into and hit it off with.”

Moe nods.

“I think the reason it’s so freaky is because falling for someone you’re friends with is never just a crush. I knew there was something big there. I know you guys hate when Dad and I are all sappy, but he was never just some guy I was dating. He was it for me from the very beginning.”

Moe mumbles something under her breath that Steve doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“I don’t hate it,” she says, her voice still pretty low, and Steve knows that must have been difficult for her to admit so he doesn’t comment on it (though he will be telling Eddie as soon as he possibly can – obviously).

“Well, I’m just saying,” he replies, “I wasn’t feeling that way for nothing, and things turned out pretty good in the end. If someone was in a similar situation, I’d tell them…” he pauses, and then laughs as he says, “I’d tell them to not wait seven years to get a good thing started.”

“Alright,” she replies, “I’ll…yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

#idk what this is #ur a real one if you know who moe is talking about lol #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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samandcolbyownme · 16 days ago

Text

Summary: Who knew you could find a lot more than a basketball game at The Garden.

Warnings: Swearing, heavy flirting, mostly fluff

Word Count: 2.4k | unedited

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

“We should probably go find our seats.” You nudge Laura, “I think the game is about to start.”

“We have time, relax.” Laura laughs, “Have you ever been to a basketball game like this before?”

You shake your head, looking around, “No, the only basketball game I’ve been to was my high school team, who absolutely sucked.”

“Well, the Celtics don’t suck.” She looks at you, “That’s who you’re rooting for, right?”

“Well yeah, obviously.” You shake your head and pull your phone out of your pocket. You snap a picture of the court, tagging the team before posting it to your Instagram story.

“Alright. I’ll catch you guys later.” Laura turns around, “I’m so glad you got offered courtside seats.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how. They just dm’d me asking if I wanted to come, I figured it would be fun and I know you like them so.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

You laugh, “That’s okay. I’ll just settle on you buying me dinner afterwards.”

“Oh that’s a good deal.” She glances back at you as she walks towards the steps. You follow her down and find your seats at the end of the court.

You look around, feeling kind of underdressed at some of the other girls are dressed up, heels and all.

“Stop that. You’re good.” Laura nudges you, “You dressed perfect.” You furrow your brows, “How do you know when I do that?”

“I know you.” She smirks, “A little too well, at that.”

“It’s kind of scary.” You laugh, turning your attention back to the court.

Halfway through the first quarter, you pull out your phone, snapping a picture of your jeans, sneakers, and the game that’s going on.

Taking a video and adding it too while you’re at it.

You’re an influencer at a popular basketball game, might as well give them the publicity you think they invited you for, right?

“This is actually quite entertaining.” You lean in to Laura, booing when the crowd boos. You were getting into it.

You bring your phone up, smirking as you see an Instagram notification - Christopher Sturniolo replied to your story.

You angle your phone, smirking at Laura, “Look who just-“

“Girl, you better get on that.” She nods, “What did he say?”

You tap on it, biting your lip as it opens into the thread, if you look closely I’m in the background of that video.

You click on the story and rewatch it, smirking when you see a quick glimpse of Chris. You swipe out and type back, Look at that, you are. Enjoying the game so far?

As you stare down at your phone, Laura nudges you and you look over at her, then to the direction she’s pointing.

A smile washes over your lips as you see Chris, Nate, and Matt on the Jumbotron.

You watch as they all smile and wave and then sure enough, your face is on it. It rapidly changes to a smile, to a shocked expression, then to a happy expression as you and Laura both wave.

“Oh my god that was embarrassing.” You mumble as you sink down into your chair, “I didn’t expect that.”

“We’re beautiful women sitting courtside at a Celtics game, what did you expect, y/n?” Laura laughs and cheers as Nick and Mikayla appear on the screen.

You clap and yell before returning your attention back to your phone, reading Chris’ message, I am, you?

You tap the screen, tilting your head slightly, It’s definitely something new. I’ve never been to one of these games before, but it’s exciting. Go Celtics!🍀

“Oh my god.” You lay your hand over your face, “I’m so stupid. You would think, just by how this conversation was going, I never spoke to this man before in my life.”

Laura turns your phone towards her and she can’t help but giggle, “Noo! That was cute!” You roll your eyes at her and look up at the game that has restarted.

You couldn’t help but find yourself looking for Chris through the moving bodies on the court. It’s not that you and Chris have history, per se.. it’s more or less feelings that neither of you have displayed for one another, yet.

You’ve done a video with them before, and you’ve stayed friends with all of them afterwards, and surprise, you’re more close with Chris than the other two.

You look down at your phone as it vibrates and you can’t help but smile as you click on Chris’ message, Atta girl, but we gotta get you to some more games. You’re from Boston for Christ sake lol.

You smirk as you answer back, Is that you offering to buy my ticket? Because if so, count me in.

“Was that.. too straight forward?” You look at Laura and she shakes her head, “You know what you want, and I say you just better go for it.”

You chew on your cheek, the smirk returning to your lips as you watch the chat bubbles bob up and down before his message comes through, I’ll take you to every one of their games if you don’t mind traveling.

“Oh he is so into you.” Laura mumbles with a smirk, “Ask him to go to dinner afterwards, it can be as a group or whatever so it’s not awkward.”

“I will, just.. give me a second.” You go back to typing out your response, If you think I’d have an issue with traveling, then you clearly don’t know me at all lol

You weren’t even interested in the game anymore, you were more interested into talking to Chris.

Chris responds, there’s another game here on the 12th, I can get us tickets right now. Or the 13th at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn.

You take a deep breath, Why not both? I can get the Brooklyn ones if you want?

You hit send and you bounce your leg, trying to keep your heart from racing out of your chest. You glance over the court, seeing Matt and Nate pick on him for smiling so hard.

“How’s it going?” Laura asks and you shrug, “May have just planned out one if not two dates.”

“look at you go, girl.” She smirks at you and your phone vibrates, sending an excited chill up your spine. He sends a screenshot of the gotten tickets and you smile as you shake your head, Looks like it’s a date, or dates? I don’t know, but I’m excited to understand the world of basketball better.

You look around, clapping when the fans wearing Celtic clothing clap. Your attention is ripped from the game instantly as soon as you feel the vibration, hell it wasn’t even on it anyway, Well, since we finally scheduled a date, I guess it’s safe for me to say you look gorgeous tonight.

You purse your lips as your cheeks heat up, It was safe before, way before lol, but thank you. You look good in green, it almost makes up for the shots you took earlier.

You and Chris are always teasing each other, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for one of you to start picking.

You look up, watching him cover his face as he laughs, turning to tell Nate and Matt, what you assume is what you said you saw.

Ohh fuck, you saw that? Now it’s even more embarrassing.

You can’t help but giggle, You were under a lot of pressure, we know lmao.

It’s almost like Chris wasn’t interested in the game either anymore, he would answer back almost instantly, Yeah, the pressure. We’ll go with that. Do you have any Celtics merch?

You glance down from the game, Look over and see.

You set your phone down and move your hair out of the way of the Celtics logo on your white crew neck. You stare over at Chris and he gives you a smile, raising his hand to give you a thumbs up.

He looks back down at his phone and yours vibrates, I like that also you know what I just realized? I have your number, why are we talking through insta?

You laugh slightly, I honestly have no idea.

Right after you hit send, you get a text from him, Hi.

You smirk, Hi, how’s the game?

“Moved onto texting I see.” Laura teases as she sits back down, “Here.” She hands you a drink, “Figured you could somehow manage to quench your thirst a-“

“Alright.” You cut her off, “You’re going to make me blush even more.” You laugh and take a sip before you steal some of her popcorn, “I didn’t even know you left.”

“You’ve been glued to your phone, I didn’t want to interrupt anything.” She smirks and shakes her head, “It’s about damn time something happens between the two of you.”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes and look down at your phone, I don’t know, I haven’t been paying that much attention to it honestly.

Same here. I’ve been a little distracted, you look around, realizing that it’s halftime, “Huh, halftime. That was fast.”

“Well th-“

“Can it.” You laugh, “I know.” You look down and bring your phone up to read your new text, Distracted by what, ma?

You glance up at him, smiling slightly when you see Chris actually paying attention to the game. You look back down and type, Oh you know, just by this cute guy finally asking me out on a date, I’ve only been waiting for.. oh I don’t know.. months now.

You hit send and immediately look back up, giving Matt a weird face when he looks at you with a smirk.

He laughs and your attention turns back to Chris, who immediately picks up his phone and starts smiling like an idiot, Months huh? Man that guy fucking sucks.

You let out a slight laugh, He definitely made up for it though, well almost….

You look up, watching some of game while it takes Chris all of two seconds to reply, Almost huh?

You answer back just as fast, I mean, yeah. He bought me tickets to see two basketball games and I’m just hoping he’d ask me to dinner after this one, but we’ll see how it goes.

Your heart was racing. You’ve always thought that the two of you were better off as friends, but now that you think about it, you were always each others, just never official.

“God you guys just need to meet at half court and have a passionate kiss.” Laura smirks, tilting her head, “That would actually be so romantic, all of the people cheering you guys on.” She sighs, “I need to find a boyfriend.”

You laugh, “As much as I would love that, I think we’ll settle on keeping the pda to a minimum.. for now.” You smirk and look down at your phone, Do you want to grab dinner after this y/n?

I would love to, Chris, you smirk and nudge Laura, “I have a date after this.”

“About damn time.”

“You’ve said that already.” You laugh, looking around. You clap and cheer, glancing up at the scoreboard to see the Celtics leading, “Hey, we’re winning.”

“I’ve known that.” She laughs, “I’m not in world Y/n Sturniolo.” She looks at you, “That has a nice ring to it.”

“Don’t rush things.” You look away, tilting your head as you think about it, “It does though, doesn’t it.” You laugh, looking back at her.

You look down, tapping on the text, If you want you can meet me over here when the game is over, that way we’re not swimming through the crowd up there trying to find each other.

Laura and I drove separate, so that works out perfect, and hey. Celtics are winning!!

“I guess it’s a good thing we drove separate.” Laura laughs and you show her your phone, “I literally just said that to Chris.”

She laughs, “Oh my god.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “We are one.”

“Kinda scary.” She looks at you and you both break out into laughter, quickly switching to cheering and clapping when the Celtics score more points.

You could really get into this basketball scene.

You get another text from Chris, that’s because you’re just a lucky charm🍀

You smile, We’ll see if that’s the case on our second and third date. You set your phone down, turning towards Laura, “Is this actually happening?”

She nods with a smile, “It is. Do you want me to pinch you?”

“No, no.” You stop her as she reaches over and you laugh, “I believe you.”

Chris texts back, I’m ready for this game to end now haha, you glance up at the scoreboard, texting back, Just a little bit longer, I think you’ll make it.

You see the texts bubbles pop up, I don’t know, I have a date with this really pretty girl and to me that’s more exciting than this basketball game.

You feel your cheeks heating up and you quietly inhale as you type, Aww, you can be nice.

Yeah I thought the same thing about you.. kidding kidding.

You laugh, shaking your head and you jump slightly as the buzzer goes off. The fans uproar with excitement as the Celtics win and you stand up, cheering, clapping and jumping around with Laura.

You bring your phone up, Guess what? Games over.

You tuck your phone into your pocket and look at Laura, “Do you want to walk over with me and then we can all walk out together?”

She nods, “Yeah, that’ll probably be best.”

You make your way around the court, weaving in and out of people while you look for Chris through the crowd. You spot him, keeping your eyes locked on his as you lead Laura with you.

You give him a smile as you walk up to him, “Hey.” You look at Nate then Matt, giving them a smile, “Hey, guys.”

Chris immediately takes your hand into his and interlocks your fingers, “Ready?”

You give his hand a squeeze and you nod, “Ready.”

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

Thank you so much for reading, I know absolutely nothing about basketball, so sorry if nothing makes sense, but I tried to just keep it focused on texting Chris. I hope you enjoyed! I love you and I will catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

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d4yl1ghts · 8 months ago

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be careful

mark sloan x pregnant, fem!reader

summary: you end up at seattle grace when you accidentally burn your hand whilst cutting and so your boyfriend patches you up

warnings: injury, pregnancy

A/N- i only realised halfway through that i was foreshadowing the plane crash i swear 😭

You hummed along to the song that was playing on the radio as you cooked yourself some spaghetti bolognese. Your baby was craving some spaghetti right now. You were currently thirty weeks pregnant and so were off work for now. Usually you would be in Seattle Grace, working in trauma right now. Your long-term boyfriend, Mark Sloan, also works there and that was how you met him. He used to be known as a man-white but that was ages ago. Ever since he met you he has changed his ways.

A beep from your phone distracted you from cooking the pasta as you read the news headline: ‘Plane crash in Seattle, 13 injured and 30 dead.’ That didn’t sound good. Mark would be late from work. As you focused on reading the article, you hadn’t noticed your arm getting closer to the boiling metal pan. “Shit!”, you yelled in shock. Once you had realised your hand was burning, you quickly put your hand under some cool water. You sighed as you looked at it. It appeared to be a second degree burn so you knew you’d probably have to get it checked out.

You called one of your friends who you knew would be free right now to take you to the hospital as you couldn’t really drive right now. As she dropped you off, you thanked her and hurried in before the victims of the crash arrived. You went up to the reception and asked if they knew where Mark Sloan was. They gave you directions and you offered them your gratitude as you followed their instructions. After three minutes you saw Mark at a water fountain. “Mark!”, you muttered loudly. He turned around after hearing your voice. “What are you doing here, baby?”, he asked concerned.

You showed him your hand. “Oh shit. Baby, why didn’t you call me?”, he questioned. “I didn’t want to interrupt as I thought you’d be busy getting ready for the crash victims.”, you explained. His eyes softened. “You know that I’d help you over them any day.”, he reasoned. “Anyway, let me fix your hand for you before it gets busy.”, he gently guided you into a bay.

As he started working on your hand, he asked: “How’s the baby, is she energetic today?”

“No, but she was very hungry for spaghetti which is how I ended up with this burn in the first place.”, you answered quietly. “You got this burn from cooking? I mean, I knew you were clumsy but…”, he chuckled as you rolled your eyes at his teasing. “Well, I was shocked when I read about the plane crash, okay?”, you said defensively. “Fair enough. It’s a bad crash, I can’t believe there are more deaths than survivors. I mean, the injured ones could still die. For all we know they could be seriously injured or just a few cuts and bruises.”

“Yeah… well, I hope it’s only a few cuts.”, you stated. You watched as he gently cleaned your burn with sanitised equipment. His hands were so good at everything. It was hot. He seemed to have caught you staring. “What are you looking at?”, he asked you playfully. He knew what you were looking at. You stared up at him and he gazed down at you. He passionately kissed you before his pager went off. “Your hand is all done, I’ve cleaned it and bandaged it up but be careful with it. I have to sort out these crash victims. I’ll see you later at home, baby.”, he hastily replied as he placed a chaste peck on your forehead.

#mark sloan #mark sloan x reader #mcsteamy #greys anatomy #greys anatomy x reader #greys anatomy imagine #greys abc #fem!reader

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springtyme · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! I hope you’re having a good day/evening 🤍 im so excited for your flufftober thing and I saw that you are taking requests. I really love your 141 and König dad stories. I would love to get a story with one of the boys and pregnant reader (preferably Kyle or Johnny, but I’ll be happy with any of them) thank you! your fics are some of my favorites 🤍

𝐍𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♡

Kyle Gaz Garrick x afab!reader || Masterlist || Kyle playlist

summary: You and Kyle are getting ready for your baby.

word count: 579

warnings/tags: Pregnant reader. Food/eating. Based on the Kyle parts of these; part one & part two.

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟔) 𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐀 "𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞"

You stand in front of the giant, square building that houses IKEA, the bright blue and yellow facade beckoning you inside like some Scandinavian furniture wonderland. Kyle had dropped you off by the entrance, despite your countless reminders that walking is actually good for you and the little guy. “You’ll have to do plenty of walking once we’re inside, and I don’t want you to tire yourself out, love,” he had said, so now you’re waiting for him to find parking and come to you.

You put a hand on your stomach, an inattentive action, but one that brings an instant wave of consciousness to your growing baby bump. You’re more than halfway through your pregnancy by now, but it still feels somewhat strange to you, this perfect happy anticipation mixed with that unavoidable pang of anxiety as you realise just how much change is ahead.

Before your mind gets time to wander you spot a familiar figure. You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face as you watch Kyle approach, his gaze scanning the crowd until it lands on you. His features light up with recognition, and you can see the relief wash over him as he quickens his pace, a wide smile, mirroring your own, spreading on his face as your eyes lock.

“There you are,” he says as he comes within ear shot, his voice laced with warmth and affection. He jogs the last few steps to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace, careful not to press too heavily against your belly. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint musk of the car wraps around you.

“Sorry about the wait,” he says as you pull back. “Seems the parking lot was more packed than I anticipated.”

You roll your eyes playfully, a small smile playing on your lips. “Seems like we weren’t the only ones who decided to spend their weekend in IKEA.”

Kyle chuckles, his laughter dancing in the air between you. “I think you’re right.”

Together, you walk toward the entrance, your fingers intertwined. The moment you step inside, you’re enveloped by the soft glow of overhead lighting and the scent of cinnamon buns waft through the air from the café area.

Without you even having to say anything, Kyle begins to steer in the direction of the café. “If we’re gonna brave this maze, we might as well fuel up first,” he says with a grin, placing the hand that isn’t holding yours on your bump.

You smile at him, your heart flutters at the way the bright overhead light catches the brown of his eyes, making them gleam. “I like the way you’re thinking.” Kyle squeezes your hand and you can’t help but widen your smile.

After indulging in the sweet, sticky delight of your cinnamon buns, and after Kyle insisted that you finish his as well, ‘you’re eating for two, after all,’ as he reminded you, the two of you set out to find the things you need.

“How about we start with the crib,” you suggest, scanning the list you had written together last night.

Kyle nods enthusiastically, his grip tightening around your fingers as you navigate through the store, and as you walk through the various showrooms, hand in hand it all feels so much more real. You and Kyle are really having a baby together. The realisation settles in your chest like a warm, comforting blanket.

#springtyme writes #springtyme october challenge 24 #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz x you #gaz x reader #gaz headcanons #141 x reader #reader x 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod imagine #cod fanfic #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 x you

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wroteclassicaly · 4 months ago

Text

A/N: Uh… I might do a part two to this? But it randomly came to me and I wanna try something different.

Warnings: Language, hurt, angst, unrequited/one sided feelings, sadness, anxiety, mentions panic, body issues, and mentions self-esteem problems.

You’re hunched over the counter, skin taunt over your knuckles, bones sharp enough to shred through. A hot, sticky wetness resides in your lungs, the pain of its steam burning in your throat, settling over your lungs. You cannot see through the haze of blurred vision, half-assed attempts to wipe copious amounts of moisture going nowhere. Only when a heavier set of footfalls fall outside of the door and it’s yanked open — you finally cease some panic. Your manager, in all his greasy glory, clings to the doorframe, looking into the storage closet to make sure that you’re alone.

Obviously, because who would go in here with me? Steve never fucking will. He’s probably had other girls in here…

Keith is speaking, sounding like his voice is somewhere above the surface of murky waters. But you make it out. “Hey, uh. I heard what happened with Harrington back there. Let me take you out, show you how a real man can treat a lady?”

If Keith wasn’t so disgusting towards the female population, you’d feel bad for him, but to sink yourself as low as to only get an offer from him? And right after HE saw you get rejected by your best-friend?

Nip it in the butt before it continues. You have to work here, after all…

“No, thanks, Keith. But I appreciate it.” You force a smile so fake that it burns the corners of your mouth.

He snorts, shaking his head. “Fine, but know that if Harrington side stepped you, you shouldn’t be so stingy with standards.” The comment stings, pricks your heart, tearing it apart to bleed out. “I’ll be in my office if you change your mind, sweets.”

One nasty wink later, and he’s back in his office and you’re out the door. This is all too much. You have to go. It’s break time, you thank fuck for, glancing at the clock, but you can barely think, your head pulsating with a pressing pound between your eyes. You punch out for lunch, gathering your purse, and you’re coming out as Robin is talking rapidly to Steve, seemingly scolding him at the front desk.

She’s come in for her shift. They stop immediately, features softening, too observant for your liking. You do what you do best — change the subject. Steve isn’t going to care anyways, so you might as well say it. It’ll help you get outside quicker.

“I have a fucking headache, I’m hungry, and Keith just hit on me, so I’m taking my break.” You blow out a wobbly breath.

It’s also Steve’s break, and he starts to remove his vest. Is he serious? You are so beyond outer limits right now… Granted, you take your breaks together every single day, but after everything that just happened in the past hour?

Steve’s jaw clenches and his body tenses at what you tell them, pausing his removal mid-way, inclining his head to look back in the manager’s office direction. Robin looks mad, tongue clicking as she looks over at Steve and shakes her head. You let them go, about halfway to the door before the bell rings and the beautiful girl that Steve’s been after forever to get a date with — approaches. She’s looking extra special, all dolled up. Sundress, heels, makeup, bracelets, a dainty necklace on her perfect shape.

It’s things you know Steve loves, because it’s also what you’re wearing. It made you feel good, but it was out of your element, yet you’d thought his hints, his behavior with you — Robin and Nancy had encouraged that those things were MAJOR signs. The girl goes straight for Steve, reaching for his massive hand. You’re frozen, having been waiting on him, despite all of your instincts telling you not to. Robin is looking at you with sympathy, something you’d rather never see directed your way again.

The girl, she’s acting as if it’s just her and Steve here. “I know you said this is your lunch hour. Looks I’m free if you still wanna hang out?” She swings her purse in her free hand. He’s been after her for a while — for sex or emotional connection, you aren’t sure. But what you do know, is that doesn’t want you at all.

And you can’t fault him, no one can. As his friends, you should worry about his happiness and dry yourself up, not making him feel guilty for not returning what you have felt for a while. That doesn’t mean that this isn’t pulverizing your heart, dusting your bones to ash, dashing all hopes and future fantasies, telling yourself he did like you, letting yourself believe — it does not hurt any less. It hurts more than you can bear. You feel his mossy eyes filter into your direction, meeting over her head, his nose wrinkling, that tick in his jaw that occurs when he wants so badly to speak, but can’t.

You’re caught in the moments that happened before any of this… Body on fire, doused in flames, tumbling down a cliff side of revelations. You weren’t even sure if reality existed, or if you were feeling too much of every emotion to comprehend anything.

“I really like you, Steve. And I think that, maybe, you like me too?”

“I do.”

“Yeah?”

“More than anyone, probably.”

“Me too.”

“But I don’t… We’re really close, honey.”

“That’s a good thing though, obviously. Right?”

“It’s always gonna be a good thing, trust me. I’ve never had someone in my life like you before.”

“Sooo. What about tonight?”

“I’m so sorry. Any guy would be lucky to have you. And I care about you, more than anyone, but I just… I don’t feel the same way.”

Drowning in an ocean of pity and panic. You’re back to present, watching him see those moments through your eyes, which have now glossed over with tears. He’s trying to be respectful, not accept her in front of you, keep things okay, show he won’t make it weird because of your confession. Normal. Keeping his lunch date with you.

You don’t fake your smile, hand on the door, nodding several times. He doesn’t have to feel guilty, he doesn’t have to sacrifice his happiness. You love him, even if he isn’t in love with you. And that’s all that matters. He deserves this.

When Steve glances down towards the door and back up, the bell is fading against the glass, but you’re gone...

Your sundress blows in the wind of a fresh summer storm as you leave the store behind to walk to the deli, your tears cresting, before rising in a tempo that you don’t control. Your chest feels as if there’s a thousand pounds crushing you, every negative self-image colliding, thoughts flowing free, self-loathing — it all lets loose. And before you know it, you’re sobbing in the middle of the street over Steve Harrington…

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pitchsidestories · 3 months ago

Text

don't want you like a best friend II Steph Catley x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1748

a/n: inspired by this request here, we hope you'll like it.🥰

it's coffee time (group chat)

Steph

girls !!!

Jen

what's up, Stephy? It must be late where you're mate.

Beth

don’t write girls and let us wait!

Steph

I need to confess something.

Beth

tell us!!!

Steph

my best friend is gorgeous.

Beth

that was all? Wow, what a let-down 🥱

Steph

I think I'm in love with her.

Jen

you’re messing with us. You’re not serious, right?

RIGHT?

Beth

that must be a joke.

Steph

no, I'm serious.

Jen

are you absolutely sure about your feelings for her?

The next day

Steph

girls, I obviously meant it platonically. Sorry, I was a bit tipsy last night😅

Jen

drunk people and children always tell the truth.

Beth

you two should talk about this.

Steph

we're on vacation.

Jen

yeah, perfect opportunity for it

Ever since your started playing for the Matildas youth teams, you and Steph had been best friends. You were roommates at every game, you were the first person that got to meet Calvin when he was still a puppy and of course, the two of you would go on vacation together to switch off from the stress of football.

This year, Steph had booked a beautiful hotel with a huge pool for the two of you. Your room overlooked the ocean, and you were completely in awe when you first walked in.

In fact, you still were mesmerized by the beautiful view a few days later when you got ready to go down to the pool. You pulled an oversized shirt over your bikini and turned towards Steph who sat on her bed, frantically typing on her phone.

“Come on, Steph. Time to go down to the pool, the weather is perfect.“

“I’m coming in a sec.“, she said, her gaze still on her phone.

You gathered your stuff for the pool, throwing a towel over your shoulder: “Okay.“

Steph finished typing and turned off her phone: “I’m ready.“

“Perfect. Let’s go.“, you smiled as the two of you made your way to the pool.

It was still empty, the blue water glimmered temptingly in the midday sun, inviting you in. You dropped all your stuff on a deckchair and without hesitation jumped in.

Steph stared at you in surprise as you emerged back to the surface. You grinned at her, pushing your wet hair back. She looked so shocked, she must have missed that you had just jumped in.

She shook her head in disbelief but a smile softened her features.

“Is it cold?“, she asked?

“No, very refreshing.“, you laughed, splashing some water into her direction.

She quickly pulled her feet back to avoid getting wet.

“Maybe I’ll come in too.“

“You should!“

Steph got up from her deckchair and in contrast to you, used the ladder to get into the pool. Halfway in, the cold water hit her calves and with a shriek, she climbed back out.

You immediately burst into laughter. One of the toughest players that you knew and she still couldn’t handle cold water.

“You’re such a liar!“, Steph yelled and gave you reproachful look.

“Sorry but your face was so worth it.“, you wheezed.

“Hate you.“, she pouted jokingly.

“No, you don’t.“, you smiled, pushing yourself out of the pool.

She shook her head: “No, I don’t.“

“See.“, you grinned as you walked over to her, your arms outstretched and dripping water on the concrete.

Steph cursed under her breath as you pulled her into a very wet hug: “Ew, you’re dripping water everywhere!“

“Sorry not sorry.“

She rolled her eyes with fondness and moved her clothes in a pile from the deckchair so it wouldn’t get wet: “You’re so annoying.“

“Excuse me? I’m not as annoying as Kyra.“, you laughed and sat down next to her.

“No one’s as annoying as that little pest.”, Steph countered. Even in her pretended annoyance her love for the younger teammate shimmered through. They really were like mother and daughter sometimes.

“You love her too though.”, you smiled at her before your face turned serious.

After a pause you changed the topic. “Can we talk about last night?”

“You mean when I almost kissed you?”, she asked cautiously in return.

“Yes.”, you nodded slowly.

Not looking into your eyes, your best friend glanced at her fingernails instead.

“That was dumb.”, Steph muttered under her breath.

“Best friends don’t do that.”, you remarked calmly.

“I told you; it was nothing.”, the defender insisted fiercely.

“What if..”, you started carefully but were immediately interrupted by your friend.

“What if what? Is this one of those but what if we kissed as a joke things?”, she huffed.

“No, I’d never joke about such things.”, you stated firmly.

“Wait? What are you trying to say?”, Steph gave you a look you couldn’t quite interpret.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”, you mumbled.

“That’s why you didn’t kiss me last night? That’s why you pulled back when I tried to kiss you?”, your friend pressed on, biting her lip anxiously.

“Yes and call me old school but you were tipsy and I didn’t want you to regret it.”, you smiled weakly.

“I.. that’s very sweet of you.”, she replied softly.

“But would you like to kiss me?”, you asked her, your heart pounding hard against your chest. It was a question which potentially could change your friendship forever.

“I think I do.”, Steph admitted, putting a loose hair string back behind her ear.

“Me too.”, you confessed nervously.

“You do?”, she glanced at you surprised.

“Yes.”, you confirmed, sounding sincere.

“I guess we should then.”, your best friend grinned shily.

“I agree.” You could hear her stomach growl, so you quickly added with a smirk on your lips. “Maybe we should have dinner first.”

“Please.”, Steph answered while you walked hand in hand to the restaurant inside the hotel.

“That was so delicious, and the dessert was perfect.”, you sighed happily, once you both had finished your dinner.

“Agreed, it was really good.”, the defender said.

“Can I?”, you have begun almost timidly. The anticipation for the first real kiss has risen for you two over the course of the three courses meal, it was nearly unbearable. You were so hungry for the touch of your friends soft and sweet lips. Waiting for her reply.

“Yes.“, Steph said quietly.

That was all it needed, you leaned forward and kissed her gently and carefully. You pulled away after a few seconds, searching for any hint in your best friends face. “And? What do you think?“

Steph bit her lip with a smile, her eyes sparkling in excitement: “Can I try again?“

“Please.“, you laughed. This time you let her initiate the kiss.

Stephs lips found yours with impatience and a sense of urgency. This kiss lasted longer, it was more passionate.

“I like it!“, Steph decided as she ended the kiss abruptly.

“I like it too.“, you grinned.

You noticed that she was still staring at your lips.

“I never kissed anyone that tastes so good.“, she admitted.

You couldn’t help yourself, you had to reference the Matildas’ iconic warm up song which was also Stephs favourite song of all time: “Strawberry kisses.“

“Nothing’s as sweet, the taste still drives me crazy.“, she sang the lyrics.

“Such a good song, I hope we’ll hear it at the Olympics.“

Steph looked at you like you had gone crazy for a moment: “Of course we will!“

You grinned at her: “Of course. You’ll play it.“

“Exactly.“, she confirmed, lost in thoughts while her fingertips reached for yours.

This year��s vacation must have been your favourite so far. There were many more kisses after your very first one, slow mornings in the hotel bed and lazy touches in the afternoon sun.

The memories of your holidays followed you to the Matildas training camp a few days later.

As usual, you arrived with Steph. Only this time, there was more between you than just friendship.

You felt like you were constantly grinning, like all your teammates would know immediately by just looking at you.

But there was no time to greet the other player as you were knocked off balance by Kyra who pulled you and Steph into a hug: “Missed my mums!“

You frowned at her but laughed: “Mini is over there. She is your mum.“

You pointed towards Katrina with Harper sitting in her lap.

Kyra rolled her eyes: “Yes, but…“

She didn’t have to finish her sentence, you understood.

“She’s busy with her two small children?“

“Yeah.“, Kyra pouted playfully.

Steph gently stroked the younger players hair: “Poor pest.“

You met Stephs gaze with a grin and shrugged: “I guess it’s our turn to babysit, babe.“

“Babe?!“, Kyra and Caitlin both echoed simultaneously.

Kyra pulled out of the hug to study the two of you with excited, curious eyes while Caitlins face was pure bewilderment.

Steph bit her lip and reached for your hand: “I don’t think I have to explain this, right?“

“Yes, you do!“, Caitlin disagreed, impatient to get the full story.

“It just happened.“, Steph offered her short version of events which earned her an eye roll from Caitlin.

“So, you two are not only best friends but girlfriends now?!”, Kyra gasped dramatically.

“Yes. She’s, my girlfriend.”, your lover confirmed, smiling proudly at you.

“Wow, that’s amazing.”, Caitlin yelled excitedly.

“Thanks, Caitlin.”, you gave her a grateful smile.

“So that happens when two best friends go on a vacation together.”, Mackenzie commented with a huge grin on her lips.

“More like when two people who had a crush on each other for years go on a vacation together.”, you corrected her.

“And who were too afraid to ruin such an old friendship.”, Steph added, looking at you lovingly.

“My favourite idiots in love.”, Alanna sighed, moved.

“Lani, we’re not idiots.”, you protested smirking.

“You’re a bit.”, the Portland Thorns goalkeeper disagreed amused, referring to for how long it took the two of you to realize that you don't want each other like best friends.There always have been something more than friendship and your teammates saw that all along.

“But only a bit.”, you replied.

“As long as you finally figured it out.”, Caitlin intervened soothingly.

“That’s so cute but can we all get ready for training now.”, Tony Gustavsson requested smiling.

“Ugh, Tony.”, the youngest Arsenal player groaned.

While the training begun you thought to yourself that were was nothing better than to be on that football journey together with your friends and the love of your life.

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someonexsomeone · 4 months ago

Text

Suneater

Title: Suneater

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 8.4k (...oh)

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin Pureblood np!reader

Summary: Sirius has another best friend, and James just can't figure out what to do about it.

Warnings: angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of traditional values and arranged marriages

Authors Note: so uh...i did not expect this to be this long, and also not at all what I thought this would be. originally inspired by Leanna Firestone's song Suneater, this was supposed to be a happier fic, but i couldn't stop thinking about the line "But I am just the one who swallowed the moon // The only light that I have's just a reflection of you" so the original fic was a black cat x golden retriever and then somehow...this? please let me know what you think!

if you or anyone you know needs help, please call 988 (USA) or contact your local hotline. You are loved, you are needed.

Companion piece: Stardrinker

James was completely stumped. As a distinctly Light family, the Potters didn’t have much reason to attend Dark Pureblood gatherings, let alone interact with them beyond the odd time here and there, but he knows of your family, in the same way he knew of the Black’s - speculation, word of mouth, gossip. Neither he nor his family have any personal memories of you, and it seemed like no one else he knew was friends with you. You were a complete mystery to everyone…but his best friend.

When they first started Hogwarts, Sirius made it clear his stance on Slytherin families - keep as far away from them as possible, prank from a distance, target the ones he knew had evil in their hearts. James was more than pleased to go along with this. After all, a whole pool of targets just for the taking, and he didn’t have to feel guilty at all? It seemed so easy.

Sirius was ruthless with his attacks, cackling with glee as he sent stinging hexes in their direction or watching with mirth as they got caught in a trap. But when James launched a dungbomb in your direction, singeing your hair into an uneven mess, Sirius dropped everything to rush over, apology already tumbling out of his mouth despite the fury on your face. He even escorted you to the Matron, and looked incredibly guilty as the two of you walked back into the Great Hall sporting a new hairdo and fear on your faces. You returned to not speaking to each other, just as you always had, but Sirius seemed to glance over at the Slytherin table a little more frequently. Since then, none of the Marauders dared to prank near you, but with the rest of the house being easy pickings, James didn’t spare you another thought.

Then, summer before Fifth year happened. It was going to be their year, full of new pranks, new status, and, even better, a new plan to help Moony with his…time of the month. Sirius, as usual, spent the beginning of summer at the Pottery, spending hours at a time trying to find their animagus form, and, eventually, trying to change species. His parents were good at giving them space to play to their heart's content, and it warmed James’s heart to see them dote on Sirius just as much as they did as him. Especially as June faded into July, and Sirius’ dread to return home increased with every passing day.

Halfway through their break, at the height of the Dark Wanker Gatherings, the very color name Sirius gave the period of summer when the Dark Pureblood’s season of parties came to a head (as the heir to the Noble House of Black, Sirius was expected to attend the biggest ones, meaning James hardly got to see him until the start of the school year), Sirius all but disappeared. The house was far too quiet without him, and his letters were sparse of details, worrying James despite the countless summers they had gone through this previously. Despite Peter and Remus’s best attempts, James just wasn’t the same without his best friend around. Their friendly games of Quidditch lacked the usual competitiveness, their conversations quickly devolved into pooling the little information Sirius gave each of them, and there were only so many Sugar Quills one could eat before their stomach turned in on itself in worry. It was why James was always the first to arrive at the Platform at the start of the year, determined to figure out what happened to his best friend, even though Sirius always managed to change the subject without giving any answers.

So, color him surprised when, instead of rushing onto the train and locating his friends like usual, Sirius lingered after saying goodbye to his parents, the very people he never wanted to be near. When you and your family stepped through, Sirius’s eyes lit up. He made a beeline to you as soon as you finished your goodbye’s, pulling you to a secluded corner, only barely visible from where James was practically hanging out of the compartment window to see. The two of you whispered to one another before you hugged, then parted ways.

And ever since then, Sirius was always looking out for you. Instead of the tense silence you usually kept, James watched as your face lit up (no smile, that was far too obvious, but your eyes seemed to sparkle whenever they landed on him), stepping away from your usual posse of stuck up Purebloods to speak to Sirius. They seemed just as flabbergasted, until it started to happen so frequently they did nothing but offer a silent sneer, knowing better than to wait for you to finish your conversation. But James remained, always standing just close enough to catch snippets, but never the whole story. Instead of sulking in his room or yelling at whoever dared to disturb him on bad days, Sirius disappeared completely, only to be spotted with you within the hour, a more relaxed look on his face. He never missed a full moon, at least he kept that promise to his friends, but you were always one of the first visitors they had in the morning, leaving a get well soon treat for Sirius to eat as soon as he woke up.

All this to say, it wasn’t as if you and Sirius were attached at the hip, but it was hard not to notice the seemingly new affection you had for one another, and the change of priority, leaving James to seek you out in order to find his friend on more than one occasion.

Neither Remus nor Peter knew anything about what caused this shift in your friendship, but all it took was a little comment from Peter (“Maybe…maybe they’re together together.” followed by a scandalized look from Remus), to send them into a spiral.

“Sirius? Keeping a secret from us? Especially one as big as a…No! No way!” James refuted, pout evident on his face.

Because there was absolutely no way Sirius was going to keep something like this to himself. James was the first to know about Sirius’ first kiss, his first make out, his first shag! He was there when Sirius confessed to his first girlfriend, then his first boyfriend, then his first…partner? James forgot the name but either way! He was there! And now…what? Sirius was too ashamed to admit he was dating a Slytherin? Surely he knew there was no way. And, if he was dating, then there was no way he would pick a Slytherin unless they had something really special about them.

Despite Remus and Peter’s fervent arguments against it, James swore himself to a new goal - Mission Impossible: Figure Out Why Sirius Thinks a Slytherin Is Better Choice Than Literally Anyone Else in the School; I Mean Come On There Are Three Other Houses-- (“That’s far too long a name anyway!” Remus shouted indignantly).

He was already spending time lingering when you and Sirius chatted in the halls, so he tried to join in, actually listen instead of grumbling to himself about how long it was taking. You gave him an incredulous look the first time he did it, scampering away much too quickly for Sirius’s liking, if his saddened face was anything to go by. His second and third attempts were met with the same response, so James dropped his attempt, too soft to continue if Sirius was gonna keep giving him that kicked puppy look.

Then, he tried to join you and Sirius for your study sessions, figuring, what could go wrong? The library was a quiet place, and there wasn’t an easy escape if he positioned himself correctly, and you were very dedicated to keeping Sirius’s grades up (from what he’d been told anyway, this was, after all, the first time he ever willingly wanted to spend time with you). Sirius was hesitant to allow him to come when he asked, so he decided to drop by unannounced instead. Sirius’s welcoming smile was more than enough to override your glare, though it was clear this interruption was less than welcome, as no more work got done, and the boys were kicked out almost immediately. You were clear in your instruction to Sirius, whispered quietly but not quiet enough, that James was not welcome if he was going to be so noisy.

So, sneaking had become his last resort. It was hard, what with his friend group practically spending every minute together, but despite Remus’s warning, James scurried off whenever Sirius did. It took several weeks, and several pathetic attempts before James was finally able to catch you and Sirius alone. He didn’t think he was above snooping, especially with all the attempts recently, but there was a tiny bit of guilt that underlined his successful movements as he snuck down the hall, hidden from yours and Sirius’ watchful eyes, all thanks to his Invisibility Cloak. Sirius had that look about him, whipping his head back and forth, something he always did with James when he set up a prank without anyone noticing.

Something big was happening, and it had to be discussed without any prying eyes.

“Sirius, it’s alright,” you spoke lowly, so much so that James had to get a little too close for comfort to hear you. Sirius’ head perked up at the somewhat loud swish of the cloak, but when he didn’t see anything, he turned back to you, pushing you into an alcove of the hallway.

“Alright?! Are you mad?” Though he still had a grip on your arm, James could tell it was gentle, so lightly that you easily could have pulled away at any time. And, to his surprise, you didn’t, instead laying your hand on his with a gentleness he’d never seen from you before.

“This was something we always knew was going to happen,” you squeezed his hand, face stoney, “it was only a matter of time--”

“They’re selling you off like cattle! They don’t care about your life!”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” To this, your face darkened.

“I am not like you, Sirius.” This was the Slytherin attitude James was used to. Poisonous words spouting from your mouth, eyes narrowed to a glare. You didn’t have to push Sirius’s hand away, your now icy stare was enough to have him pull away first. “You and your precious friends can galavant around and do whatever you please, no matter the consequences, but the moment I show weakness, or displeasure towards my family, I will have no one. My friends--”

“Are no real friends if all it takes is standing up for yourself to have them disappear!”

“They know better than anyone that we don’t have any other choice--”

“So, what? You’ll marry the old coot and be the perfect little house--”

“And what would you suggest I do?” Sirius opened and closed his mouth several times, fury on his face, unwilling to admit that maybe you were right. In a house where betraying those thought to be your friends is commonplace, what option did you have? If James was right in following along, though it was incredibly hard with how quickly the two of you whispered, if you rejected this marriage arrangement, your parents would undoubtedly kick you out. With the friends he’s seen you with, there was no chance any of them would reach out in good will, especially since you’d have lost all the power via your family name.

There had never been a Slytherin in his life that he felt empathy towards, but this…this was something even he could not see a way out of.

“Surely leaving your family to be free is better than being locked in a gilded cage,” Sirius finally settled on.

“Freedom always comes with a cost, and this one is far too great.” Sirius’s eyes lowered to a glare.

“So that’s it.”

Oh no. James could feel the anger radiating from his friend, the same anger that has landed him more than a few detentions over the years. This was the anger that led to the initial discovery of Moony’s condition, the screaming match that had Sirius follow Remus into the woods. This was the anger that almost broke their friendship in third year, and the anger that nearly got him expelled for attacking another student.

This was the anger that made Sirius reckless.

“You give everything up and stay that obedient Pureblood you’ve always been, and be miserable forever. Well, I can’t watch you do that. I can’t watch you stoop so low, so pathetic,” --James nearly reached out, desperate to stop Sirius from saying anything more to destroy what you two had-- “and try to kill yourself again.”

Too late. The most emotion he had ever seen from you flicker across your face, hurt turned to anger turned to resentment in one fluid motion. Sirius, as angry as he was, seemed to notice as well, snapping his mouth shut as soon as the words left his mouth. Almost as if an invisible wall appeared between you, you both stepped back, as far as the small alcove allowed.

“Yes, you’re right. How pathetic of me.” You bowed lowly, despite Sirius’s efforts to stop you. “I’ll take my leave then, so your virtue won’t be sullied by the likes of me. Regards to the most Noble and Ancient House of Black.”

James turned on his heel, too embarrassed in his attempts to snoop to watch any further. Sirius chased you down in the opposite direction, calling your name until his echoes finally stopped. When James returned, it only took a look to stop any questions from his other dormmates. Sirius’s late return, the lethal combination of sadness and anger that had him lashing out at anything he could see, was answer enough.

James tried to keep the facade of innocence for the rest of the term, thanking Merlin that it was just a short month away. It was far easier than he hoped, with everyone immersed with their OWLs, but it didn’t do much to stop the guilt of having witnessed such a private and personal conversation. Sirius continued to look for you whenever he could, desperate to catch your eye, but you were just as stubborn as his friend was it seemed; even though James caught you several times watching Sirius when no one else was looking.

Sirius spent the beginning of summer with him as normal, riding on their brooms and keeping their minds as far away from the drama waiting back at Hogwarts. James tried a couple times to ask about you, but Sirius would clam up immediately, snapping at him or immediately changing the subject. By the time the Dark Wanker Gatherings started up again, Sirius seemed to have calmed down some, resigning his anger into a facade of apathy, the kind James seriously disliked. He only hoped your absence wouldn’t make his disappearing act worse.

Then, in the middle of summer, you appeared.

Or rather, you and Sirius appeared, Flooing into his home in the middle of dinner, fancy clothing covered in blood. Your face was panicked, strained against the weight of his friend, who seemed too out of it to stand properly. His Mother screamed at the intrusion, and both James and his father rushed over to take the weight off of you. It seemed all Pureblood customs flew out the window with the desperate need to help Sirius, as you immediately barked orders to take him to the nearest bathroom with a bathtub. Once situated, you started peeling away Sirius’s clothes, revealing the various cuts across his body.

“Hey! What are you--” But you simply silenced him with a wave of your hand, pushing him out of the room and slamming the door in his face. “What the fu--”

“James!” Euphemia’s glare was enough to have him shutting up. “Why don’t you two go back down and finish dinner. Polly spent a lot of time making it.”

“But Sirius--”

“Is obviously in capable hands.” His Father patted a heavy hand on his shoulder, leading him away without another word. Before they made it back down stairs, James caught the gentle knock she rapped on the bathroom door (of her own house!), quietly entering with a, “Is there anything I can get you, dear?”

“A house elf, the one you trust the most. And my apologies for…” your voice faded as they returned to the dining room.

Sirius was up by the time he woke the following morning. James tried several times to see Sirius throughout the night, but you were as strict as you were terrifying, guarding the room like a loyal watchdog until James was too tired to try again. And here you were again, dressed in borrowed clothes and carefully stroking Sirius’s long hair into a complicated braid, pulling strands away from his face so it wouldn’t fall into the bowl of soup he was nursing. Sirius’s face lit up when he saw James enter the room, clambering to get up. His own injuries stopping him from getting far, wincing and slumping back into his chair.

“You can’t move too quickly,” you chastised quietly, trying off the end of his hair. The easy way Sirius let you touch him, to have his guard down completely, caused a shift in James. A Slytherin providing comfort? It was unheard of to him. But here it was, right in front of him, an easy relationship that existed out of two people caring deeply for one another.

Just like his parents.

James felt a pang of jealousy go through him.

“Sorry, Prongs. Gotta listen to the Medi—,” Sirius stopped, grimaced as you pulled lightly on his hair. “What? I wouldn’t want anyone else helping me back to health.”

“And now that you are back to being your annoying self, I must be off.” Sirius tried to stand, but your gentle hand was enough to have him stop. “Rest. And thank you, for everything.”

As Sirius was out of commission, James was the one to walk you to the Floo, taking his parent’s robe from you at your thanks. You straightened out your hair as best as possible, fixing small details of your outfit to hide what you had been up all night, as James wrung his hands, debating whether he should say anything at all. When you reached for the Floo powder, he finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he managed. Your hand paused midair, but it was the only indication you gave to show you were listening. “Thank you for bringing him here. We’ll take good care of him.”

“He’s too proud to ask for help,” you said in response. “But he’s lucky to have someone like you in his life.”

“And like you.” To this, you scoffed, finally turning to look at him.

“I seem to only bring him trouble.”

“He does that fine on his own.” The small uptick of your lips was easy confirmation to your agreement. “But seriously. I’ve never seen him so happy to talk to someone before, and he talks to a lot of people.” When you didn’t say anything, James flushed. “I mean--”

“I’m lucky to have whatever part he’s willing to give me.” And with a flourish, you disappeared into the fireplace.

James never did find out what happened that caused Sirius’s injuries that summer. After a lengthy conversation (the lengthy conversation in question - Sirius: “I pissed my family off and now I’ve been disowned.”, James: “Oh, perfect. I’ve always wanted you as a brother.”), Sirius was unofficially officially adopted into his family. His parents took Sirius to St.Mungos a couple times to make sure everything was okay, but otherwise, the rest of summer was spent just as blissfully enjoyable as the beginning. Only this time, James didn’t have to worry about Sirius having to return to his awful family every night. They stayed up until the sun began to rise, sneaking into each other's room to spend the night, terrorizing the neighborhood with their loud voices until the sun rose.

And, you were there. Not directly, not with the new disgraced title Sirius proudly bore, but in letters and conversation. Sirius now spoke freely and openly about you, how you had always been there to help him with his horrible upbringing, the way you always seemed to know what to do to help. Sirius admitted to getting into that final fight for you, for your honor, but didn’t elaborate any further. He spent many mornings at James’s desk writing to you, updating you on the new freedom he had, and making sure you were alright. That he’d be there in the drop of a hat if you needed him.

Now that James was included in the conversation, willingly and welcomed this time, he was able to see how witty you were, how you weren’t just the Pureblood Slytherin he thought you were, but a genuinely good person for Sirius to be influenced by. You easily scolded him when needed, and praised him without letting his ego inflate too largely. Though you were only there in writing, it was easy to see the easy affection Sirius had for you, and vice versa. And, with James being let in somewhat on the secret friendship you shared, how deep it actually was, almost all the tension released from between the three of you. He even got to apologize for butting in so often last year, to which you waved him off with a promise not to do it again.

So, when sixth year started, and he got to see you for the first time in person since that fateful morning, it was like he’d never seen you before. And, all the better, it seemed you were determined to talk to Sirius, even if it meant you got some nasty glares from your housemates. James liked that about you.

So, he made the effort. When you or Sirius walked up to one another, James stayed close, engaging in conversation. Though you looked shocked, Sirius always gave him a broad smile, the prospect of two special people in his life becoming friends made him giddier than James ever thought possible. And Sirius was very open about that fact, throwing his arms around you and James mid conversation to squish you into a group hug. It didn’t take much to get the rest of his friends involved.

Your study sessions now involved all the Marauders, Remus sending you a thankful smile whenever you managed to calm the rowdiest of them down, comparing notes for class. Peter trailed after you happily, using you as a type of shield from the rest of the Slytherins when you walked together to class. You joined them on Hogsmeade trips, a quiet companion as they carried you from place to place. You never questioned what got them in so much trouble they ended up in the hospital wing once a month, but you did start to bring all of them a little treat for them to wake up to. Sirius started joking about you replacing him in the Marauders, to which you answered with a smack to the back of the head.

And James? Well James seemed to seek you out more and more without realizing it. If Sirius sat on your right, he would take your left. When needing a partner for class, he and Sirius would fight for the honor of being your partner, despite the fact that you already began working with someone else. He looked for you in the Slytherin crowd during quidditch matches, easily spotting you as the only person not booing at their victories. You and he would walk to class together, then hang out alone before the others joined. Your one on one time only increased as you got closer. You stayed up late to help him with classwork he struggled with, patient as ever, even if you did take every opportunity to poke fun at him with that deviously dry wit. You even helped Sirius with a joint gift, a box the size of his hand that would fit anything inside it and could only be opened by him. It was the first time he hugged you without Sirius’s intervention.

“Woah, woah, woah! Back it up!” Sirius said in his best imitation of an angry tone, but his smile was too contagious.

Yes, you butt heads. James’ lackadaisical attitude got on your nerves, sometimes done on purpose because James just loved to get a rise out of you, and your uptight scholarly nature often rivaled Remus, but at the end of the day, it was clear that there was a deep respect for one another, something that blossomed without either of you knowing. James would steal food from your plate without asking, loudly teasing you when you reprimanded him, but he would always replace it with some of your favorites, an unspoken apology. You would call him names (dimwit, airhead, and bludger brain to name a few), but you were always there for him at the end of the day, quietly praising his ingenuity, genuinely asking his opinion on matters.

It was why the guilt of the knowledge of your arranged marriage was starting to eat at him, a secret you didn’t know he knew. It was especially bad on days when that dreaded silver envelope arrived, since you frequently sought out Sirius. He recognized the crest on the back, an old and very Pureblood house, that no doubt had to belong to your fiance. You would crush the letter in your grip after skimming it, catching Sirius’ eye from across the room. No words needed to be said for him to stand, meeting you at the entrance hall. It was rare to see either of you for several hours after that. It was routine at that point.

But today was different. Sirius was in an early morning detention, cleaning McGonagall’s classroom after a series of pranks rendered the board useless, and you were nearly hyperventilating as the silver envelope fell into your lap. James only noticed because you were out of your seat faster than he’d ever seen you move, eyes glistening. He was following behind you before he realized what he was doing.

“Wait!” Your head whipped around at his voice, wiping your wet cheeks in an attempt to hide any evidence of your sadness. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s Sirius?”

“He’s in detention--what’s wrong?”

“It’s…” A group of giggling second years passed by, watching their interaction with interest. You instantly clammed up, face slacking into apathy. ”It’s nothing.”

James shook his head before tugging you down the hall. Despite your protests, he led you to one of the many secret passages, pulling you until you were in an unused hallway, rows and rows of empty classrooms creating the perfect hiding place. He didn’t speak until the two of you were in one, locking the door firmly behind him, and covering it with an anti-eavesdropping charm.

“What’s wrong?” Without a word, you held the letter out to him.

My Darling Angel, it read, handwriting barely legible with how shaky it was. Do not fret any longer, for your Father and I have finally come to an agreement. Though your price was a hefty one, I have been assured you are well worth it. In merely a years time---

“You’re getting married?” In a year's time, the summer of your Seventh Year, you were going to be a bride. James’s stomach twisted into knots. Tears piled up to the edges of your lash line.

“I spoke to my Father every summer, showing him my grades and my prospects, anything I could to have him increase his greed for more. I thought if I could keep going, just for a little longer, he would become so unreasonable, no one would want to pay my dowry. After all, why would they?” You sniffed, then furiously rubbed at your face, trying to stop the tears from falling. “I am no one special. Surely there are better prospects--”

“Woah, hey!” Your hands were moving too fast, too erratically, for his liking. As gently as he could, remembering the way Sirius acted, he pulled your hands away from your face. Rubbed raw with nail marks, you didn’t even seem to realize you were hurting yourself.

“James,” his name was said in such sorrow, his very being rattled in sympathy, “what am I going to do?”

So he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled you close, cradling you to his body. You seemed to freeze at the contact. This wasn’t the friendly hug from his birthday, or the forced contact Sirius often made you do. This was something more.

“We’ll think of something,” he promised into your hair. With the gentle grip he had you in, it was easy to pull back and gaze upon the sincerity on his face. He gave you a small, crooked smile. “We won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

So, for the first time, you latched onto James, holding him tight enough to hurt, and wailed into his chest, mourning the life you tried so hard to protect.

For a moment, James allowed himself to be a little greedy, keeping you close enough to let your smell flood his senses. He allowed his hands to roam your back, feeling, as if for the first time, the way your clothes felt against your body, the heat of your being. He allowed himself to enjoy how you felt against him, how for once, instead of the proud Slytherin you always portrayed yourself to be, you allowed him to take care of you instead of the other way around. You seemed to fit perfectly in his arms, and, as ashamed as he was to think it, there was a part of him that loved how you trusted him to show this vulnerable part of yourself. You only ever show it to…

Then, with startling clarity, James realized he was holding you, Sirius’s person, in his arms, in a locked classroom, hidden away from the rest of the school. That same school who watched you run out of the hall with James following close behind. Those second years watched him pull you away!

Before he could do something stupid, probably throw himself away from you, you pulled away first. Or, really, you yanked yourself away, wand raised with a Tempus spell showing the two of you were about to be very late to your first lesson.

“Thank you, James,” you whispered without looking at him, before you bolted to the door. His heart fluttered--

Oh, crap.

“I need to talk to you.” Sirius shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was at James’s sudden appearance, pulling him away from Marlene and Dorcas. The two, used to the strange way the Marauders always seemed to find one another, turned back to their conversation without another glance. James hauled Sirius up to their dorm by his collar. He had been looking all day for Sirius, with little success. It was just his luck that today, of all days, was filled with classes neither shared, and Sirius had to use his lunch hour to finish McGonagall’s room. And now, when Remus and Peter were meeting up with you to study for your Arithmancy exam, it was probably the best time he’d get.

And there was just one thing Sirius needed to confess to, before James exploded.

“I know your secret. So please just admit it so I can tell you how bad of a friend I am.”

“Woah, woah woah. What?” When Sirius met James’s serious expression, his face turned from jovial to terrified. “...what?”

“I know, okay?” Sirius opened and closed his mouth, and if it was any other conversation, James would have poked fun at him for looking like a fish.

“You…know?” James nodded once firmly. Sirius swore, slumping down onto the nearest bed. “We were so careful!” At this, James raised a brow.

“You weren’t careful at all! Everyone knows!” Sirius paled.

“...everyone?”

“Well, everyone that knows you.” James eyed Sirius’ expression. With a shuddering breath, Sirius dragged a hand down his face. “You seem surprised.”

“Yeah, a little,” Sirius laughed, but it was far too breathy to be sincere. “I’ve only just convinced…Was I so obvious?”

“You always look for each other. And, even though it started off rough, you’ve gotten really close recently.” He clapped a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. The approval, how easy James gave it, had Sirius’ whole body relax, practically curling into himself. “You deserve each other.”

“Tell him for me, won’t you?” Sirius rolled his eyes, far more playful than he had been. “I’ve only been telling him every day for the last year. I mean, I know Moony’s dense, but I didn’t think it’d take this much convincing.”

“...what?”

“You know him as well as I do, mate. He doesn’t handle affection well. Especially mine.” Sirius laughed, this time much more heartily, his shoulders bouncing. James’ hand fell to his side, but Sirius hardly noticed, practically bouncing from giddiness. “Wow, it feels great to say it out loud.”

James continued to stare at him, mouth agape.

“Now that you know, this is perfect!” He jumped up, excess energy pushing him to his desk, rummaging through the pile of papers before pulling one out. “I’ve got so many plans! I’m thinking next full moon, I'll sneak into his hospital bed, bring some strawberries and chocolate, you know, romance stuff. I’ve been planning for months the best way to do it, but you know Moony. Be nice to him and he clams up, so I’ve been thinking--”

When Sirius turned around, James was slumped where Sirius had just been, the only difference being James’ shocked face to Sirius’ dread.

“What?” Sirius laughed. “Didn’t think I’d have a plan? I’m going all the way with this!”

“You--Moony? But I thought…--” Now it was Sirius’ turn to be confused.

“Why do you look like that?”

“You like Moony?!” Sirius dropped the piece of paper, his dread returning.

“You didn’t--” He coughed, like the words were strangling him. “You didn’t know?”

“No!!” James jumped up. “Since when have you liked…?”

“Oh,” SIrius scratched the back of his head, hair falling out of the messy braid that had your signature all over it. “When you said you knew my secret, I thought--” He suddenly narrowed his eyes, and James grew meek, chest and cheeks flushing red. “What secret did you think I had?”

So, what originally was a conversation James was severely dreading, turned into the most honest conversation they’d had in a while. James bared his heart to his best friend, explaining the guilt that had been eating at him since his birthday, worried he was a horrible friend. How he had only fallen for you harder as you hung out more, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, but didn’t want to do anything to upset either you or Sirius by stepping over boundaries. How he was there for you when you heard confirmation of your upcoming marriage (Sirius looked angrier than he had in a while when James revealed that small development), and it only solidified what he already suspected, and how your tears felt like burning lava on his skin.

Sirius, in turn, explained how he and Moony had gotten closer now that Sirius knew you had other people looking after you, namely the other Marauders. His new free time was spent with Moony, who didn’t think anything of it, until their playful wrestling got out of hand and Sirius kissed him. James vaguely remembered Remus acting strange, but attributed it to the upcoming moon, one where he was much more affectionate towards Sirius than his usual transformations. He talked about the way he had been trying to convince Remus ever since that day that his feelings were real, that it wasn’t just a spur of the moment mistake, but a budding of affection ever since Sirius was freed of his family's clutches.

So, when they finally calmed themselves down, after a massive cry fest that ended in them hugging, promising not to ever keep secrets ever again, and a series of firing each other up, they rushed to the very object of their affections.

“Moony!” Sirius practically tackled Remus as he and Peter walked down the hall, hands stained in ink and stomachs rumbling. Remus stood no chance against the delighted dog, books flying from his hands as he landed on the floor, wind knocked out of him.

“Wh--” But Sirius had already crawled atop him, mouth pushed resolutely against his. Remus struggled only for a moment, before returning the kiss desperately, hands clutching anything he could reach, settling on Sirius’ back and hair.

“Great Merlin!” Peter exclaimed, nearly tripping over his feet to get away from the two heavily making out on the floor. James let out a laugh, rushing over to help his…unoccupied…friend. “But he-- and Sirius--”

“Well, there goes all those plans.” James joked. Sirius and Remus finally pulled away after another moment of kissing, both panting, but faces alight in pure happiness as they gazed at each other. “Okay, Loverboys, no public displays of affection while we’re around, okay? At least until we’re used to it.”

“Prongs…,” Remus whined miserably, face flushing a brilliant red, only disrupted by the white of his facial scars. Sirius grinned wolfishly, pressing a loud, wet kiss in the space between Remus’ shoulder and collar, doing nothing to help. “Padfoot!”

Peter was still staring at them, mouth agape, even as the two stood.

“Where’s—“ James started, looking around. It was strange to not see you with the other Marauders, especially since you should have been with them for the last hour or so to study.

“Huh??” Peter shook his head violently, finally having the decency to wipe away his shock. When he noticed James’ wandering eyes, he clarified. “Oh uh, Astronomy Tower, I think? Needed space to think or something?”

“But I thought you guys were studying--”

“Never showed.” Remus’ nonchalance was not eagerly received. James whipped his head to Sirius, who was already looking worried. You hadn’t shown up? But that’s hours where you’re unaccounted for!

“James!” Sirius’ panic was clear. In an instant, the day James eavesdropped came rushing back, a stone forming in his stomach. “It’s high enough—“

“I’m on it!” Later, James would deal with the consequences of the unneeded explanation. Later, he would address the confused looks on Remus and Peter’s faces, address the shock on Sirius’ for not needing an explanation. Later, he would beg and plead on his knees for Sirius to forgive him for spying on a private conversation, and staying long past knowing it was wrong. Later. It would happen later. Now, he needed to see you.

He’d never run faster in his life, using every shortcut he could think of to make it to the Astronomy Tower in record time. He took the stairs two at a time, practically launching himself onto the platform at the top, breath coming out in hot pants.

“James?” There you were. His knees nearly gave out in relief (though climbing stairs that fast may have had something to do with it), especially since it didn’t look like you had a scratch on you.

“Oh, thank Merlin. You’re alright!” You only looked at him, rising slightly from where you were leaning over the railing to stare out into the horizon. The sun was going to set soon, causing the glow to illuminate your silhouette, your expression hard to see.

“Of course I’m alright.” James tried to catch his breath quickly, before walking over to you. As he got closer, your features slowly became clearer. There was no evidence of your earlier conversation (how had it only been that morning that you cried into his chest??), and it didn’t look like you had been crying again. He didn’t know whether to be relieved you seemed okay, or worried that you might be bottling your emotions. “What are you talking about?”

“Sirius said…” The rest of the words died in his throat. You cocked your head. He guiltily looked at you, then the railing. When you didn’t react, he continued, ”He may have mentioned…”

“Oh.” In an instant, you understood, eyes falling into a glare, no doubt upset at having your privacy violated. “I’m not so fragile as to need a bodyguard to care for me all the time.”

“It’s okay if you do.” You rolled your eyes, turning back to look out over the trees. James copied you, resting his elbows on the bar, but angled his body so his sole attention was on the side of your face.

“That’s a sure fire way to get yourself killed in my world,” you grumbled.

“Well in mine,” he cut in, before you could add on, “if a friend is in trouble, you do whatever you can to help them.”

“Even if they don’t need it?”

“Everyone needs help.” He could see the tail end of your eye roll. “But you do it even if they don’t want it.”

With his breathing returning to normal, the space between you fell quiet. When it was clear you weren’t planning to speak anytime soon, he refocused his attention on the skyline, watching as the sky slowly became more and more orange, the sun nearly hiding behind the mountains. It was cooling down, but with summer nearly there, it created the perfect balmy weather to cause mischief late at night. In the distance, he could hear the faint hooting of an owl, from the forest or the school’s owlery, he wasn't sure, and the faint rustling of leaves. It was peaceful up here.

“Did he tell you?” Your voice startled him out of his thoughts, his body jerking.

“What?” If you felt him move, you didn’t show it.

“Sirius. Did he tell you what happened?”

“Not in so many words,” James said, purposefully vague. He felt bad being deceitful, but he had no idea how to explain his predicament, not when you were wringing your hands together like that, body hunching in on itself, like it was trying to hide how vulnerable you were. And, when you took a deep breath, James understood then that you were about to tell him something important, something life changing.

“He was always there. The Ancient and Noble House of Black always needed to be seen, especially at those parties, but I never really interacted with him. Too famous to be seen speaking to my family, or too busy playing the role of a Pureblood Heir to step away from his parents.” You sighed, crossing your arms, leaning your hip against the railing to look at James. His eyes were wide with innocent curiosity. “Sirius was the one who found me on the verge of jumping off the balcony that summer night.”

“Merlin--” He couldn’t believe how nonchalantly you were acting, as if you hadn’t just revealed your most vulnerable moment to him. You plowed on before he could do something embarrassing, like care for you.

“I had just met my soon to be fiance, all leering and wandering hands, and it was too much. The idea of being sold off like cattle, to be a possession instead of my own person, I always knew that’s where my life would end up but…”

It came as no surprise to you that when you started talking, the story seemed to tumble out without you wanting the full truth to be revealed. It came to him suddenly, the realization that this was probably the first time you ever said it out loud, the only person you probably ever felt close enough to tell, Sirius, being there that night meant he already knew everything from his perspective. The hurt in your voice, the emotion you usually kept locked away behind that Slytherin facade, on full display, made it impossible not to react, even though there was a very Sirius-like voice telling him to let you come to him. He couldn’t stop himself, though, when he reached out when you told him about how you screamed that night, brandishing your wand, even as the old coot laughed. He watched as you described the moment they left, your parents doing nothing but laughing along with your dear fiance, leaving you with nothing but the night air, you climbed up, the least graceful thing you had done in who knows however many years, and tipped forward. His hand latched onto yours, the same way he would have that night if he was there.

He tried not to react as you explained how Sirius’ hands clasped around your legs before you could fall, using his momentum to pull you back onto him and the solid ground. You told him how your arms scraped painfully against the stone balcony, but Sirius’ body took most of the brunt of your fall. You could barely hear what Sirius had said at the time over the ringing in your ears, too shocked at the fact that you were alive, that you didn’t fall, didn’t crash into the floor below like you so wanted, too overwhelmed to hear him yelling at you.

James did the only thing he could and held your hand tighter, keeping you with him, instead of getting swept up in the memory.

He could hear how you tried to keep your voice as even as possible as you spoke, not daring to show any more emotion than you had to, but James could tell. He couldn’t stop his face from contorting in disgust as you described the way your fiance spoke. He felt his eyes widened as you spoke about standing on the edge of the balcony, staring at the sky and not daring to look down. He nearly wept as you described Sirius’ warm embrace, the only thing that kept you grounded at the time. And when you finished, telling him you had to return to normal the following day, hiding what almost happened, he pulled you into his warm hug before he could stop himself.

“James, it’s alright,” you reassured, patting his back as if he was the one who just bared his heart and past, soothing him as best you could.

“It’s not alright!” Though his words were firm, they were not unkind. He pulled away, bringing your hand to his chest, willing you to feel the way it was thumping wildly. “You--you…!”

“It’s all in the past now.”

“The thought that I might never have met you…” He felt you starting to shake, eye swimming with doubt and hesitance.

“...what?”

“You mean so much to me.” His words rattled you, he could tell, but it was nothing compared to the pure determination in his face, not a hint of regret or ulterior motive to be seen. He meant every word. He had to show you he meant every word.

“You hardly know me--”

“Don’t do that,” he begged, his voice coming out weaker than he intended, but there was no way he would be harsh to you now, not after you bared your soul, not while you try to return to that apathetic life you had adapted to for survival over the years. Not if he could help it. “I know you know I’m being sincere. And you know I know you far better than you wish.”

“...what do you want me to say?”

“Say you’ll marry me.”

“What?!” He pulled your hand closer, keeping you as close as you’d allow.

“Not now. Not in five years, not even in ten, not if you don’t want to. But be with me, in any way you’re willing.” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“If this is some cheap Gryffindor chivalry--”

“Not this. Not with you.” He pulled you closer, willing himself not to get his hopes up as you allowed yourself to be pulled a breath away. “I like you. I like you so much I feel my heart beat faster than any Quidditch game would ever make it feel, like it’ll pop out of my chest and flutter around telling everyone who’ll listen how much it feels for you.” You flush at his blatant confession. “I hate your fiance with every fiber of my being for ever making you feel like you don’t have a choice. For making you feel so trapped that you would rather…die,” —his tongue tripped over the word, too overcome with the implication to say it without flinching— “than go through with your marriage.”

“James…”

“It’s not the way I wanted to confess,” he joked sheepishly, before morphing his expression into the most earnest he could will it. “My heart is yours, in any way you want it.”

“I don’t…--”

“I’m offering myself to you,” he clarified earnestly, even as your expression faltered. He lowered his eyes to look at your clasped hands. “Use me however you like. I know Pureblood customs, and this is the way you can get out of it. Marry me, and do whatever you like. Move across the world, or stay by my side. Godric, we could even marry now and divorce immediately if you want!” He met your eyes again. “I just want you to be happy.”

The silence continued to stretch and stretch. In the last few months of teasing, it was rare you didn’t have some sort of quip to put James back in his place, but now, it seems you didn’t have a single word to say.

He knew it was stupid, the way he said it. But, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Asking you for something simple like puppy love wasn’t going to cut it, not when your very freedom was on the line. As much as James could see himself loving you (he wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t already), you didn’t have the luxury of time, not the kind that James wanted to worship you, to prove his earnest feelings the way he knew his parents had, the way Sirius planned to show Remus. But the one thing he could do was make a promise to himself that you would never have to feel stuck again.

The longer the silence lasted, the more James felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment.

“I’ve just made a fool of myself, haven't I? I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying, and Sirius always said I needed to work on my impulse--”

His knees almost gave out from under him, your clasped hands the only thing keeping him from doing so.

Your lips were softer than he imagined.

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