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Pineapple Breath & Onion Boy (Read on ao3)
wc: 1.2k | Rated: T for Flirtatious Banter/Suggestive Language | cw: Mild reference to Period-Typical Homophobia (if you squint - Eddie is just conscious about being affectionate with Steve in a public space), Food Mention, Inferred Smoking (Eddie is playing with a lighter)
Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Pizza, Contemplating the Future, Side Clarkson, Pet Names, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Domestic Fluff, Lightest Angst in the first half
Note: Working on my drabble yesterday had me rudely confronting myself with a Drafts. Buuut it gave me the motivation to come back to this one! Yay writing!
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Eddie leans back on one of the faded red plastic chairs outside Ginoâs Pizzeria and flicks his cigarette lighter.
He then turns it off, then back on again. Then off again⌠Anything to distract himself from the desperate grumbling in his belly â a feeling that has grown painful now that he can smell pepperoni wafting outside.
The chair gives a warning wobble beneath him, the back legs of the thing holding his weight as he looks up at Steve, who looks all cozy in his cream-coloured corded sweater and maroon jacket. Even if he is standing there with his arms folded and a frown knitting his brows as he looks on down Main Street.
Wayne and Scott had disappeared in that direction a few minutes ago, trekking down the block to fetch their Chinese takeout, while Eddie and Steve waited for their pizzas.
Pizzas plural. Because Eddie refuses to partake in Steveâs new and frankly, disgusting preference for pineapple.
It has been their little quartetâs Friday Night routine for a couple of months now and Eddie thinks he must end up looking the same each and every time: staring up at his boyfriend. Steve looks pretty as a picture as his eyes glisten under the streetlight and his breath puffs out in a feint cloud in the crisp night air.
He looks a dream, really.
Not that he ever looks anything less, thank you very much!
Eddie knows Steve is lost in some thought, the kind that pinches his brows together and downturns his mouth into a mindless pout rather than one that is truly grumpy.
At least Eddie thinks itâs all that before Steve sucks in a breath and sighs, deep and wistful as his beautiful hazel eyes grow bigger.
That look makes Eddie tip forward in his chair with a sharp snap. He shoves his lighter back into the breast pocket of his leather jacket, frowning himself now as he tilts his head to the side, hoping to catch his boyfriendâs attention.
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks.
He is met with silence for a moment before Steve gives a soft and wistful sigh.
âYou think when weâre old, weâll be like Wayne and Scott?â Steve asks, still looking down the street.
âJesus Christ, no!â Eddie scoffs, âI donât plan on gettinâ old.â
Steve whips around and looks down at him with an even deeper frown and, yep â thatâs a Worried Pout.
âWhat?â he near whimpers.
Eddie jumps up, groaning a little as his back pangs with deep regret over him tilting back on that stupid rickety chair. He waves a hand nonchalantly.
But Steve doesnât budge. He looks hurt.
Eddie steps into his personal space and offers a small smile - one that he knows will showcase his dimples and make Steve melt like mozzarella cheese.
âYâknow what I mean,â he clarifies, âI do not intend to become some old fart, whose idea of a good time is going on a fishing trip while his boyfriend collects frogs.â
Steve somehow tightens the fold of his arms as he looks him over.
âEddie, you like looking for frogs,â he retorts, his brows easing up a little, âAnyway, donât you think theyâre cute?â
Eddie rolls his eyes, âOh, here we go.â
âI mean it,â Steve defends, âScott gets home from school and putters about for a while. Then, he finishes up some work exactly one hour before Wayne walks in the door. And then, they go about deciding on their takeout order â even though they always get the same thing! And when we get home, theyâll eat in front of the television, Wayne will clean up and then they watch the TV until Wayne starts to doze off and they go to bed.â
He finishes up with a sigh and looks back down Main Street again, appearing a little sheepish now as if he got a little too carried away with his longing there for a moment. Itâs a look that tightens something in Eddieâs chest â one that makes him step even closer.
Or at least as close as he should get to his boyfriend out on the main thoroughfare of Hawkins.
He sucks in a breath and looks ahead too, wanting to kiss that look off Steveâs face.
But for the moment, he settles for a bump to the shoulder.
âWeâre gonna be all that one day, arenât we?â he says just above a whisper.
âYeah?â Steve asks, upbeat but nonetheless quiet.
Eddie leans in, âFollow me, sugar.â
He tugs on Steveâs jacket sleeve and promptly spins on his heel to disappear around the corner of the building. The dumpsters behind the local pizza shop arenât the most romantic of settings â but sue him for having a Rolodex of potential public makeout spots at the ready.
Eddie can feel Steveâs warm breath on his neck as they reach the far end of the building, sending a shiver down his spine. He turns to lean against the wall and palms around for any part of Steve to come along with him.
Steve crowds him against the building and as soon as he pushes them flush together, Eddie becomes all too aware of how whisps of his hair stick to the cool brick behind him. He gasps.
âOh, no! What if I lose my hair!â he shrieks.
Steve grumbles, insulted, âWhat if I lose my hair?â
âWha-cha â Stevie!â Eddie splutters, âMy hair is just as important as yours!â
Steve smirks and reaches for his hairline, brushing back his bangs. He scrunches his nose.
âHmm,â he hums with closer inspection, âItâs looking okay⌠for now.â
Eddie hisses at him.
âGet your damn dirty paws off-a me,â he grouses. Eddie flicks his bangs back into place with an exaggerated hmfph before he straightens up and snakes his arms around Steveâs middle, pulling him tighter still, âSteve, I promise as I stand here before you, behind the hallowed halls of Ginoâs Pizzeria â â
â â Eddie, the ownerâs name is Frank.â
âFine! Frank â he of bountiful cheese and delicious tomato sauce. I do declare that I will still love you, even if I turn into a balding old grump with a permanent frown and bad knees.â
âAnd will you still love me if I become a middle school teacher, all chipper and cheery?â
âMeh, that wouldnât be so bad,â Eddie shrugs.
âWhat if I grew a moustache?â Steve grins.
âThatâs taking it too far!â Eddie practically shouts, squeezing the air out of his boyfriend in the process.
Steve gives a wheezing giggle as he runs his thumb and index finger over the soft stubble he has above his plush top lip. Eddie captures the mocking digits in his own hand and bites down, earning a wicked whine.
Steve shivers and gives a warning, âEdwardâŚâ
âNow,â Eddie begins, lowering the register of his voice, âRavish me!â
Steve leans forward and presses the most chaste of kisses to the corner of his mouth.
âIâll ravish you later,â he pulls back and winks.
But Eddie recoils, nearly knocking his head back against the pizzeriaâs brick wall.
âWhen you have pineapple breath?â he spits with a dramatic grimace.
âSays you, Onion Boy.â
âFine,â Eddie relents, âWeâre both stinky.â
The rusty bell of the pizza shopâs front door sounds and Eddie is sure Wayne and Scott have already made it back, always more efficient in calling ahead with their own takeout order.
âWouldnât have it any other way,â Steve smiles, lacing their fingers together.
#how i wish that there were more text colours to choose from on tumblr đ#looked back through my writing and up til yesterday i han't written anything since the start of september??? HOW???#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#clarkson#wayne munson#scott clark#clarkson â#steddie fanfic#lily writes a fic
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i said a while ago i wanted to read dan and phil's astrology charts, so here is Dan's!
warning it is Long
disclaimer: ive studied astrology for 10 years and this is just what i read and interpret his chart as. astrology is fun and this is not to be taken seriously....this is all my interpretation and opinion!
Dan's big three: Gemini sun, Gemini moon, Cancer rising.
this truly is an individual quick to love and hate. he is reluctantly ruled by emotions, but also with swift wit, making him seem impulsive with his words. he needs connection above all else.
his emotions are erratic and quick, he may be moody or move on either too quickly, or never. he is hard to pin down emotionally, because his emotions rule him, than the other way around. he is quick witted, funny, anxious, and intellectual. has a hard time verbalizing emotions, especially having his sun, moon, and mercury in the 12th house, which internalizes everything. he needs an outlet for those emotions because it's all zooming around in his head CONSTANTLY, his mind never quiets. may like to write his feelings, rather than speak them
he uses humor to cover his emotions up, and it might be hard to get closer to him unless he lets down that barrier.
cancer rising is like a big uncovered nerve....very sensitive. they go through life sensitively and are in tune with others around them, which can exhaust them. they are always trying to make sure everyone is happy and sometimes neglect that for themselves. they also are known for having a baby face! they are warm and protective of others, and loyalty means everything to them.
his Venus and Mars in Leo....... Loves attention. He fucking craves it. he is also quick and impulsive with emotions but feels a deep sense of pride. he gets embarrassed easily and nothing makes him angrier than feeling embarrassed or like his character/pride is being attacked. he is fiercely loyal and is definitely the jealous type. will stand up for his loved ones. his love language may be words of affirmation/compliments!
the Gemini mixed with the Leo...he loves to talk. he is very loud lol. an energetic warrior ;) but only behind closed doors, because he wants to control the image he portrays to others intensely. he's all about image, he's very calculated when it comes to that. he wants people to only see what he wants them to see, he loves to put on a show. a big entertainer.
his second house is with his mars, Venus, and Jupiter. the second is the house of material possessions, ruled by Taurus (Venus). he loves fashion, money, and it's a core need for him to be able to buy whatever he wants. he has an innate eye for design. he is particular about this, and can seem controlling over these things. Jupiter expands so he has luck in this area, of beauty, money, and material possessions, and security through these things is a big thing for him.
this cheeky fucker....Has Uranus and Neptune in the 7th house. wherever Uranus is, it's unconventional and rebellious. where Neptune is, it's naive and idealistic. the 7th house is relationships.... Pointing to the fact that he has an ambiguous relationship with someone who people speculate about because it confuses them đ he hates to be tied down and can be rebellious against traditional relationships. mix this with the idealistic, hopelessly romantic Neptune, and you have a big confusing feeling inside you where the two wolves are always fighting. he wants a soulmate and believes deeply in love, but hates that part of him and thinks it's corny and useless.
his 7th is also in Capricorn, which is hilarious because it is typical for this placement to seek older partners (lol), and to seek someone with Capricorn qualities, who seems established, controlled, and mature. this also indicates luck in business partnerships. he sees relationships as hard work, dedication, and responsibility.
he has Pluto in the 5th house, and pluto is the death and rebirth of that area. the 5th house is hobbies, games, romance/dating, sports, creativity, etc. he has crashed and burned in this area multiple times, and these are areas of intense passion for him...he obsesses over romance, he comes across intense. he longs for that connection. his creativity is hard for him to control, creative blocks may be intense, but he has so many ideas all the time and will stop at nothing to bring them to fruition. also indicates someone who has many talents in many areas, and has a hard time choosing just one.
overarching themes of his chart: he craves romance and connection, he can be a bit naive in that area, but he hates tradition and commitment and struggles a lot with those two parts of himself. he is attracted to powerful, strong, and caring types. he is jealous and protective and craves loyalty, as he himself is loyal. he is loud and creative and fun, and he controls his image well. he holds a lot of himself inside and his inner mind is always moving and growing. he is witty and uses humor to connect but also to shield. he is intense and serious, but hides that behind an entertaining exterior.
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Soooooo..... this is the piece I submitted for my assignment and uh idk it actually meant something to me how weird XD so I'm posting it on here because before everything else this blog was supposed to be a place for me to take my first steps as a writer and that still applies; this is my little journal ^_^ my commonplace notebook, or rather an extension of it (since I do also have a journal with me all the time anyway ^_^)
The extract is fairly short, we had a word limit of 900 words and of course I hit exactly 900 + 10%, also in case you didn't see my previous posts yes this will have emotional scenes and references to sexual assault, rape and abduction, not very long but the small sections are graphic. Read at your own discretion
I stared in disbelief at the table before me. There was a big bouquet of pink and purple flowers in the middle, flanked by two trays of some multicoloured, vomit-like casserole from which wisps of sickeningly vegetable scented steam rose up. The dining places were set, one, two, three, with a small bunch of flowers tied with a ribbon on the middle of one of the plates. Â
The plate is set at the head of the table. Guest of honour.Â
âWhat... what is this?â Â
âWe... we thought you might want a nice meal your first day home,â Mum says nervously, hovering beside me. âI baked a vegetable lasagna, your favourite remember?â Â
I frown, tugging at the soft, fluffy sleeves of my lilac dressing gown. I havenât taken it off since I left the hospital. âI donât remember. Iâm more used to frozen pizzas and tv.âÂ
âWe also thought the flowers were a nice touch, you liked the colours when you were little,â Dad said brightly, pulling out the chair with one hand and taking one of mine to lead me to it. As though I needed help sitting. Â
All I do is sit. All I have done is sit for the past 9 years, except for when it was lying down. Or kneeling. Â
I slip my hand away and drop my gaze to the floor, tugging my fluffy hood over my head. âCanât we just eat in front of the TV? I always ate in front of the TV with him.âÂ
Mum sighs, itâs the shaky watery sigh, and I want to hit myself, and her. Â
No, donât, thatâs mum, sheâs trying, sheâs trying... Â
âApril, the doctor said it would be better if we stayed away from the habits that you had when you were... away,â Dad says gently.Â
âKidnapped you mean.â Â
He winces. âPlease, can we not talk about it like that?âÂ
âLike what? Thatâs what it was, I was kidnapped. Thatâs true, isnât it?âÂ
âWeâre trying to move on,â Mum whispers.Â
âBy making me food I donât even remember? Put flowers in front of me like itâs a celebration? How does not talking about it make us move on, you just want to pretend like it didnât happen.â I can hear Mum start to breathe shallowly and fast, and I see Dadâs grey slippers shuffle across the floor as he goes over to comfort her. Her. Not me. Â
âApril, look up,â he says firmly. I donât want to, so I pull my hood down further, focusing my eyes on the pattern of white stars on the inside. âApril please, weâre doing our best. Can you please look at us?â Â
âYour best got me kidnapped.â Â
I hear Mum cry out at that. A small wail.Â
Idiot, you made Mum cry, she made you dinner and you made her cry. Just hang yourself already.Â
âThatâs enough, you may have gone through... everything you have but that is no excuse to treat us like this.âÂ
âLike what? Youâre not the ones who got taken, you didnât get raped every day, you didnât get touched and licked and beaten black and blue, everything Iâve gone through.â I hate myself more with each word that falls out of my mouth, but I canât stop, itâs overflowing from my head and spilling from my lips. âYou arenât the ones who got stuck in hospital after finally escaping, on the verge of dying. You arenât the ones who are 20 years old, a full-fledged adult, with no choices, no life, no friends, and people you donât know deciding everything, including your food like youâre still a baby, for you.â I donât wait to hear their
reply, Mumâs sobbing too much and I turn and run, my fists balled up against the sides of my head as I slam down my feet on each step to my bedroom, trying to release my thunderstorm to drown out her misery. Â
************Â
In my room itâs easier to calm down, I can wrap myself up in the purple blankets on my bed and hide away from the world. This time I donât want the comfort of wrapping myself up though. Â
I keep feeling this pain in my chest when I think about Mum crying, my heart caught in a beartrap and its cold, metal jaws snap round my heart, shocking and stabbing me all at once. I hit my head every time it happens, trying to distract myself from it, and because I deserve it. I donât know how to not make her cry. I donât know how to tell her how I feel... and not make her cry. Â
Knock knock. âApril? Itâs Mum, can I please come in?â Â
I stop hitting the sides of my head, surprised by how calm she sounds. âYes.âÂ
The door swings open as I resume rocking and hitting my head and I hear her gasp softly. Iâve never done this in front of her but this time I canât stop. âSweetie, can you look at me for a second?â She sounds so soft and kind. Â
When I donât look up, she kneels next to me and looks up at my face, and her face makes the bear-trap pain worse, her eyes all soft and worried. âIâm sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, okay? And trying to baby you... Iâm trying to take care of you and Iâm... not very good.â Â
âYouâre good.âÂ
âWhat?â She looks confused. Â
âYouâre good, youâre a good mum.â Iâve stopped rocking, and Iâve dropped my hands down to hold one of hers. âYouâre not... bad. Iâm... I just need you to listen to me?â The bear-trap starts to relax and loosen as I dare to look at her face. Her eyes are glassy again but sheâs smiling, holding my hand tightly. Â
âThank you.â Â
#star speaks#writers#writerblr#writers on tumblr#I'm aware it's probably trite and generic#I did weave some sincerity into it#well no#quite a lot#but also I stayed fairly detached and focused on it as a piece of technical writing#my attention on my language and writing rather than#the premise of the story#my apologies if you expected something... starstriking
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#im a fuckin dumbass#''what am i supposed to do with my life???? đ''#gurl#you love language and literacy and writing and communication and reading#you love gathering information#you want to make a tangible difference in the lives of the people around you/serve your community/serve a higher purpose#than generating profit#you love kids#you are very competent with tech and have high attention to detail and have mechanical accumen#you're good at making plans to execute a process smoothly#im a LIBRARIAN#benafflecksmoking.jpg#AND it's a government job which has a sliver of political service to it#like so many communities do voting and dropboxes at libraries#i am a FOOL#it's so obvious i GREW UP in public libraries and it was hugely important to my personal and academic development#this is like. i think this is it.#i have always felt so lost and adrift about what i should do for a degree or a career#but uh#that might actually be the thing#and it'll have more interaction with the public than i would probably like but i think i would feel so much better about it when#a) i am not being pressured to sell them anything and b) i feel like I'm genuinely helping people who need it#rather than serving the entertainment needs of the wealthy#there's a degree between me and this career path but i genuinely think i could do this#ohhhh boy much to think about đł
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The thing with the Mari Lwyd, though, is that it's being... I don't know, 'appropriated' is the wrong word, but certainly turned into something it isn't.
Thing is, this is a folk tradition in the Welsh language, and that's the most important aspect of it. I feel partly responsible for this, because I accidentally became a bit of an expert on the topic of the Mari Lwyd in a post that escaped Tumblr containment, and I clearly didn't stress it strongly enough there (in my defence, I wrote that post for ten likes and some attention); but this is a Welsh language tradition, conducted in Welsh, using Welsh language poetic forms that are older than the entire English language, and also a very specific sung melody (with a very specific first verse; that's Cân y Fari). It is not actually a 'rap battle'. It's not a recited poem. It is not any old rhyme scheme however you want.
It is not in English.
Given the extensive and frankly ongoing attempts by England to wipe out Welsh, and its attendant cultural traditions, the Mari is being revived across Wales as an act of linguistic-cultural defiance. She's a symbol of Welsh language culture, specifically; an icon to remind that we are a distinct people, with our own culture and traditions, and in spite of everyone and everything, we're still here. Separating her from that by removing the Welsh is, to put it mildly, wildly disrespectful.
...but it IS what I'm increasingly seeing, both online and in real world Mari Lwyd festivals. She's gained enormous pop-culture popularity in recent years, which is fantastic; but she's also been reduced from the tradition to just an aesthetic now.
So many people are talking/drawing about her as though she's a cryptid or a mythological figure, rather than the folk practice of shoving a skull on a stick and pretending to be a naughty horse for cheese and drunken larks. And I get it! It's an intriguing visual! Some of the artwork is great! But this is not what she is. She's not a Krampus equivalent for your Dark Christmas aesthetic.
I see people writing their own version of the pwnco (though never called the pwnco; almost always called some variant on 'Mari Lwyd rap battle'), and as fun as these are, they are never even written in the meter and poetic rules of Cân y Fari, much less in Welsh, and they never conclude with the promise to behave before letting the Mari into the house. The pwnco is the central part to the tradition; this is the Welsh language part, the bit that's important and matters.
Mari Lwyd festivals are increasingly just English wassail festivals with a Mari or two present. The Swansea one last weekend didn't even include a Mari trying to break into a building (insert Shrek meme); there was no pwnco at all. Even in the Chepstow ones, they didn't do actual Cân y Fari; just a couple of recited verses. Instead, the Maris are just an aesthetic, a way to make it look a bit more Welsh, without having to commit to the unfashionable inconvenience of actually including Welsh.
And I don't really know what the answers are to these. I can tell you what I'd like - I'd like art to include the Welsh somewhere, maybe incorporating the first line of Cân y Fari like this one did, to keep it connected to the actual Welsh tradition (or other Welsh, if other phrases are preferred). I'd like people who want to write their version of the pwnco to respect the actual tradition of it by using Cân y Fari's meter and rhyme scheme, finishing with the promise to behave, and actually calling it the pwnco rather than a rap battle (and preferably in Welsh, though I do understand that's not always possible lol). I'd like to see the festivals actually observe the tradition, and include a link on the booking website to an audio clip of Cân y Fari and the words to the first verse, so attendees who want to can learn it ahead of time. I don't know how feasible any of that is, of course! But that's what I'd like to see.
I don't know. This is rambly. But it's something I've been thinking about - and increasingly nettled by - for a while. There's was something so affirming and wonderful at first about seeing the Mari's climb into international recognition, but it's very much turned to dismay by now, because she's important to my endangered culture and yet that's the part that everyone apparently wants to drop for being too awkward and ruining the aesthetic. It's very frustrating.
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Writing Character Accents in Fiction
Hey there, thanks for the question! I speak English as a second language; most English speakers I encounter arenât native (yes, including fictional people); thus, this is a concern Iâve explored personally when I write.Â
I think the core principle regarding accent writing is this: it shouldnât be distracting.Â
For the same reasons why Stephen King prescribes the basic dialogue tag âsaidâ rather than fancier alternatives like âwhisperedâ, âshoutedâ or âscreechedâ, dialogue must be first and foremost easy to read. It must flow like a real conversation â the pace and tone are a lot more important than how specific words are being pronounced by the character.Â
Focus on what effect the accent has:
Using adjectives to describe their voice in general. Different types of English (American, British, Australian, etc.) will give off a different vibe, also partly dependent on how your character speaks in general:
Lilting: Having a smooth rise and falling quality; sing-song like. Welsh accent is often described as singing.Â
Posh: from a high social class. This is the term generally used to describe the upper-class British accent.
Nasal: this happens when the sound goes through somebodyâs nose when theyâre speaking. North American accents are more nasal than, say, British pronunciations.Â
Brash: harsh, loud, indicative of sounding a little rude.Â
Slur: speaking indistinctly; words merging into one another.
Using metaphors.
Her voice was cotton and fluffy clouds.Â
When he spoke, the ârâs scratched the insides of his throat.Â
Mentioning their accent with a brief example(s).Â
âWould you like to drink some wine?â she said, though her Indian accent gave extra vibration to her âwâs and ârâs, making the words sound more like âvould you like to drrrink some vineâ.
âI want some chocolate.â His syllables were choppy and âlâs rather flat, saying âcho-ko-litâ.Â
Some Tips:
Donât phonically spell out everything. Perhaps give a few examples in the beginning, but stick to standard English spellings.Â
Pay attention to word choice, slang, and colloquialisms.Â
An Australian person would say âtramâ, not âtrolley; ârunnersâ instead of âsneakersâ
A Canadian may refer to a âfire hallâ â what Americans call a firehouse or fire station
If your character comes from a non-Enligsh background:
Use vocabulary from other languages.Â
âWhat time was the exam, ah? Two oâclock? Jiayou!â â putting âahâ or âlaâ at the end of sentences + Jiayou means âbreak a legâ in Singlish.Â
âI canât believe that 4-year-olds have their own SNS accounts now.â â âSNSâ is short for âsocial networking serviceâ, a term used to refer to social media in Korea. This would a subtle difference â even though it isnât technically Korean at all!
Transpose grammar from different languages.Â
For example, in French, plural nouns take plural adjectives (whereas in English, you would speak of âwhite carsâ, not âwhites carsâ).
âââ シ ・ďžâ: *.â˝ .* . âââ
đIf you like my blog, buy me a coffeeâ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.
đBefore you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2Â
#writers and poets#writers on tumblr#writing#helping writers#creative writing#let's write#creative writers#poets and writers#writeblr#resources for writers#ask blog#ask me anything#answered asks#writing process#writing advice#writing inspiration#writing community#writer#writerscommunity
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hello, I would like to make a request, a story based on the last episode of yours, Five talking to another Five in the final conversation and they talk about his wife and Canon Five doesn't have one, thanks if you want
a/n: i absolutely loved writing this ty for sending this in ! <3
warnings: language, slight angst, spoilers
summary: Five discovers his missing piece
When Five stumbled into Maxâs and came across an entire diner full of alternate versions of himself, about a million different questions raced through his mind. However, the most pressing issue he found himself wanting to address was the context behind the lovingly placed portrait of a woman on the wall.
âWhoâs the girl?â He asks his counterpart, his eyes remaining glued to the painting. The womanâs smile was gentle, her eyes kind, and her face the most beautiful heâd ever seen. He almost felt drawn to it in a way, as if there was some type of magnetic pull gravitating his focus to her and only her. It was like seeing a ghost or a familiar face from a dream that youâre not quite able to place.
âDonât you recognize her?â The other Five retorts perplexed, confusion clearly etched on his features. âThatâs y/n.â
âCanât say Iâm familiar,â the Boy confesses with an apologetic sigh as he finally pulls his attention away from the painting and sets it back to the Five in front of him.
âNo wonder youâre such a mess,â server Five notes with a diverted smile as he tops off their coffee. Calling over his shoulder, he announces to all Fives, âThe poor bastard doesnât have a y/n.â
Murmurs of surprise and astonished laughter fill the cafe at the news, prompting Fiveâs face to heat in embarrassment at being the butt of a joke he has no grasp of. What do these Fives know that he doesnât?
âCould you please be so kind as to fill me in on who this y/n is,â he requests agitatedly through gritted teeth. Reaching into his pocket, his counterpart pulls out a weathered photograph and slides it across the table for Five to see.
âY/n is the missing piece that completes every Five. We all meet her in different ways at different points of our lives, but every time she manages to anchor us back down to earth. Y/n is the glue that holds us together when everything goes to shit. She believes in us, sees the humanity in us despite the horrors weâve seen and the atrocities weâve committed. She gives us unconditional love even when we think we donât need it, when we think it couldnât possibly exist.â
As Fives look down at the photo before him, he sees himself- or rather, another version of himself- enveloping y/n in his arms. They stand in front of a beautiful home with a picket white fence and a garden full of flowers smiling with pure bliss. Itâs clear that the woman loved this version of him by the adoring look in her eyes, and itâs even clearer that she meant everything to the Five sitting across from him.
âShe means something different to each of us, but I was one of the Fiveâs lucky enough to make her my wife,â his companion notes with an evocative smile. âThat photo was taken on our honeymoon.
âWhere is she now?â Five asks somberly after handing back the photograph.
âDead,â he replies quietly, releasing a mournful sigh as he sinks back into the booth. âLost her in an accident while I was trying to stop the apocalypse for a third time. Thatâs when I decided it was time to hang in the towel.â
âIâm sorry about that.â
âWe had a good run together, I wouldnât change any of it,â the replica admits with a reminiscent smile. He takes another look at the photo, committing it to memory before handing it back to Five. âI think you need this more than I do. You may not have had the chance to know your y/n, but judging by the look on your face when you spotted the portrait I have a good feeling you would have loved her just the same.â
Gingerly taking the photograph back, Five stops to admire her gentle features and adoring smile before tucking it safely into the pocket of his suit. âThank you.â
âYou know what you have to do to fix the timelines,â the other Five firmly instructs him. âJust promise me youâll do by right by my wife. She deserves a safe timeline to live in, one where she can grow old and be happy.â
Rising from his seat at the booth, Five takes one last longing look at the portrait on the wall before returning his gaze to the boy in front of him.
âYou have my word.â
#request#the umbrella academy#number five#five hargreeves#five hargreeves x reader#five hargreeves imagine#number five x reader#number five imagine#tua#tua x reader#tua imagine#tua spoilers
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Something wrong with me
Jacaerys Velaryon x Wife!Reader
Summary: Jacaerys comforts his wife after she tells him her worries.
I hope you have a good read. If you like it, don't hesitate to like, comment and reblog. These three things serve to motivate the writer to continue writing đĽ°đ
My inbox is open if you want to make any requests or share any headcanon.
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.
Something had happened. Jacaerys had no idea what she was but she knew something had happened because today you seemed distracted all day and during dinner, you barely spoke and you didn't eat much either so your husband was worried. First, he waited to see if you would tell him what the reason for your distress was, but now that you were both alone and in the shelter of his bed, your head on his chest and his arms hugging you, even so, you still didn't seem to dare to tell him so. He decided to ask you directly.
âToday I noticed you were distracted, my lady,â he said as he caressed your waist with one of his hands. âDo you want to tell me what is worrying you? That might make you feel betterâ he asked softly making you look at him.
âI'm bleeding,â you noticed the panic in your husband's eyes so you hurried to clarify. I mean my moon bloodâ You felt his body relax again.
Jacaerys thought about getting up and asking the maester to bring you some tea to alleviate any discomfort you had but when he was about to ask you to please move so he was going to look for the maester you surprised him by talking again.
âAre you disappointed?â You asked, abandoning the warmth of his chest to get a good look at his reaction, not wanting to miss any small-expression or movement. But your husband didn't look angry or sad but rather he seemed confused.
âWhy would I be disappointed?â he asked, feeling lost. You hadn't done anything to make him or his family feel bad nor had you broken your marriage vows so he didn't understand how you could have let him down.
âBecause I'm not pregnant!â you responded with obvious frustration and eyes full of unshed tears. You looked away and sat down feeling ashamed of yourself, for having lost your temper and especially for not fulfilling your duties. âAnd there's obviously something wrong with me,â you said, finally saying out loud what you had been thinking all day since you saw your red-stained clothes.
You hid your face in your hands, not wanting the prince to see that you were starting to cry. Barely a few seconds passed when Jacaerys was in front of you, gently removing your hands from your face. He felt pain in his heart when he saw your beautiful eyes full of sadness and tears rolling down your cheeks.
âHey, don't talk about yourself like that. There is nothing wrong with you, my sweet wife. Your value is above the children you can give meâ he said while carefully wiping away the tears. âYou are more important than that, you are the one who gives me love and joy every dayâ he gently takes your face before kissing you on your forehead, his lips soon land on the tip of your nose and then on your cheeks, he begins to spread kisses all over your face until finally the tears stop and a smile forms on your lips and Jace finally kisses you like a husband should kiss a wife. You feel like you are melting from the sweetness of his kiss and from all the love he transmits to you. You feel so lucky to be his wife. He is so kind, sweet, and attentive to you. And you just want to make him as happy as he makes you feel every day. That's why you're so angry and disappointed in yourself for having your moon blood again.
Somehow Jacaerys must feel that your thoughts are turning dark again because he stops kissing you to calm your fears.
âNow, my sweet wife, I don't want to invalidate your concerns but we have only been married for a few moons so I think it is normal that you are not pregnant yet,â he said as he caressed your cheek. You still didn't seem to be completely calm so he hastened to add. "But if in a few moons, you are still not pregnant and you are still worried about it, we can go talk to my mother or the maester. I'm sure they will be willing to help us."
Jacaerys hoped that the two of you wouldn't have to have that uncomfortable conversation with the maester but for you, he was willing to do anything. He just wanted you to stop worrying.
âTo be honest, it doesn't bother me that it's just the two of us for now. âI would like to have you a little more to myself,â he declared shamelessly, making you laugh before rushing you to kiss him again.
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hotd masterlist
#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon x you#hotd fanfic#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys x you#hotd fic#hotd fanfiction#jacaerys x y/n#jacaerys velaryon imagine#jacaerys fluff#jacaerys velaryon#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#house of the dragon x you#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#prince jacaerys#jace velaryon x reader#jace velaryon x you#jace velaryon#jace x reader#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys targaryen#jacaerys strong
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A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc
"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."
"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.
"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.
"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"
"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.
"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."
"This is where I live."
"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"
"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"
"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."
"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."
"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."
"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe youâve gone through your whole school life without reading it, itâs good!"
"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didnât even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. Iâ"
"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fuâ"
"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"
"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"
"Please, call me Bruce."
"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."
Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.
"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."
#dpxdc#batpham#i forget - can we tag the parent fandoms? w/e#immediately alfred's like: while i do appreciate your initiative may i suggest it wait until after dinner?#and danny - who has barely eaten proper homecooked food ever - takes one bite and then absolutely wolfs down the whole lot#after he's finished he's like 'bear with - I've got to add that to the 'Reasons I Would Like to Live Here' section'#danny's powerpoint has tailored sections for each batfam member with lists of reasons why they'd get along#my au thoughts on this is that the fentons disowned danny when he told them he was phantom#and that this is after the ultimate enemy - wherein which he allied himself with the JL to fight against dan#(which didnt really work at all - BUT he knows some of their identities now INCLUDING batman's)#so one of the main reasons why he'd be a great fit is that he knows their vigilante status anyway so they donât need to worry about secrets#dick just turns to tim like 'heâs your friend. he learnt this from you.'#tim: 'i didn't tell him our identities!! i would never!!'#dick: 'no i know that. it's the stalker tendancies. it's baby tim all over again'#tim: scandalised gasp#they all eat dinner in silence just super subdued and in shock and sending glances to bruce and danny#duke like: 'so i know I'm the last one in the family but like... this isn't how it normally happens right? did any of you make powerpoints?#tim gets all shifty because he absolutely did make a powerpoint he just never actually showed it to anyone#everyone stares at tim because they all know. it was in one of bab's blackmail files she has on him#damian's slide has danny offering to throw down at any time. 'tim says you like to prove yourself with your skills?#how about a real challenge? if i beat you then you have to vote yes to adopting me!'#damian is in two minds about accepting because... 1) look at him damian could take danny in his sleep! but#2) on the off chance that he does win... damian does not want any more brothers#(he takes the bet and its a suprisingly fun fight - and while he'll never say this... he would vote yes even without the wager)#on one of danny's slides there's a picture of ellie: you'll also get my clone sister! two children for the price of one!!#uhhh.... thats it now - I've been having fun with this haha#spent all day with the 'ive lured you here under false pretences' 'danny i live here' line in my head haha#anyway enjoy!!!!!! this was fun#i wanna make these slides so bad
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Irritating, But Irresistible â Franco Colapinto X Reader
Summary: Alex Albonâs sister is not happy with Loganâs new replacement who seems to be very sure of himself.
Words: 8k
Warnings: cursing, smut after ***
A/N: this is my first time writing anything, just wanted to do something w franco since there is not much out there yet :) English isn't my first language so I hope it reads okay! smut is just the last part so you can read without and it will still be a complete story *muah*
________________________________________________________
It was press conference day at Monza, one of the busiest times during a Formula 1 weekend. I walked through the paddock, juggling my internship deadlines on my phone. Even with my hectic schedule, nothing beat being around the buzz of the F1 world, where I could support my brother Alex and enjoy the company of his friends. Today, however, my thoughts were consumed by Loganâs sudden exit and his replacement.
Franco Colapinto.
I had yet to meet him, but from what Alex had shared, I already had my preconceptions: talented, confident, but most likely arrogantâa rookie straight from Formula 2 who had taken Loganâs seat.
I had been devastated by the news. Of course, Logan hadnât been performing as well as he did in F2, but he and I had formed a special bond over the course of the past seasons. After every crash, when Logan would be back in the team garage to sit out the race, I had been there to talk with him, and we developed a deep and valuable friendship. I couldnât help but feel frustrated by the team not sticking with him until Newey would join next season and provide a better car.
As I approached Alex and George Russell, they were already deep in conversation, Alexâs usual easygoing grin on his face as George prattled on with his distinctly old-fashioned vocabulary.
âAnd I dare say, Alex, itâs an absolute travesty that the press still insists on asking the same infernal questions,â George was saying, sipping from his water bottle. âThereâs only so many times one can answer, âWhatâs your strategy for qualifying?â without going mad.â
Alex chuckled, shaking his head. âCome on, George, donât act like you donât secretly love the attention.â
George sniffed, clearly unconvinced. âAttention, yes, but repetitive inquiries? Itâs rather pedestrian. Honestly, one would expect a touch more intellectual curiosity.â
I grinned, stepping into the conversation. âYou should start answering in riddles, George. Give them something to think about.â
Georgeâs eyes lit up, considering the idea seriously. âYou know, thatâs not half bad. I could begin each answer with a Shakespearean quote. âTo pit or not to pit, that is the question.ââ
Alex burst into laughter, shaking his head. âPlease do. Itâll be the highlight of the weekend.â
Before I could join in with my own jab, a smooth voice with a slight spanish accent interrupted our banter. âYou must be Alexâs sister.â
I turned, and my breath caught for a second. Standing before me was Franco Colapinto, and he wasâwell, to be honest, he was a lot more attractive than I had expected. His dark hair was fluffy and slightly tousled as if he had just run a hand through it, giving him a charmingly casual look. His eyesâbright, shining with a mix of mischief and curiosityâimmediately met mine, and there was something about the way they sparkled that unsettled me.
Franco stood with a relaxed confidence, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he waited for my response.
âAnd you must be Loganâs replacement,â I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended, trying to ignore the little flip in my stomach.
Franco raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that response, but his grin only grew wider, a playful glint in his bright eyes. âFranco Colapinto,â he introduced himself, extending his hand toward me.
I glanced at his hand but didnât take it, crossing my arms instead. âY/N.â
Franco didnât miss a beat. He chuckled softly, undeterred by my cold reception. âGuess Iâm not winning you over just yet.â
âYou could say that,â I muttered under my breath, unable to stop myself from taking in his appearance againâhis fluffy hair, the way the sunlight seemed to make his dark eyes even more intense.
âGive it time,â Franco said lightly, his tone soft but still laced with confidence. He shifted his gaze to Alex, giving a friendly nod. âSee you up there, mate.â
As Franco walked away to the press room, I couldnât help but stare after him, irritated by the way my heart skipped a beat. âHeâs got some nerve,â I muttered.
Alex, always the peacemaker, sighed beside me. âDonât be too hard on him, Y/N. Heâs just trying to find his place.â
âYeah, well, Logan had his place, and it was taken from him,â I shot back, folding my arms tighter across my chest.
George, ever the diplomat, chimed in with his usual formal tone. âAlas, it is the nature of this sport, Miss Albon. Drivers come and go as swiftly as the wind changes its course. Itâs unfortunate, but inevitable.â
I sighed, knowing George was right but still unable to shake my irritation. I cast one last look at Franco, who was now chatting with some team members, his bright eyes still sparkling, that teasing grin still lingering on his lips.
The atmosphere that evening was electric. After a long day of press conferences and media obligations, the some of thedrivers, teams, and close friends gathered for a small party in the paddockâs private area. Music thumped through the speakers, and the energy was light despite the high-pressure weekend ahead.
I found myself by the bar, sipping a drink, trying to focus on my conversation with Lando and Oscar.
âYou seriously didnât even know how to do a basic rumba?â Lando was saying, laughing so hard he nearly spilled his drink. âCome on, Oscar. I thought Aussies were supposed to know how to dance.â
Oscar smirked, unbothered. âIâm a racing driver, not a dancer. I donât need rhythm on the track, mate.â
I chuckled, shaking my head. âRumba, Lando? Thatâs what youâre testing him on?â
Lando grinned, tossing his head back dramatically. âOh, come on, Y/N. You know itâs important. Itâs all about balance! Quick on your feet, suave with the movesâitâs practically the same thing as cornering at high speed.â
Oscar raised an eyebrow. âPretty sure itâs not the same thing.â
âWell,â Lando shrugged, âwhen the media isnât on your back, youâve got to perfect something other than driving. For me, itâs dance moves. For Georgeââ Lando leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, âitâs his ancient vocabulary. I heard him use the word âbeseechâ in an interview once. I thought weâd time-traveled.â
I burst out laughing, picturing George in full seriousness. âOh my God, thatâs so him.â
Lando wasnât finished, his eyes sparkling with mischief. âThatâs not even the best part. He used it to answer a question about tire degradation. I swear!â
Oscar finally cracked a smile, shaking his head. âGeorge could give my grandma a run for her money.â
I was about to add another quip when I caught sight of Franco across the room, his familiar silhouette standing out as he laughed with Max and Daniel. I quickly looked back at my drink, but Lando, ever observant, wasnât going to let it slide.
âYou keep staring at him,â Lando teased, nudging me with a smirk.
âWhat?â I blinked, caught off guard. âIâm not staring.â
Oscar, who had been quietly sipping his drink, glanced at me. âYou kind of are.â
I frowned, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. âIâm not. I just⌠donât like him, thatâs all.â
âCouldâve fooled me,â Lando said, wiggling his eyebrows. âYouâre not usually this flustered. It's kind of cute.â
âShut up, Lando,â I shot back, though my voice lacked the sharpness I intended.
Oscar chuckled softly, glancing toward Franco. âYou talk about him more than Iâve heard anyone talk about him since he joined.â
I rolled my eyes, clearly frustrated. âHeâs arrogant, alright? Thinks he can just come in andââ
âYeah, yeah, we get it. You donât like him,â Lando interrupted with a grin, clearly not buying it. âBut letâs be realâheâs not exactly lacking in the looks department, is he?â
I felt my face flush even more, and before I could respond, a familiar voice broke into the conversation. âWhatâs with the staring, cariĂąo?â
My heart raced involuntarily, and my cheeks flushed red, but I forced a sarcastic smile. âIâI just donât like that shirt, thatâs all.â
Francoâs playful grin widened as he tilted his head slightly. âIâll gladly take it off for you if you want me to.â
Lando burst into laughter and took a step back, clearly enjoying the tension. âOh, Iâll leave you two to sort that out.â
Oscar, ever the quiet observer, gave a smirk and a knowing nod before following Lando, leaving me and Franco alone.
âYouâre way too smug for someone who just got their seat,â I muttered, crossing my arms defensively.
Franco chuckled softly, his dark eyes still sparkling with amusement. âThey brought me here for a reason, Y/N. Thereâs nothing wrong with being self-assured.â
I opened my mouth to retort, but the words caught in my throat as I found myself staring at his eyes againâthe way they seemed to shimmer in the dim light. His presence unnerved me in a way that no one else ever had.
âIâll prove it to you,â Franco said quietly, stepping closer, his voice dropping slightly, filled with both promise and challenge. He softly brushed his hand against my arm, the touch sending a shiver through me. âJust watch.â
Before I could respond, Maxâs voice boomed from across the room. âOi, Franco! Stop flirting! I got us another round of gin tonics!â
Franco glanced over his shoulder and smirked before turning back to me. âSee you tomorrow,â he said, his voice soft and teasing, before walking off, leaving me standing there, heart racing for reasons I didnât want to admit.
Friday morningâs free practice was the perfect chance for the teams to fine-tune their setups before qualifying, but for me, it was another opportunity to watch Franco. I stood in the Williams garage, my arms crossed as I kept one eye on the lap times flashing on the screen, the other on Francoâs progress on track.
âHowâs he looking?â I asked Alex, trying to keep my tone neutral, but the curiosity in my voice betrayed me.
Alex, who had already come back into the garage mid-session, didnât look away from the data in front of him. âDecent. Heâs still getting used to the car, but heâs quick. Heâs got potential, Y/N.â
I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. âPotential doesnât win races, though.â
Alex glanced at me with a grin. âYouâre tough. Give him a break. Heâs still new.â
Before I could argue back, James Vowles, the Williams team principal, stepped into the conversation, his voice measured and commanding, but always reassuring. âPatience, Y/N. Drivers need time to grow, especially in this environment. Francoâs performance has been promising so far, and thatâs all we can ask for at this stage.â
I smirked, shaking my head. âIâm not sure Francoâs the âtake time to growâ type. Heâs way too sure of himself.â
James folded his arms, smiling slightly while shaking his head. âConfidence is a tool, Y/N. If used correctly, it can be an asset. And from what Iâve seen, Franco understands that balance. Letâs not underestimate him too soon.â
Alex chuckled, nudging me. âEven James is on his side. Come on, give the guy a chance.â
As if summoned by the conversation, Francoâs Williams car came flying past the garage on track, a blur of blue and white as it whipped around the corner. I watched his lap times closelyâeach split was faster than the last.
âLooks like heâs getting the hang of it,â Alex said, raising an eyebrow toward me.
I couldnât help but let out a small sigh. âFine. Heâs⌠better than I thought. But that doesnât mean anything yet.â
After the second practice session ended and the drivers returned to the garage, I found myself lingering near the pit wall, watching as the cars were rolled back into the garage. Franco emerged from his car, pulling off his helmet, his fluffy hair tousled and damp with sweat. He was wiping his brow with the sleeve of his race suit when his eyes caught mine.
Franco approached me with that familiar, irritating grin. âEnjoying the show?â he asked, his voice light but teasing as always.
I raised an eyebrow, trying to sound unimpressed. âItâs fine. Could be better.â
Franco chuckled softly, stopping just close enough that I could catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the trackâs lingering heat. âYouâve got high standards, I see.â
âI am just realistic,â I shot back, finally meeting his gaze. âNot sure youâll live up to your own expectations, Colapinto.â
For a second, Francoâs playful smile faltered, but he quickly recovered, his eyes glinting mischievously. âY/N, Iâm pretty sure I can meetâand exceedâany expectations youâve got for me.â
I crossed my arms, my voice dripping with sarcasm. âBig words for someone who hasnât proved anything yet.â
Franco took a step closer, the teasing edge in his voice never fading. âOh, Iâll prove it. Just keep watching.â He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a murmur. âYouâll be impressed soon enough.â
My pulse quickened as his words hung in the air. I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Franco winked and stepped back.
âYou can tell me what you think tomorrow,â he added over his shoulder, walking away with that infuriating confidence, leaving me standing there, frustrated and flustered all at once.
Just as I tried to collect myself, Lily, Alexâs girlfriend, wandered over. Her soft, sweet demeanor was the perfect counter to the high-pressure environment.
âEverything okay, Y/N?â she asked gently, noticing the slight tension still lingering on my face.
I huffed, folding my arms across my chest. âHeâs impossible.â
Lily smiled knowingly, tilting her head. âIâve seen you two talking more and more recently. Doesnât seem like you think heâs that impossible.â
âHe is trust me,â I muttered, though my tone was less convincing now.
Lily gave me a soft, encouraging smile, her voice gentle and kind. âYou know, sometimes itâs okay to let your guard down. Not everyoneâs as bad as they seem at first.â
I looked at Lily, rolling my eyes but feeling the truth in her words sink in. âYou really think heâs a good guy?â
Lily shrugged with a sweet grin. âMaybe. I think youâre more interested in finding that out than you want to admit.â
I shook my head, but the feeling that maybeâjust maybeâLily was right gnawed at me as I watched Franco walk away, his figure disappearing into the garage.
Saturday was always charged with anticipationâqualifying day. The pressure in the paddock was thick, and I could feel the weight of it hanging in the air as I wandered through the bustling paddock. Every team member was focused, every driver mentally preparing for the intense session ahead. I, on the other hand, was lost in my thoughts, trying to distract myself from the growing irritation I felt whenever Franco popped into my mind.
Why does he always have to be so smug? I thought, frowning to myself as I made my way toward the driversâ rooms. Always with the teasing, always with that stupid grin.
I was looking for Alex, but my mind was still tangled in thoughts of Francoâhow his words had lingered from yesterdayâs exchange, how his presence had become harder and harder to ignore. Whether it was the playful sparkle in his bright eyes or the way his fluffy, tousled hair fell effortlessly, something about him unsettled me.
Absentmindedly, I pushed open a door, not thinking twice about itâuntil I froze.
There stood Franco, half-dressed.
He was in the middle of pulling on his race suit, shirtless, his toned torso on full display. His skin gleamed under the soft lights of the room, and his dark hair was slightly damp, falling in messy waves over his forehead. He hadnât noticed me at first, but when he looked up, his dark eyes locked on mine, surprise flickering across his face. It didnât last long, thoughâhis expression quickly shifted into that familiar, teasing grin I had come to expect.
âWell, well,â he drawled, voice laced with amusement, âdidnât expect you to walk in on me like this, but Iâm not complaining.â
I froze, my cheeks flushing as I struggled to recover my composure. âI wasnâtâthis isnâtâI was looking for Alex!â I stammered, my voice sharper than I intended.
Franco raised an eyebrow, his grin only growing wider. âUh-huh. Sure you were.â
My irritation flared, and I crossed my arms, forcing myself to meet his gaze. âDonât flatter yourself, Colapinto. This was clearly a mistake.â
Franco took a step closer, his tone still light, but the teasing in his eyes unmistakable. âA mistake, huh? Yet, here you are. Still standing here.â
My pulse quickened, and I cursed my body for reacting to his presence. He was too close now, and the space between us felt charged, heavy with something I didnât want to name.
âYouâre full of yourself, you know that?â I shot back, lifting my chin, refusing to be intimidated.
Franco chuckled softly, his eyes locked on mine. âMaybe. But you seem pretty caught up in me for someone who claims not to care.â
I scoffed, stepping back but finding myself backed against the door. âYouâre impossible.â
âImpossible?â Franco echoed, the amusement never leaving his voice. âOr just irresistible?â
I rolled my eyes, though I couldnât hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. âIn your dreams, maybe.â
Francoâs gaze softened slightly, and for a moment, the teasing edge faded. âYou keep acting like this, but I see through it.â
I frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. âActing like what?â
He shrugged, taking another small step closer, his voice lower now. âLike you hate me. But every time we talk, it feels like something else is going on.â
My breath hitched, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to look away. I hated that he could read me so easily, hated the way he made me feel like I was constantly on the back foot.
âDonât get it twisted, Franco,â I said, my voice firmer this time. âYou annoy me. Thatâs it.â
Franco smirked again, but there was something different in his eyes nowâa challenge. âIf you say so. But if I annoy you so much, why do you keep ending up here? In my space?â
I didnât have an answer. Or at least, not one I was willing to admit out loud. The truth was, every time we clashed, it felt like the air between us was crackling with more than just annoyance. But I wasnât ready to face that yet.
âIâm here because I thought this was Alexâs room,â I said finally, the sharpness returning to my voice. âDonât read too much into it.â
Franco laughed softly, his expression softening as he stepped back, giving me some space but still keeping that annoying smirk. âAlright. But next time you want to drop by, just knock.â
I shot him a glare, my frustration flaring again. âYou wish.â
With that, I turned on my heel and reached for the door, determined to leave the awkwardness behind. But before I could open it, Franco leaned in close, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. âYouâll be back.â
I whipped my head around, my eyes narrowing. âDonât count on it.â
Franco chuckled as he watched me go, shaking his head in amusement. âSee you around, Y/N.â
The door clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against the wall, letting out a breath I didnât realize Iâd been holding. My mind was spinning, my heart racing, and the worst part? I couldnât stop thinking about that damn smirk.
Inside the room, Franco finished pulling on his suit, a small smile still tugging at his lips. He couldnât help itâthere was something about me that made every interaction feel like a game, one he was very much enjoying.
By the time qualifying ended, Franco had placed 18thânot spectacular, but solid enough for a rookie still adjusting to the car. The Williams team seemed satisfied with the result, and after the session, I found myself lingering in the pitlane, chatting with Oscar and Lando, both of whom were waiting for their post-quali interviews.
Lando, ever the jokester, leaned against the wall with a grin. âYou know,â he said, âI like that guy. Heâs got that cheeky energy. A bit like me.â
I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. âGreat, thatâs exactly what we needâtwo Lando Norrises.â
Lando laughed, nudging me playfully. âHey, the world would be lucky.â
Oscar, always the calm and collected one, stood with his hands in his pockets, his expression thoughtful. âYouâve got to admit,â he said casually, âFrancoâs improving. Heâs faster than last time.â
I shrugged, unimpressed. âYeah, well, letâs see if that holds up. Confidence doesnât always mean results.â
Lando grinned, nudging me with a playful elbow. âYouâre only saying that because you donât want to admit heâs growing on you.â
I raised an eyebrow. âHeâs not growing on me. If anything, heâs just growing more annoying.â
Oscar smirked, glancing between me and Lando. âAnnoying, huh? Funny how you keep talking about him, though.â
Before I could respond, Franco appeared, fresh from his post-session debrief. He looked as smug as ever, a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair slightly damp. He caught my eye immediately, his usual grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Franco approached, clearly enjoying the way I tensed up at his arrival. His grin grew wider, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks even before he said a word.
âWhatâs this? Talking about me again, Y/N?â he teased, his voice smooth as always.
I crossed my arms, determined not to let him get under my skin. âIâm pretty sure not everythingâs about you, Franco.â
Lando, grinning like a Cheshire cat, leaned over to Franco, speaking just loud enough for me to hear. âOh, mate, trust me. Sheâs been talking about you all day.â
Francoâs eyebrows shot up in amusement. âReally?â
My face flushed as I shot Lando a warning look. âLando!â
Lando threw his hands up in mock surrender, enjoying every second of my discomfort. âIâm just saying what I see. Youâve been all eyes on Colapinto here. Donât blame me for stating facts.â
Oscar chuckled softly, his quiet amusement adding to the playful atmosphere. âItâs true. Youâve mentioned him at least three times already.â
I glared at both of them, my irritation growing by the second. âYou two are impossible.â
Franco chuckled, stepping closer to me, his eyes gleaming with mischief. âCome on. I saw the way you looked at me this morning. You can admit itâyouâve been thinking about me.â
Oscar raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange with quiet curiosity, while Lando stood by, grinning like he was watching his favorite sitcom unfold.
âThinking about how youâre the most irritating person Iâve ever met? Maybe,â I shot back, refusing to back down as Franco leaned in slightly, his bright eyes sparkling with mischief.
âIf thatâs what you need to tell yourself,â Franco said smoothly, lowering his voice just enough to make my heart race.
I was about to retort when Alex joined us, clapping Franco on the back. âGood session, man. Youâre getting faster.â
Franco nodded, but his eyes never left mine. âThanks, but it seems like Y/N here has higher standards than the rest of you.â
Lando smirked, clearly loving the drama. âOh, she does. Donât take it personally, Franco. Sheâs got high standards for all of us.â
I glared at Lando, but before I could say anything, Franco leaned in slightly, his bright eyes still locked on mine. âGood thing I love a challenge.â
I scoffed, tightening my arms across my chest. âTrust me, Colapinto, youâve got a long way to go before you meet my standards.â
Francoâs grin only widened. âGood thing Iâm persistent.â
Before I could respond, Alex laughed, clearly oblivious to the tension bubbling between us. âAlright, letâs cool it before the next round of banter turns into an all-out war. Y/N, weâre having dinner with the guys tonightâjoin us?â
I hesitated, my gaze flicking between Alex and Franco, who was still watching me with that infuriating smirk.
âYeah, Iâll come,â I muttered, âjust need to freshen up a bit,â shooting Franco one last look before heading toward the paddock exit.
âFun! Weâll meet you in the lobby at 8!â Alex called after me as I walked away, while the guys gathered for their post-qualifying interviews.
Dinner that evening was supposed to be a chance to unwind after the high-pressure qualifying session, but the moment I realized Franco was joining us, my mood soured. I hadnât expected him to be part of the group, assuming it would just be me, Alex, George, Oscar, and Lando. But as soon as I saw him enter the restaurant, his easy confidence on full display, I knew the night wasnât going to go as planned.
Of course heâs here, I thought, rolling my eyes as he slipped into the seat across from me, wearing that same infuriating smirk.
Franco greeted everyone with casual charm, clearly enjoying himself, but every glance he threw my way felt designed to provoke me. It didnât help that Lando, seated beside me, was in a particularly mischievous mood.
Soon enough, the waiter came over to take our orders, and things started to get even more interesting.
âAlright, whatâll it be?â the waiter asked.
âIâll take the risotto,â Alex said, glancing at the menu one last time before handing it over.
"Might I be so bold as to request the same for myself?" George added.
Oscar ordered quickly, as calm and collected as ever. âJust a steak, medium-rare, thanks.â
I scanned the menu, trying not to think about Franco sitting directly across from me. I settled on my favorite pasta dish, handing my menu to the waiter. âIâll have the truffle ravioli.â
When the waiter turned to Franco, I braced myself for whatever cheeky comment he was about to make.
âIâll go for the truffle ravioli,â he said, then paused, glancing at me with a smirk. âBut only if itâs as good as they say it is.â
I rolled my eyes. âItâs ravioli, Franco. Not a fine wine. Relax.â
Lando, who had clearly been enjoying the tension building between us, grinned as he scanned the menu. âIâll have the spaghetti. Extra sauce.â
âSurprising,â I deadpanned, âI thought youâd go for something a bit less⌠messy.â
Lando leaned back, tossing his menu aside with dramatic flair. âMessy? You must not follow the gossip pages, Y/N. I love messy. Besides, I have big plans for this spaghetti.â
Alex groaned. âPlease behave.â
Lando wiggled his eyebrows, already looking pleased with himself. âOh, just wait.â
As the waiter left, the group settled into casual conversation, the mood light despite the simmering tension between Franco and me. Alex, always the big brother, couldnât resist dragging me into an embarrassing memory.
âYou shouldâve seen Y/N when she decided she was going to be an inventor,â Alex began, grinning as I sighed dramatically. âShe built this elaborate âtrapâ to catch the family cat. Weâre talking string, boxes, and a broomstick involvedâit looked like something out of Home Alone.â
I groaned. âOh God, here we go.â
Alex was enjoying himself too much to stop. âShe spent hours perfecting it. She swore it would work. And guess what? It didnât catch the catâit caught Mum instead.â
Lando burst into laughter, his eyes wide with excitement. âY/N, an engineer in the making! I wouldâve paid to see that.â
I rolled my eyes but couldnât hide my grin. âOkay, it wasnât my best idea, but it wasnât that bad!â
Alex snorted. âMum had to wriggle out of it while holding the groceries. To this day, she doesnât trust any âsurpriseâ Y/N sets up.â
Franco, who had been quietly following the story, leaned forward with his signature smirk. âSounds like I need to watch my back around you, Y/N.â
I shot him a look, my voice dry but teasing. âTrust me, Iâve improved since then. You wouldnât see it coming.â
Franco smirked. âIâve got my eyes on you.â
Before I could reply, the waiter returned with our food. Plates were placed in front of us, and Landoâs spaghetti arrived with an extra helping of sauce just as heâd requested.
âOh, yes,â Lando said, rubbing his hands together like a mischievous child. âNow, let the fun begin.â
It looked like he was up to his usual antics, twirling his spaghetti with great concentration, his grin widening as he arranged the strings very carefully on his plate.
âLando,â I said, raising an eyebrow, âwhat are you doing?â
Lando leaned back, arms crossed proudly as he surveyed his masterpiece. âCreating art, Y/N. Pure, unadulterated art.â
"Goodness gracious, Lando we are at a bloody restaurant!" George put on his sunglasses, trying his best to distance himself from the childlike behaviour of his friend.
I glanced down at his plate and burst out laughing. âBunda? Seriously?â
Landoâs grin only widened. âWhat can I say? Iâm a man of culture.â
Oscar raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. âYeah, spelling âBUNDAâ with spaghetti really says a lot about you. Deep.â
Lando pretended to be offended, clutching his chest dramatically. âOuch, mate. Iâm expressing myself here.â
I laughed, shaking my head at the absurdity. But despite the humor, I could still feel Francoâs eyes on me, watching every move I made.
As the evening wore on, the banter at the table continued, but the undercurrent of tension between Franco and me was impossible to ignore. Every time I looked up, I caught him watching meâhis eyes glinting with amusement, like he knew exactly how much he was getting under my skin. It was maddening, yet I couldnât deny the strange pull that kept drawing my attention back to him.
Finally, unable to take it anymore, I decided to address the elephant in the room.
âSo,â I began, cutting through the chatter at the table, âFranco, how does it feel stepping into a seat that wasnât exactly yours?â
The table went quiet almost instantly. Alex shot me a lookâhalf warning, half pleadingâbut I ignored it, my eyes locked on Franco. I couldnât hold back the resentment that had been simmering for weeks. Logan had been my friend, and I wasnât about to let Franco think he could just waltz in and take his place without any consequences.
Francoâs smile faltered for just a second, but he recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. âIâm here because I earned it,â he replied evenly, his voice calm but with an edge. âNot my fault if others couldnât keep up.â
I didnât back down. âI donât think you earned it. I think youâre just here because of the sponsors. Anyone can see there are plenty of drivers with more potential than you.â
Francoâs jaw tightened slightly, and the playful glint in his eyes dimmed. The atmosphere around the table shifted, and even Lando, who had been proudly admiring his spaghetti art, stopped mid-bite to watch the exchange.
âY/N,â Alex said softly, trying to ease the tension, but I barely registered his voice.
Francoâs gaze didnât waver. âI donât need to justify my place to you.â
I leaned in, my voice cold. âYou donât have to. Itâs already obvious why youâre here.â
Francoâs eyes flashed with something darker, but instead of responding with the sharp retort I expected, he stood abruptly, pushing his chair back from the table. âI think Iâll call it a night. See you tomorrow.â
Without another word, Franco walked away, leaving me sitting there, my own words hanging in the air. The weight of what I had said settled in, a knot of guilt forming in my chest. Maybe I had gone too far.
Lando let out a low whistle. âWell⌠that escalated quickly.â
Alex sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. âY/N, that was harsh. You didnât have to push him like that.â
Oscar, who had been quiet for most of the dinner, finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. âYouâre allowed to be upset, Y/N, but that wasnât the way to handle it.â
I didnât respond immediately. I knew they were rightâdeep down, I knewâbut something about Franco just set me off in ways I couldnât control.
âI donât know whatâs going on with you two,â Alex said, his tone softening as he looked at me, âbut you need to talk it out before this gets worse.â
I glanced toward the door where Franco had disappeared, the guilt gnawing at me. Franco had a way of bringing out the worst in me, and now, I wasnât sure how to fix it.
Later that night, I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, staring out of the hotel window at the glowing city lights below. The confrontation with Franco during dinner replayed in my mind, each pass making me feel worse. I hated how easily he got to me, how every exchange with him seemed to spiral into something bigger than it needed to be. But what bothered me most was that deep down, it wasnât just anger. There was something else beneath the frustrationâsomething I didnât want to admit.
A knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. I hesitated for a moment before standing up to answer it. When I opened the door, Alex stood there, leaning casually against the frame, his expression a mix of concern and that familiar big-brother teasing.
âMind if I come in?â he asked.
I stepped aside, letting him in without saying a word. Alex walked over to the small seating area near the window and sat down, waiting for me to join him. The silence stretched between us for a moment before he finally spoke.
âYou want to talk about it?â
I sighed, closing the door and sitting across from him. âNot really.â
Alex chuckled softly. âYou sure? Because Iâve been watching you two for a while now, and itâs pretty clear somethingâs going on.â
I ran a hand through my hair, avoiding his gaze. âHe justâhe gets under my skin.â
âThat much is obvious,â Alex said, his tone light but not unkind. âBut thereâs more to it than that, isnât there?â
I shook my head, feeling frustration bubbling up again. âI thought I couldnât stand him. Heâs arrogant, cocky, always trying to show off⌠but today, I pushed too far. And I know it.â
Alex nodded, watching me closely. âFrancoâs sure of himself, yeah, but did you ever think that maybe he has to be so overly confident? The media and Netflix are always after us already, let alone if you replace someone halfway through the season. Heâs not a bad guy, Y/N. Youâve been pretty hard on him since he joined.â
I sighed, feeling the weight of his words settle on my shoulders. âYouâre right. I just didnât expect him to⌠I donât know, get to me like this.â
Alex leaned back, giving me a thoughtful look. âY/N, youâre used to having things figured outâpeople, situations. But Franco doesnât fit into that box you tried to put him in, and itâs throwing you off.â
I frowned, feeling the truth of Alexâs words sink in. I had been so sure of what kind of person Franco was, but the more time I spent around him, the harder it became to keep him in that neat little box I had created.
âHeâs different than I thought,â I admitted finally, my voice barely above a whisper. âHeâs still confident, but thereâs more to him than just the cocky guy I thought he was.â
Alex smiled softly. âExactly. So maybe instead of pushing him away, you should try to figure out whatâs really going on between the two of you.â
I bit my lip, my heart heavy with guilt. âDo you think heâll forgive me?â
Alex chuckled, his voice gentle. âYou wonât know until you try. Talk to him. Youâll feel better once you do.â
Unable to sleep, I tossed and turned in bed, my mind spinning with guilt and frustration. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the look on Francoâs face when I pushed him too far at dinner. I knew I had crossed a line, but admitting it was harder than I thought.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I found myself slipping out of bed, grabbing my jacket to cover my nightgown, and quietly leaving my hotel room. The hallway was dimly lit, and the quiet hum of the city outside felt distant as I made my way toward Francoâs room.
My heart pounded as I reached his door. I hesitated for a moment, unsure if this was a good idea. But before I could talk myself out of it, I knocked softly.
The door swung open, and Franco stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of surprise and something elseâsomething unreadable. He was dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still slightly damp, as if he had just showered.
âY/N?â he asked, his voice low. âWhat are you doing here?â
I swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of my nerves. âIâI came to apologize.â
Franco crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, his dark eyes watching me carefully. âFor what, exactly?â
I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. âFor what I said at dinner. I⌠I was out of line. I let my frustration get the better of me, and I took it out on you. That wasnât fair.â
For a moment, Franco didnât say anything. He simply studied me, his expression unreadable, and the silence between us felt heavy, charged with something I couldnât quite place.
Finally, he sighed, stepping aside and gesturing for me to come in. âYou might as well come in. We shouldnât do this in the hallway.â
I hesitated, but eventually stepped into Francoâs room, the door clicking shut behind me. The air between us was thick, the unspoken tension hanging like a storm ready to break. Franco leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched me carefully, his dark eyes searching my face for something I wasnât sure I could give him.
âI didnât expect you to apologize,â he said finally, his voice quieter now, softer but still holding that familiar edge. âYouâve been pretty set on hating me.â
I shook my head, my voice barely above a whisper. âI donât hate you. I was just⌠frustrated. I thought you were just this arrogant guy who didnât care about anyone but himself, but youâre not like that. You surprised me, and I guess I didnât know how to handle it.â
Francoâs expression softened, but there was still a teasing spark in his eyes. âSurprised you, huh? So Iâm not as terrible as you thought?â
I couldnât help but laugh softly, despite the tension in the room. âNot completely terrible I guess.â
We stood there in the quiet for a moment, the weight of the apology settling between us. His eyes never left mine, and there was something in his gaze that made my heart race, something that had been there all along but that Iâd refused to acknowledge.
âYou didnât have to come here,â Franco said, his voice low, a slight vulnerability in his tone that caught me off guard. âBut Iâm glad you did.â
My breath caught in my throat as the distance between us suddenly felt smaller, more intimate. The tension that had simmered for so long now felt like it was about to snap, and I wasnât sure if I was ready for it. But I couldnât move away, couldnât bring myself to break the moment.
Instead, I took a step closer, my heart racing as our eyes locked. The silence between us felt heavy, full of things neither of us was willing to say, but we didnât need words. I could feel it in the air, in the way his gaze softened, in the way my pulse quickened.
Franco reached out, his hand brushing lightly against mine. His touch was hesitant at first, almost as if he was waiting for me to pull away. But I didnât. Instead, I took another step closer, closing the gap between us, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
When he leaned in, it wasnât suddenâit was slow, deliberate. His lips brushed against mine softly at first, a hesitant kiss that quickly deepened as the tension between us finally broke. My hands found their way to his chest, and I felt the warmth of his skin beneath his t-shirt as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.
The kiss was everything we had held back, all the frustration and unspoken attraction we had been pretending didnât exist. It was slow at first, then more urgent, as if we were both trying to make up for all the time we had wasted fighting it.
Francoâs hand moved to cup my face, his thumb gently brushing against my cheek as he kissed me, and I felt a warmth spread through me that I hadnât expected. I didnât want to admit how badly I had wanted this, how much I had been waiting for this moment, even though I had denied it to myself for so long.
When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless, our foreheads resting against each other as we caught our breath. My hands were still pressed against his chest, and his arms stayed firmly around my waist, neither of us willing to break the connection completely.
Franco was the first to speak, his voice low and filled with a soft amusement. âSo, I guess thatâs one way to make up.â
I laughed lightly, my heart still racing. âMaybe.â
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at me properly, his gaze more serious now but still holding that familiar teasing edge. âYou know, I didnât think this would happen.â
âMe either,â I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. âBut Iâm not mad about it.â
Francoâs lips curved into a small smile, and he leaned in again, this time pressing a softer, lingering kiss to my forehead before pulling away entirely. He didnât let go of me completely, though, his hands still resting on my waist as he looked at me, his eyes searching mine for something I wasnât sure I could name.
âWe donât have to figure everything out tonight,â he said quietly, his voice gentle but filled with something deeper. âBut I think we both know thereâs more going on here than just⌠whatever this is.â
I nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He was right, of course. This was more than just the heat of the momentâit had been building for a while, even if neither of us had been willing to admit it. But now that the tension had finally broken, it felt like there was no going back.
âYeah,â I whispered, my voice soft. âThereâs definitely more.â
***
He looked me deeply into my eyes before closing the space between us again. When our lips met again, it wasnât the tentative kiss from beforeâthis time, it was full of fire, all the pent-up tension and frustration we had been holding onto. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, and my hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair.
Everything felt heightenedâthe softness of his touch, the warmth of his breath, the way my body responded to every move he made. There was a sense of inevitability between us, like this moment had always been coming, but now that it was here, it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
As we stumbled backward toward the bed, the kisses deepened, more urgent now. Francoâs hands found the hem of my dress, his touch both careful and eager, as though he wanted to savor every moment spent undressing me. My heart raced in anticipation, my skin humming under his fingertips.
Franco softly pushed me onto the bed, taking a few seconds to admire the sight before him before taking off his shirt and lowering himself onto me. My breath hitched as Francoâs lips trailed down my neck, each kiss sending sparks through my body.Â
âFuck you are so beautiful.â He softly mumbled, making heartbeat race even faster. What was this man doing to you?
His kisses softened around your inner thighs.Â
âDo you want me to keep going?â
Awakened from my trance, I opened my eyes and looked down to meet his. âPlease, donât stop.â
That same cocky grin reappeared on his face. âAre you expectations as high as they are for my driving?â
I rolled your eyes. âStop with the jokes Franco, I need you, please!â
âIâve been waiting to hear that all weekendâ
Without hesitation he roughly pulled down my lacy black panties, inserting one finger into my core while his tongue worked my already swollen clit.Â
Sweet moans filled the room like music as he added another finger inside me. I could feel him smile down there.
âCanât believe how wet you are for me. Itâs so sexy.â
Soon my back started arching involuntarily. My hands, that were softly stroking through his hair as he worked me, now began gripping his dark brown locks tightly.
âFuck Franco Iâm so close.â I moaned, heart racing in my chest.Â
To my disappointment he pulled away. Before I had the chance to start whining, he pulled down his sweats to reveal his huge dick. With lustful eyes I looked the beautiful man standing in front of me up and down. He looked incredible, the messy hair making him even sexier.Â
He climbed back on top of me, softly kissing me, leaving me to taste my own excitement on his lips.Â
Leaning over, he gently kissed my ears. âI want to feel you finish around me.â he whispered in his low husky voice.
Before the excitement had even reached my core, he slid his dick in, leaving no time for me to adjust to his size. He started ramming into me at dangerous pace, leaving me to cry out from the mixture the pain and pleasure.Â
Francoâs hands roamed over my body, exploring, claiming, as though he had been craving this moment for too long. Every touch, every sound was laced with the weight of everything we had been holding back.
My breath hitched as he pulled out and flipped me over. His hands gliding over my ass while he repositioned himself in front of my entrance.Â
âWhere do you want me to cum later?â he asked, while grabbing my hair, giving it a little tug.
âIn my mouth please.â My voice was hitchy from the thrill.Â
I felt Francoâs dick twitch against me. He pulled me up to him by my hair and began kissing my neck more, his free hand playing with my boob.
âIs that so? And are you going to swallow it for me?â
I moaned. âHappily.â
He let go of my hair which led me to fall back on all fours on the mattress. I felt the palm of his hand smack hard against my ass, breath caught in my throat, my body trembling in response to his. He slid in and sweet sensations filled my body yet again.Â
As the intensity built, Francoâs voice dropped to a whisper, his breath hot against my skin. âIâve wanted this⌠wanted you⌠for so long.â
My only response was a soft gasp, my body arching toward his. I could feel the raw need in every movement, in the way his hands gripped mine tighter, his lips tracing fire along my skin. The tension that had been crackling between the two of you for weeks finally exploded in a wave of release, leaving us both breathless.
âFranco I-â I couldnât finish my sentence as a wave of pleasure went through my body.
He kept going as I completely soaked him, the wet pounding and both of your moans being the only sound in the room.Â
When he was close, he flipped you over again to face him, stroking his long dick a couple times while I opened my mouth for him.  While I looked deeply into his glistering eyes, he released into my mouth. The warm salty taste made me ecstatic, sucking him off to make sure I had every last drop to swallow.Â
Exhausted, we both let ourselves fall down on the bed. Heavy breathing filling the room.
âSuch a good girl for me.â Franco smiled as he brushed through my hair. He pulled me closer in his muscular arms, our bodies still pressed close, the remainder of the storm we had just weathered lingering in the quiet of the room. Francoâs fingers traced light patterns along my arm, his breath still uneven as he looked at me, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
âI wasnât expecting that,â he murmured, his voice soft and full of something deeper than just satisfaction.
IÂ smiled, heart still racing but in a calmer, more settled way now. âNeither was I.â
We both didnât need to say anything more. The silence was comfortable now, the tension replaced by a quiet understanding that whatever had just happened had changed things. As the two of us lay together, the connection that had once been full of conflict now felt like something new, something Franco and I both wanted to explore.
#formula one#franco colapinto#Franco Colapinto x reader#f1 x reader#oneshot#alex albon#george russell#lando norris#oscar piastri#f1 fanfic#f1 smut#fc43#enemies to lovers
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itâs been a long time coming ; spencer reid.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
summary: back in high school you used to have a crush on spencer and now you got to work together.
warnings: nothing really but english isnât my first language so it might have some writing mistakes (sorry) and i didnât really like how i finished this so if you guys like i might write a second part.
Your first day at the BAU was a whirlwind. As the newest profiler, you felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. You had spent weeks preparing for this moment, but nothing could have truly prepared you for the reality of stepping into the office for the first time. The team welcomed you warmly, though you couldnât help but feel overwhelmed by the sheer brilliance of your new colleagues.
Spencer Reid, in particular, caught your attention. He was everything you remembered from high school: intelligent, slightly awkward, and undeniably endearing. Despite your attempt to stay composed, you felt the same fluttering nerves you had back then.
When Spencer introduced himself, you found it hard to maintain eye contact. âHi, Iâm Spencer,â he said with a friendly smile. âWelcome to the team.â
You managed a nervous smile. âThank you, Spencer. Itâs nice to meet you.â
Spencerâs smile widened, and he seemed eager to make a connection. âIf you need any help with the databases or anything else, just let me know.â
You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. âIâll keep that in mind.â
As the day progressed, you tried to focus on your work, but every time you glanced at Spencer, your heart raced. You could tell he was making an effort to be friendly and supportive, but you were too nervous to engage with him properly. It was clear he noticed your reluctance but didnât push it, giving you space.
â˘ŕ¨ŕ§â˘
The days following your first encounter were a struggle. Spencerâs attempts to be friendly and helpful often ended in awkward silences. He would offer to explain things you might not understand or bring you coffee, but every time you tried to respond, you stumbled over your words or offered a rushed, one-word reply.
One morning, Spencer approached you at the coffee machine. âHey, Iâve been reading this fascinating book on criminal psychology. Would you like to borrow it? I think youâd find it really interesting.â
You forced a smile, feeling the familiar flush creep up your cheeks. âThanks, but I have a lot of research to catch up on.â
Spencerâs face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered. âNo problem. If you change your mind, just let me know.â
Later that week, you found yourself alone in the break room when Spencer came in, carrying a stack of papers. âI noticed you were working on the same case. I thought you might need some additional resources,â he said, placing the papers on the table.
You took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to speak. âThanks, I appreciate it.â Your voice was barely above a whisper, and you quickly retreated to your desk, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration at your own behavior.
Despite Spencerâs best efforts to reach out, you continued to shy away, struggling to hide your feelings. It wasnât that you didnât want to interact with him; rather, every interaction left you more flustered than the last.
â˘ŕ¨ŕ§â˘
The day came when Hotch assigned you and Spencer to interview the mother of a victim. You were grateful for the change of pace but also anxious about spending extended time with Spencer. As you drove together to the victimâs home, you focused on the task at hand, trying to push your nerves aside.
Spencerâs attempts to make conversation during the drive were met with brief, hesitant responses from you. âSo, how are you finding the BAU so far?â he asked, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you.
You shrugged, feeling the weight of your own silence. âItâs⌠itâs good.â
Spencerâs brow furrowed. âYou know, you seem a bit distant. I canât help but wonder if Iâve done something to upset you.â
Your heart sank at his words. âWhat do you mean?â you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.
âIâve noticed youâve been avoiding me,â Spencer explained. âWhenever I try to be helpful or friendly, you⌠well, you seem uncomfortable. I assumed maybe I did something wrong.â
Feeling a pang of guilt, you decided it was time to explain. âNo, you didnât do anything wrong. Actually, itâs the opposite.â
Spencerâs eyebrows shot up in surprise. âOh? What do you mean?â
You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. âWell, itâs a bit complicated. We knew each other in high school. We even had a few classes together.â
Spencer looked puzzled. âReally? I donât remember you from high school. I think I would have remembered.â
You nodded, your cheeks flushing with a mix of nostalgia and embarrassment. âI actually had a crush on you back then and i guess now that weâre working together, those old feelings are resurfacing, and it makes me a bit awkward around you.â
Spencerâs eyes widened. âWait, you mean you had a crush on me!?â
You nodded, a soft blush creeping onto your cheeks. âYes, I did. I thought you were incredibly smart and cute. I was too shy to ever talk to you. I remember how you used to come into class with these fascinating books and how you were always so focused. I just thought you were amazing.â
Spencerâs face turned an even deeper shade of red. âI was so awkward back then. I mean, Iâm still a bit weird, but not as much, I hope. I didnât think anyone would ever see me that way, especially back then.â
You shook your head with a smile. âNo, I thought you were adorable. You were this brilliant, quirky guy who seemed to be in his own world, and I found that really endearing.â
Spencer looked at you, clearly flustered. âI had no idea you felt that way. I always thought you were avoiding me because you didnât like me.â
You smiled reassuringly. âNo, I just didnât know how to act around you. I didnât want to make things awkward.â
Spencerâs mind raced as he processed your words. âWow, Iâm kind of speechless. I never imaginedâŚâ
Before he could continue, you gently cut him off. âLetâs just focus on the interview for now. Itâs important that we get this right.â
Spencer nodded, still processing the revelation. âRight, of course.â
As you both approached the victimâs motherâs home, the air between you felt lighter, charged with a new understanding. Spencer, though still surprised, was clearly intrigued and more attentive than ever. The tension that had once been present seemed to dissolve, replaced by a newfound curiosity and connection between you.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!readr#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds#matthew gray gubler#mgg x reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fic#criminal minds fanfiction
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SAY IT (PT. 1) . . . hayato suo x fem!reader
+ youâve never reciprocated any of suoâs confessions of love, but a chance to eavesdrop on a conversation among you and your friends grants him all the insight he needs.
+ 4.2k words
+ NSFW (MINORS DNI) // UNEDITED // brief mentions of sex // mentions of edging at the end // brief mentions of overstimulation // mentions of past heartbreak/insecurities // established relationship // manipulation // i got all the big stuff but iâm definitely forgetting some minor stuff iâm just tired of looking at this
+ this is my first time writing suo so plEASE cut me some slack, i got tired of seeing it every time i opened google docs. i left any descriptions/names of your friends extremely vague on purpose so you can fill in whoever. the NEXT part of this will be centered around smut, but this one was more just kinda the build-up to his decision to push you out of your comfort zone.
suo has always been able to see right through you.
granted, that was his area of expertiseâthe ability to pierce through peopleâs defenses as if they were nothing more than a gossamer film and unearth whatever information he resolved to discover. he was regarded as dangerous by both allies and enemies, capable of sinking his fingertips into peoplesâ psyches and peeling back the layers until their selfâcontrol began to fracture and ruby welled beneath his touch and trickled down to obscure his opponentsâ vision in an allâconsuming bloodlust that left them vulnerable and uncoordinated.Â
he had a critical eye and a terrifying intuition; and while his friends wouldnât trade him for the world, they were also aware of the uncharted territory of suoâs complex characterânot to mention the existence of a small distance between them that had been discreetly established by suo himself. while he genuinely enjoyed the presence of his friends, he valued his privacy and space, and he often kept information about him restricted. he was more enigmatic than anything else.Â
so, when suo offhandedly mentioned having a girlfriend, they were shocked. although emotionally intelligent, none of his friends pegged him as a romantic, his secrecy and manipulative tactics seemingly too insurmountable an obstacle in a relationship. generally, he was kind and respectful, but his demeanor could flip on a dime in the face of discourteous behavior. he could be meanâunfair. it wasnât uncommon for him to mask his slick tongue and cruelty behind refined language and his gentlemanly composure as he subjected his targets to public humiliation. sometimes, his emotions could get the better of him, and he could be frightening when they do. a gentleman? maybe. but thereâs more nuance to him than that.
unbeknownst to them, suo was remarkably softer with you. warmth and genuine kindness emanated from every content smile and careful dance of his hands over your skin, calloused fingertips bearing an ardent reverence that would cause even aphrodite to flush. the sharp edge to his tongue smoothed, his teasing light-hearted and devoid of the faint, underlying drip of venom that could sometimes be heard punctuating his words if someone listened closely enough. when he observed you, his eyes glowed with innocuous curiosity and rather than distant analysis.Â
the more time he spent with you, the more he could read you like an open book, deft fingertips tracing over even your most tattered, weathered pages and the most smudged ink to wholly bare the contents of your soul to him. he sought to know you in your entiretyâyour likes and dislikes, how you like to be touched, how you react to certain things. after all, the more he knows about you, the better he can protect you.Â
the better he can love you.
love.
thatâs a tricky subject for you to navigate, heâs learned.
you were never one to shy away from his affection. in fact, you clearly delighted in the attention he lavished you with. there was never a question as to whether you would hurry to lace your fingers with his if he reached out to you, if you would lean into his caresses, or if you would let him pepper kisses across your cheeks. you were so receptive to his ministrations, so much so that it was almost natural for your body to drift toward his in search of some sort of closeness. whatever he doled out, you returned, and that included the light banter and flirtatious remarks you two often exchanged. you fascinated him, kept him on his toes.Â
the only area of your relationship that you fell short in was verbal confessions of love. suo knew that you were fiercely protective of your heart, already having subjected it to enough bruises and scrapes throughout your life to make you want to guard it to the best of your abilities. he was fortunate as it was that you had trusted him enough to relinquish it to him.
he knew that you were still learning to navigate the choppy waters of vulnerabilityâtrue vulnerability. it was easy enough to bask in suoâs attention and rely on his ability to comprehend the unspoken, but to say the words aloud would be to speak it into being, to charge the universe with the magnetic force that will bind your fate to his, to make it real. you never said anything that you didnât mean, and suo understood that after all your hard work fortifying your emotions, to openly admit it would require you to let down your guard entirely and let him in.
thereâs no doubt in his mind that you love him. he can feel it in the way you pour every ounce of heartfelt emotion into the kisses you press to his lips, your dedication toward memorizing and analyzing all of his microexpressions so that you can understand him on a deeper level, and the adoration that pools in your eyes like molten honey as you observe him when you think he isnât paying attention. only a fool would mistake the depth of your feelings.Â
he can read you like a book, that much is true, but itâs much more enjoyable to have it read to him lineâbyâline than to flip through the pages on his own.Â
itâs quite endearing, actually, the way your skin would warm and your brain would stall whenever his lips would brush a saccharine âi love youâ over the shell of your ear, or the way goosebumps would scatter across your skin and you would clench around him whenever heâd pair the words with a wellâtimed thrust inside you. he thrives off flustering you and witnessing your demeanor crumble into a delightful shyness that never fails to cause a small smile to tug at the corners of his lips.
even so, he sometimes finds himself yearning for that reassurance that youâre as irrevocably enamored with him as he is with youâthat you crave him the way he craves you. he understands that itâs greedy of him and that he should tamp down such selfâcentered emotions. he knows what your feelings toward him are; it would be inconsiderate of him to pry you out of your shell until youâre ready in order to satisfy his own desires. the concept of love operates differently for different people, and he can accept that.Â
it always slips his mind how swiftly things can change.
it was a complete coincidence when heâd stumbled upon you in the outdoor seating area of a restaurant, accompanied by a few friends of yours. he recalled you telling him that you were going out for lunch with them, but he had no idea that his outing in search of a new pair of shoes to replace his worn ones would cause your paths to cross. he hadnât meant to eavesdrop on your conversation, only to simply greet you and then continue about his business, but he paused when he heard his name leave one of your friendsâ lips.
âso, are you and suo still together?â
oh? before he can even acknowledge the gravity of contravening your privacy, his body is sparked into motion all on its own. heâs quick to retreat, melting into the slanted shadow proffered by the slim alleyway he had been poised to exit, just beyond the scope of your view.
heâs well aware that this is an infraction of the trust you extended to him, but he forces himself to disregard the prick of guilt aside in favor of potentially learning valuable information about the inner workings of your brain. it may not be ideal, but itâs for the best, he reasons. what if you reveal to your friends ways that he could better serve as your boyfriend? what if you feel more comfortable explaining to your friends your reservations about returning his heartfelt confessions? besides, the conversation is technically also centered around him, so surely it would be rude to bar him from listening in.
âof course,â the thought of you denying your relationship was never a concern for suo. you both trust each other implicitly, but to hear you stake such an immediate, explicit claim over him rouses a ticklish spark of delight in his stomach all the same. you scoff, as if the idea was so improbable it was ridiculous. âiâll tie that man up in my basement before i let him just leave.â suo chuckles gently to himself. perhaps you truly are as invested as he is, after all.
âthe dick must be fucking lifeâaltering, if thatâs the case.â she laughs. âcome on, tell us. is it?â
âwhââ suoâs lips settle into a small, amused smile as he watches you flounder under her questioning, eyes feverishly flitting to your other friends for help, only for each one of them to leave you to drown with their own wideâeyed, inquisitive stares. âoh, my god, iâm not telling you that!â nervous laughter wracks your chest. suoâs shrewd gaze can practically perceive the memories flickering through your brain as you try to maintain your composure, each one spliced together in a salacious collage that has blood thrumming beneath your skin. suo has always been one to fineâtune his craft, and his perfectionism extended to the bedroom as he used his meticulous attention to detail and acute awareness of your reactions to guide you to your peak over . . . and over . . . and over again until he was satisfied.
and of course, you knew that.
âbut seriously,â another girl props her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her palm, observing you closely. âiâve never seen you like this before. before him, you were all âew, gross, menâânot to say that isnât still valid, but yâknow. maybe suo really is a good match for you.â
âdo you love him?â the first girl pipes up ecstatically.
now weâre getting somewhere.
it requires significant concentration for suo not to laugh outright when a jolt of surprise grips your body, your muscles visibly tensing and eyes rounding. your lips part to speak, but the words remain wedged in your throat. âiâuh . . .â
âwait, for real?â the third girl, who had remained quiet this entire time, finally speaks up. âdo you not actually love him?â
this time, when you donât at least make an effort to deny their claims, suoâs smile begins to wilt. from suoâs angle, your expression is sapped of the typical bashfulness he had been anticipating. rather, your features are murky with conflict, brows furrowed pensively and fingertips drumming against the chilled glass of the untouched beverage sitting between your palms. for the first time in a while, he canât read you, and while heâs always enjoyed a bit of reticence and mystery, he doesnât want it like thisânot when such uncertainty is founded on the future of his relationship. did he misunderstand you somehow? was he wrong? no, thereâs no way that youâd have done everything you did if you didnât harbor some type of love for him. itâs simply not plausible. right?Â
the silence is unnerving, causing a chasm of apprehension to split his stomach and swallow up the candlelit flicker of warmth that once resided in his chest. heâs never been an anxious individual, typically collected and levelâheaded under pressure. in fact, heâs always prided himself on his ability to remain composed; but now, as he stands here, body stiff and heart thumping as he waits for you to continue, he figures that love really is one hell of a drug. only the wideness of his eyes betrays his usual poise, but even that would be enough for any of his friends to notice that something is amiss. well, mature as he may be and as far above the fragility of human nature that others believe he is, heâs still only human. and itâs times like this that remind him that heâs still weak.
god, how far has he fallen? how much power did he give you?
âall this time, i thought you guys were in love.â the second girl gasps, hand flitting up to cover her mouth. âso, whatâs going on? whatâs wrong with him?â
ânothing!â youâre quick to find your voice to defend him, but for some reason, it doesnât ease the tightness in his chest or the worried spin of his mind. âheâs wonderful, itâs justââ
âis he mean to you?â the second girl presses. âbecause if he is, i canââ
âheâs obviously not mean to her if sheâs still with him.â the first girl retorts, silencing her with a dismissive wave of her hand. before the second girl can argue, she continues. âit could just be that itâs too early for her to know if she does.â
âitâs been months.â the third girl points out. âsomething has to be up if she doesnât love himââ
âi do!â
suoâs fingers twitch.
your friends fall silent as the words burst from your chest, unwavering and aflame with conviction. your voice quiets as you fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair, eyes still fixated on the cup in front of you. âi do love him, itâs just . . . iâve never felt like this for anyone, and i donât know what to do. it feels so real and intense, and itâs scary.â
your words reverberate through suoâs mind as he expels a breath he didnât notice was wedged in his chest. âi do love him.â his entire body seems to decompress, the tension in his muscles alleviating. âiâve never felt like this for anyone.â suddenly, your hesitance makes sense. not only were you protective of your heart to begin with, but the magnitude of the importance of this was much larger and therefore more frightening than he realized. suoâs heart swells in his chest at your confession, pride licking up his sternum to grace the apples of his cheeks with a featherâlight kiss of ruby. heâs honored to be the first person youâre entrusting with such a privilegeâwell, even if heâs not supposed to know about it yet.
âwhat do you mean, you donât know what to do?â the first girl stares at you as if youâve sprouted a second head. she flips her hands over with her palms facing toward the sky. âtell him?â
âi canât just do that!â this time, itâs your turn to look at her like she just told you she ran over a family of five with her chevy tahoe, and suo chuckles.
âand why not?â she flops back in her seat incredulously.
âi just told you, itâs scary!â you insist matterâofâfactly. âyou remember the last guy i was with? it lasted one month, and in that amount of time, i aged thirty years and had stress levels that wouldâve gotten me sent to the emergency room.â
suo hums softly in surprise. you didnât tell him about that. of course, he had suspected that someone had dragged you through the trenches prior to accepting him as your boyfriend, but he felt as though that was a topic that would be better left to your discretion. you would tell him if you wanted him to know, so he never questioned you.
âyeah, but suo is way better than him.â the third girl reminds you. âat least, i think so. i only met the guy like twice.â
âhelpful.â the second girl remarks dryly.
âno, he seriously is so much better.â you insist. âheâs everything i couldâve asked for, but itâs just . . . exposing myself like that would mean he has everything he needs to hurt me, and if i end up flat on my ass again, i donât know what iâm gonna do. and i know he wouldnât do anything to hurt me, but . . . ugh, this is impossible.â you let your head loll back.Â
thereâs a brief stretch of silence before the second girl speaks up again, and this time, her voice has flattened into a deadpan. âgirl.â she blinks at you. âthatâs the issue?â
clearly not anticipating that reaction, you stare blankly at her for a moment, searching for the right words. âiâwhat?â you bristle defensively. âwhatâs that supposed to mean? is that suddenly not a good reason to bare my heart and soul to this man?â
âno, itâs actually really not.â the third girl joins the secondâs campaign. she scoots forward in her seat and folds her hands delicately on the table. âletâs reflect. this is suo weâre talking about. this is the same man who stayed the night and took care of you religiously when you were sick with food poisoning from your first date, the same man who gave you earrings similar to his for your birthday, and the same man who showed up at your house in the pouring rain with nothing but the clothes on his back to accompany you when that storm knocked your power outâas a âfriend.ââÂ
âwhy did you use air quotes around the word âfriend?ââ the first girl narrows her eyes at the third.
âbecause he was playing the long game, okay? he was plotting. stay with me now.â she answers quickly, placing her hand on the first girlâs knee.Â
suo chuckles, raising his brows. he has to admit, your friends are impressive.
âso,â the third girl continues. âthose are just a couple examples, but itâs crystal clear that suo is devoted. like heâs in this to stay.â
âor heâs some sort of supervillain.â the second girl interjects.
âdonât say that!â the third girl snaps, aghast. âno, yeah, youâre right. the âuntouchableâ furin graduate who took a bat to the ribs just to keep her safe is definitely here to create lifelong trauma for her. anyway, as i was saying,â she turns back to you, âif thatâs not enough, think about it this way. suo is really private, right?â
âright.â you nod.
âwell, he was probably in a similar boat as you, then. i mean, you said that you were worried that youâd be giving him what he needs to hurt you, but the inverse is also true, and he already told you he loves you. he trusted you not to hurt him with that information, so you should be able to trust him not to do that to you, either.â
âthatâs . . . wait,â the wheels rotate in your brain as you mull over her advice, and your hand drifts up to conceal your mouth in a moment of clarity. âoh, shit. no, wait, yeah, you may have a point. i didnât think about it like that.â
âthatâs what you have us for.â the third girl grins.
âso, does that mean youâre gonna tell him?â the second girl quirks a brow at you. âmaybe? probably? hopefully?â
âuh . . . probably not . . .â you wince, only to jump when youâre promptly subjected to an onslaught of groans and complaints from your friends.
âdude, what the fuck?âÂ
âi know, iâm sorry!â you yelp.
âdid you get nothing out of the conversation?â
âno, i did, i swear!â your desperate attempts to defend yourself against your friends are fractured by bouts of laughter. âtrust me, i did.â
âso, whatâs the problem now?â the second girl drags her palm exhaustedly down her cheek.
âthe issue is that itâs still embarrassing!â you whine. âyou literally said it yourself earlier. iâve never been like thisâever! just thinking about saying it makes me wanna crawl in a hole. it makes me feel, like, exposed or some shit, i donât knowâquit looking at me like that! i donât know how else to explain it!â
âdonât piss me off.â
 âwhat?â your lips pop open in indignation. âbutââ
suoâs slender fingers settle delicately over his lips as he chuckles to himself and steps completely behind the alley corner. his eyelids flutter low, gaze soft with contentment, as he listens to you scramble to defend yourself against your frustrated friends. itâs alright, theyâve done plenty. he can take it from here.
the conversation bounced around between the four of you has certainly altered the circumstances, providing you with the clarity needed to shed your reservations about setting yourself up for a potential heartbreak and unfurling the remaining layers of your defense to reveal the lingering issue still barring you from being honest about your feelings. at this point, it seems to no longer be about you being illâequipped and underprepared to handle such a divulgence, which he could certainly accept. now, it appears to be about disentangling yourself from the binds of shame and embarrassment. about you requiring a little push in the right directionâwell, less of a small nudge and more of a guiding hand that you would trust to unravel you down to the strings of your heart.
fortunately for you, there is no one more aware of what loose threads of yours to tug on in order to achieve his goal than suo himself.
maybe itâs unfair of him to change his mind and concoct an excuse to denounce the leniency and understanding that had been fueling his patience thus far. maybe itâs unfair of him to take the initiative to strip you of the protective cocoon he had previously been more than prepared to allow you to reside in. maybe itâs unfair of him to press you, to utilize his silver tongue and honeyed words to draw out your rawest and most vulnerable state.
but when the opportunity has practically tripped and fallen into his lap, how could he not? it isnât as if it would be a detriment to you. he has never led you astray, and he certainly isnât going to start now.Â
a venereal plan is already brewing in the back of his mind as he mulls over how to best extract such a confession from you. no matter what type of attitude you may acquire or how sturdy you believe your resistance to be, pleasure has never failed to whittle and melt you down into a pliant puddle thatâs all soft edges and hazy, trusting eyes. an even tradeâa release only he can provide for the secret youâre trying so hard to keep from him? this evening, perhaps, if he plays his cards right. you donât have plans tomorrow, which means you certainly canât be too angry if he keeps you awake into the darkest hours of the night.Â
he can practically feel the ghost of the warmth of your skin under his fingertips as he keeps you pinned so that you canât escape his ministrations, taste the salt brimming in your tears of frustration as you war between your pride and surrendering to the pleasure he plans to dangle in front of you, and hear your whines and moans as he keeps you just barely balanced on the precipice of release. he can already predict how youâll label him as meanâmanipulative, even. and maybe he is.
heâs only human, after all.Â
and what would humans be if not flawed? if not a bit cruel? if not a bit . . . selfish?
#windbreaker x reader#windbreaker x you#suo smut#suo x reader#suo hayato#windbreaker smut#suo hayato x reader#suo hayato smut#suo hayato x you
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Hi! I wanted to request a TH/fem reader and RZMM/fem reader
Maybe like a how would they show possessiveness over someone? A little angsty bc they're big guys and they would definitely manhandle their so in the heat of the moment
How Thomas Hewitt and RZ!Michael Myers Show Possessiveness Over You
Warnings:Â smut (18+), aggressive sex, slight mention of dumbification, manhandling, bruising/mark making, angst, obsession, stripping, stalking, slight yandere i guess?, possessiveness, canon-typical violence, control.
Words: 2.7K
A/N: Anon, thank you so much for my first slasher request! I love these boys so much and wanted to delve into their intentions behind their protectiveness a little, cause I think it would be very different for both. This is my first time writing a headcanon, I hope I've done you proud. Iâd love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests đ
Thomas Hewitt
â Thomas's struggle with social norms makes his possessiveness glaringly apparent. He perceives everyone outside the family as a potential threat to his happiness, particularly when it concerns you. His demeanour shifts abruptly at the slightest hint of danger; his typically measured movements become swift and aggressive. Despite his efforts to restrain his emotions in public, such as at the Cele Community Centre where you and his mother work, Thomas often finds himself instinctively drawn to your side. His hand firmly grasps the fabric of your shirt, his protective stance evident to anyone who dares to look at you. His gaze sweeps the surroundings with a discerning eye, meticulously assessing each customer until you gently remove his grip and convince him to wait in the back.
â Thomas's overprotectiveness occasionally acts as a double-edged sword, simultaneously shielding you from harm while subtly restricting your freedom. As a man of few words, he struggles to articulate the depth of his need to keep you safe, resulting in actions that may be misinterpreted as possessiveness rather than genuine concern or fear of losing you. He means well, but it can feel suffocating.
â Preferring to keep you within his line of sight whenever possible, Thomas's protective instincts often clash with the demands of daily life, leading to occasional conflicts with Charlie over the use of his time. The older man's frustration with what he perceives as your bad influence over Thomas' attention to his work further exacerbates tensions within the household.Â
â Certain areas of the house are off limits to you. The basement serves as a sanctuary for Thomas's work, and he is adamant that you are shielded from the horrors that happen inside. However, he still insists on your presence nearby, perched on the steps that lead down to the space or listening to the radio in the dining room upstairs. Your proximity seems to offer him a sense of security and focus, enabling him to delve into his his task with unwavering concentration and produce some of his best work.
â Thomas finds solace in words of affirmation and constantly seeks reassurance from you. Despite the intimacy you share and the countless times you've assured him otherwise, he harbours an unshakeable fear that if he loosens his grip even for a moment, you might slip away from him. This nagging insecurity gnaws at him, overshadowing moments of connection, leaving him perpetually haunted by the possibility of losing you.
â Physical gestures become one your languages of reassurance. You hold his hand tightly, intertwining your fingers as a silent promise that you're there for him. Running your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you becomes a comforting ritual, soothing both him and you. Your touch on his chest, just over his heart, keeps his anxieties at bay.
â Words also become a source of comfort for Thomas. You express your pride in him, highlighting his strengths and the ways he makes your life better. You tell him how happy you are to have him by your side, emphasizing that he's not just your protector but also your partner. Sometimes, the simplest affirmations have the greatest impact on Thomas. Hearing you call him "yours" fills him with a sense of belonging and purpose, and when you tell him that he's been good, he can't help but prove just how good he can be by filling you with his fingers, tongue or cock.
â Thomas feels most valued when you grant him your undivided attention and allow him to reciprocate. He revels in spending hours between your legs, skilfully coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your willing body until you're left a whimpering, trembling mess beneath him. Despite his efforts to maintain control in your relationship, you always seem to hold the upper hand, which is why he finds solace in reducing you to a thoroughly fucked-out state on his bed. In those moments, with your mind blissfully empty and your body consumed by a primal hunger for his touch, he feels a sense of power and satisfaction unlike any other.
â Despite this, the mounting tensions within the household, particularly with Charlie, often leave Thomas grappling with pent-up aggression. As the demands on his time intensify, with Charlie clamouring for more of Thomas's attention and you taking on additional shifts at the community centre to assist his mother, Thomas finds it increasingly challenging to maintain his composure.
â You've become attuned to the subtle shifts in his demeanour, recognizing the tell-tale signs when he's received a stern tongue lashing from his uncle or had a particularly taxing session in the basement. Thomas' simmering rage begins to permeate his interactions with you. His touch, once tender and reassuring, now carries an undercurrent of tension. The few words he mutters in your presence are laced with frustration and discontent, rather than devotion.
â Despite your best efforts to sooth him, there are moments when Thomas's volatile emotions threaten to overwhelm him. In those instances, you find yourself walking on eggshells, navigating the precarious balance between offering solace and inadvertently stoking the flames of his anger. You are never fearful of Thomas, but these are the times when you remove yourself from his presence when possible. That is, until you learn that the best way to calm him during these storms is with your body.
â Thomas's heavy-handed nature becomes even more pronounced during these moments of heightened emotion. He handles you with a forcefulness that borders on brutality, moulding and contorting your body into painful positions that elicit tears of discomfort. While he typically refrains from spanking you unless requested, in these instances, his large hand comes crashing down upon your flesh with punishing force, leaving behind welts and bruises that you carry for days. Unlike his usual attentiveness to your pleasure, Thomas's focus shifts solely towards finding an outlet for his frustration, using your body as a means to an end in his quest for release. He bites, scratches, and fucks every inch of you with an almost desperate intensity, seeking solace in the physical connection between you.
â Yet, there are fleeting moments of clarity when the clouds in his eyes dissipate, and the gentle giant you know and love re-emerges. It's in these moments of vulnerability that you offer him comfort, reassuring him that he can take what he needs from you, and that you will still love him.
â After the intensity of the moment subsides, Thomas retreats into the solitude of the basement, locking himself away as a form of self-imposed punishment for his mistreatment of you. Despite your efforts to coax him out, reassuring him of your well-being and offering comfort, he remains secluded until he feels ready to face you once more. When Thomas finally does emerge, you're quick to envelop him in the warmth of your affection and reassurance. With a soft kiss to his leather-clad cheek, you convey your unwavering support and understanding, letting him know that you harbour no resentment towards him.
â In the aftermath of the encounter, Thomas's protective instincts kick into overdrive as he tends to any wounds that adorn your body, his touch gentle yet purposeful. It's in these moments that his true nature shines throughâhe may be heavy-handed and prone to bouts of aggression, but above all else, he possesses a deep-seated desire to care for and protect you, to make amends for any harm he may have caused.
RZ!Michael Myers
â Michael's possessive nature over you begins with an intense and inexplicable fixation. From the moment his eyes land on you, something primal within him snaps, and he becomes singularly obsessed with making you his own.
â He can't quite explain what draws him to the Red Rabbit Lounge that evening, but as he leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath after a harrowing escape from Smith's Grove, he is immediately captivated when you emerge from the back door. Unlike others who shrink away from him in fear, you meet his gaze with a calm demeanour, lighting your cigarette and casually pointing out his papier-mâchĂŠ mask. Your nonchalant remark about liking the orange because it reminds you of your favourite holiday only adds to the intrigue, sparking something deep within Michael's psyche.
â Following that initial encounter, Michael becomes an omnipresent presence in your life, a shadow that lingers at the edges of your awareness. You sense him in the periphery of your vision, catch glimpses of his shadow darting past windows, and hear the faintest rustle of his breath in the stillness of the night. He becomes your unseen companion, meticulously observing your every move. He studies your routines and habits, committing them to memory with an almost obsessive attention to detail. Always one step ahead, he waits patiently until the opportune moment presents itself to make his presence truly known.
â Michael finds immense pleasure in the exhilarating pursuit of you, convinced that you share in his enjoyment of the chase. He keenly observes the subtle signs of your awareness, noticing the wry smirk that graces your lips when you sense his presence nearby. In those moments, he imagines feeling the same giddiness that surges through you when he lightly brushes your hair, a fleeting touch that leaves you yearning for more, even as it vanishes before you can turn around. The first time you called out to him, he battled against every instinct urging him to step out from the shadows and claim you as his own. Despite the overwhelming desire possess you, he restrains himself, savouring the anticipation of the inevitable moment when he would finally make his move.
â In Michael's twisted psyche, you are more than just a person; you are a coveted prize that he will protect at all costs. He perceives himself as the sole rightful owner of your being, and he harbours an intense fixation on claiming you as his own.
â As the regular patrons of the lounge mysteriously vanish one by one, leaving a bewildered community in their wake, Michael remains a silent observer, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon you. He knows all too well the allure of your presence, the captivating dance you perform for these men, reminiscent of the performances his late mother once gave. Yet, while others may see you as an entertainer, Michael sees something far deeperâa connection, a possession, a symbol of his ultimate dominance that he must preserve.
â From the shadows, he watches as you bare your body to these patrons. To Michael, it doesn't matter whether you are aware of his claim over you; what matters is that he sees you as his, and he will go to any lengths to ensure that no one dares to challenge him. In his mind, you are his alone, and he will stop at nothing to secure what he believes is rightfully his.
â When Michael finally decides to collect his prize, it's in the eerie stillness of the night. He patiently waits in the shadows of your home, a silent sentinel standing rigidly in the corner of your bedroom as he observes your every move. You can feel his presence, an unspoken acknowledgment that he has come to stake his claim on his property.
â As you undress, acutely aware of his watchful gaze, a shiver runs down your spine. There's a palpable tension in the air, a sense of anticipation mingled with apprehension. Yet, despite the unease that courses through you, there's also a strange allure, a primal instinct drawing you inexorably towards him. When you finally coax him from the shadows, he engulfs you in his arms with a ferocity that takes your breath away. The force of his embrace is suffocating, his touch demanding as he grasps and claws at every part of your body. In that moment, there's no denying the intensity of his desire, the need to make you his own consuming him entirely.
â Michael is not gentle with you; he doesn't hold back his deep urges to possess you completely. He revels in your whimpers and the screams of his name as he stretches you open and takes what he deems rightfully his. His touch is rough, unyielding, as if trying to merge your bodies into one. Each movement is driven by a fierce need to mark you, to ensure you understand that you belong to him and no one else. Every night with Michael is filled with a mix of pain and pleasure. His eyes intense and unwavering, remain locked on you, drinking in every reaction, every cry. To him, this is the final step in owning you, the ultimate act of protecting what is his.
â Removing the mask takes time. It's one evening, after the intensity of your shared orgasms have ebbed, and Michael lies heavy on top of you. Your fingers tentatively trace the edges of the white rubber mask, sensing his body tense beneath your touch. His hand instinctively reaches out, grasping your wrist to halt your movement, but your lips find solace in the warmth of his knuckles as you plant a gentle kiss, your breath whispering a desire to see him. For a fleeting moment, there's resistance, a hesitancy borne from years of concealing his true self, before he lets you unmask him. His long hair cascades over your face as the mask falls away, revealing the man beneath. In that vulnerable moment, you stroke his sweat-glistened cheek, your fingers tracing the contours of his features as you call him "handsome", perhaps the first time he's heard the word since his mother.
â Despite Michael's disapproval of your continued work at the lounge, you are unwilling to relinquish your independence completely. He grumbles and fumes when things don't go his way, but deep down, he appreciates your defiance, feels a strange allure in your willingness to challenge him. Although his overly protective nature remains, he secretly enjoys the way you push back against his control, finding a strange sense of satisfaction in the game of give and take between you. A hand on his chest or a kiss along his strong jawline is all it takes for him to soften, his resolve melting under the warmth of your affection. You eventually compromise, only working certain shifts and allowing him to escort you home. As if you really have a choice on the matter. Michael finds your attempts at negotiation endearing.
â If anyone dares to come between Michael and what is his, he reacts with violent outbursts of rage. His attacks are brutal and merciless, driven by a primal need to assert his dominance and protect you. Unfortunately, you are also not exempt from his aggression, and when he catches sight of you one night, engaged in conversation with a stranger outside the back of the lounge during your smoke break, he snaps. In a frenzy of fury, he swiftly disposes of the man, his actions marked by a sickening crunch of bones as his body is hurled against the brick wall. Then, turning his attention to you, Michael's muscles coil with tension and his chest heaves with barely-contained anger. Gripping your arms so fiercely that bruises bloom in their wake, he shoves you against the wall, once, then again, as if attempting to jolt some some sense into you.
â With swift determination, Michael hoists you over his shoulder and retreats into the shadows, his purposeful strides carrying you home. But the journey doesn't lead to the bedroom; instead, he deposits you onto the stairs with a roughness that steals your breath. There, in the dim light, he strips away the remnants of your clothing, his actions forceful and unyielding. Again and again, he fucks into you with a ferocity that leaves you screaming his name, your pleas mingling with the echoes of both passion and pain. In those moments, as his protectiveness gives way to possession and consumes you, you find yourself uttering the words he craves to hearâthat you are his, and his alone.
â Yet, even amidst the ecstasy, a shadow of uncertainty looms. You can never be certain that Michael wouldn't cross that final line, that his compulsion wouldn't drive him to take everything from you, including your life. For Michael, protection is not just about controlâit's about ownership to the point of obsession. If he can't have you, no one else can either.
#thomas hewitt x reader#thomas hewitt headcanons#thomas hewitt#michael myers x reader#michael myers headcanons#rz!michael myers#slasher imagines#slasher fandom#slashers preference#slash fanfiction#slashers x reader#slashers headcanon#slasher preference#slashers#rz michael myers x reader#rz michael myers x you#rz michael myers x y/n#thomas hewitt x you#rz michael myers smut#thomas hewitt smut#fic rec
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IM BEGGING FOR A LOGAN X FEM READER WHO CAN TURN INVISIBLE BUT WHEN SHES NERVOUS OR FLUSTERED SHE DISAPPEARS INVOLUNTARILY essentially itâs just logan flustering reader till she disappears??? (mostly fluff but also suggestive/smut end)
LOGAN HOWLETT X F!READER
Ëâşâ§âË ă
¤âď¸ đ SHY AWAY : 1.3K WRDS
<RATING: PG-13, FLIRTING, SOME LANGUAGE, KISSING>
A/N : Soooo as far as âsuggestive/smutâ end goes, the most youâre getting is some mild flirting and kissing. I do have my age in my bio and my pinned; I am a minor! Sorry to disappoint anyone, but I doubt it would be socially acceptable for me to write anything too suggestive. Post writing note; I made this way longer than I intended to OOOOOPS !!Warning: Detailed kissing and use of pet names!!
Out of all the mutations the universe couldâve graced you with, you were damned with involuntary invisibility. Sometimes it could come in hand when youâre about to be harmed. You have a sixth sense of fear, and any time it kicks in, you go invisible. That sixth sense has saved your life a handful of times, to be fair. However, the past month has been hell for you. You met a fellow mutant through your friend Rogue. Logan Howlett is his name. Youâre so envious of his mutation. Built in claws that aid him in being up front and in the enemiesâ faces rather than hiding away in plain sight.
Â
You sheepishly walk over to Logan, already nervous that heâll cause a sudden disappearance. Heâs lounging in one of the chairs within the common room. One of his legs crosses on top of the other. Rogue is sitting on the couch across from him, reading some romance book that sheâs been telling you all about. She glances up at you, and before she can speak, you give her a face, begging her not to speak. She looked back down at her book without another gesture.Â
Logan takes another drag of his cigar while leaning back a bit in the recliner. You walk in front of him and sit next to Rogue with a light smile on your lips. âHeya, girl! What brings you down here?â she asks as she gives you a quick hug. You hug her back and shrug. âNot much. Just missed you and Logan,â you say casually, subtly trying to catch Loganâs attention. It works, and he shoots you his iconic look with one eyebrow raised in slight confusion. He takes his cigar out of his mouth between his pointer and middle, causing you to shiver slightly at the sight. âMissed me? Why the hell would you miss me, doll? Iâm nothinâ special,â he tells you as his expression becomes more relaxed.
You feel your heart flutter and your mind fill with anxiety of you going invisible. You try your best to keep yourself together before replying to him. You tug at the neck of your shirt and bit and attempt to get comfortable. âWell, I just like being around you. You seem pretty comfortable around me, and youâve been nothing but welcoming since Marie introduced me to you.â You ramble while trying your best to maintain eye contact with Logan, but ultimately end up looking in his direction instead. He raises his eyebrows and shrugs slightly in response. âAlright. Thanks for checkinâ on us then, princess,â he says with a soft smile. Damn, that does it for you. Your cheeks feel like fire before you go invisible. You quietly hold in an annoyed and embarrassed groan. You look to your side and see Marie looking down at her book in attempts to hide her snickering and smiling at the situation. You roll your eyes before you glance over at Logan. His lips are slightly parted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. âKid, am I crazy or did your friend just disappear?â he asks with slight concern. Marie lets out a few strangled laughs before wiping stray tears from her eyes. âYeah. That happens sometimes,â she huffs out. Her eyes point in your direction before she smirks mischievously. âUsually when sheâs really flustered. But it happens when sheâs feeling some strong emotions too. Iâm sure itâs the first case though,â she says to Logan before going back to her book.
Logan nods in understanding before taking another drag of his cigar. He keeps it between his lips this time.
Soon enough, you fade back into sight, and Logan immediately gazes at you. âWelcome back,â he murmurs against his cigar. You smile idiotically at him and nod your head to let him know you heard him. Marie looks at you and nudges your elbow, encouraging you to say more. You subtly shake your head no, but gain a knowing look from her in response. You bite at the inside of your cheek in anticipation for what sheâs about to do. She stretches and lets out a bit of a groan before getting up on her feet. âI think Iâll be heading to my room now. I might hit the hay soon,â she tells the two of you before walking off.
Loganâs gaze lingers on you, and he smirks at you. Your cheeks began to heat again. The chair squeaks as he gets up and walks over to you. One of his hands goes to slip a thumb through his jeansâ belt loop. The other reaches for his cigar and falls to his side. He stands in front of you, looking down at you with a soft smile. âI donât bite, baby girl. I know the huge metal claws could be a bit intimidating, but I swear Iâd never hurt yaâ. Alright?â he asks sweetly as his hand moves from his belt loop to your shoulder. He gently rubs his thumb against it while awaiting your response. You sit there for a few seconds in shock. You havenât disappeared yet, but you wish you could right now. Your flesh is burning up so much that youâre sure Logan can feel it through your clothes. He leans in close to your face, his pupils right on yours, causing you to look away. âHey. Look at me,â he asks gently while waiting for your eyes to meet his again. When you sink into yourself, Logan grunts, puts out his cigar, and uses his hand to hold your cheek in his palm. You involuntarily lean against the calloused skin, causing him to chuckle. In fear of him pulling away because of your defiance, you decide to look at him again. âThatâs it,â he murmurs. You let out a quiet whine at his praises, and it does nothing but fuel the fire in Loganâs chest. You let yourself relax, your eyelids feeling a little heavy, your chest rising in falling shallowly. Youâre not sure if youâre seeing right though when you see him lean in. His breath is strong with the scent of cigar smoke, but you ignore it the best you can. Youâve been waiting for this since youâve met him. Both of you slowly close your eyes as his lips press to yours. You immediately go invisible, but that doesnât mean youâre not physically there. Loganâs hand that was previously on your shoulder moves to cup your other cheek. His hand doesnât miss your face. Fuck, itâs like he spends so much time looking at you that he has your entire figure mapped out in his head. You wouldnât be too surprised if he genuinely did. He slightly leans more against you, your head and back pressing against the fabric of the couch. You can feel his legs shift between yours as he attempts to get as close as he can to you. The two of you unwind with each other. Your mouth opens for him, and he kisses you deeper. You breathe into each other, finding a good rhythm that keeps the two of you connected for longer than anticipated. But when you finally pull back, you are panting like a dehydrated dog. Your mouth goes dry as you realize youâve been invisible since Logan started kissing you. He chuckles softly, his head hanging down in front of you. He catches his breath while attempting to look back up at you. His thumbs caress your cheeks before he leans in near your ear. âI know I canât see you, doll, but I know you look so damn pretty and wide-eyed right now,â he mutters to you, causing your hands to clasp over your mouth to muffle your gasp.
#wolverine#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#wolverine x y/n#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x y/n#hugh jackman#kissing#caressing#kinda suggestive#if you squint#but not really idk#bambooboofic#bamboobooanswers#bamboobooshark
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Suits Me.
With your sister wed, the realization dawnsâyou are next. Thus, you begin seeking what truly befits you.
PAIRING : Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader
WARNING : KISS, Non-canon
AN : Iâve always thought of Gwayne as my ideal gentleman. I hope you enjoy this piece of writing. Love.
please be kind to me English is not my first language.
âI desire a man of a composed nature, one who is not quick to anger.â you declared, your voice steady yet tinged with a hint of yearning. You were describing the ideal qualities of a husband to the person who shared the room with you, a figure whose attention seemed dividedâthough it was hard to tell if he was more captivated by your words or by the enchanting presence of the young woman who occupied his thoughts.
Your acquaintance with Sir Gwayne had begun rather serendipitously at your fatherâs most recent nuptials. He had attended in honor of his sisterâs marriage, a grand affair where the echoes of laughter mingled with the clinking of goblets and the rustle of silk. It was on the secluded balcony, away from the festivities, that your paths first truly crossed. You, seeking solitude from the overwhelming company, had stumbled upon him, a knight known more for his quiet presence than for any overt display of gallantry. Initially, suspicion had flickered in your mindâwas his interest in you born of some hidden agenda? But as the days passed, such thoughts faded into insignificance, replaced by a growing sense of familiarity.
âI see no reason for you to rush into choosing a suitor.â he remarked after a long stretch of contemplative silence, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of unspoken thoughts. His words caused you to pause, turning your gaze toward him as you rose from the sofa where you had been languidly reclined in the sanctuary of the library.
âI am not rushing.â you replied, your tone defensive but with a hint of introspection. âI am merely exercising prudence, weighing my options with care.â
âYou are a princess.â he said, his voice soft yet firm, âand with that title comes the liberty to court whomever you wish. For now, would it not be wiser to savor the delights of youth? There is time yet for the bonds of matrimony.â
âWhy do you persist in this notion that I should delay my marriage?â you inquired, a trace of exasperation slipping into your voice. âSurely, you do not speak from experience. Or perhaps.â you added, your eyes narrowing as a thought occurred to you, âyou have never been married yourself?â
âAnd why would you assume that?â he countered, his surprise evident. With measured steps, you approached him, a new idea taking root in your mind. If you were to assist him in finding a suitable wife, perhaps it would broaden your own circle of acquaintance, and in turn, increase your chances of meeting a gentleman who might suit you.
âPerhaps you should consider marriage yourself.â you suggested, your voice taking on a tone of playful challenge. âSurely, there is a woman out there who could capture your heart.â
âThat, I cannot entertain.â he replied, standing abruptly and distancing himself from you, his expression resolute, yet clouded with a faint shadow of unease.
âSince the day I met you, I have never known you to be attached to any woman.â you continued, undeterred. âThough you claim to have had lovers, I suspect such affairs occurred far from these walls. Perhaps helping you secure a match would aid me in finding a fiancĂŠ as well.â
âPrincess.â he began, a note of reluctance in his voice, âI have no intentions of marrying anytime soon, for my heart is already given.â
âTo whom?â you asked, the question slipping from your lips before you could restrain it.
He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. âI am not yet ready to divulge that secret, but I promise you, when the time is right, you will be the first to know.â
âDo I know her?â you pressed, curiosity now fully piqued.
âIndeed.â he replied, his voice tight, âyou know her exceedingly well.â
âThen you must tell me!â you urged, stepping closer, your voice now filled with genuine concern. âHow else can I assist you? If you do not act swiftly, another might claim her hand, and you would be left to mourn what could have been.â
âTrue.â he conceded, his lips curving into a faint smile, though it did not reach his eyes. âShe is admired by many, but I believe no one could be a better match for her than I.â
âWho could challenge you?â you teased lightly. âYou are the son of Otto, Hand of the King, a knight of great renown, brother to the Queen herself. You could have any lady you desire, perhaps even⌠me.â
âAh, but what of her heart?â he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper as he stepped closer still, his eyes locking with yours. âGuard your affections, Princess. Do not let them stray before I have a chance to make my claim.â
His nearness sent a jolt through you, your heart pounding in a way that was both exhilarating and unsettling. True, he was a man of striking appearance, his features carved as if by the hand of a master sculptor, but until this moment, the thought of him as your potential husband had never crossed your mind. Yet, his words carried an implication that left you breathless.
âThen I shall wish her well.â you murmured, your voice barely audible as you averted your gaze, the sudden rush of emotions overwhelming. âMay she remain unattached until you are ready to speak your mind.â
With that, you turned away, retreating to the safety of the sofa, though the book you picked up could do little to quiet the turmoil within. Your heart rebelled against the calm you tried to project.
âI must take my leave now, Princess.â he said softly, the formal tone returning to his voice.
You nodded, unable to lift your eyes to meet his, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. It was not often that you found yourself flustered in the presence of a man, especially one who was so highly sought after by others. You had often admired him from afar, and in truth, he would make a most suitable match. But it seemed fate had other plans, for his heart was already spoken for. And as for yoursâwell, that remained to be seen.
âSmile a bit, Sir Gwayne. The children are watching.â you whispered softly to him as he demonstrated the basic weapons of a knight, a spectacle meant to both instruct and inspire the eager young minds gathered around.
âI only came with you because you said your usual knight was unavailable.â he murmured through gritted teeth, ensuring his words reached no ears but yours. Yet, despite his reluctance, he obliged the childrenâs requests with a weary smile that, though tinged with exasperation, made you stifle a laugh.
âConsider it a favor to me.â you replied with a playful lilt. âIâll make it up to you later.â
After the dayâs visit to the townsfolk concluded, you returned to your chambers, where you indulged in a long, warm bath, washing away the dust and the fatigue of the day. You dressed anew, choosing a gown of soft gold, simple yet elegant, and arranged your hair with modest care. Just as you were about to step out to join your family for the evening meal, you found someone already waiting outside your door.
âYou should have knocked. You could have waited inside my room.â you said as you closed the door behind you. âAre you here to claim the favor I owe you?â
âNo.â he replied, his tone even. âThe Queen sent me to fetch you. It seems youâre running a bit late.â
âIn that case, we should hurry.â
You took the lead as you walked down the corridor, your footsteps echoing lightly against the stone floor. Though he was not originally meant to join the family at dinner, your father, ever the gracious host, had extended an invitation when he saw an empty seat beside you. It was a small surprise, but a welcome oneâyou would have a chance to speak with him more about the dayâs events.
The meal progressed smoothly, with conversation flowing freely around the table. As was his custom, Sir Gwayne offered to escort you back to your chambers once the evening had drawn to a close, just as he had done on other nights following shared meals or court gatherings. Despite the growing rumors circulating about the two of you, you paid them little mind, though you couldnât help but worry that they might affect the woman Gwayne held in his heart.
âPerhaps we should keep more distance from each other.â you said quietly as you walked the familiar path back to your room.
âWhy?â he asked, his curiosity piqued. âIs there someone youâve set your heart on?â
âNo, nothing like thatâ you replied, shaking your head. âBut the rumors about us are becoming more frequent, and I donât think it bodes well for either of us.â He looked at you, confusion etched across his face. âIf I were in love with someone, I wouldnât want him to be linked to another woman through idle gossip.â
To your surprise, he chuckled. âSo, youâre concerned about me, then?â
You nodded, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise in your cheeks. Your heart betrayed you once more, beating far too quickly for your liking. Without thinking, you quickened your pace, desperate to hide the warmth spreading across your face. Noticing this, Gwayne lengthened his strides to match yours.
âI donât pay any mind to those rumors.â he said, his tone casual. âBut I suppose it would be unseemly for our Princess to be the subject of such talk, especially if it involves me.â His words left you with a strange sense of disappointment, though you could not quite understand why. A slight irritation flared within you, unbidden and unexplained.
âIâm not concerned about it at all.â you answered dismissively, brushing off his comment as you reached your door. âGoodnight.â you added curtly, before stepping inside and closing the door behind you, leaving him to stand, perplexed, outside your chamber.
In the grand ballroom, with its resplendent chandeliers casting a warm, golden light, you found yourself entwined in a dance with Lord Cedric. His conversation, though amiable and courteous, failed to hold your full attention. Your gaze kept drifting toward Sir Gwayne, who, amidst a throng of eager admirers, was the center of attention. His presence, commanding and dignified, was accentuated by the swarm of women vying for his favor.
âPrincess⌠Princess.â Lord Cedricâs voice, tinged with concern, reached you, rousing you from your daydream.
âMy apologies, Lord Cedric.â you said with a slight blush, your voice betraying an edge of fatigue. âI have grown rather weary this evening and must take my leave.â
You disengaged from the dance and, with purposeful strides, sought refuge at the nearest table, where a decanter of wine awaited. The crystalline goblet, filled with rich, ruby-red liquid, seemed to beckon you. The wineâs warmth spread through you, a balm to the unrest that you could not quite fathom.
As the wine flowed, so did your inhibitions. The haze of intoxication lent you a boldness that you might not otherwise possess. Lords continued to solicit your company for dances, and you accepted with a newfound abandon. The eveningâs merriment, combined with the wineâs effects, made you more flirtatious than usual. Your movements, graceful and deliberate, drew admiring gazes and appreciative murmurs. You felt the hands of various suitors, some daringly touching your waist, others almost reaching for more intimate areas. Each time, you managed to redirect their attention with practiced ease.
âLord Cedric.â you said, your voice laced with a suggestive lilt as you gripped his broad shoulder, âyou truly have a knack for making this evening delightful. I can scarcely imagine how fortunate the woman who wins your hand will be.â
Your eyes locked with his, and you leaned in slightly, allowing his hands to encircle your waist with a languid familiarity. The atmosphere between you was charged, almost palpable.
But just as the moment seemed to reach its zenith, Sir Gwayne appeared, a determined look on his face. He grasped your wrist with a firm yet gentle hold, guiding you away from the revelry. His stride was brisk, forcing you to keep pace, and you found yourself pleading for him to slow down.
Upon reaching a quieter, more secluded corridor, he finally halted. You steadied yourself, the wineâs effects making your head spin and your heart race.
âWhat are you doing?â he demanded, his voice low but intense. âYouâre behaving like a courtesan in a disreputable establishment.â
âWhatever are you talking about?â you replied, a mix of confusion and indignation coloring your voice. âI am merely enjoying myself.â
âThat Lord was on the brink of kissing you!â he exclaimed, his frustration evident. âDo you not realize how forward he was? How could you permit such liberties?â
âIt is merely the way of dancing.â you said, though his words stung more than you cared to admit. âYou are overreacting.â
âBut you are a Princess.â he said, his voice softening but still firm. âIt is unbecoming of you to act so⌠freely. Do you understand?â
You nodded, feeling a tinge of remorse as his anger seemed to dissipate. Despite the tumult of emotions swirling within you, you did not wish to return to the ball. Instead, you expressed your desire to retire to your chamber. With no choice but to carry you, Sir Gwayne lifted you with a tenderness that belied his earlier agitation.
In the solitude of your room, he placed you gently on the bed. He meticulously arranged the blankets, ensuring your comfort as he tucked them around you. As he adjusted the cover over your chest, you reached out and took his hand, your touch lingering.
The proximity between you was electric, and the tension between you both was almost tangible. With a deep breath, you lifted your face to his and pressed your lips against his. The kiss, initially hesitant, soon grew into a tender exchange of passion and longing. However, as you began to regain your clarity, you pulled away, a mixture of regret and yearning in your eyes.
Sir Gwayne, his expression one of profound turmoil, rose swiftly from the bed. âI am deeply sorry, Your Highness. Please forgive me.â he stammered, his voice a strained whisper. Without waiting for a response, he fled the room, leaving you alone amidst a swirl of conflicting emotions.
As you lay there, the weight of what had transpired settled heavily upon you. The room seemed colder now, the remnants of your emotional turmoil hanging in the air. Your heart ached with a mix of sorrow and unspoken affection, knowing that this moment, however fleeting, had altered everything between you.
The air is thick with scandalous whispers, each rumor more outrageous than the last. Tales circulate of him entering your chamber under the cover of night, while you, bereft of clarity due to your inebriation and unattended by your maidens, were left exposed to gossip and innuendo. The degradation of his reputation and your own only compounds your deepening sense of remorse.
A maid enters your chamber with a solemn expression, announcing, âHis Majesty requests your presence, Your Highness.â
You nod, masking your trepidation with a veneer of composure. âI shall go.â you reply.
As you traverse the grand corridors toward the royal study, your heart beats with an uneasy rhythm. The room before you, adorned with opulent tapestries and the grandeur befitting the royal court, now feels stifling. Your father, seated at his imposing desk, appears stern and unyielding, while Gwayne, standing by the window, avoids your gaze with a palpable discomfort.
The air is thick with tension as your father begins, his voice laden with disapproval. âThere have been alarming rumors regarding Sir Gwayne. Pray, elucidate what has transpired.â
You turn to Gwayne, his demeanor averted, his countenance a study in restraint. âI.. well, Sir Gwayne was merely kind enough to escort me to my chamber after I became somewhat indisposed due to excessive libationsââ
âIs that so?â your father interrupts, his voice rising. He slams his palm on the desk with a force that echoes through the room. âYou allowed a gentleman, not of the Kingâs Guard, to carry you in such a state? What of my honor? What of the propriety expected of a princess?â
Viserys collapses into his high-backed chair, his hand pressed to his forehead in exasperation. The grand room, with its rich wood paneling and gilded accents, seems to close in around you.
Otto, ever the pragmatist, interjects with a stern resolve, âI believe we must act swiftly, Your Majesty. A marriage between the princess and Sir Gwayne should be arranged without delay.â
The very thought of such an arrangement sends a shiver down your spine. You are acutely aware of Gwayneâs likely opposition to this forced union.
âHe only helped me to my room.â you argue, your voice a blend of desperation and defiance. âNothing untoward occurred. If we proceed with this marriage, it will only serve to validate the most nefarious rumors.â
âEnough!â Your fatherâs voice booms, cutting through the air with finality. âReturn to your quarters and prepare yourself for what is to come.â
Overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions, you steal a final glance at Gwayne, who stands with a look of profound disappointment. The realization that you have brought shame upon him, as well as upon yourself, weighs heavily upon you. You hasten from the study, tears streaming freely, unable to meet his eyes.
âWait!â Gwayneâs voice rings out, halting you in your tracks. You turn slowly, your face streaked with the evidence of your sorrow.
âI⌠I am deeply sorry,â you manage to stammer, your voice quaking with emotion. âI am truly, truly sorry.â
His gaze softens, a mix of bewilderment and tenderness in his eyes. âWhat is it that you are apologizing for?â
âI..I made you marry me instead of the one you truly love.â you stammer, tears continuing to flow down your cheeks.
âOh, my dearest.â Gwayne murmurs softly, gently wiping away your tears with his calloused fingers. His touch is tender, almost reverent, as he lifts your tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. âThe one I love is you.â
His confession leaves you momentarily stunned, the enormity of his words sinking in with a gradual, dawning clarity. Your heart races as you begin to piece together the puzzle of his actions. The hesitation to accept a forced marriage, his repeated offers to escort you to your chambers, the lingering kisses on your hand, and the intense, unwavering glancesâall of it now falls into place. He had never been indifferent; rather, he had been hiding his true feelings, perhaps out of a sense of duty or a fear of scandal.
A wave of realization washes over you, and with trembling lips, you respond, âI love you too. No one is more suited to me than you, Sir Gwayne.â
His eyes, filled with a blend of relief and profound emotion, search yours. The air between you seems to shimmer with unspoken promises and the weight of unvoiced sentiments. He pulls you close, his arms encircling you with a warmth that speaks of earnest affection and unwavering devotion. For a moment, the world outside fades into insignificance, leaving only the two of you in your shared understanding.
As he holds you, the reality of your feelings and his becomes undeniable. The burdens of misunderstanding and the weight of societal expectations dissolve, giving way to a future you both secretly yearned for. The tumultuous emotions of the past days seem to settle into a quiet resolve as you both embrace the newfound truth of your hearts.
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genius. [akaashi keiji x f!reader] chapter one.
>>You struggle to pay rent on your limited graduate student salary, and your worst enemy agrees to help you out.
or
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]
masterlist. || next.
a/n: this series is going to be the death of me. im currently writing ch. 2, and the first scene (the first scene!!! of 9!!!!!) is 10k words. i wrote a 10k smut scene. :)))) im actively dying. please enjoy chapter 1!!!
[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]
---------------------------------------
â Shit, shit shit- â You throw things all over the apartment, searching for your keys. The clock on the wall reads 10:55AM, flipping quickly to 10:56 and making you swear again. â Fuck! Oh-â You snatch up your house keys with a victorious cheer and then immediately race for the door, your bag hauled over your shoulder on the way.
You turn the 30-minute bike ride to campus into 20 minutes, but that still gets you to the door of the Linguistics department by 11:15. You slam down on the elevator button repeatedly while you wait, glancing back at the rest of the lobby only when you hear someone call your name. Itâs a student of yours, so you have to smile and wave back politely, even though all you want is to scream â Iâm so fucked! â into the void.Â
The elevator doors open, and you treat the buttons on the inside panel with the same cruelty, choosing to text your frustrations to Bokuto while you wait to arrive on the 5th floor.
[11:16 AM]
You: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK
Kou: OMG SAME
You: ?? whats wrong on your end
Kou: nothing why?
Kou: IS SOMETHING WRONG???
You snort, rolling your eyes.
You: late to my 11am
Kou: OH THE READING GROUP
Kou: which one is that??? Linguisticsomething of something something??
You: you know,,, there was no way to be wrong with that answer kou
Kou: :)))))Â
You: itâs LEM
Kou: LINGUISTICS AND EXPERIMENTAL METHODS
Kou: RIGHT
Kou: oh wait isnt that the one akaashis in?????
You: thats why im fucked
Kou: oh im sure he wont say anything
Kou: SAY HI FOR ME
The elevator opens, so you shove your phone away and race down the hall to the lab room. You skid to a stop in front of the door, taking a calming breath before pushing into the room as quietly as possible. A few people glance up from the round table in the center with small smiles before returning to the presentation on the screen, but you know well enough that youâre not in clear.
â-f itâs true then that case gets valued where base-generated, rather than at the landing site after Movement, we should see that these forms are nominative-marked. However, clearly, we get accusa-âÂ
You take the seat closest to the door, and it creaks.
Akaashi Keijiâs eyes find yours.
You grimace openly at him, and he lifts an eyebrow, his finger still hovering over the example on the TV.
âY/n. Would you like me to start over?â
You struggle not to roll your eyes at him, your face burning with embarrassment. âOf course not. Please, continue.â
âIt might be helpful if I start over-â
âI donât need the background on case valuation in Korean, Akaashi,â you snap. âWe work on the same language.â
You watch his eyes harden. Itâs only you that he looks at like that. He opens his mouth, but your advisor cuts in on your left.
âOkay, you two,â he says. âLetâs try not to kill each other today.â
You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, and meet Akaashiâs eyes evenly. He stares back blankly only a moment before returning to his presentation.
âSo, we can see here that accusative-marked nominals are permitted, despite the prediction that only nominative is grammatical-âÂ
You let out a quiet breath, trying to pay attention to his presentation â because, no doubt, heâd put you on the spot about it soon â while also recovering from the adrenaline rush of getting here. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you extract it subtly, glancing at the screen. There are two alerts.
Bank Account Balance (Oct. 10); $562.95
Rent Notification: Rent and Utilities; Payment ($1018.00) Due Nov. 1
Your heart sinks, a lump forming in your throat, and you shove your phone away, returning to Akaashiâs presentation. A coffee cup from the nearby cafe slides into your periphery, and you turn to see your advisor pushing it toward you silently, his own cup in front of him. He doesnât look at you, but he does crack a tired smile.
â Drink, â he whispers. â Youâve had a hard couple days. â
You smile and bring the cup to your lips, ignoring when Akaashi glances at it and then between you and your advisor. Itâs your regular order, and youâre immensely glad that most of your advisor meetings happen at coffee shops. You make it through Akaashiâs presentation with little issue â unsurprisingly for the departmentâs Golden Boy, his work is flawless. You agree with every argument he makes, every flaw he finds in the analyses of previous work.
So when he says â Any questions?â in that polite, soft-spoken way of his, youâre prepared for the very few questions asked to be nothing more than clarification. No one has any comments about his thinking or his analysis, and no one challenges him. Because Akaashi Keiji is always right.Â
But you can also see that these questions donât excite him. He answers each one nicely, nodding along and mumbling â Yes, thatâs right â or humming thoughtfully â as though he needs to think about it at all â and then shaking his head, clicking through his slide deck until he can point to something and correct someoneâs thinking. But he looks a bit disappointed, like heâd been hoping for a bit more of a discussion. He even glances at your advisor hopefully â but your advisor is also his advisor, so why would he have any notes? Heâs already pre-approved all of this.
Well, thatâs what you get for being so smart, you think with a little bit of snark. Your advisor always preaches to the group that peer feedback creates room for improvement, but whatâs Akaashi supposed to do when thereâs no more room? Heâs already the best.
He meets your eyes briefly, and you look away. Youâre not going to give him what he wants.
âOkay, then,â he says after a moment, unplugging his laptop from the TV. âThanks for listening â Y/n?â You pull your laptop from your bag, standing and rounding the table. You take the HDMI cord from him, slipping into the chair heâd occupied. He takes yours, careful not to touch your things. You sigh softly and then smile at the rest of your reading group.
âHey, guys. Thanks for coming.â You gesture to the TV, your slide deck open. âSo, if you were here for my most recent project, you know that I got some interesting results and will be broadening the scope in order to explore them for my dissertation.â
You launch into your presentation, the material so familiar to you that you donât have to think about what to say. Your second major project had wrapped up last year, your name sitting on a journal article set to print at the end of the month. Youâd gotten a number of reviewers asking similar questions, all related to the experimental results of one of your tasks, so you and your advisor had decided that, for the dissertation, you would be increasing the technical difficulty and redoing the experiment with new materials and a more rigorous theoretical analysis.
You present this to the group, outlining your idea and the changes youâd be making to the original project in order to answer the open questions left by your reviewers. By the end of your 20-minute slot, youâve got most of the group nodding along in agreement.
Most of the group.
You do your best not to look at him, but you can still see Akaashi sitting there with his arms folded in his lap, his expression void of everything. His eyes skim your slides, unreactive, and you just know that youâre in for it.
âOkay-â you sigh, clapping your hands on your knees. âThatâs it. Thoughts?â
Your advisor lifts his brows, a smile tugging at his lips, and you know heâs thinking the same thing.
Just the grilling of a lifetime incoming .
Thereâs silence for a while, everyone trying and failing not to look at Akaashi, because they know how this will go. And then his lips part, a soft breath taken.
âCan I⌠ask a few questions?â He starts gentle, the way he always does. He fools everyone into thinking heâs sweet and soft and careful, but you know better. You know that, if you were anyone else, he wouldnât have started like that. He would have complimented their work first, noted the things he thought theyâd done well.
Youâve never heard a compliment from Akaashi Keiji in the five years youâve known him.
âOf course,â You sigh. Some snickers pass through the group.
âHow do you know that this will tell you anything at all?â
He doesnât hold back â youâll give him that.
âSorry?â
âIf your results indicate a misalignment between the production of this ambiguous form and the comprehension of it, why are you using eye-tracking to test only comprehension? Whereâs your production gone?â
You inhale slowly, flicking back through the slides. âLike I said before, there are two possibilities for why this form was over-produced and under-accepted by participants. Either they are operating within their grammar and just attaching an emphatic element to a different word, resulting in a homophone with the ambiguous form Iâm interested in-â You flick through more slides. âOr theyâre operating outside of their grammar, in which case there are discourse factors at play.âÂ
You meet his eyes with a tight smile, trying to remain polite. âRunning an eye-tracking task with comprehension will let me see, in real time and without metalinguistic interference, if they accept this form in situations that should be ungrammatical. If they donât, then these results are due to emphatic attachment and thatâs that. If they do, then..â You shrug. âThereâs more to be done. But my point is that production wouldnât be necessary here. I have what I need.â
The group all shift their eyes from you to him in an instant, waiting for the tennis match to start. Akaashi only meets your gaze for a moment and then nods, and you feel mildly victorious at having won this interaction. But you swallow it down, because heâs opening his mouth again.
âAnd what about case?â
You almost roll your eyes. âWhat about it?â
âWhat analysis are you adopting?â
âIâm only using accusative-marked forms for this experiment,â you say. âThe object of the embedded clause is the position I need. Iâm not adopting competing analyses.â
âBut there are other ways to mark case on these forms â as Iâm sure youâre aware.â His gaze narrows at you when he says it, and you know heâs getting back at you now for your comment earlier. âWhat about those?â
âIâm not interested in them-â
â Right ,â he bites. âI understand that. But what are the case alternations available?â
It takes a special kind of person to draw Akaashi Keijiâs patience short, and youâre happy to be that person every single time. You have to purse your lips not to smile, because thereâs a little piece of you that finds it funny to draw out that twitch in his eyebrow that no one else claims to have ever seen.
âGenitive and nominative, and dative under restricted circumstances.â
He lifts his brows at you. âSo pretty much all of them.â
You nod simply. âBut using pretty much all of them means Iâd have to change the structure of the sentence for each type. Itâs not a simple swap.â
âThen do it.â
âExcuse me?â You lift your eyebrows in disbelief.
He shrugs. âYour results could be due to any of the things youâve talked about. Or they could be due to this form being preferred with different case markers in different situations. You could be getting low acceptability because of the case, rather than what youâre interested in.â Â
You just stare. âThatâs, like, four dissertations, Akaashi.â
His eyes have flattened out again. âThen maybe you should have done it right the first time.â
â Okay ,â your advisor says, clapping his hands. âHourâs up. Letâs thank Keiji and Y/n for their time.â
Your eyes stay locked on Akaashiâs while the room clears out, both knowing that youâre not allowed to go anywhere. You get a couple â good job âs from the people leaving, but you canât bring yourself to break eye contact first. In fact, it only serves to irritate you more â why is it only you that gets those reassuring comments? Why donât people tell Akaashi that heâs doing well? Do they think you need it? Does everyone think you need it more than he does?
âAlright,â your advisor breathes, shutting the door again and turning toward you. âOh-Come on, you two.â
You break first, dipping your head and turning to unplug your laptop from the TV.Â
âThat was good, both of you.â Your advisor cuts a glance at Akaashi as he sits. âA little harsh there, but-â
âSorry,â He mumbles, immediately deferent. But you know heâs not apologizing to you, and that makes you finally roll your eyes.
âOkay, okay,â your advisor laughs, taking his coffee and sipping at it. âLetâs just finish this up so I can get away from all this hostility.â
The meeting ends quickly, the three of you just summarizing thoughts and future steps for each of your projects. Akaashi purses his lips when you speak about your plans, but he doesnât push at you any further.Â
Finally, youâre able to leave, so you gather your things quickly and bolt for the door. Unfortunately, your office is directly across from Akaashiâs, so the walk down the hall is spent with him on your heels.
âItâs not four dissertations, by the way,â he says as soon as your advisorâs out of earshot. âJust redesign your materials to include the case alternations, and youâll get something interesting.â
You roll your eyes and shake your head, not stopping your march down the hall. âIâve already designed the eye-tracking materials, Akaashi. Itâll take me weeks to redo them for case.â
âThen take the weeks ,â he argues, just as youâre both arriving to your respective doors. âDo you want to do it fast, or do you want to do it right?â
You whirl on him, your anger unfiltered now that youâre alone. âWhat would you know? Youâve never done the kind of research I have to do. You donât know anything about psycholinguistics â you donât know what goes into something like this. You just sit in your world of theory, without ever thinking about the practical applications. You might be right about everything all the time, Akaashi, but Iâm the one who has to take those theories and do something with them.âÂ
He stares back emptily while you rant, and then he leans in close, his eyebrows lifting as his voice drops. âAre you really going to be okay not including the case alternations? Now that Iâve brought it up?â When you only sigh heatedly through your nose, glaring up at him, he shakes his head. âNo. Youâre not.â Then he turns to his office door, slotting the key in the lock while mumbling to you. âYouâre a lot of things, Y/n, but youâre not lazy.â
You stare at his office door long after itâs been shut.
You really hate Akaashi Keiji.
â
âI dunno, Kou, Iâm not sure what to do,â you sigh, running a finger along the rim of your coffee cup. Itâs the same from earlier, because you donât have the money to buy another and because drinking it slowly helps to stave off your hunger. Youâd been too rushed for lunch before leaving home, but you know dinnerâs only four hours away. You can last until then.
âWell-â Bokuto talks through a mouth full of food. â-is it gonna bug you to not do it?â
â Yes ,â you admit a little grumpily. âOf course it is. But I donât have the time â I wanted to have pilot data for the experiment by the end of October.â
âWhat would happen if you pushed it back a few weeks?â He asks loudly, spooning more food into his mouth before heâs even done eating the first mouthful.
âI donât know. It would just push my whole timeline back, and Iâd graduate later than expected, and Iâm already losing my mind. I need a job , Kou â I canât live on grad student wages much longer.â
âYeah, I feel you,â he nods, pulling more food out of his backpack. âBut at least youâre still splitting that nice apartment with your roommate! $500 a month is so nice.â
You stare down at your lukewarm coffee.
You havenât exactly mentioned to him or your other friends that your roommate had moved out. She hadnât left for anything negative â in fact, sheâs a good friend of yours. The two of you had posted in the graduate studentsâ forum over the summer before your first year, each requesting roommates, and youâd paired up nicely. Your personalities had gone together well, and youâd stayed roommates the entirety of grad school. But sheâd had to go home suddenly, which was fine for her because sheâs finishing up her dissertation and doesnât need to be on campus.
However, that does leave you without a roommate in the middle of the semester. Thereâs a fee for you to break your lease early, and it would overall be way more expensive for you to move out, especially in the middle of October. But paying over $1000 on your own, with your limited salary, is extremely difficult.
Youâd looked for another roommate, but there arenât any grad students without housing this late in the year â the only people youâd seen posting on the university Facebook page about housing had been undergrads, and youâre certainly not comfortable with that. So, youâd looked for extra jobs, but your student contract only allows you to be employed a certain amount, and youâd already reached the maximum. Your advisor had told you as much, shaking his head regretfully when youâd all but begged for extra hours in his lab. Youâd even tried finding jobs outside of the university, but most of them had asked for a consistent work schedule and more hours than you can afford to give.Â
Which might be why youâd decided to turn to making adult content online.
Youâre not particularly attached to the idea of being a porn star, but youâd seen a video online talking about the amount of money that adult content creators can make even from a single video, and youâd made an account without giving yourself time to think about it. Youâd taken all the necessary precautions â things like always editing out your face and the singular tattoo you have on the inside of your ankle, or never displaying your background in a way that would be recognizable to someone who knows you. You really donât need anyone finding out about this, especially not your friends.
Youâre not sure that Kuroo would really care â the chemistry studentâs nosy, sure, but heâs a big proponent of leaving people to their lives. And you know that Bokuto would probably find it interesting, but heâs got an objectively big mouth and little social control, so it would be a risk to tell him. The only person youâre really worried will find out is Yachi â your closest friend, that sweet girl wouldnât be likely to judge, but she certainly wouldnât understand. Sheâd ask a lot of questions â â why would you do something like that?â; âwell, are you sure there arenât other options?â; âi would rather move out if i were youâ . Yachiâs had a very straightforward way of thinking ever since you met her, and sheâd be the most likely to tell you that pursuing this line of work is drastic and unnecessary. Youâre not sure youâre emotionally strong enough to deal with that.
Especially since your new occupation isnât exactly going well . Youâve only been at it a few weeks, and youâve garnered a decent number of subscribers on your platform â 897, to be exact (you check every day; youâre desperate). But, in the month since your roommateâs left, youâve hardly made $300, and, while $300 of extra income per month is certainly not insignificant, itâs not enough to pay your rent.
Which is why youâre sitting here now, lunchless and sipping pitifully at cold coffee. But at least youâre in good company, Bokutoâs presence always a weight off your shoulders.
âHi, Bokuto.â
Here comes the weight, right back on your shoulders.
You look up from your cup, meeting Akaashiâs eyes. He scans you quickly but doesnât greet you, only setting his lunch tray down on the table and taking the seat beside Bokuto. The silver-haired man looks between you with wide eyes.
âAw, man! Did you guys fight at your reading group?!â He rubs at his stomach. âDonât fight now, too. Itâll make my tummy hurt.â
You laugh weakly, turning away and surveying the crowded dining hall. âOf course not, Kou. Youâre neutral ground.â
âWhat she said,â Akaashi says, carefully mixing his food with his chopsticks. He cuts a glance at your coffee cup. âIs that the same one from this morning?â He glances at the time on his phone. Itâs already past 2:30.
Youâre instantly defensive. âYeah.â
He hears the edge in your tone, shaking his head with a breath of laughter while pulling noodles into his mouth. He chews and swallows before responding, ever the gentleman. âDidnât bring lunch?â
âForgot it at home.â
He points at the buffet line at the back of the dining hall. âThen buy something.â
âTrying to save money,â you say. You watch his eyebrows pull together in confusion, and you know why â the dining hallâs extremely cheap, usually only $8 or $9 for a fair lunch. The issue is that you donât have $8 or $9. You donât have rent money, so you donât have lunch money.
Thankfully, though, he doesnât say anything else about it, and youâre briefly appreciative that heâs respectful of your financial situation. Youâre also appreciative that he doesnât tip Bokuto off about it. The large man is tapping away on his phone while he chews loudly, so heâd barely heard the questions Akaashi had asked you. He looks up at the silence now, glancing between you.Â
âWhatâd I miss?â
âNothing. We were fighting,â Akaashi says. Todayâs turning, shockingly, into a day of appreciating Akaashi Keiji.
â No, â Bokuto whines. âNo fighting.â
A body slides into the spot beside yours, and another into the spot beside Akaashi.
âThey fighting?â Kuroo asks, organizing his food on his tray. Tsukishima snorts across the table, mumbling â arenât they always? â quietly.
âWeâre fine,â you laugh. âTrying not to make Kouâs tummy hurt.â
âFair enough,â Kuroo says as heâs lifting a bite of food to his mouth. He stops, though, staring down at your cup. âYour tummy hurts, too, I guess.â
âI guess so,â you say, smiling and sipping at the now-gross coffee. He doesnât say anything about it, only turning to ask Tsukishima about some ongoing drama in the history department. But he does slide his tray between the two of you while he talks, shoving his chopsticks into your hand and then leaning casually over to keep chatting to the blond, as though heâs merely asking you to hold them while he talks. You purse your lips, embarrassment warming your ears, but you pick at his tray anyway â just a bit of rice and a thin cut of spam balanced on his spoon. You take two bites and then slide the tray back, muttering â thanks â under your breath.
You feel Akaashiâs eyes on you, but you refuse to meet them. Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and you pull it into your lap.
[2:47 PM]Â New Comment on Your Video
Your eyes widen, and you lower the brightness and turn your back slightly to Kuroo.Â
user6969Â :Â pretty hot, would be hotter with someone fucking her tho
It already has ten likes. Your eye twitches, and you clear the notification quickly. You could never film with another person. You canât . That defeats the whole purpose of keeping this anonymous.Â
But what if thatâs the thing keeping you from making money? From paying rent? At this point, would you rather bring someone else into this, or would you rather eat the cost of moving out?
But you canât move. With breaking the lease and having to sign a new one â moving fees not included â you already donât have enough money. Thereâs no way to get approved for a new place with such little money in your bank account.Â
Should you sell feet pics? No, you canât switch platforms or content at this point. Youâd be starting from nothing in that case, and itâs no guarantee youâd do well there. Not that youâre really doing well with your current account, either.
Are you going to have to find a partner to film with?
â Y/n .â
You jump, looking up. Akaashiâs staring back, standing behind Bokuto with his eyebrows raised and his tray in his hand. He looks a little annoyed.
âIâve been calling your name.â
You blink. âSorry. What is it?â
He lifts his brows impossibly further. âWe have to go.â
You start, checking the time again. Itâs 2:52. You have to go to the undergraduate class youâre TAing with him. âOh, shit,â you mutter, standing with your bag. âWeâre gonna be late.â You wave a cursory goodbye at the others, rushing to toss your coffee in the trash.Â
You chase after Akaashi, cursing his long legs, and follow him across the quad to the lecture hall. You both slide past the doors just as your advisorâs clearing his throat to get the classâs attention.Â
â Now that our distinguished TAs have arrived, we can get startedâŚÂ â he says into the microphone connected to the podium.
You follow Akaashi up the steps to the top row, managing to control the urge to roll your eyes at the number of undergrad girls watching longingly as Akaashi passes by. You sit with him in the back corner, huffing quietly and then hugging your bag to your stomach, because a low gurgle of hunger is creeping out. Akaashi snorts quietly, and you glare sideways at him. But he just reaches down into his bag, extracting a granola bar and offering it to you, his eyes still on the whiteboard at the front.
You grimace. â Iâm good, thanks, â you whisper.
â Itâs going to annoy me, â he says, jabbing the bar at you. You take it with a soft sigh, mumbling â thanks â to him while you try to unwrap the plastic without being loud. You eat it quietly, deciding that itâs the least he can do for torturing you during LEM. And then you stuff the empty plastic in your bag before extracting your laptop, intending to take notes on your advisorâs lecture.
The screen is bright and noticeable when it opens to your most recently opened tab â thankfully not your porn account, which youâre always mindful to close before leaving home. But it is open to your bankâs website, still signed in and clearly displaying the meager $562.95 in your checking account.
You jump, rushing to lower the screen brightness and close out of the tab at the same time, and then you cut a glance at Akaashi. Heâs not looking directly at your screen, but heâs certainly not looking at the whiteboard anymore. His eyes hover suspiciously in the space between your laptop and his, and he meets your eyes quickly before looking away when he realizes youâre watching him.
â Sorry, â he mumbles. â Brightness caught my eye. âÂ
â Donât say anything ,â is all you say. All that youâre willing to plead with him. He just lifts a brow and nods, saying nothing else as he refocuses his attention on the lecture. You sigh, pushing two frustrated fingers against your temple, because now Akaashi Keiji knows youâre broke and living way too far above your means.
â
You sit on your couch four days later, scrolling aimlessly through Tinder. You grimace as you swipe, unable to bring yourself to approve of any of the guys youâre seeing. There are obviously some good-looking ones, and even some extremely attractive ones, but every time you start to swipe right, you hesitate.
How crazy are you going to look, matching on a dating app with someone, only to ask them if theyâd be willing to be your faceless porn partner?
You groan, throwing your phone down. You canât believe youâve even gotten to this point. Just this week, youâd sworn you would keep running your account alone. Youâd sworn you wouldnât let anyone else get involved with this, for your pride and for your anonymity.
Thatâs another reason youâre so unwilling to match with someone on Tinder. What if he ends up being a total weirdo? What if he leaks your name online or talks about you to his friends? Or-
Oh, God, what if he lies about his age and ends up being an undergrad? Even worse â an undergrad in your department ?
â Ugh- â You shudder, picking your phone back up. âNo. No fucking way.â You quickly delete your account and the app, shaking your head. Itâs too much of a risk, and youâre not even sure you could ever trust someone you donât know to help you with something so private and sensitive.
Do I really have to find a partner? Â
You pull your laptop from the table and open it, logging into your porn account and scrolling through the videos. Youâd stuck to the same posting schedule since youâd started, maintaining consistency and posting every day over the last four weeks. It had definitely helped with your views, because the subscribers you do have know when to expect a new video. But, even this week alone, your view count has become stagnant and â in the case of the video youâd posted today â even gone down a few thousand hits.
You check the section for monetization, seeing youâd made an extra $16 dollars in the last four days. $16 dollars in four days. You might as well start selling your couch.
But if you canât find a partner amongst the hundreds of men you donât know, then it has to be someone you do know.
âKuroo,â you sigh, leaning your head back against the couch. And then you shake your head. Heâs the best choice â heâs private and minds his business. He would never be a risk for outting you. Heâs also extremely attractive, and you have decent chemistry. But heâs also one of your closest friends, and youâre not even willing to tell him you do this for a living, for fear of something changing between you. You could never ask him to help you.
âBokuto,â you move on, bobbing your head back and forth. Heâs definitely the least likely to let anything change between you â heâd find it interesting, and he would never judge you. Heâd also be more than willing to help, especially since this is for the purpose of paying your bills and not just something you do for fun on the side. Heâs incredibly kind and motivated in that way⌠but still, it isnât right.Â
Not only does it feel a bit weird to imagine having sex with him, even for business, but it also wouldnât be long before he accidentally lets something slip to someone. It would be unintentional, of course, but Bokuto Koutarou isnât exactly known for his subtlety. Not to mention that you need someone who canât be recognized on camera, even faceless, and Bokutoâs presence is so overwhelming that it would take no time at all for someone who knows him to pinpoint exactly who it is.
You shake your head, going through the mental list of every guy youâve ever interacted with. You donât really know Tsukishima, despite eating lunch with him most days and seeing him at almost every function, and you get the feeling he would laugh in your face if you ask. You think of guys youâd known in college and even some guys youâd met at the events that your friends have invited you to. You even pick up your phone and start scrolling through your contacts, really stretching the limits of your imagination.
None of them work.
â Fuck ,â you groan, scrubbing at your brow. This isnât going to work.
Your phone buzzes with a text, the message sliding into view before disappearing.
[9:48 PM]
Akaashi: i printed copies of the handout for discussion on monday
Akaashi: putting them in my mailbox so you can grab them before class
Akaashi: youll print the exams next week, right?
You stare at the messages as they come in.
Akaashi .Â
His name drifts like a whisper through your mind, and you have to throw your phone on the table and stand, your eyes wide.
âNo. No,â you say, rounding the couch and pacing behind it. âNo, no, no.â
Not him. Anyone but him. You can barely stand him, and the idea of him knowing what you do to make rent is unfathomable. You canât trust him with something like that-
But, he is trustworthy. Heâd shown himself not even a week ago to be sensitive to your personal information and financial situation. He makes judgment calls that benefit you, even though he could be doing everything in his power to make your life hell. As annoying as he is â as rude as he can be, especially to you â heâs a decent human being. Heâs private, heâs subtle, heâs quiet and keeps to himself, and-
And heâs average. A very good-looking man, yes, but overall a perfectly normal, average guy that would never be recognized.
â No! â You groan, starting to pace harder. â No, no, no! â
Your phone starts to ring on the table. You jump, staring at the screen.
You can see his name even from here.Â
You approach it carefully, hands shaking as you reach for it.Â
âH-Hello?â
â Y/n, â he says, his voice quiet but firm.
âUh-â You laugh weakly. âHi. Whatâs⌠up?â
â Iâm just checking you got my texts. Iâm leaving the department now. â
âYou stayed there until 10 on a Saturday?â
â I lost track of time. You got my texts, then? â
âYes,â you sigh. âYeah, I got them. Thanks for printing.â
â And youâll-â
âYep. I got the exams.â
Thereâs silence on the other end, followed by the quiet jingle of his office keys. â Are you⌠You sound.. not great. Nervous. â
Itâs mortifying that he can hear that it in your voice. Why can he hear that in your voice?
âNo, Iâm good. Just-just busy. Stressed.â
â Oh. Okay, then. â He pauses a moment, and you wonder if heâs giving you time to say more. You donât. Finally, he clears his throat. ââ Kay. Bye. â He hangs up before you can repeat it back to him.
A perfectly average, decent human being whoâs private, subtle, quiet, and keeps to himself.
The only issue is that you hate each other.
Great.
â
You pace in front of his office door two days later, biting your nails while you think. Anxiety swoops low in your gut, over and over again while you imagine talking to him. Swelling and heaving when you imagine the look on his face, inevitably judgmental and maybe a little amused that youâd even thought to approach him.
God, you canât do this.
âNo,â you mumble, turning back toward your own door. Youâll find someone else.
The door opens behind you, and you jump, spinning around. Akaashi stares at you in exasperation, his glasses askew and his hair ruffled like heâs been pulling his fingers through it.
âAre you going to come in, or are you just going to stand outside all day?â
âUh,â you stammer, shaking your head. âUh, no. No, I didnât-I donât have anything-â
âY/n,â he sighs. âYouâve been pacing out here for ten minutes. Iâve been watching your feet go back and forth in front of my door this whole time. Itâs really fucking distracting â Iâm trying to work.â
Your eyes go wide, because youâre not sure youâve ever heard Akaashi swear before. He opens the door wider, beckoning you in with an impatient sweep of his arm. You find yourself stepping past the threshold, wringing your hands as you stand in the middle of the little room. He leaves the door cracked, slipping past you carefully and returning to his desk.
âWhat is it?â He sits and starts sorting through his papers, attention only partially on you. âSomething about LING 303? I graded my sectionâs assignments already â do you need the answer key?â
You swallow, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. âNo, I⌠I have an answer key, too.â
âThen?â
A large part of you wants to leave. Heâs in a bad mood, and heâs clearly busy. Youâre not sure this is the best time to bring up something this sensitive with him. But then again â when would you ever find the best time to talk to Akaashi Keiji about your secret porn account?
So, with a shaky breath, you return to the door, pushing it closed quietly and locking it.
âUhm,â you start, turning slowly on the spot and facing him. âCan we talk?â
Heâs got his eyes, wary now, on the doorknob where your hand rests, your thumb still over the lock thatâs been pushed in. He blicks and flicks his gaze to yours, eyes narrowing when he sees the discomfort in your expression.Â
âOâŚkay?â He sets his papers down and leans back in his seat, his attention yours now. â...Whatâs up?â
You make your way to the chair in front of his desk and perch in it uncertainly. âOkay. Is it okay if I say everything before you talk?â He just tilts his head, watching you intensely, and then he nods once. Whatever had been on his mind before is clearly gone, and you silently hope it hadnât been some groundbreaking idea that youâve just interrupted.
âSo,â you start, heaving out a nervous sigh. âYou saw my bank account the other day. Last week.â He nods again, and you rush into the speech youâd practiced all morning, not wanting him to think youâre just here to ask for money. That might be easier, honestly. But your courage might never come again, so you need to barrel through this now. âItâs been that way for about a month now. I live in a 2-bedroom apartment, and â when I had a roommate-â He squints now, because heâs certainly heard Bokuto talk about your roommate as though she still exists. â-my rent was only $500 a month.â
He opens his mouth to speak, thoughts very obviously swirling in that overactive brain of his, but he shuts it again, remembering heâd promised you silence. He nods, and you nod back.
âShe moved out a month ago for personal reasons, and if I break the lease and move out, too, it would cost more than just continuing to live there on my own. And-â You throw your hands around while you talk, ramping up in intensity now that youâve gotten started. â-I know that in the long run, itâs more cost-effective to eat the move-out fees and the cost of moving, but you saw my bank account. I donât have any way of doing that right now.â
âYou need a roommate,â is what he says, unable to stop himself. You sigh, shaking your head.
âI tried. The only people searching for housing this late in the semester are undergrads.â He grimaces, and you nod. âSo thatâs not an option.â You sigh again, trying to remember what to say next. âUh-Oh, right-So-â You wring your hands in your lap. âMy rentâs over $1000, and I obviously donât have that. And Iâve tried looking for extra jobs and for extra hours around the department, but Iâm at max hours, and there are no part-time jobs that are flexible with my research and teaching schedule.â
You sigh shakily, staring out the window behind his head. You stay that way for a minute, gathering your courage. Akaashi watches you carefully, tracking the slight changes in your expression and the defeat that crosses your face.
âY/n?â he asks, his voice soft now, in that way that he speaks to everyone whoâs not you.
âSorry,â you laugh. âNervous.â You clear your throat and ground yourself, looking him straight in the eye. âSo, I had to turn to some⌠desperate measures.â His eyebrows lift with interest, and you think you see him lean in almost imperceptibly. âI⌠decided to start makingâŚÂ content -â
You watch understanding cross his face immediately â of course it does, heâs not the Golden Boy for nothing. His eyes go wide, and he inhales quietly, leaning back in his chair and letting out a long, drawn out breath that ends in a quiet â oh, boy â. You stop talking, just watching him nervously. He stares back a moment, his mouth opening and closing with thoughts unsaid as he considers how to respond.
âAnd it was your only option?â
âProbably not,â you laugh. The sound is watery, and your eyes are starting to sting. âBut I couldnât think of anything else at the time, and I havenât figured out anything better since â anything short of asking someone for a $500 loan.â
âOkay,â he says simply. You meet his eyes, searching for judgment or thinly veiled disgust, or anything . But he just looks back at you, his face devoid of everything but concentration as he thinks. âSo, why are you telling me this?â
You break eye contact, staring down at your lap. Youâre sweating profusely, your stomach doing that terrible flipping. âItâs⌠not exactly going well .â
Silence, and then-
âDefine â not going well â.â
You flick your eyes to meet his briefly, seeing that heâs staring at you with an intensity youâve never seen before. When you make eye contact, he takes a breath.
âY/n-â
âSomeone-â You swallow. âIâve only made $300 in the last four weeks, and my roommate helped me pay the October 1st rent because she felt bad for moving out so suddenly. Iâm clearly desperate, Akaashi, because Iâm not making the kind of money I need to be making, but thereâs nothing else. And someone commented on a video that-â You break, rubbing at your brow and breathing hard. God, this is so difficult. You donât know how to say it to him.
âYou need a partner.â
You suck in a breath, your own watery, stinging eyes meeting his. Heâs breathing a little harder now, and his expressionâs not as guarded as it usually is. Heâs tapping a finger nervously on his desk and blinking a lot.
âWhy me?â
You fumble for an answer. âUhm-Because-â
âWhy not Kuroo?â He asks, his voice calm despite the increased tapping on his desk.
ââm not sure our friendship would survive it. I care too much about him.â
He nods, clearly not offended by the implication that youâre willing to risk things with him . Heâs not your friend and he knows that. The relationship between the two of you is delicate and tense, but itâs never entered the realm of care. Professional respect at most, outright hatred at worst. Thereâs nothing to risk by asking Akaashi Keiji to help, aside from the risk that heâll make you feel bad or even that heâll tell someone else. And it must mean something that youâre trusting him not to do those things.
âBokuto?â he asks, jumping through all the same mental hoops that you had.
âThereâs a million reasons it canât be him,â you say, sighing tiredly. He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion, but he doesnât push it. He just shakes his head slowly.
âI donât think itâs a good idea to do this with someone in the same department.â He considers something else, rolling his eyes slightly. â And we have the same advisor. Itâs too close. If something goes wrongâŚâ He shakes his head again. âI donât know, Y/n.â
âRight,â you say emptily. Youâre already recalculating how often you can film and post solo content without losing too much sleep, the thought of selling feet pics popping up again. Anything to keep your mind off of the fact that talking to Akaashi had been a mistake â a waste of his time, and an exposure of yourself that had amounted to nothing.Â
This had amounted to nothing, baring this piece of your life to him. How humiliating.
âY/n,â he says gently. You donât meet his eyes, just patting your pockets for your office keys.
âOkay, well â thanks for your time-â
âI wonât say anything, Y/n,â he tries. âAbout any of it. I promise.â
âThanks,â you laugh. âYeah, I would appreciate that. Sorry for wasting your time.â You stand quickly, spinning to the door.
âY/n- Y/n- âÂ
The sound of your name is muffled as you yank the door open and slam it closed behind you. You hear him sigh on the other side, a quiet â fuckâ uttered in the stifling silence. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you plead for it to be Bokuto or Kuroo or Yachi.
Shockingly, itâs all three, sent to your group chat.
[2:26 PM]
Kou: LUNCH? TEN MINUTES?
Tetsu: bo we eat lunch at THE SAME TIME EVERY SINGLE DAY
Kou: IM JUST CHECKING, FUCK
Hitoka: i like that he reminds us, hehe
Kou: yeah, see??? Yachiâs forgetful!!!
Hitoka: hey now.
Kou: oops-
A small smile tugs at your lips as you drift down the hall to the grad student lounge to get your lunch. But, as youâre typing out that youâll be down soon, another text comes in.
Akaashi: y/n i wont say anything
Akaashi: i swear
Your face burns with embarrassment. Itâs damage control, plain and simple, and the fact that he feels the need to do that at all makes this whole situation worse. You canât bring yourself to open the text or say anything else to him. Itâs humiliating, knowing that Akaashi Keiji knows what you do for money now. That youâre not even good enough at it to make rent.
Akaashi doesnât make it to lunch that day. You try your best to shrug uncaringly when Bokuto wonders aloud why heâs not there.
â
Keiji has never known what to make of you.
From the moment heâd met you â at the department orientation five years ago â heâd found you interesting, and not always necessarily in a good way. When youâd rattled off that list of research interests during your self-introduction, the one that had been unrealistically high-reaching and ambitious, heâd written you off as naive. When youâd made friends easily, your smile bright and your laugh loud and grating against his ears, heâd written you off as annoying.
And then youâd gone ahead and proven that that list wasnât as high-reaching as heâd thought. Or maybe it was, and youâd just had a touch of insanity in your blood. Youâd proven that you arenât just ambitious â youâre successful. Youâre smart â brilliant, even. And Keiji had found you interesting again, because he could never tell if youâd realized it. He still canât.
You carry an intensity in your shoulders and eyes that heâs always caught off guard to see. You question the work of your peers with the kind of brutal honesty that should make you unpopular. It should make people hate you, the way you pick apart their ideas and results. But they never do. They never hate you, and he kind of hates that.Â
Maybe itâs because you always seem so eager to learn. You donât criticize when you question â you just question . You donât tear anyone down â in fact, your questions only seem to build people up, to the point that youâre often stopped in the halls and asked for your opinion on methodological choices and theoretical connections. People seek you out, and youâre all too happy to help.
But with your own work, youâre suddenly unsure. Keiji bristles when he sees it, that uncertain tilt of your head when you talk. Itâs almost impossible to notice, and heâs sure that, to everyone else, youâre just being humble, or a nervous public speaker, even. Youâre knowledgeable about your work, you seem confident when you answer questions, and you accept criticism with grace, taking notes diligently when points come up that you hadnât thought of.
But he sees it â that uncertainty in your own ability. And it pisses him off.
You are annoying, heâd decided after the first time heâd noticed that hesitant nature. It annoys him, because you work just as hard as he does â youâre just as smart as he is â and you canât seem to see it. Or is it a ploy? Is it an act, a performative relatability that only he can see?Â
You piss him off.
How can both of you be so brilliant, but you seem so much more likeable? How can people call him the Golden Boy and then be too afraid to approach him? Youâre the Golden Girl, for fuckâs sake. Canât they see it? Why are you so easy for people to talk to? Why do people tell you â good jobâ when you give presentations, and heâs never gotten so much as a pat on the shoulder? Why do people like you so much , and all he gets is polite smiles and nervous expressions? Why does his name float around the department in reverence, but itâs your name that people say when they want to get a second pair of eyes on their proposals, their chapters?
And why , for all that is good in the world, do you not realize it ?
Thatâs why he targets you. Itâs like an itch he canât reach â he just canât help himself. He doesnât offer you meaningless platitudes or careful language when he gives you feedback, because itâs not your favor he wants. What he wants is to push you. He wants to push you to your limit â bully you to it, if he has to.Â
Because itâs your research thatâs born of brilliance, the kind of brilliance that makes goosebumps rise on his skin. The kind that makes his spine straighten and his gut wrench with excitement. Itâs your research â your mind â that heâs drawn to. He wants to see you succeed, because he wholeheartedly believes that you could change the field.
But you donât see that. No one seems to see that, except him and, undoubtedly, your advisor. So, when he pushes you, he know it looks like a personal attack. He knows it looks to you like he dislikes you for no apparent reason, because youâre just trying your best and heâs the department genius that thinks youâre beneath him. He knows how it looks, and he makes not a single move to fix it â because heâs seen, more than once, how what you think he is and what you think heâs doing has moved you to do revolutionary things.
Heâs seen you do remarkable things with just a little bit of hatred.Â
So he keeps it up, because maybe he hates you just a little bit, too. Maybe his own work is as unquestionable as it is because heâs secretly begging you to question it, begging you to give him that focused look and that critical eye that always makes his breath hitch. But you never give him what he wants, so he doesnât either. He doesnât give you the softspoken voice or the gentle, polite demeanor that he gives everyone else, even though he can see you yearning for it. He wonât give you that, not until you realize what you are â a genius, just the same as him.
When you come to him on October 16th, opening your life to him in ways he hadnât expected, he means every word he says to you. It shouldnât be him â it would get messy, the two of you having sex. He knows you had to have thought this through already, that you would never have approached him unless he was the absolute last option available, but he canât bring himself to say yes to you. He knows you need the money, and thereâs a non-insignificant part of him that actually wants to say yes. That wants to help you, because, despite how he feels about you, he can recognize the severity of the situation. Of the look in your eye, desperate and scared.
But he canât bring himself to do it, because he knows that this intricately built web of hate and respect that youâve built together is incredibly fragile. That whatever you two have â whatever this thing is that canât be called friendship or anything close to it â would collapse and change. Keiji doesnât like change.Â
So he watches, over the course of October 17th, 18th, and 19th, as you become more desperate.Â
He catches you dissociating more than once during your shared reading group meetings, and you donât even pull your laptop out during the syntax class you TA together. You avoid his eyes for the duration of the 17th, but you seem to forget about him entirely the rest of the days, your gaze distant and stressed. You check your phone more than once during class, and he doesnât dare look, because heâs certain youâre looking at your porn account for views and comments.
He catches you chasing after your advisor after group meetings, and he realizes quickly that the manâs aware of your financial situation, because he only shrugs regretfully and leaves you in the hall, staring down at nothing. He catches you turning down Bokutoâs lunchtime offer to hit up a bar on the evening of the 18th, and then he glances into your office the morning of the 19th â youâre staring blankly at the journal article on your desk, not reading a single word, and Keiji begins to understand how this might impact your research.
He confirms it that afternoon, a cloudy Thursday just before lunch. Heâs passing his advisorâs office on the way to the grad student lounge, a can of iced coffee waiting with his name on it â but he stops short when he hears your voice inside.
â ...have to find another job, â you say, your voice clearly stressed. â Thereâs no way to get an advance on next monthâs paycheck from the department? â
The old man sighs loudly. â Iâll see what I can do, but you know these things donât usually work like that. And they take time. I think another jobâs the only option at the moment. â
â Okay, â you say. â In that case, Iâm not sure what to do about my research- â
Keiji inhales sharply, pressing his ear to the door. Youâre not postponing your experiment, are you? You canât. He knows he told you to push it as much as necessary for the case marking issues, but he hadnât meant for it to be like this .Â
â Take some time to focus on your personal situation ,â your advisor says. â Find a part-time job with stable hours, and weâll work your research around it. It might double the time needed- â
Double?!
Keijiâs starts to shake his head. No, thatâs not possible. You canât.
â Fuck ,â he whispers, stomping off down the hall, his coffee entirely forgotten. God, is this really going to be the thing that brings you down? Is it really going to be this ?Â
He barrels into his office and starts to pace the length of it. He thinks through your situation in extreme detail, rubbing at his brow and sighing in frustration every time he has to turn and pace the other way down his office.Â
Obviously, youâve thought through every option, but he runs through them anyway, if only to confirm for himself that you really are left with no option except finding a job and delaying the progress of your research.
Well, thereâs one option.
One option that wouldnât require you to put your energy toward applying for jobs and training for some side gig you have no interest in. One option that doesnât require you to lose sleep or miss class or drop out of optional reading groups due to having to work somewhere across town. One option that would probably get you immediate payout, which he knows is the reason you started in the first place.
He looks at the little flip calendar on his desk. October 19th. 12 days until your rent is due. How long would it take you to apply for jobs? Would they let you start right away? When would you get your first paycheck?
Is finding a part-time job even a solution anymore?
â Fuck! â He throws himself down in his chair. Thereâs a very large part of him â the majority, even â thatâs concerned about your research progress. Itâs unwarranted, his dedication to work thatâs not his own. But itâs not even about that â itâs the fact that he knows how this will tear at you. How it will eat you alive, not being able to work on your research. How agonizing itâll be, seeing the rest of your cohort progress while you struggle to pay rent. Because you think like he thinks, whether youâd like to admit it or not.
Maybe thatâs the smaller part of him, too. The part that wants to help you because itâs you . Because, as much as he dislikes and even hates you at times, he wants to fix this for you. He wants things to be okay for you, because youâre a person with a life â a person in his life â and you donât deserve the kind of torment youâre currently experiencing. He doesnât want to see you crushed by the stress.
Not when thereâs something he can do about it.
â
Akaashi texts you that night.
You sit, hunched, at your dining table, frantically fixing your resumĂŠ and sending it off to different cafes, restaurants, and bars all over Tokyo. Youâve been applying all week â two places have already rejected you, saying theyâre only hiring full-time workers, and one place has scheduled an interview with you, but itâs over a week away.
Youâre staring intensely at your laptop, pushing down the continuous sense of dread by finding more and more places to apply. You barely notice when your phone buzzes next to you, and you pick it up without looking, thinking itâll be one of your friends sending a meme to the group chat.
[7:59 PM]
Akaashi: iâll do it.
You stare down at your phone, unseeing. Your ears start to buzz, and your vision goes blurry for a moment.
Heâll do it? Heâll-
You press call before you can think of anything. He picks up on the first ring.
â Hello? â
âYouâll do it?â Your eyes focus in on a scuff on your hardwood floors, latching onto it so you donât have to look at anything else. âReally?â
â Yeah. Iâll do it. â
âWhy?â
Thereâs a moment of silence on the other end, and you eyebrows scrunch the longer it stretches on.
â I could use a bit of extra money, too. Once youâre done paying rent. â
Itâs insultingly easy to spot that thatâs bullshit, but you donât press it. You canât risk pressing this. Not when your solution â this miracle â is finally within reach.
âWhat about the other stuff?â
â Weâll figure it out. I can draft up a contract and bring it by tomorrow, if that works for you. â
âA contract?â You want to roll your eyes, because thatâs incredibly Akaashi Keiji , but you also recognize that you hadnât thought of that.
â Are you in or not? â
Thereâs no way in hell youâre passing this up.
âYes-Sorry, Iâm just⌠surprised. But, yes.â
â Alright. Tomorrow afternoon? â
âIâm free after 2.â
â Iâll be there at 2:30. Send me your address. â
âOâŚkay. Okay.â
You hear him swallow and shift on the other end, and then he mumbles, â Okay. See you tomorrow. â
Youâre left with the dial tone, that scuff in the hardwood burned into your mind when you blink.
âOkay,â you say to no one.
The conversation had lasted 55 seconds.
â
He shows up at 2:29 on Friday, rapping three quick knocks on your door and scaring the shit out of you as you pace the living room nervously. You rush to get it, fixing your hair and clothes as you go and giving the room a cursory glance. Youâre suddenly so nervous to exist in front of him, feeling your appearance and the cleanliness of your home under scrutiny even though he hasnât seen either yet.
You pull the front door open, dragging your eyes up to meet his. Heâs wearing a pair of black slacks and a tucked-in white button-down, the collar peeking through the top of the black sweater vest heâd fitted over it. His glasses, black and settled comfortably on the bridge of his nose, glint in the light and block you from seeing the look in his eye when you appear in front of him. And then he shifts his weight, and you see those deep blue eyes staring right into yours.
Akaashi adjusts his backpack on his shoulder. âHi.â
You swallow hard. âUh. Hi.â You step back quickly to let him in, and you try not to notice the subtle cologne heâs wearing when he brushes past you. Had he always worn cologne? âThanks for coming.â
âMhm,â he hums, slipping his sneakers off and setting them neatly to the side in your foyer. When he stands, you watch him cast his gaze across your living room and dining area, tucked into a corner by the kitchen. He steps into the living room, wandering slowly to the side of the couch while looking at the space. âI can see why you wouldnât want to let this place go.â
High ceilings, lots of windows, and a small balcony. Hardwood floors and an open floorplan â the kitchen is visible past the island counter, two beams capping the ends of the bar to section the area off from the rest of the room. Your bedroom door is just past the couch, your roommateâs old room hidden down a narrow hallway with the bathroom.Â
When you and your ex-roommate had found the place together, five years prior, rent had been cheaper and $500 hadnât been considered a steal for a place like this. Youâd managed to keep the landlord from raising the prices over the years, the two of you stellar tenants with not a single issue to note. Thatâs the only reason heâd let your roommate break her lease so suddenly â especially since youâd said you could take the entire thing over until you could find a new roommate.
Not that that new roommate would ever appear.
âYeah,â you say, following Akaashi into the room and gesturing for him to sit. You move to the kitchen to get two glasses of water while he takes the corner and sets his backpack down at his feet. âIâve made my home here. Would hate to start over, I guess.â
He looks around, eyeing all the decorations and furniture in the room. Your roommate had left you with the furniture, thankfully â this place would be barren otherwise. Sheâd even left her bed and the little couch in her room, reasoning that keeping the room furnished might encourage someone to move in.Â
Youâre not sure youâd ever tell her what you use that bed and couch for now, a conveniently placed âstudioâ right in your own home.
You join Akaashi on the couch, offering him the water and just nodding awkwardly when he thanks you for it. His fingers brush yours when he takes the glass, his attention still on the room, and you fight the blush that rises. There are a number of thoughts floating through your mind as you examine his fingers, but you shake your head to clear them, because technically no contracts have been signed, so youâre not allowed to think about how pretty his hands will look on camera.
âSoâŚâ you start. âWhat exactly did you have in mind for these contracts?â
He blinks, as though remembering why heâs here, and sets his glass down. âRight.â He rustles through his bag, extracting two sets of papers and handing one to you. âI⌠had to look up a template for this kind of contract-â
You snort despite yourself, because heâs blushing slightly at having to admit that he has no clue what heâs doing. He rolls his eyes but continues anyway.Â
âI think itâs standard to just discuss expectations, boundaries, and-uh- preferences .âÂ
You flip the first page over, finding blank lines to fill in the terms of the agreement â and then a long checklist that spans about two more pages. It consists entirely of turn-ons, turn-offs, kinks (taboo or otherwise), and absolute non-negotiables. Thereâs another page with blank lines, the section titled â Agreed Upon Consent System â.Â
You nod slowly. âYou did your homework.â
âDid you forget who I am?â
You bark out a laugh, shaking your head as you look through the checklist again. âSorry â is âShibari â listed here because you know it, or because you expect that I might?â
He smothers a smile, but you catch the downward turn of his lips before itâs gone. âI didnât want to make any assumptions.â
âFair enough,â you sigh. And then you look at him. âAnd⌠youâre sure youâre okay with this?â When he just nods, meeting your eyes evenly, you watch him for a moment. âAnd you wonât, like, hold this over my head or something?â
His brows furrow for a moment before smoothing out. âNo. Of course not.â You donât respond, and he sighs. âI donât benefit from hurting you, you know.â
You relax at that. You suppose thatâs true â the two of you might not like each other, but it would be another level of messed up if Akaashi were to use this against you in any way..
âOkay. Sorry. I had to check.â
âSurprisingly, Iâm above blackmail.â
You shake your head, wondering if heâd always been a little funny, or if this situationâs so ridiculous that youâre finding everything hilarious. âOkay, so â terms?â
He shifts his weight forward, leaning his elbows on his knee while he looks down at the first page of the contract. âI think paymentâs the most important part right now.â You nod, watching as he retrieves a pen from his bag and clicks it a few times. âI was thinking⌠I take 20% of the cut for each video, but only when it wouldnât prevent you from paying rent and bills?â
âHowâd you decide on 20%?â
He shrugs. âIâm relatively comfortable financially, so I donât need a large portion. And I donât expect anything for the first few weeks, at least â not until your finances are settled.â
You watch the side of his face while he thinks â his lips pinch into a grimace and he shifts his head back and forth. Heâd always been that way, from the beginning. He clicks his pen a few more times, and then he glances at you.
âIs that okay with you? Iâm good for 10%, too.â
You shake your head right away. âNo, of course not. 20% is completely reasonable.â
He nods, tapping his pen to the paper and writing out the agreement for payment. He sighs quietly. âOkay, next thing⌠What do you do for privacy?â
You take a breath. âI edit my face out of everything, and-â You stretch your foot out and lift your pant leg, displaying the small sunflower tattoo on the inside of your ankle. â-I edit that out, too.â You point down the hall. âI film in the spare bedroom, so that no one recognizes the stuff in my room. And I muffle some of the audio, so my voice isnât easy to recognize. It would help, too, if we need to talk to each other.â
He nods, and then he starts to roll up the sleeve on his right arm. âWould it be hard to edit this out?â Thereâs a medium-sized tattoo on his forearm, a stretch of the moon cycles sketched in black across his skin.
âOh, woah-â You scoot in on instinct, your fingers hovering over his milky skin. âWhen did you get this?â
âLast year, when I passed the Prelim.â His voice comes from over your head, quiet and low. You smile to yourself, examining the intricate line art. âI wanted to gift myself something.â You find it interesting to imagine Akaashi Keiji being nervous enough about passing the milestone between doctoral student and doctoral candidate, so much that heâd promised himself something if he were to pass.
âPretty cool gift,â you mumble, your fingers tracing the air over his skin but never making contact. He lowers his arm, and you seem to realize only now how close you are. You meet his eyes quickly, seeing the silent amusement in his gaze, and you scoot back to your spot. âSorry.â
He says nothing of it, just nodding down to his arm. âCan you edit it?â
You squint at the art. âI can try, but if you move your arms a lot, it might be easier to cover it with makeup. We can test it â film from the other side, lower the camera so your armâs out of frame. That kind of thing.â
He nods, rolling his sleeve down again. You look away from his hands as he works, taking the moment instead to reflect on how business-like this conversation is. Youâd expected more discomfort, given the circumstances. But you both treat it with detachment and only a few hiccups that can be recovered easily. Itâs oddly easy, in a way that you canât imagine with Bokuto or Kuroo â perhaps because of how much history you have with them, how much would be changing by entering into this kind of agreement together.
Thereâs nothing holding you and Akaashi together that would prevent you from doing business together in this way. Itâs reassuring to realize that.
Akaashi buttons the cuff on his sleeve again and reaches for the pen, jotting down the terms of privacy. He glances at you briefly. âAbout who we can tellâŚâ
Your heart jumps. âNo one, preferably.â
âRight,â he says. âBut if someone were to find out on accident, or if someone puts together that weâre having sex⌠what do we say?â
âOhâŚâ You tap your nails on your thigh. âJust that weâre hooking up?â
He nods. âThatâs fine. I also think itâs fine if you decide to tell someone what weâre actually doing.â He cuts you short when you open your mouth to protest. â I wonât tell anyone, because this isnât my financial situation and this wasnât my idea. This is your business, and Iâm mindful of that. But I think itâs perfectly possible that you might end up wanting to tell someone, for whatever reason. And I think thatâs your prerogative, so I donât mind if you tell them that Iâm part of it.â He takes a breath, smiling to himself when he considers something. âUh, but â maybe donât show them anything.â
âOh, God, I would never,â you reassure him, shaking your head. âThatâs a huge violation. And I donât expect that Iâll want to tell anyone-â
âStill,â he argues. âItâs good to have the option. If youâre stressed or need a friend.â
âWell, what if you want to tell someone? What if you need a friend?â
His eyebrows tent in amusement, and he sighs. âHow about we just agree to ask each other first? Whatever the reason.â
You take a breath. âOkay. Iâm okay with that â reserving the right to say no?â
âOf course,â he says plainly, adding that to the terms.
You nod, sighing shakily. You feel an odd sense of trust with him â that heâs good for his word, because heâs, more often than not, honest to a fault.
âAnything⌠else?â you ask. âBefore we get to the⌠technical parts?â
He snorts through his nose while he writes, and youâre reminded of the absurdity of the situation. âYeah, just one more thing.â He purses his lips now, not meeting your eyes. âWhen was your last health visit?â
âOh!â You blink rapidly, realizing what heâs asking. âOh, Iâm clean. I get a yearly health check, and I havenât had sex inâ I dunno, probably two or three years, so Iâm good,â you ramble, laughing to yourself as you brush off his concern. Then you stop, because heâs looking at you like heâs fighting laughter himself, and you register what youâd said. That youâd just admitted to him that you havenât gotten laid in three years . âUh-â
He shakes his head. âGood to know. And itâs been at least a year for me, too.â He reaches into his bag, retrieving a sheet of paper. âBut I brought this, in case you needed it-â He starts to hand it to you, and you piece together quickly that this is his health check. You take it, only glancing at the date to confirm that it was, in fact, done today.
âYou went to the doctor today?â
He blinks. âI thought it would be best.â
You gape at him. âYou didnât have to do that. I would have believed you.â You glance around your living room. âI donât even know where my sheet is- I went two months ago-â
âI donât need to see it,â he says, shaking his head. âI believe you.â
âDude! You canât have all these weird, anti-double-standards.â You throw your hands up and hand him his health check back, and then you stand, moving to the file cabinet in the corner. âIâm finding that little fucker-â
â Y/n ,â Akaashi laughs, and you pause, if only because youâve never heard your name like that from him. He looks more visibly relaxed, too, now that you look at him properly. âItâs fine . If you want to find it, find it later.â
You sigh, staring him down a moment but returning to the couch nonetheless. He tries to hand you the health check again, but you brush it off with a grumble. âI donât need your stupid health check, damn it.â
âI went through the trouble of getting it,â he argues, lifting his brows with a smug tilt of his head. You glare, snatching it from him but leaving it on the coffee table.
âWhat else, huh?â You bark, half-joking. âGot any other surprises for me?â
âNo,â he says with a patient shake of his head, his lips tugging his smile away. âWe can get to the technical part.â
You sigh, lifting your copy of the contract from the table and leafing through it. âSo, I post every day on a consistent schedule. Obviously, I donât want you to give up every evening of your week to film for the next dayâs post, nor do I have the time.â
âAnd it would look weird â both of us becoming suddenly unavailable to see our friends every night,â he reasons, and you nod.
âExactly. You have a life, and so do I. I usually batch all my content one night a week, and then I spend a few hours the next night editing everything and scheduling it to post.â
âYouâve really thought this through,â he comments quietly, also leafing through his contract. You warm, realizing itâs a compliment.Â
â Thanks ,â you mutter. âIâd hoped it would have yielded better results, but at least I have a consistent schedule now.â You return to your proposal. âI think filming partner content will take longer, naturally, but I donât want us meeting every night, so howâs twice a week? Five or six hours each?â
He hums and nods right away. âMakes sense. And we can change the days every week, so weâre not both conveniently missing every single, say, Tuesday and Thursday.â
âYeah, good point.â He writes it down, and you clear your throat. âAnd I donât think we should kiss,â you suggest, your voice quiet.
âI agree.â He doesnât think twice about it, just writing it on the next line, and relief fills you. You hadnât been sure how to bring up to him the fact that you find kissing personal and intimate in a way that you arenât comfortable experiencing with him. It would probably offend you if he were anyone else â the way he agrees immediately â but you know heâs only thinking about this as logically as you are.
You appreciate, for once, that you and Akaashi Keiji think so similarly.
âAnd,â you start, clapping your hands as you realize something suddenly. âAs for protection-â
âOh, yeah,â he says, reaching down into his bag.Â
He drops a box of condoms on the table, size large.
You stare down at it dumbly. âOh. Okay. Thatâs-â Youâre not sure youâd ever expected to be in the know about the size of Akaashiâs-
âI was at the store and didnât want to forget.â
âOh. Yeah, thatâs fine, itâs just-â You smile to yourself, a little embarrassed to know this. âVideos with condoms donât really do as well as videos without.â
You feel his eyes on the side of your face. âI⌠did not know that,â he says. âBut I can understand why.â
You swallow, handing the condoms back to him with an awkward grin. âIâm on the pill, is what I wanted to say.â Youâre glad to see that the apples of his cheeks are becoming rosy.
âGot it,â he says, turning to put the box in his bag again. He scribbles â birth control â haphazardly on the sheet, and you let out an accidental snicker. He shakes his head at it, and you catch the grin on his face just as heâs turning away.
âUh,â you start, trying not to laugh again. âI was also thinking pet names might be necessary.â
âOh, if we need to talk to each other,â he realizes, nodding. âYeah. Do you have a preference?â
âI think that question might be better for you,â you muse. âIâm good with most things-â
â Sweetheart ? Princess ? Pretty girl or baby girl ? Darling ?â he asks without thinking. You watch his mouth move, words youâd never expected from him just falling from his lips like nothing.Â
âS-Sure. Thatâs all fine with me.â
âOkay,â he says. âI think for me⌠I mean, baby âs fine. Iâm not really into the⌠more stereotypical names.â
You tilt your head. âWhat, like daddy ?â
He grimaces. âYeah, thatâs not my thing-â He cuts a glance at you. âSorry, if itâs yours.â
You smile wide now, utterly amused. âCanât say it is. But â are you a dom, Akaashi? Or a sub.â
âWhy?â he says, a single eyebrow lifting as his lips quirk in a grin. âBecause I like to be called baby ?â
âIâm just curious,â you say, feigning a seriousness you simply donât feel.
âWell, be curious in bed, not now.â
You laugh loudly, throwing your head back. âYes, Sir.â His fingers twitch on his pen, and your eyebrows lift with interest. You lean forward. â Sir ? Is that it?â
He shakes his head. âNope.â
âBut you reacted when I said it-â
He rolls his eyes and starts to flip the page toward the checklist of preferences. âItâs not what you said, itâs how you said it.âÂ
âHowâd I say it?â
He stands, glancing down the hall. âLike a brat.â Your smile drops, right along with your stomach. It flips violently, and your fingers start to tingle, but he barely gives you a second look. âGive me a tour of the spare bedroom? While we go through these.â
Your legs shake when you stand. âSure.â You lead him down the hall, contract clutched in your hand and heart in your throat. You werenât prepared to hear that from him.
You push the door open, letting him in. He wanders to the center of the room, turning in place. Youâd put plain white sheets on the bed, the comforter a deep red color. The couch in the corner is covered in a pale green sheet, and there are a few throw pillows and blankets laid over the arm and back of it. Thereâs an empty desk in the corner, one that Akaashi eyes with an amused lift of his brow.Â
âItâs nice in here,â he says blankly, his eyes still tracking the decor in the room. Itâs all plain enough not to be recognizable, but the room is comfortable to be in. Youâd put string lights all around the wall, your phone equipped with an app to change the colors whenever. Youâve got one tripod for your phone near the bed and another near the couch, and thereâs a chest at the end of the bed. Akaashi taps it with his foot.
âFunctional or just decoration?â Your harsh flush is his answer, and he reaches for the latch, pausing for permission once heâs got his fingers on it. You nod curtly, and he drops his contract and pen on the bed so he can crouch by the chest and lift the top with both hands.
He gives you no indication of his thoughts when he looks inside â itâs filled with sex toys, harnesses, props, and basically anything else you thought might be useful. Looking at it now, youâre certain it looks like youâre into a lot of interesting things, but he only glances at you for a second round of permission before he reaches in. He seems to understand that itâs one thing to look and another entirely to touch , but you give him that permission, too.
The first thing he extracts is a whip. âHave you ever used this?â
You smile emptily. âOn myself, once. Wasnât very fun. And I didnât upload the video.â
He sets it back inside gently. âI prefer to use my hands, if thatâs okay.â
âOh.â Youâre not sure youâll ever get used to this. âSure.â
He spends the next few minutes quietly pulling out a variety of dildos, butt plugs, and vibrators and laying them neatly on the bed, side by side. You grow warmer with each one, unsure what to do with this situation. He also retrieves a stretch of black cloth that youâd used once to blindfold yourself. It hadnât gone as well as youâd hoped.
He stands with it now, tugging on it experimentally. âI like this.â
âOkay.â
He nods to the items on the bed. âI like all those, too-â He glances down and reaches into the chest again, setting a bottle of lube next to the vibrator on the end.
You approach him finally, standing beside him as you survey the collection. âOkay. Why?â
He picks up his contract, scanning the list and pointing to your bed as he speaks. âGuided masturbation.â He points to the dildos and the vibrators. He points next to the butt plugs. âAnal-â
âOh, Iâve-â You fidget with your fingers. âI have yet to be successful with that.â He stares down at you in confusion, and then gestures to the fact that there are three of them on the bed, varying in size. You smile pitifully up at him. âI thought the issue was the size.â
âOâŚkay,â he says with a breath of laughter. âWe donât have to include anal-â
âNo, IâmâŚâ You chuckle to yourself. âIâm not opposed⌠obviously.â
Thereâs a long moment of eye contact, one where you become incredibly warm and his lips fight to tug into a smirk, but he eventually turns back to his contract.Â
âUnderstood.â
You wonder how much longer this torture will last.
He moves to the couch, sighing quietly and clicking his pen again. Youâre starting to get the idea that thatâs a nervous tick. âShould we just go one at a time and say yes or no?â
âOkay. Sure.â You close the lid of the chest and sit on it, ignoring the pile of toys behind you.Â
You spend the next ten minutes that way, voting on a list of kinks with Akaashi Keiji, as though you havenât spent the last five years dreading every second with him. You learn that heâs into choking â giving and receiving â but that he prefers giving oral more than receiving it. You tell him that you like being tied up but that youâve never tried it with a partner before, and then you admit to a slight oral fixation. He jokes dryly that youâd have to settle for his fingers in your mouth, in that case, and you bite back a warning that the oral fixation includes marking your partners up where others can see. He only lifts a brow and asks if he should check off â exhibitionist â, and you joke that your balcony isnât visible from the street. You ask more certainly if heâs a dom, because itâs becoming obvious that he is, and he rolls his eyes and asks if youâre always this bratty.
The list goes on and on, and youâre surprised by how honest both of you are being. He checks â dacryphilia â, and you tell him with waning embarrassment that he can go ahead and check â somnophilia â while heâs at it. Even things youâve never tried but have been quietly interested in make the list, and you wonder if maybe itâs because this is a chance to try all those things without fear of judgment from the person youâre doing it with. Thereâs no pressure with Akaashi, because thereâs no crushing fear that heâs going to find you strange or uncomfortable.Â
Heâd shrugged and nodded when youâd said the word somnophilia, for fuckâs sake. He utters the words â temperature playâ , â overstimulation â, and â ruined orgasm â with ease, and you rattle off â edging â, â praise â, and â dirty talk â like itâs nothing. Thereâs nothing to worry about with him.
Eventually, he sighs, turning to the last page of the contract, which only has the â Agreed Upon Consent System â section and lines for your signatures. âAnd⌠is it alright if Iâm a little mean?â
You tilt your head at him, your embarrassment long forgotten. âLike, degradation? Calling me names?â
He hums and then shakes his head. âNot exactly.â He thinks for a moment. âMore like⌠disinterest.â
âOh.â You consider it. âI suppose thatâs a kind of degradation.â
âI suppose it is.â He shifts. âJust worried, since you mentioned praise.â
You feel a little embarrassment now. âWell, is there a way to do both?â
His smile is surprised, and he ducks his head when he laughs. âYeah, I think there might be. Disinterested praise.â
âYeah, see? Just make sure not to smile at me when you say nice things,â you joke.
He shakes his head and then taps the paper. âWhatâs our consent system?â
You shrug. âIâm only really familiar with the color system.â
âGreen, yellow, red?â he asks, already starting to write it down. You hum in agreement, and he holds the contract up when heâs done. âOkay. Iâm ready to sign if you are.â
You leave your blank copy on the bed and hop off the chest, joining him on the couch. You watch as he signs his name and marks the date on one of the lines â he hands you the pen after, and you do the same, your name sitting neatly under his.Â
âOkay,â you breathe, staring down at the paper with fresh eyes. He nods beside you, and then he turns his head. You feel his eyes on you, so you meet them, and he sticks his hand out to you.
âLetâs get you your rent money.â
You canât help but laugh when you take his hand, shaking it firmly.
â
He texts you later that night, after youâve had time to lie in your bed and process whatâs just happened.Â
You feel, weirdly enough, more comfortable with him â not completely, and certainly nothing of the friendly sort, but you feel like the afternoon hadnât been that tense or difficult. It had mostly been awkward and a little funny, which is only to be expected in this situation. It makes you wonder, while youâre showering and making dinner, if maybe Akaashiâs not all that bad outside of an academic context.
Of course, things between you inside an academic context are so hostile that it had always bled over into whatever social interactions youâd been forced into by your mutual friends. You canât imagine that those things will change anytime soon â it feels strange to picture Akaashi as anything but rude and torturous within the department, and you find that youâre not so enthused at the idea of him suddenly warming up to you. You like how things are between you. You like him just how he is, predictably annoying and cold.
So, when he texts you, youâre unsurprised that your guards go up.
[10:16 PM]
Akaashi: i need your account name + site
[10:18 PM]
Akaashi: please
You feel the floor drop out from under you, and you answer in a frenzy.
[10:19 PM]
You: no fucking way
Akaashi: ???????
Akaashi: i need to study before tomorrow??????
Yes, youâd agreed to spend the majority of the day tomorrow batching content for the week. But you have no idea why you hadnât anticipated this.Â
Aghast, you donât bother typing, just jabbing down on the button to record a voice note.
âYou need to study?! â You say, exasperated. âMy bodyâs all over that account! Iâm doing a lot of things on that account! Naked things!â
You send it and wait, pacing the space around your bed. He sends a voice note back. You click play with a shaky thumb.
â Are you insane?â he says, and you hear that heâs laughing at you. You swell with annoyance as he talks. â Did you plan to have sex with me with all your clothes on? â You roll your eyes, sitting at the edge of your bed.Â
âYeah, that was a stupid point,â you mumble to yourself.
â I need to see what the general aesthetic of your account is, okay? To see how you film. â
You press the microphone again to record. âYeah, but this feels super unfair! Youâll have seen my whole body, and I wonât have seen yours â this is skewed!â
He texts back this time.
[10:23 PM]
Akaashi: oh, sorry. let me link you to my porn account, too, then.
Akaashi: are you hearing yourself???
You groan, throwing yourself back on your mattress. You know heâs right, but itâs terrifying to know that Akaashi will have seen you naked â more than naked, really â and you will have no clue what youâre walking into tomorrow. Still, you just flail on your bed a few times in protest before sighing and lifting your phone to your face.
[10:26 PM]
You: xxxvids .com
You: username tokyolovely
You throw your phone down and roll over to bury your face in the mattress, screaming into the comforter when your phone buzzes with his response.
Akaashi: ⌠no comment.
You want to smack him.
Akaashi: and why couldnt you choose one of the big sites that everyone else posts on???
Akaashi: onlyfans?? pornhub even???
Akaashi: i swear to god if i get a virus from xxxvids .com
Akaashi: rent is not the only expense youll need to worry about
You definitely want to smack him.
â
Keiji throws his phone down on his desk, shaking his head with a sigh.
âWhat even is that?â he mumbles to himself, typing the site into his laptop. â XXXVid- This is so stupid. Just use PornHub at that point.â
Heâs accosted immediately by thumbnails of naked women and men with penises that just have to be cosmetically enlarged. He plugs his headphones in quickly, very much not needing any audio surprises from this site, and makes an account, rolling his eyes when he needs to come up with a username.
When heâs done, he types your name into the search bar.
â TokyoâŚlovely, â he says as he types, and then his middle finger hovers over the Enter key.Â
His goal really is just to look at how youâve set up your account. He just wants to see the general tone of your channel. If youâre loud or quiet. If youâve marketed yourself as one of those gentle, virginal girls or as a sex freak that makes a lot of noise. He needs to know these things, so he knows how to perform tomorrow. Itâs logical. It makes sense.
But still, he sits here, finger hovering over the key while he contemplates it. Heâd gone through the entire contract with you and revealed his deepest interests â previously experienced or otherwise. But this feels like a move he canât take back. Once he does this, he will have seen your body, and thatâs irreversible.
You agreed to this, you idiot.
He groans, jamming his finger down on the key before he can think further about it. The website buffers long enough that he wonders about that virus again, and then it loads.
Oh.
His heart jumps, and he finds himself looking away from his screen and glancing nervously around his living room, as though he doesnât live completely alone. And then he looks back, met with the sight of your body.
He can only tell itâs you because he knows itâs you, and â looking at you in a set of black lingerie in the first thumbnail â this body looks like yours. The next thumbnail has you in a mismatched bra-panty pair, and, in the video after, youâre not wearing anything at all. He sucks in a breath, glancing away every few seconds while he scrolls, because it feels wrong to stare. He focuses on the titles, testing every ounce of his reading comprehension in this moment.
[Oct. 19]Â Shy Girl Fingers Herself to Orgasm
âShy?â he mumbles, shaking his head. âYeah, right.â
[Oct. 18]Â Virgin Sends Masturbation Video to Boyfriend
âNot a virgin,â he says. âNo boyfriend.â
[Oct. 17]Â Girl Makes Herself Squirt on Friendâs Couch
âNot a friendâs cou-Wait.â He blinks.Â
You can squirt ?
The room becomes noticeably warmer as he stares down at the little thumbnail of you curled up on the couch in your spare room. Heâd intended to watch one video, just to see the extent of your editing, but heâd meant only to skim through it, skipping parts and examining the video from a purely analytic standpoint.
But⌠Well, if heâs going to watch one, anywayâŚÂ
He drags his mouse over it, about to click into it, when a pop-up banner appears from the left side of his screen.
TOKYOLOVELY IS ACTIVE NOW â SAY HI!
Keiji jumps, feeling as though heâs been caught doing something awful. And then he sighs heatedly and clicks on the banner, watching it open to an empty chat box.
[10:35 PM]
tokyohandsome: stop anxiously scrolling through your own videos
tokyolovely: YOU FUCK, YOU CHOSE THAT NAME ON PURPOSE
tokyohandsome: get offline, tokyolovely
tokyolovely: youre not allowed to watch the one of me with that dildo in doggy
Keiji blinks hard. The what ? Where youâre what ?
tokyohandsome: go to bed, youre driving me nuts
tokyohandsome: wait-
tokyohandsome: can you see which video i view????
tokyolovely: âŚ. if i say yes will you exit this website
tokyohandsome: ill take that as a no.
tokyolovely: YOU HAVE TO TELL ME WHICH ONE YOU WATCH
tokyohandsome: goodnight, lovely <3Â
tokyolovely: i hate you.
He laughs to himself, bright and hidden in his hand.
tokyohandsome: do you get paid for interacting with viewers in dms?
tokyolovely: yes.
tokyohandsome: do i decide how much they give you?
tokyolovely: ⌠itâs a rating after i log off.
tokyohandsome: then you better say goodnight to me and log off, lovely <3
tokyolovely: âŚ.. goodnight, handsome.
tokyohandsome: :((
tokyolovely: âŚ. <3
tokyohandsome: :))
TOKYOLOVELY HAS LOGGED OFF
He sighs, pleased, and gives you a five-star rating like heâd always intended, closing the chat. Heâs tempted to go looking for that video of you in doggy position, but he respects your hyper-specific request and returns to the video heâd originally seen. He clicks on it now, nerves a bit eased after that absurd interaction with you, and settles back in his chair.
The video starts with you in your underwear, touching yourself gently through the fabric. He watches with distant interest as you squeeze your breasts through your bra and then drop one hand to the spot between your thighs thatâs currently hidden by how youâre curled up. You touch yourself vaguely, and he hears the beginnings of a moan, quiet in his headphones.
The sound grows the longer you continue, and he wonders if those moans sound faked because theyâre obviously so or because he knows you. From the many years of hearing your voice â albeit never in this situation â he canât imagine that this is what you would actually sound like if you were feeling good. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he watches you start to slide the panties down your thighs.Â
Heâs certain he can pull better sounds out of you than that.
He watches a few moments longer, genuinely critiquing the video and your performance, if only to gauge how he should act, too.Â
But then you drop your panties on the couch beside you, sighing breathily, and move to unhook your bra. Keijiâs eyebrows lift as you slip the straps off, and suddenly heâs not thinking about things he plans to do differently as your business partner.
You prop your feet up on the couch and spread your legs, and he spreads his, too, unconsciously, eyes dropping to your exposed core. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and he shifts in his seat, his sweats becoming suspiciously tight. He watches you on his laptop screen â the way your fingertips swipe over your clit in two tight circles before dropping to your entrance â and he swallows, committing the motion to memory, because heâs here to study. To study .
He blinks hard, shifting again and ignoring the way his cock twitches in his pants and strains against the band. He watches you dip both fingers into your entrance before slipping out, and he has the torturous thought that your fingers look a lot smaller than his. You repeat the motion three or four times, working yourself open until you can fit both fingers up to the knuckles.Â
You moan in Keijiâs ears, loud and a little gratuitous â but he moans back.
He palms himself through his sweats, watching you finger yourself. His breath hitches, and his stomach swirls with nerves, and he feels a wave of desire crash over him.
And then he hears your voice, in that note youâd sent him.
â-feels super unfair â Youâll have seen my whole body, and I wonât have seen yours-â
He groans, throwing his head back against his chair briefly, and reaches for his phone before he can overthink.
â Fuck it, â he mumbles in a strained voice, opening the camera and propping his phone up against the stack of books on his desk.Â
He presses record.
â
At 11pm, you get a text.
Youâve sat on your bed the last thirty minutes, scrolling through Twitter absentmindedly as you think about what Akaashi could be watching. You wonder if heâs actually watched anything, or if heâs just skimming the thumbnails and titles, or maybe if heâd just logged off right after you, satisfied with teasing you a little.Â
You feel painfully vulnerable in your state of not knowing. You have no clue what youâre walking into tomorrow. At least before, you were partially comforted in that neither of you had seen the other naked, and also in that neither of you had been with someone else in at least a year. There had been an air of safety, knowing that you and Akaashi were on relatively equal ground.
Youâre horribly underground, now.
So, when his first text comes through, the banner pulling down over the top of your screen, you think the worst.
[10:59 PM]Â
Akaashi : [Video Attached]
What is that? What did he do? Did he record your videos on his phone? Is he commenting on them? At the very worst, heâs making fun of you, and at the very best, heâs offering you tips to improve your filming or editing. You really donât know which you hate more.
But then his second text comes in, this banner replacing the last.
Akaashi: making it a little less unfair.
â What? â you mumble, brows furrowed as you click on the notification. Your phone jumps to the text thread, and you squint at the thumbnail of the video. Itâs just him leaning toward the camera with a furrowed brow, seated at his desk in grey sweats and a white t-shirt, with his glasses perched on his nose and his hair slightly wet from whatâs probably a recent shower. Heâs got headphones in, and thereâs something bright on his laptop screen.
Itâs the glare in the corner of his glasses, a reflection of his laptop screen, that makes your heart leap.
You know that pale green sheet.
âWhat⌠the fuck âŚ?â You bring the phone close to your face, too scared to press play . âIs that asshole live-reacting to my video?â With a trembling finger, your click on the video.
And you realize immediately whatâs happening.
Akaashi settles back in his chair with a heated sigh, his tongue darting out as he watches his screen. Itâs because he leaned back that you can see properly now â the tent in his pants, the hand he presses over the outline of his cock with a quiet sigh.
Your jaw drops. Heâs-
His eyes track your movement on the screen, which you can now see clearly in the glare of his glasses, and his bottom lip catches between his teeth. He breathes hard, palming himself through his sweats as he watches your video. He glances once at his own camera, clearly nervous about recording this, but then his eyes widen and fly to his screen, whatever sound youâd just made in his headphones drawing his attention completely.
â Oh, f- â He purses his lips, and you feel yourself leaning in, wanting to hear what heâd been about to say. He blinks rapidly, eyes trained on one spot â you can see exactly which video it is now, and your heart jumps when you recognize the way your own body moves in the reflection of his glasses.
So thatâs what heâs into.
You spend so long staring at the reflection in his glasses that you nearly miss the way he starts to move. You drop your eyes in time to catch him lifting his hips just enough to slide his sweats down to his thighs. He tucks one hand into his boxers, and you watch with parted lips as Akaashi Keijiâs eyes roll back into his head.
â Fuck, â he breathes, his head dropping back momentarily, and your mouth falls open more, your brain stunned into nothingness as you watch him masturbate to a video of you masturbating. As you realize that this isnât just anyone watching one of your videos â liking one of your videos.
This is Akaashi Keiji.
Akaashi Keijiâs just given you the confirmation that youâre good at this, after so many weeks of feeling quite the opposite.
âOh,â you breathe, the sticky heat of understanding washing over your skin. It worsens when he uses his free hand to tug his boxers down, making this ground feel suddenly a lot more equal.
Oh.
Akaashi keeps his eyes glued to his screen, and you catch a glimpse of your on-screen self coming more and more undone. You examine him closely while he watches it, too â his lips are swollen and wet from pursing and biting at them, and thereâs a flush high on his cheeks and a hooded, hazy quality to his eyes that makes your stomach flip with nerves. His tongue darts out again, wetting his pink lips just as heâs parting them to sigh.Â
Your eyes drop, watching how he slides his palm against his cock, slick with precum and making the most impolite, soft squelching sound whenever he flicks his wrist. Your thighs press together instinctively, a hard throb pulsing through your core when his hips jerk slightly.Â
His breathing speeds up, as does the flick of his wrist, and you realize in the reflection that you must be starting to squirt. Akaashi grips the arm of his desk chair with his free hand and presses his lips together, his moan muffled but still audible. His hips jerk and stutter, and then his eyes roll back into his head again as he comes all over his hand and stomach, streaks of white painting the back of his hand and wrist.
His lips part in a gasp and a rough sigh as heâs coming down, and he slumps against his chair, breathing hard as he stares at nothing â the screen is dark in his glasses now. He drags his clean hand through his hair, tugging hard and breathing out a soft â fuck â. He breathes twice more, and then his eyes flick to his camera, as though heâs only just remembered itâs there.
He sees himself in the video and rolls his eyes immediately, a breathless laugh leaving him as he shakes his head and looks away.
â Uh, â he says, still laughing. He leans forward, reaching with his free hand for the phone, and shakes his head again. â See you tomorrow, I guess.â
The video cuts there, leaving you with silence and a sudden, overwhelming attraction to Akaashi Keiji.
Oh.
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