#never let me post something while exhausted ever again

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: thisapplepielife! @thisapplepielife has 37 works posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 24 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @thisapplepielife:

Tuesday's Gone With the Wind

Take the Money and Run

You Oughta Know

Never Not Mine

Let the Boy Be Merry

"They are my favorite Corroded Coffin writer. I found by accident their fic “Tuesday's Gone With the Wind” and loved everything they wrote since!" -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @thisapplepielife answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Steve Harrington. I found myself not connecting with S4 when it premiered, and decided that I probably just needed to rewatch the other three seasons again first, since it'd been a while between seasons. Well, Steve was always my favorite, but I left that re-watch with his voice fully lodged in my brain. So, I had to write something for him, just for myself. That was You Oughta Know. We all knew Eddie identified as a runner, and that just felt like the story to tell. Then somehow, for some unknown reason that I still cannot possibly explain, I decided to actually post it. I still don't know what possessed me to do that, honestly.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love a good second chance fic: A divorced couple that eventually rekindles. A missed first chance that they get to take another crack at, later in life. I also like a good heartbreaker of a fic. I know, I know. Don't get me wrong, I still love happy endings, but I don't require them. Break my heart. Do it.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Slice of life? Is that considered a trope? I know I like to write about things we all deal with in real life, from the small and inconsequential: a mattress with a bad spring. The delight of clean sheets. Or the bigger: the real life heartbreak of unavoidable loss and grief.  And older Steddie is my favorite, I think. I love to spend time writing for them. These boys that turned into men, who made a full life together, and it's great. Maybe not perfect. But they wouldn't trade it for the world. That makes me happiest.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting by badpancake is the one I think of that grabbed me first, and did not let go. I still need to read the final part of the trilogy! My fic TBR is so, so long because I definitely struggle with writing and reading at the same time. I know there is amazing work out there that I've just never read yet. But I look forward to it, absolutely. It's just something I've never figured out how to manage well. Joining Tumblr has helped that immensely, though! Reading the shorter fics here has been wonderful, and I've enjoyed it so much. There are amazing things being posted every single day! And I gotta say that don't start (too late) by Ark is one of the best "first time" fics I've ever read in any fandom. Eddie's inner voice is wonderful. I believe every word he thinks while he experiences this brand new thing with Steve.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

It's not brand new to me, but there's a found family one that I've been tinkering with for a very long time, and that excites me.  And I do love events for tossing me situations or prompts to write for that I may not have thought of, independently. @steddiemicrofic especially has been so, so fun. I think it was the very first event I wrote for on Tumblr, and the challenge of having a very limited amount of words, but still trying to make it feel like a whole story has been told, has been a blast. Thanks to @wynnyfryd and @steddieas-shegoes for challenging us all each month!

What is your writing process like?

I don't outline or anything. I just write, and edit, as I go. And I'll edit obsessively. I'll tweak and change small things over and over, ad nauseam. And even then, I know I still miss mistakes. But my mistakes are my own, I have no beta, because I kind of like being solely responsible for anything I write. Right or wrong. Here it is, take it or leave it. I also talk things through things in my own head a lot, especially dialogue, or I'll open a document, and just see where that takes me. And if I'm writing a long fic, like Tuesday's, I write totally out of order when scenes come to me. I wrote on every single year of that fic all at once. Then kept writing until they'd stitched themselves together into a full story. That's my last part of writing. Putting in the transitions from one scene to the next, when needed.  Sometimes ideas are more fully formed before I start putting words to the page, and other times I literally just start and figure it out as I go. There's one fic I wrote for Steddiemas last year where I sat Steve down at a mall food court and then just started writing. I had no idea what that was going to be. (It was Eddie turning up as the Mall Santa.)  Also: Research, research, research. I love the research aspect of writing. I'm curious in general, and if I can even think to look something up to see if it's true, or of the right time period, I will. And I like to add mixed media to my fics. That was a huge part of Take the Money & Tuesday's. All the newspaper articles and such. I felt like they were needed to make it feel like this really happened to these characters we all love so much. I did newspaper articles all throughout writing Tuesday's. In fact, I think that main article, the one at the top, was written and designed very early on in the writing process. They weren't all done at the end, they were done as the story needed them.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Short paragraphs. I love 'em. You'll pry them from my cold, dead fingers. Also see: Long sentences.  Honestly, I do like to throw out the rules, a bit. I write by feel. How does it sound, to my own ear? If it works, for my character, my fic or just me in general, I'll use it. "Don't use two "ands" in a sentence." Okay, but sometimes I'm gonna when that flows the best. Or: "That's a run-on." Okay, but I like the way it reads. "You don't need a comma there." But, I like the way that it breathes, so it's getting one. All this is especially true if writing from someone's POV. I know I don't always think in proper grammar, and I don't expect them to either. I don't want things to feel hard to read, but I do want them to feel natural. If that makes sense. I walk around, pacing as I write or edit on my phone, as if the moving somehow lets me see it differently. I think it does! And I don't know if this is a quirk, but some of the characterizations formed while writing Tuesday's have stuck, hard. Gareth is Gareth Jones, and where you find him, you'll probably find Di. Freak is Goodie. Jeff is Jeff Williams. These things have been decided in my brain, and now I feel compelled to take them with me, fic-to-fic. I didn't intend to build a headcanon I wouldn't be able to shake, but here we are.  I feel like I can transplant Steve and Eddie anywhere, into anything, and be comfortable changing things up. But the Corroded Coffin boys are cemented, as they were created, for the most part. Maybe that's because I did have to do so much shaping for them. Steve and Eddie, we know. We're all working off a decent amount of canon content. Corroded Coffin only had a few moments on screen to help flesh any of us flesh them out into real characters. And now that I've made my choices, for good or bad, they're here to stay.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Finished, definitely. My three long fics were all mostly written before I started posting, and I still struggled to get the last part of All of Across the Universe out in a timely fashion. Tuesday's was posted over one week, one chapter per day, and I really enjoyed that fast schedule. It didn't give me any extra time to overthink the finished product. It was going out, and that was that. I had to trust that I knew what I was doing when I deemed it finished.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Tuesday's Gone With the Wind. I truly thought I was done after Take the Money and Run. And then this idea slapped me in the face, and I spent five months just lost in their world. These versions of the characters came so naturally, and they are still with me today. I feel like most of what I've written since then is shaped by those versions. Also, that was the last fic I wrote without anything else coming down the pipe. The last one before I joined Tumblr. The last one that had my full, and utter, undivided attention. It's really special to me, and I'm beyond grateful to everyone that has embraced it and recommended it to friends. I know it's got some scary warnings, but for those that have dove in and let me know that it spoke to you in some way, you've made me so happy. It spoke to me, too.

How did you get the idea for Tuesday's Gone With the Wind?

By watching the documentary "If I Leave Here Tomorrow" about the band Lynyrd Skynyrd. As I was watching it, there was an interview section where one of the band members spoke about their assistant road manager, saying: "He was like a bartender roadie. Where he took care of us really good, you know? Anybody who was sick, or needed a little more attention, he was just there for you. He was like the big brother, and sister, and your mama and everything." My brain whispered, Steve Harrington.  And that was that. Corroded Coffin were going to get Road Manager Steve Harrington, and he was gonna take care of them as they headed towards this unavoidable disaster. I wrote like 5k words the first night. It was just in there, waiting to spill out, somehow. And I think it's also an anomaly for me, but I'm fairly certain I started that fic with what turned out to be the opening. That first bit of Eddie's first interview section. I think that's where I started telling the story, and it held throughout. That's pretty rare for me. (Fun fact: I wrote all the interview bits in a separate document, and then just fit and tweaked them into the story, as needed. But not that opening. That was the launch pad into everything else.)

When writing Tuesday's Gone With the Wind, what was something you didn’t expect?

It's not exactly a Steddie answer, but - Gareth! Gareth Jones, my beloved. I wasn't on Tumblr when I wrote Tuesday's or any other social media in a fandom way. I was in my own bubble, doing my own thing. So, I didn't know the fandom had given him a fanon surname. I chose my own, and now he's just Gareth Jones to me, and always will be. He's also Eddie's best friend. I've pondered on more than one occasion on if Take the Money and Run would be different if I knew that first, lol. Just exploring my version of a character that had so little screen time to work off was incredibly fun. And has remained fun. Gareth is definitely gonna show up again in my future works. He's to Eddie, as Robin is to Steve in my head now and forevermore.

What inspired Take the Money and Run?

These lyrics from the song "Me and Paul" by Willie Nelson: Almost busted in Laredo But for reasons that I'd rather not disclose But if you're staying in a motel there and leave Just don't leave nothing in your clothes I had a literal shower thought that made me laugh. And thought, well, why are they even in a motel? Oh, they must be on a road trip. So, I wrote that little scene mainly in my head, but jotted it down, just in case, and assumed that was the end of it. But then I just kept writing it. Until I was knee deep in maps and mileage and research trying to figure this road trip out from a logistics standpoint. All because I thought it'd be funny if Eddie left weed in his pants and Steve got all put upon because of it.

What was your favorite part to write from You Oughta Know?

I loved getting to include all the fun 90s things, since that's when I was a teen, and can remember a lot of it very distinctly, first-hand. And I loved getting to use El's powers to look in on Eddie, so while they might not know where he is, they did know that he seemed to be doing okay out there in the world. Also, if I could go back and change one thing about it, I'd fix that I said Eddie's never had an acoustic guitar. I didn't notice his acoustic in his room until my re-watch. Oh well. This version of Eddie didn't, I guess, lol. (This might be from the second part, Eddie's POV. But still. It's my Roman Empire. I think of this mistake at least once a week and beat myself up. If I'd been on Tumblr at the time, I feel this would have never happened, because someone would have blogged about it, drawing my attention to it, surely.)

How do/did you feel writing Never Not Mine?

This one is heavily inspired by the Taylor Swift song imgonnagetyouback. It was fun to dig into a slightly angstier world for a bit. Because things don't always work out, or if they do, not always the first time around. I like to think they'll find each other again, in any universe, but they might not take the easiest path. They aren't perfect, and that's realistic.

What was the most difficult part of writing Let the Boy Be Merry?

Crying while writing it. This one slapped me around a little while writing. Life isn't always as romantic as fic leads us all to believe which, the audacity, honestly, lol, but the kind of love and relationship in this fic? That feels real to me. Old, and familiar, and even as well as you know a person, you can't read their mind. You don't always get what the other needs immediately, you don't get how important things can be to them, but figuring out how to compromise is love. Real, lasting love.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This question was hard! I'm gonna pick two from Tuesday's: For the first, I cried while writing and then cried again while editing the scene where Eddie and Steve hash out how serious their relationship is, and realize they've kind of been on different pages. There are two scenes in Tuesday's that got to me, and made me cry while writing them, over and over, and I don't even know why. (The other is Gareth picking that fight with Steve. Yeah, yeah, I know. Neither of these parts are the saddest parts of Tuesday's. But they stripped me raw, for whatever reason.) And a second, more fun, favorite: I'm gonna go with the scene where Eddie's naked and tripping on mushrooms in the backyard while Steve hangs out with him, and Eddie thinks they've written "Tom Sawyer" by Rush. That was so fun, and just a feel good write, if that makes sense. That whole summer they spent at the lake I look back on writing fondly. They are so in love there. They are all happy. And this scene is carefree in a way that they won't always be, due to circumstances coming down the pipe.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I run @corrodedcoffinfest and I've got a whole list of planned pop-up events coming up over the next few months for that. Steddie is absolutely welcome, so if anyone would like a little more Corroded Coffin works in their life, consider coming to join us! I also finally updated my masterlist, so everything I've written for Stranger Things is finally gathered together. There's a lot that's still only on Tumblr and not on Ao3 at this point.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Thanks so much for including me and my works in this! And to the person who nominated me, thank you, thank you! You really made my day. It was fun to think about these fics again, and answer these questions. I've really enjoyed writing for Steddie, and I've also enjoyed making friends in the fandom. Thanks for welcoming me. Thanks for showing my fics love, and commenting or leaving kudos or reblogging. Just, thank you all so much. And I'm sorry if these answers were too long, lol. As a habitual "end notes" kind of writer, that's just the way I roll. 

Thank you to our author, @thisapplepielife, and our anonymous nominator! See more of thisapplepielife's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[emergency-vehicle]

Saudade, Saudade

TRANSFORMERS PRIME | SONG FIC

CHARACTERS: Optimus Prime (Deceased), Ratchet, Original Character- Daniel Tarfeld

RELATIONSHIP: Optimus Prime/Ratchet

WORD COUNT: 4.2 K

WARNINGS: Semi-Graphic depictions of depression, grieving loss of a loved one, self neglect

SUMMARY: It's been well over three vorn since Optimus Prime's passing, and Ratchet is taking it about as well as the next bot. Stationed back on Earth, the old medic spends most of his time alone. Most. With his only sort of contact being a human, Ratchet would much rather sit in silence as they work together. However today, Daniel Tarfeld (his government assigned apprentice) has different plans.

RECOMMENDED LISTENING: Saudade, Saudade - MARO, Better in the Morning - Birdtalker, Sound the Bugle - Brian Adams

“I did not come to this planet to save one life, only to lose the life I care about the most!”

The words ripped from Ratchet’s vox. The world around him was crisp, white, hazy. There was a rising panic running up his neural array, making the hydraulics in his arms and legs tense up, poised and ready to run.

“Ratchet…” His name was sweet to the audials, Prime’s voice thick with emotion.

“Optimus…please.” Ratchet’s voice was soft, ragged. “Don’t leave.”

His Prime smiled at him. Softly, sweetly. It pulled at his spark, the pain in his chest growing. He could see the reflection of it in Optimus’ optics, the way the smile didn’t reach them. Optimus stepped forward, away from the well. Ratchet couldn’t help the pitiful, pleading swell of hope that came from his EM field, reaching out to him.

Optimus’ smile turned sad as he placed his servo on his lover’s face, his thumb gently tracing the tracks below his eyes.

“You know I must.” He whispered. Ratchet relished his voice. “But I will never be truly gone.”

His hand moved to cover Ratchet’s chest, feeling the raw sorrow that emanated from his spark.

“I will always be with you, even if you cannot see me.”

Optimus’ bright optics searched his own. Their fields mingled, Ratchet could feel how his own grief was mirrored tenfold by his Prime. He knew that this choice wasn’t a choice. It was Optimus’ charge, his duty- his mission.

Ratchet leaned his head against his Prime’s sturdy chest, relishing his sparkbeat one final time. He could hold his emotions in no longer as a sob so forceful came from deep within him it made his voice modulator crack and reset. He had never dreamed it would end like this. At so many points he thought he would lose Optimus- his battles with the Decepticons, the cybonic plague, the destruction of their base, the endless war. That? Those endings? Those were expected. Those he could make sense of.

But this? No. Never this.

“I’m so, so sorry, old friend.”

The apology rang hollow in his audial sensors, no matter how heartfelt it was.

Ratchet let Optimus pull away without a fight. The world spun around him as he took his place at the lip of the well, the words that came from his vox muted and unintelligible. He could only watch in abject horror as Optimus Prime fell backwards into the well.

The new sparks, their bright colors flitting around could not bring Ratchet out of his trance. He was barely aware of how the others reacted, their oohs and aahs falling on deaf audio processors. All Ratchet could see was the space in which Optimus Prime said his last words. The space in which, only mere moments ago, Optimus Prime had stood. The space in which Optimus Prime made his ultimate sacrifice.

—

Ratchet woke up with a start. He always did. Ever since the nightmare on Cybertron happened, he was lucky if he got three hours of recharge.

Wearily, the Autobot pulled up his HUD. It was showing to be 5:34 AM, Eastern Standard time. Huh. Maybe he had gotten more recharge than he thought.

With a groan, he stood from his berth, stretching his struts and reaching his servos above his helm. The stretches had become more painful as time went on, and it certainly didn’t help that he had…neglected…his personal upkeep.

Ratchet drank energon, he oiled the joints connecting his digits to his servos, but anything else had simply become a waste of time. Once, maybe twice a week, did he visit the washracks. Not that it mattered, mechs did not emit the same terrible smell that the children once did. He only did it because he had found himself traveling a lot more than before.

True to his word, Ratchet had stayed back on Earth. He preferred it this way- no reminders. Nothing but his sterile lab and the meetings with annoying bureaucrats. Agent Fowler had graciously relocated Ratchet to a much smaller base, somewhere far away from Jasper, Nevada. The old medic found himself in a place called Oakridge, Tennessee.

He was placed under the watchful eye of an Army reserve base, which suited him just fine. Ratchet liked the routines of the base. They were familiar, and somehow, oddly comforting. The same as Unit E, but different enough to put his neural net at ease.

The humans of Tennessee were much different than those of Nevada. It was hard to believe that they were of the same country. Their speech was slower, their smiles more abundant, their culture far more community focused. Not that Ratchet would ever spend more time than he had to with them, of course. He simply preferred to observe.

Still, he could imagine that Optimus would- would have- gotten along quite well with them.

Ratchet had to stop, shutter his optics, and take in a deep vent. Nope. He would not be thinking about that today.

He let the vent out slowly and refocused.

Ratchet had work to do. Work was good. Work kept his mind busy, and more importantly, distracted.

He drug himself out of the small berthroom and into the nerve center he called his lab. Pristine scientific equipment, that was certainly in much better shape than him, greeted him. The project that was currently in progress stood in the middle of the room. If someone were to walk in on his work, they would think they had just walked into a clean room. Nothing was out of place, nothing was dirty, and everything was in perfect repair. Just how he liked it.

Graciously, once the Deception threat had passed from Earth's history, Agent Fowler had somehow found the funding to give Ratchet what he truly needed to work. It sat bitterly in the bot’s chest. His team was not deserving of this equipment, but as soon as there was a promise to share technological advancements, suddenly he had everything he needed.

Fragging bureaucrats.

With a heavy vent, Ratchet set to work.

The decision to share Cybertronian technology was a difficult one. At the start of his employment of sorts, he had to act as a liaison between Cybertron and Earth as they fought over agreements and boundaries.

No, they could not share biological information. Yes, they could share fuel efficiency techniques. No, they could not have space bridge technology. Yes, they could work on upgrading their spaceflight program.

It was a terrible back and forth that Ratchet had found himself in the middle of, but by the grace of the Allspark, agreements had finally been made, and he could stop with the nonsense of intergalactic politics.

He had just sat down to work on engine schematics when there was a knock at the door. Ratchet’s left optic twitched in irritation before he turned.

“Come in.” His voice was biting, tired. The usual.

The tiny door opened and an even tinier being walked in. It wasn’t Fowler. No, Fowler had much more important things to tend to nowadays. This was Daniel Tarfeld. He didn’t bother to remember his rank. Ratchet had given up on getting close to humans.

“Good morning, Ratchet.” Daniel said.

“Daniel.”

The man- really a boy- had a shock of red hair and freckles that smattered around his face and arms. He was built smaller than other males of his species, but his ferocious spirit more than made up for it. If Ratchet had been softer, he would’ve imagined that Daniel would be delightful company.

But, Ratchet was decidedly not soft. He was tired, in constant pain, and terribly sad. Though, he’d never admit that last part to the boy who had been assigned as his apprentice.

Daniel wasn’t army. He was in this new service branch. Space Force. Ratchet had heard whispers about its controversial christening on base, but he cared none for Earth politics.

“Shall we get to work?” Daniel’s voice was raspy, sounding almost as tired as Ratchet felt. Almost.

Ratchet nodded. He reached a servo down and Daniel stepped up. He brought the apprentice to the large desk, letting him step off before turning back to the schematic.

The human quietly opened the satchel around his torso, bringing out his own laptop. Ratchet got the notification that he had connected via bluetooth and soon they shared control of the screens. This was their routine. They would work in silence, with the occasional conversation; always about work. Never about each other.

“You look like shit.” Daniel commented after a few minutes.

Ratchet side eyed him, the corner of his mouth flicking up in disgust, before turning his optics back to the screen.

“You don’t look much better, yourself.”

That earned him a huff, though Ratchet wasn’t sure if it was a laugh, or out of annoyance. He didn’t really care. His digits continued to tack away at the large keyboard as his processor ran complicated equations.

A few more moments passed in silence. Ratchet’s audials picked up on the soft sound of Daniel rustling, but he paid it no mind.

“Were you always such an ass?” Daniel asked.

Ratchet’s digits paused, hovering above the keyboard. He slowly turned his helm towards the boy, optics squinted. Daniel had shut his laptop now, staring at Ratchet with big blue eyes. They were hard. The mech realized he was expecting an answer.

Ratchet did not give him one.

Daniel squinted, his own mouth turned into a bit of a sneer. The silence between them was frigid.

“Get back to work.” Ratchet finally said.

“No.” Daniel said, voice firm.

Ratchet shuttered his optics rapidly, taken slightly aback, “What has gotten into you?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Daniel shot back, “Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been working together for a year and a half, and the only words I’ve ever heard from you are-”

His voice mocked Ratchet’s own, “Daniel. And, Goodbye.”

“I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me,” Ratchet said. “We are working. I work better in silence. Not listening to prattling about what silly things you have gotten up to this weekend.”

“I’m expecting more than just a cold shoulder.” Daniel said, “I know you’ve spent time with humans before. You must know we are social creatures who thrive on interaction.”

His final sentence had dripped with mockery. Ratchet’s plates flared a bit as he gave an incensed exvent. Oh, how he wished humans could taste EM fields, if only so Daniel could feel the “leave me the frag alone” that was radiating from the bot.

“If you must know, Tarfeld,” Ratchet spat the name, “I do not prefer human company, and I do prefer to keep my relationships professional.”

“So,” The bot waved his huge servo towards the laptop, “Get back to work.”

Daniel shook his head and crossed his legs, his arms tight against his chest. He looked at the mech defiantly, tiny hands gripping his tiny arms so hard his knuckles turned white.

“I am not working until we talk.” The human would just not back down. If it had been three vorns ago, Ratchet would’ve found it charming.

Ratchet offlined his optics for a good fifteen klicks before finally looking at the defiant apprentice.

“If I talk, will you let me work?”

“Yes.” If Ratchet didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he saw a flash of victory in his eyes.

“Fine. Five minutes.” He glanced at his HUD. It was 7:28. “You have until 7:33.”

“What was the war like?”

“Terrible. Next question.”

“How terrible?”

“Very.” Ratchet responded, “Imagine the worst war on your planet. Now imagine it lasting for four millenia. Next question.”

7:29.

Daniel paused, looking away as his eyes searched the air for a question.

“Were you always such an asshole?” The boy finally echoed his earlier question.

Ratchet paused.

“No.” He finally said quietly. “Not always.”

“Why are you like this, then?”

Ratchet couldn’t help the momentary sneer. He did not appreciate this line of questioning.

“War changes people.” He finally answered.

7:30.

“What was he like?” Daniel asked.

Ratchet squinted, his spark starting to sink, “Who?”

“You know,” Hope tinged Daniel’s voice, “Optimus Prime.”

His spark plummeted into his abdomen. He regretted even asking.

“Do I have to answer that?”

“Yes.”

Another beat of silence. The time changed to 7:31 on Ratchet’s HUD. He had half a mind to wait the full two minutes. Anything to keep from speaking about his be- him.

Still, Daniel looked at him with those puppy eyes that humans had mastered the use of when they wanted something. Ratchet felt his resolve melt, if only slightly.

“He was…special.” The Autobot finally answered. “There was no one like him, and no one will ever be like him again.”

He hoped that Daniel did not pick up on the momentary glitch in his vocals.

“Oh, so you do have the capacity for feeling!” Daniel laughed, but the words felt like a sword through Ratchet’s spark.

Before he could come up with a blistering retort, Daniel continued.

“You know, when they finally announced the existence of…” He gestured to Ratchet, “Y’all…I was a huge fan of Optimus. I was one of those teens who always liked aliens and conspiracy theories, so to find out the pictures I saw online were real?”

The human did what Ratchet believed to be a ‘chef’s kiss’, “Incredible moment. I lauded that shit over my high school buddies for years.”

Ratchet struggled to will away the tension that had wound itself in his hydraulics systems. He bit the side of his glossa, desperately trying to use the pain to bring him back to the moment. He wanted to lash out, to use his unkind words to bring Daniel back in order. He wanted to defend his existence, and his Prime’s.

But, a thought crossed Ratchet’s neural net: how could he have known? It’s not like you’ve talked to him much. He just wants connection.

They weren’t Optimus’ words, but they carried the same gentle understanding tone of his dear conjunx. It was enough for Ratchet to release a long, slow vent as his systems relaxed. He felt his plating shift as he hunched over now. No longer alert, just…tired.

“...Ratchet?” Daniel’s voice sounded much smaller as the mech brought himself back to the land of the living, “You…okay?”

It took a moment, but Ratchet managed to look over at the small being and nod. There was a scratch in his vox as he brought his vocals back online.

“Fine.” He let go of the desk, pushing himself away. “I’m fine. I’m…going to get something to drink.”

Without another word, Ratchet left the bewildered human at the desk. He moved down one of the hallways of the small facility granted to him, heading towards storage.

The storage space was mostly used to keep energon cubes, both the large bulk inventory and the smaller consumable ones. Right now, the stores were looking a bit bare. It was almost time for another shipment to come. Quickly, he pulled up the calendar on his HUD, checking for when he would be due for a visit from his compatriots.

Usually, it was either Arcee or Bee who brought him a few orbital cycles worth of energon. While Earth still had some fairly abundant mines, he did not want the humans to get their hands on the substance. Plus, it’s not like he could go out and mine it himself. So, their locations were kept a secret and an agreement was reached that Cybertron would send him what he needed.

The calendar told him that he would be receiving a visit tomorrow. It brought an odd sense of comfort to him. Though he tried to distance himself as much as he could from Cybertron, seeing his former teammates somehow managed to lift his mood, even if it was only for a couple groons.

If Ratchet was being honest with himself, he missed them. He missed Arcee’s biting quips, Bumblebee’s cheerful attitude. To the Pits, he even missed Bulkhead’s blumbering aft.

The mech struggled to put the thoughts of his former team to the back of his neural net. He reached for the closest consumable cube and expertly opened the lid. In one fell swoop, he downed the entire thing.

The energon was lukewarm, and a bit thicker than he preferred. Yet, it still felt good as the fuel integrated into his systems and processors. While his body felt a bit recharged, his mind still remained clouded.

It annoyed Ratchet. He did not want to grieve today. In fact, he never wanted to grieve- ever. If he cried, if he howled, if he sang funeral songs, it made the loss too real. He could already feel the way his spark chamber ached. His vox tightened involuntarily, optics growing blurry.

No. He tried- Primus how he tried- to keep everything buried. Emotions did not serve him, and to deny them allowed him to focus. But focus did not come back to him.

All he could focus on was the absence. The spark wrenching, soul purging absence. Optimus had told him that he would always be with him, but where is he now?!

Ratchet had to force his vocal processors offline to keep the shriek from sounding. At some point, he had found himself sitting on the floor, arms wrapped tight around his legs, squeezing the living metal so hard it hurt. He buried his helm between his knees, begging for this to pass. He had work to do, and grieving someone was decidedly not work.

Even then, it did not leave him. The only thing that passed was the ticking seconds from the clock on the wall. He stared absently at the cubes of energon, their faint blue glow reflecting off his amoured plating.

“Ratchet?”

Daniel’s voice startled the mech out of his stupor. He shuttered his optics rapidly, turning to face the door. The small, delicate human stood in the frame, dwarfed by its size. Ratchet could say nothing as the creature approached him, placing one of its tiny hands on his massive leg.

“Are you alright? You’ve been in here for almost an hour and a half.”

Confusion colored his face as he brought his vocal processors back online. There was a small scratch- akin to a cough- as he reintegrated their processing codes.

“Has it really been that long?”

Daniel nodded. Ratchet looked away.

“Yes.” He finally said, “I’m fine.”

The mech moved to stand. Daniel quickly backed away, and Ratchet was careful not to squish him with his pedes. He stretched his struts once more, a terrible metallic groan filling the air. Ratchet couldn’t help the look of pain on his face. He really needed to oil his joints more often.

“Look- Ratchet-?” Daniel said quickly, craning his entire body up to look the Autobot in the optics, “I’m sorry. I…I shouldn’t have pried. I-”

Ratchet waved a servo and bent over, offering it to the creature, “It’s fine, Daniel. C’mon, let’s get back to work.”

Carefully, gingerly, the human stepped into his palm. He gripped Ratchet’s thumb the way he always did when he was getting a lift. Carefully, Ratchet maneuvered them back to the desk and gently set the organic down.

There was a soft song playing. It was much different from the music that Bulkhead and Miko used to listen to. No raving guitars or screaming vocals, just a soft melody and quiet words.

Normally, Ratchet would’ve told Daniel to turn it off. He preferred silence. But there was something to this music that calmed the ever present hum in his protoform.

“Tem tanto que trago comigo

Foi sempre o meu porto de abrigo

E agora nada faz sentido

Perdi o meu melhor amigo

E se não for demais

Peço por sinias

Resta uma são palavra

Saudade, Saudade.

Nothing more that I can say,

Says it in a better way.”

The music continued in English, and Ratchet listened. The lyrics were haunting, the accompaniment even more so. It was evident that this was a mourning song, and it made Ratchet’s vox tighten once more.

“I’ve tried, alright

But it’s killing me inside.

Thought you’d be by my side

Always.”

Ratchet took a shuddering invent.

“What language was that?” He asked gently after the song ended.

Daniel paused and looked up at him, surprised.

“Portuguese.”

Ratchet hummed an affirmative, “Do you know Portuguese?”

Daniel shook his head, “Well…kind of. My friend Gabriel is teaching me.”

“Oh?” He asked, “Do you know what the lyrics said?”

At this point, Daniel looked like a deer in headlights. This was possibly the most they’ve spoken- ever. Ratchet couldn’t blame him. Their earlier interaction had left him on edge, but in a way that made the walls he built around himself tumble down. Maybe he was craving connection as much as Daniel was.

“Uh, yeah, let me just…pull them up.”

There was a quick tack-tack-tack as Daniel typed on his computer. Within a few moments, he had dragged a window onto the shared screens. It depicted a website, with the lyrics to the entire song. The original lyrics were on one side, with the translated ones on the other.

Ratchet quickly looked at the screen, reading the whole song. Most of it was in English, except that one verse.

“Tem tanto que trago comigo - There’s so much to what I’ve got with me

Foi sempre o meu porto de abrigo - You were always my haven

E agora nada faz sentido - And now nothing makes sense

Perdi o meu melhor amigo - I lost my best friend

E se não for demais - And if it’s not too much

Peço por sinias - I ask for signs

Resta uma são palavra - There is only one word left.

Saudade, Saudade.

Nothing more that I can say,

Says it in a better way.”

There was a heavy silence between them as Ratchet read the lyrics over and over. His optics blurred, and he didn’t even notice the small leak of coolant until he felt it dripping off his faceplate.

Ratchet brought a servo up to wipe it off, shame and embarrassment flooding his neural net. He shouldn’t be crying- especially in front of Daniel.

“Sorry,” Ratchet said softly, static lacing his words. He tried saying something else, but nothing could come out.

“It…It’s okay.” Daniel’s voice was small, choked.

Ratchet took a moment before speaking again.

“What does saudade mean?”

Daniel paused, wiping his face. Ratchet couldn’t tell if the organics eyes had betrayed it as well.

“It’s an untranslatable word.” He said after a moment, “It’s the feeling of an intense yearning and melancholic nostalgia for something or someone you love.”

“I see.”

Ratchet couldn’t find any other words to respond with. He had known for a while that Earth had hundreds of languages, and even more styles of script. However, he had never bothered to look into them.

He was, in all honesty, stunned. The complexity of the words strung together, the way saudade is a word so powerful that there is no equivalent of it in any language…it was unexpected. What was even more unexpected is the fact that a human song touched his spark.

Is this what people meant when they prattled about “the human condition”? If humans had the capacity to touch his spark so deeply, perhaps the organics were not so different from Cybertronians.

That was yet another way Optimus continued to be right. At this point, Ratchet couldn’t even argue with the logic he once refused to understand.

“Can you play it again?”

Ratchet was taken aback by his own request. It was as if his vox had betrayed his processors and spoke before he could think. But even then, Daniel didn’t say anything. There was simply the sound of a soft electric piano, and the mournful lyrics hanging in the air between them.

Ratchet shuttered his optics, clinging onto every word, every note.

Strangely enough, this time around he did not feel the need to shed tears. But, he did feel a warmth surround his spark, holding him close as he lost himself in the music. It was as if Optimus was standing next to him again, a ghost inhabiting his field and placing a reassuring servo on his shoulder as he had done so many times before.

Ratchet found himself clumsily mouthing the Portuguese lyrics he had studied so intently mere moments before. They rang true to him.

Optimus was his refuge. Optimus was his best friend. With Optimus gone, nothing made sense.

Nothing, but this song.

The final lyric sounded, and Ratchet recalled the final time he saw his Conjunx. “I will always be with you, even if you cannot see me.” Something inside him clicked in understanding.

Optimus was by his side, always. Even if he couldn’t see him, even if he couldn’t feel him, even if he couldn’t hear him. He was there.

The impact he had on Ratchet was profound. He would never forget how gentle his lover was, and how in turn, Ratchet himself gained that quality. By locking it away, he was locking away Optimus himself.

Finally, Ratchet opened his eyes. He looked at his apprentice, who was staring at him as if he had suddenly grown flesh over his frame. Ratchet didn’t expect him to understand right now, but maybe one day he would.

“Thank you, Daniel.” Ratchet said.

[honeekyuu]

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

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

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]

taglist: [open]

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

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

previous. || masterlist. || next.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I made it, I made it.”

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

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

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

“Cup, please, Y/n – I’m dying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Akaashi chokes on pop-tart crumbs.

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

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

“I didn’t!”

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

“It was… fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, then I’ll get a sweater.”

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

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

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

“Order?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good luck,” he mumbles.

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

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

“O…kay. And then?”

He shrugs. “Bed? Sex?”

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

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

“It registered while you were talking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you staring at my ass?”

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow. “... ‘Kay.” 

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

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

You like men like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, right.

Right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m- I’m gonna-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And does he feel the same?

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

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

“Okay, I see what you mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not what you think-”

“So, you’re not an exhibitionist?”

“Not a big one!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips. “Green.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need to set up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You callin’ me smart, baby?”

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

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

“How’s this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops, just hovering over you silently.

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

“I told you to look at me.”

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

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

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

‘Is it alright if I’m a little mean?’

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

If he wants you to cry, you’ll cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” he whispers. “That was-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you should eat the pop-tart.”

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

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

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

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

“No. I just don’t like them.”

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

“You’re stupid-”

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

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

He grimaces. “Boring.”

“Get out of my house, Akaashi-”

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

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

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

“We’ll make it back soon enough.”

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shockingly, I still managed it.”

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

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

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

The compliment is magically negated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should go.”

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

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

“Okay.” You nod. “See you then.”

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

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

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

[1:24 PM]

Akaashi: dont forget to cover your hickies tonight

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

You: youre such a dick.

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what Kuroo has left, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

God bless Kuroo Tetsurou.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to make you nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he thinks he’s turned on, too.

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

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

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

He’s starting to understand why, tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullshit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes him want to do terrible things to you.

“Careful, Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

“Akaashi! Y/n!” 

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

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

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

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

He swears loudly on the entire walk home.

–

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

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

Akaashi.

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

[11:16 PM]

You: whewred yiu go>?!?!

You: are yoim okai???

[11:59 PM]

You: akaaaaaashiiiii

You: whyaw didn yoo leave so sunddnly?

[12:39 AM]

You: at lest tellme if tju got ahaome safew

[9:19 AM]

Akaashi: im fine thanks

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

Whatever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at the subject lines, your head swimming.

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

That’s rent.

That’s rent.

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

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

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

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

You have money to make.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n!” 

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

“Hi, Kou – How was your Sunday?”

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

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

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

“Hi, Yachi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

It happens again, only twenty minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

Your phone buzzes on the desk.

[1:45 PM]

Akaashi: what is it?

Your heart jumps, and you type quickly.

You: nothing

Akaashi: you were going to knock

You: it’s fine

Akaashi: just tell me.

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

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

You: and my other stuff is making money now too

You: my rent for november is covered

You: so.. thanks ig

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

Akaashi: …

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

Akaashi: out loud? here?

Akaashi: really, y/n?

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

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

You type an angry response.

You: well i didnt DO it, did i?

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

Akaashi: excuse me?

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

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

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

Akaashi: yet you just LOVE to keep your windows open

Akaashi: dont you, y/n

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

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

You: not the privacy of someone else’s 

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

Akaashi: oh go to hell

You: see you there, freak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorr-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then why is he so adamant about keeping you?

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” he hisses. “Shut up, Y/n-”

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

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

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

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

[2:36 PM]

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

You type back a quick response.

[2:41 PM]

You: yes omg sorry im omw now

Kou: PLEASE DONT BE FIGHTING WITH AKAASHIIIIII

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

“We’re not gonna have time to eat,” you mumble to yourself – you both need to be in Syntax in twenty minutes. Akaashi brushes past you, heading out the fire exit door.

“Walk fast and eat faster, then.”

You follow behind, sighing heatedly. “I hate you,” you bite under your breath.

“Yeah, well-” His long strides don’t have any intention of accommodating you as he heads to the dining hall. “-I’m not so fucking fond of you, either.”

By the time lunch is over, even Kuroo’s texting you asking if something had happened.

–

Tuesday morning doesn’t go much better.

You’re still angry from the day before, short of patience as you get ready to bike to the LEM meeting and already itching for another fight by the time you settle into one of the chairs in the lab room. Other people file in slowly, and you manage to mask your anger long enough to smile at everyone and ask about their weekend. Your advisor pats you on the shoulder in a fatherly way when he enters, sighing deep as he settles in beside you.

“You’re not presenting today, right?” he asks, checking his phone for emails idly.

“No, I don’t have the pilot data yet,” you mumble regretfully. He just shrugs, shaking his head.

“You have a lot going on. No need to stress about it just yet.” And then he eyes you over his bifocals. “Have you figured something out, though?”

You warm, because Akaashi’s cologne is drifting into the room, just over your shoulder. You know that he’s heard it, because he lingers for just long enough before moving to the TV that you can tell he’d been caught off guard.

“Yes,” you say under your breath, your ears burning. “I figured something out, thank you. I should be good to start data collection next week.”

“Good to hear.” Your advisor nods, and you let out a steadying breath. “Okay,” he says, louder and to the group, clapping his hands. “We have Keiji for updates first, and then-” he points between two of your other cohort-mates. “-you two can fight over who goes next.”

You watch Akaashi go straight into his 20-minute run, explaining some updates he’d made to his theoretical framing and some more thoughts he has for his dissertation. You, as usual, are convinced of his logic, but there’s something about the way he refuses to look at you – cyan eyes passing over you like you’re a ghost – that makes your blood boil. Something about the way he nearly rolls his eyes when he accidentally does meet your gaze, because he can certainly see the burning anger all over your face.

Maybe that’s why – even though you don’t have a single piece of criticism to give him – you open your mouth when he asks ‘Any questions?’ in that gentle tone you hate so much.

“I have one.”

Everyone’s head whips around to you, because you never speak during Akaashi Keiji’s Q&A session. 

But it’s Akaashi’s reaction that spurs you on. His eyes fly to yours when he hears your voice, and you watch shock, confusion, irritation, and – finally – vague interest flit across his face in a matter of milliseconds.

“Okay?” he says, the confusion slipping through in the uptick of his voice.

“Your proposed analysis – what are the implications it has for research testing native Korean speakers?”

He lifts one eyebrow, and you feel the room shift. 

“You’re asking me-” The other brow joins in now. “-how my research applies to yours?”

You clench your jaw, searching his gaze. He’d said it like he was offended, but you can see he’s pushing you. “I’m asking how your analysis can be used by other linguists in the field – not just to study the grammar of native Korean speakers theoretically, but to study the grammar empirically. With real data-”

“I have data-”

“You have judgments,” you snap. “Native Korean speaker judgments from your consultants. Two consultants, yes?” He nods, and you nod back. “Right. And you expect your two consultants’ individual grammars to speak systematically for the whole of the Korean grammar?”

It’s a cheap shot, but a valid one – for someone else. Not for Akaashi. You know this well enough, that the primary job of theoretical syntacticians is to formulate analyses and proposals of a language’s grammar. You know well enough that it’s not his job to figure out if his analysis will make the cut if tested with a large sample of speakers.

That’s your job. And the job of experimentalists more broadly. It’s your job to take his theory and prove it right or wrong. It’s only his job to craft his logic and evidence in a way that makes the argument worth proving.

And Akaashi knows that, too.

“What would you like me to do, Y/n?” he asks tightly. “Would you like me to run the experiment myself and put you out of a job?”

“Okay-” your advisor starts to cut in, but you speak over him.

“What about all the previous research, Akaashi? The research that’s tested syntactic analyses which differ from yours but still find supporting results? Would you like the field to throw all that away and believe you instead? How do you account for those findings? What’s the bigger picture?”

His eyes light up, molten hot. “What I’d like is a unified syntax of Korean case marking, which the field has been missing for decades. It’s up to someone like you to test my theory; it’s up to someone like me to take your results and update my analysis, over and over and over again until we get it right. That’s what linguistics is about.”

You lean forward, elbows digging into the wooden table. It’s quiet enough in the room that you can hear him breathing across the room, ragged and rough and irritated.

“If you want someone like me to go through the trouble of testing your theory, you should do a better job of convincing me it’s worth my time.” You glare hard at him, your heart skipping when you watch that wall come down. He looks exactly the same, poised and perfect and well-mannered, but his eyes betray how badly he wants to tell you exactly what’s on his mind. 

So you smile at him, cold and mocking, and push him over the edge. “Or else linguistics will move on without you.”

“Okay!” you advisor says, looking between you and Akaashi with wide eyes. “I think we get it, you two. Let’s move on to someone else, please – I’m too old for this.”

You stand quickly, the chair scraping across the floor, and barge from the room. 

“Y/n!” your advisor calls just as the door is slamming behind you. A moment later, you hear his voice again, muffled. “Keiji!”

The door swings open, and the sound of the lab erupting in chaos echoes through the hall, your advisor’s ‘okay, okay, settle down everyone-’ muted by the door shutting again.

“What the hell is your problem?” Akaashi bites behind you, and you glance back while you walk, finding him stalking after you. You roll your eyes, heading for your office. 

“You heard my problem. Your research is isolated and inapplicable-”

“Inapplicable-”

“Goodbye, Akaashi,” you snap, unlocking the door and shouldering your way inside. You throw it shut behind you, but his hand slams down on the wood, startling you. You whirl around with wide eyes and watch him slam the door, the frosted glass window rattling from the force. The two of you are left in the silence of your office, both of your breaths audible in the space between you.

“Inapplicable?” he hisses again, eyes glinting.

“What do you want me to say, Akaashi?” you bark, letting him get in your face. “You want me to just ignore that you’re not thinking about the consequences of your own research?” You poke him hard in the chest. “If you don’t take responsibility for the work you’re putting out into the field, then don’t expect me to be okay with fumbling to use your grammar to explain my data.”

He pushes forward, cornering you against your desk. “That’s exactly what your job is, Y/n. It’s your responsibility to figure out what speakers are doing, just like it’s my responsibility to figure out how to explain that. And you’re not stupid enough to believe otherwise. We need each other-”

“No, what I need-” You stand tall, feeling his breath mingle with yours in the space between your lips. “-is to not be handed another ‘grammar of Korean’ that’s been decreed into a fucking void.”

He doesn’t say a word, just letting his eyes flit between yours angrily. He’s breathing hard, just as hard as you are, and his eyebrows are twitching as he glares down at you. You hold your ground, whispering an admission to him.

“You might be a genius, Akaashi, but you really need to be put in your place sometimes.”

You watch in real time as his demeanor changes.

The anger drains from his body language and his face, leaving him with shock and a lip that’s curling in amusement as he stares down at you with wide eyes.

“Oh, is that right?” he breathes. “And-what? You think you’re gonna do that for me?” You start to protest, but he just takes a step forward, sudden and forceful, and you take a surprised seat on the desk with a gasp. He towers over you, that smile dangerous. “You really think you can do that, Y/n? When you aren’t even confident enough in your own work?”

Your brows furrow, offended. “What-”

“With your shy little smile and your uncertain little laugh when you present to the lab-” he whispers, breath fanning over you as you stare up at him. “With that fucking look you get in your eye,” he growls under his breath. “Like you don’t know what to make of your own research. Of your own skills. Makes me fucking sick.”

You try to stand, but he just leans down, planting his hands on either side of you. His nose brushes yours, and his eyes fill with a heat that isn’t anger. It’s something else, and you can’t place it.

He lifts his eyebrows. “You think you can put me in my place? That would mean we’re on the same level, wouldn’t it? Is that what you’re saying?” When you don’t respond, he speaks slower, like he’s talking down to you. 

“Are you a genius, too, Y/n?”

You scowl at him. “I’m not beneath you, Akaashi. I never have been.”

He shifts, and you finally place it – that heat in his eyes, the one that burns through you and makes your heart race.

It’s excitement.

It excites him to fight with you like this.

And the smile that stretches across his face, tinged with what you can only describe as pride, is starting to excite you, too. Because fighting with him feels good. Because you can see that it makes him feel good, too. It feels good to be pushed like this, to show someone else who you really are and be accepted for that, good or bad. 

Especially the bad. 

This may be the first time you’ve ever been glad that Akaashi Keiji treats you differently.

He steps impossibly closer to you, and you find your thighs parting to let him into the space before you can realize it. His smile grows, and his breath hitches in time with the lurch of anticipation that fills you, because he’s leaning down over you, forcing you to collapse back onto your elbows.

“If you’re a genius, Y/n,” he whispers, carding his fingers ever so gently through your hair. You shudder, chest heaving with a gasp when he pulls taut, fisting your hair painfully in his hand. His eyes twinkle with that terrifying excitement that makes your veins sing for him, and you’re distantly aware that he’s hard against your inner thigh. “Then I want you to fucking act like it.”

The shaky breath you let out is laced with a moan, and his gaze flies down to your lips, his smile stretching into something wild and wicked. He meets your eyes again, that blue-green gaze piercing when he asks–

“Do you think you can do that?”

You shiver, the reaction visceral and entirely visible to him. He smiles and whispers ‘I thought so’, his breath forming goosebumps on your skin.

And then there’s a hard knock on your office door.

“Y/n?” your advisor calls, his blurry shadow visible through the window as he stands just on the other side of the door – on the other side of the terribly compromising position Akaashi has you in on your desk.

Your breath catches, and you struggle against him. “Akaashi-”

He pulls you up quickly with wide eyes, and you both frantically fix your appearances in silence for the half-second it takes you to call ‘It’s open!’ to the door. Akaashi latches onto your arm and drags you forward in a panic, stepping behind you to partially shield himself from view – you have to keep from snickering, because the door’s being pushed open cautiously. 

Your advisor stands in the doorway, examining the two of you with wary eyes. “Are you both alive and in one piece?”

You and Akaashi nod. “Sorry for storming out like that,” you say. “I was… a bit heated.”

The old man snorts. “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell. We had to end early because no one could focus.” He looks over your head at Akaashi. “And you left all your stuff in the lab. Were you heated, too?”

Akaashi clears his throat. “Uh… a bit?”

Your advisor sighs and shakes his head. “I’m gonna start putting you two through hell if you don’t cut it out. Force you to say nice things about each other, or look into each other’s eyes for a full minute, or something.” 

You laugh nervously. “We’re fine. Sorry.”

He rolls his eyes but moves on. “Did you both apply for Ling Expo? We talked about it in the meeting, but some members of the group went missing.”

You flush, shifting your weight. Akaashi’s fingers find the back of your shirt, tugging you back to where you were so he can remained covered. 

“Yes,” he says behind you. “I submitted the abstract last week.” 

You nod in agreement. “Me, too.”

The man sighs, nodding back. “We’re all going again this year, so make sure to block the weekend of November 15th off.” You both make noises of understanding, and he takes a moment to look between you. His eyes narrow as he examines you, and then Akaashi over your head, and then you again. He purses his lips and hums. “There’s something about this situation that makes me want to make you leave this door open, but I’m not your father, so…” 

A rush of heat washes over you, and Akaashi coughs awkwardly behind you. 

“Are you allowed to say that?” he mumbles, and your advisor throws his head back, giving a belly laugh as he shakes his head. 

“It’s none of my business what you two get up to in your free time.”

You chuckle nervously. “Are you allowed to say that?”

His laugh, loud and booming and satisfied, can be heard down the hall long after he’s gone.

–

Keiji collapses into his chair, slumping down over his desk and burying his face in his folded arms.

“Fuck,” he groans, muffled and inaudible outside of himself. He thumps a fist on the desk twice, overwhelming embarrassment flooding every cell in his body.

What the hell was he thinking, cornering you against your desk like that? Why is he entirely incapable of containing himself when he’s alone with you? What had you done to him – what witchcraft has taken hold over him?

When he’d woken up on Sunday, he’d spent several hours in a puddle of dread, unmoving from his bed as he’d stared at the ceiling and contemplated what to do. He’d chalked most of his behavior from the party up to the alcohol, but he also knows himself well enough to know that he’d only acted that way because those feelings – those desires that had been threaded under his skin – were lingering somewhere unreachable inside him.

He’d decided by the end of the day that he would need to overcompensate in order to keep your mutual friends from catching on to the fact that there’s a live wire inside him that sparks dangerously every time he even so much as thinks about you. He would need to be more detached than ever if he were to stand any chance of keeping this arrangement with you a secret.

And then he’d overdone it, in that cafe yesterday morning. He’d ignored you deliberately, and he could feel almost instantly when your energy had shifted. And when he’d seen you pass by his class, he’d been a mix of surprised – because seeing you had thrown his heart into his throat and had scattered his thoughts like loose paper – and desperate not to let his students see that he’d lost his train of thought. So he’d scowled at you like you were the last thing he’d ever want to see, and, in the midst of rattling off knowledge that’s been sitting idly in the back of his mind for years, he’d felt a twinge of regret that he’d reacted that way.

And he’d known that you were coming to check in on him. He’d known – by the way you’d lingered at his door, by the way your weight had shifted, by the way your steps had sounded so uncertain – that you were confused. That you wanted to know why he was acting this way. But he’d felt an overwhelming panic at the idea that you might be able to sense his real feelings for what they are – that you’d be able to see just by looking at him that he’s almost concerningly attracted to you. So he’d lashed out over text, and then he’d lashed out at the elevator bay, because even when you’d called him an ‘icy bitch’, all he could focus on was the snarky edge to your voice and how badly he’d wanted to smother it.

When you’d threatened – emptily, but anxiety-inducing nonetheless – to put this arrangement to bed and move on from him, he’d lost his mind in that stairwell. He’d lost his mind, and he’d let his nerves show. And you’d latched onto them instantly, because, as he’s coming to learn, you can read him a little too well.

And that’s terrifying.

It’s terrifying to wonder, in a room full of all of Keiji’s peers – in front of his own advisor, for fuck’s sake – if his attraction to you when you level him with that challenging glare is as palpable to everyone else as it is to him.

It’s terrifying to wonder if you can see what a confused, muddled mess of a man he’s become since sleeping with you. Ricocheting between wanting you and hating you and somewhere right in the middle, where he feels both.

He’s found himself in that middle ground often over the last 48 hours.

And then he’d cornered you against your desk, not even ten minutes ago, and bullied you to your limit – forcing the admission of your own capabilities from your lips like psychological torture, entirely unable to hide how much that had excited him. How much it had affected him, watching you fold like that for him. 

But you’d shown yourself to him, too. You’d shown him how excited you’d gotten when you’d realized how he was feeling. You’d shown him that this terrible, confusing knot of uncontainable want that twists in his gut when he meets your eyes– 

It’s mutual.

And that – that is more dangerous than anything before it.

Keiji sits up, hands shaking slightly as he presses circles into his temples and leans back in his chair. He slides his laptop in front of him and opens it, navigating to the site for Ling Expo in order to clear his thoughts.

A small part of a much larger conference event that hosts multiple different departments all engaging in their own specialized events for three days straight, Ling Expo is held every year in mid-November and boasts the largest gathering of linguistic scholars in the whole of Japan.

At least, that’s what it says on the home page when he scrolls through it.

In reality, the LEM members – all students of his advisor – are carted away for a weekend to Tokyo’s largest hotel and conference center, regardless of whether or not any of them are presenting. He gets out of a Friday of teaching and spends three days networking, and – luckily – hanging out with his friends, because every department at this university has a group that goes.

Thankfully, it’s all paid for by the university. And, hopefully, he might not find himself in any weird academic standoffs with you this year. The two of you had always been careful not to let your rivalry become clear externally, because that reeks of a lack of professionalism, but there was always something that would tip the weekend into a mess of underhanded comments and awkward encounters in the extensive buffet line.

Maybe this time, things would be different.

Well, things are already different, so he’s not really fooling himself with this positive thinking. Because different could be good or bad.

His phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he closes the tab for Ling Expo while he extracts it. It’s a text sent to the group chat of the larger friend group, only ever used when Bokuto’s too impatient to text both of his smaller groups.

[12:17 PM]

Bokuto: DID YOU GUYS SEE THERES A NEW CLUB OPENING TODAY???? 

Bokuto: WE H A V E TO GO!!!!

Keiji sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needs is to get caught in another terrifying encounter with you, especially at some crowded club with all his friends there to witness it, but he knows how Bokuto can get when he’s told no. So he just opens his calendar, checking what else he would have had planned tonight.

There’s nothing, but there is something for tomorrow night that catches his eye and makes his heart lurch.

‘Research Updates’ is blocked off from 8pm to midnight, seemingly innocuous. Just as it had been on Saturday morning, from 8am to noon.

He sighs, staring down at the scheduled time. Is that still happening? Surely, it would be, right? 

But, things between you the last two days had been anything but cordial. And you had threatened to end the arrangement, even if it had been empty. 

You text the group chat back, an agreement to go, and he sighs quietly.

He supposes he can go, too.

–

The booming music pounds in Keiji’s head as he squints around in the dark. There’s a pair of hands on his shoulders, guiding him through a sea of people he would rather not be pressed into at the moment. He’s glad he’d decided to change into jeans and a t-shirt, because the slacks-button-down combo would have him soaked in sweat already.

And he’s especially glad you decided to change into a slinky black dress that he never would have guessed that you would own. You’re pushing through the crowd just in front of him now, and he’s sneaking glances down at you as the group fights to find an empty booth.

“There!” Bokuto eventually yells, stretching one of the hands on Keiji’s shoulder out over the distance, locating a singular empty booth. Keiji flinches at the noise, but he follows after you, anyway. You’ve got two hands on Yachi, who has two hands on Kuroo, who has two hands on Tsukishima, who’s complaining while he parts the crowd with his massive frame and leads the group to the table.

Keiji contemplates putting two hands on you, too, because it’s objectively most efficient for keeping the group together. But he doesn’t know how you’ll react – not after his total lapse in judgment in your office earlier. He doesn’t know if you even want him to touch you, now that your head’s probably a bit clearer than it’d been while you’d been trapped under him.

But then there’s a rush of people bumping into him, and he loses you for a moment, so he reaches out as soon as he finds you again – he justifies it as listening to instructions, because Bokuto’s screaming ‘Grab onto her, Akaashi!’ in his ear.

His hands slide across your waist, and a shiver runs down his spine at how you feel under his fingers. You jump at the contact and glance back in panic, probably thinking he’s some weird stranger trying to make a move. When you see it’s just him, you relax a little, but then your eyes fill with nerves, and you’re whipping your head back around to face away from him.

The crowd sways and shifts, forcing the line of you to bunch up in order to not be separated. Bokuto stumbles forward at some point, propelling Keiji right into you. You yelp, tripping, but he catches you, hauling you back against his chest. His breath catches and his heart rate picks up at the feeling of you pressed against him – your perfume wafts over him, and he finds himself leaning down close to your shoulder to breathe it in.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, tensing when his left hand subtly leaves the safety of your waist and slides around you, nestling you back against him more.

“Nothing,” he mumbles back, swallowing and retracting his hand back to your waist. “Just-nothing.”

You glance up at him, hearing his fumble, but it must be too dark to see the flush that spreads across his cheeks, because you only look forward again and focus on following Yachi. He examines you while the group nears the shockingly still-empty booth – he realizes your dress is riding up your thighs, likely from the stumbling and shoving that’s happening in this crowd right now. It rides up enough that he can see the lace edge of your pantyline, and he has to swallow hard, distracted by a memory of lace in other ways.

He reaches down, shielded by the dark, and tugs on the hem of your dress, pulling it back down over your ass. You yelp, looking up at him with alarm.

“Akaashi!” 

He shakes his head tightly, turning you back to the front and leaning down toward you. “Your ass was out – I was fixing it-”

You sigh loudly, turning your mouth to his ear. “You can’t just put your hands on me like that-”

“I can’t?” he bites, not an ounce of heat behind it. “You were fine with it earlier-” He grunts, because you’re driving an elbow into his gut.

“Dumbass,” you grumble, but he sees the warmth in your ears, and he smiles despite himself. 

Tsukishima reaches the table, and the six of you pile into the rounded booth that’s certainly not meant for six. Keiji’s chest presses against your shoulder, and you’re kind enough to angle your body with his so that you’re not digging into his chest painfully. Bokuto calls out across the table.

“I’ll get drinks!” He disappears back into the crowd, and Keiji wonders for a moment if Bokuto can carry enough drinks for six people. Kuroo seems to have the same thought, the man smacking Tsukishima on the arm and pointing out into the ocean of bodies.

“Go with him!”

The blond shakes his head forcefully. “No fucking way – you go!”

Kuroo groans but pushes Tsukishima out of the booth so he can stumble back into the crowd. Keiji relaxes with a sigh as the four of you left fill the booth more comfortably. Yachi starts rambling brightly to Tsukishima about the club, making comments about the music and the dancing. The blond just blinks back at her with empty, unseeing eyes, nodding occasionally. Keiji gets the feeling he can’t hear a word she’s saying.

You shift next to Keiji, your thigh bumping against his, and he finds himself tracing his gaze over your body while you look out at the dance floor. You feel him looking, and you glance up at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Don’t tell me you’re about to ask me to dance,” you say, your voice barely audible to him. He just tilts his head and gives you a knowing look.

“I don’t dance, Y/n.”

“Oh, you’re so cool,” you mock, cooing at him. He narrows his eyes at you, excitement spilling into his body when he sees how you tense at the glare. It makes him feeler bold – bold, like he’d been in your office, even though he’d sworn to himself only moments after that he wouldn’t do that again.

He swears you’ve cast some sort of curse on him.

He brushes two fingers over your thigh, tugging at the hem of the dress before letting it snap back to your skin. “Where’d you get this?”

You warm, looking up at him with practiced disinterest, but he can feel when your breath changes. “I’ve had it forever.”

“I like it.”

You purse your lips, frowning up at him. “You’re being weird.”

“Am I?” he asks, letting those two fingers trace circles into your thigh and smiling when he feels the goosebumps on your skin. Your eyes flit around his face, and he can see that, under the confusion, there’s anticipation. You’re waiting for him to do something.

“Y/n, look!” Yachi yells next to you, and Keiji pulls his hand back into his lap. He watches as you try, still flustered by him, to follow your friend’s excited pointing into crowd. He tampers a satisfied smile, only pulling his gaze away from you.

It lands on Tsukishima, who’s watching Keiji blankly.

Keiji’s heart drops to his stomach.

The blond flicks his eyes between the two of suspiciously, and then his gaze drops to Keiji’s throat, because he’s swallowing nervously. Tsukishima lifts both eyebrows and then looks away, returning to Yachi’s excited monologue about the well-planned design of the club architecture and decor.

Keiji’s skin hums with adrenaline and anxiety. What is he supposed to do if Tsukishima questions him? Or worse – tells Kuroo?

As if summoned by the devil, Bokuto and Kuroo reappear – they’re holding two trays of shot glasses each, and Keiji stares in shock as Bokuto lines up five shots in front of Keiji.

“Those are for you!” his friend exclaims, doing the same for you. Keiji stares at the shots.

“This’ll put me in the hospital, Bokuto-”

“I have to teach tomorrow,” you add, giving a laugh of exasperation. Bokuto waves it off.

“A problem for tomorrow!” he yells, already picking up one of his own shot glasses. He holds it out toward the middle of the table. “To new experiences!”

Keiji sighs, lifting one of his up, too, to clink against Bokuto’s, and the rest of the table follows.

“To new experiences,” he mumbles, knocking the shot back.

–

Well, Bokuto hadn’t been lying about new experiences, Keiji thinks drunkenly.

His head swims as he stares down at the five empty shot glasses in front of him, wondering where his drinks had gone. You sway beside him, holding a cocktail in both hands as you sip at it – your shot glasses are equally empty, and Keiji’s not exactly sure where you’d pulled an extra drink from.

He watches through blurry vision as Yachi and Bokuto wriggle wildly on the dance floor together, far away enough that he can only tell it’s them by their ridiculous height difference. Kuroo and Tsukishima sit huddled on the other end of the booth, heads bent together as they whisper likely obscene things to each other.

Keiji had worried for about thirty minutes that Tsukishima would tell Kuroo what he’d seen, but the blond seems to have decided that it’s none of his business what happens in this club tonight. Keiji’s grateful for it, especially now that he can see Tsukishima slipping out of the booth, his hand tight in Kuroo’s and both their faces flushed from whatever they’d just talked about. They disappear in the direction of the bathroom, and Keiji snorts to himself.

“‘s one way to do it,” he mumbles, and you lean toward him heavily.

“Hah?” you say, your body pressed against his. “What’dya say?”

“Nothin’,” he slurs, shaking his head. And then he looks down at you, taking you in. Taking in the fact that the two of you have been left alone here in the dark, still visible but not noticeable. He shifts his body toward yours, pressing your sides together while he reaches to pluck your drink from your hands. “What’s this?”

“Hey,” you pout, reaching for it, but he just holds it behind him, forcing you to lean up into his face. Your eyes go wide when you realize how close his are, and he grins down at you, open and unfiltered.

“What is it, Y/n? Can I try?”

“No!” you complain, pressing your body against his as you stretch for the drink. Keiji slips his free arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Just one sip?”

Your outstretched hand drops to his shoulder, and you say nothing about the arm he has around you. “You’re annoying,” you mumble, glaring hazily up at him. “Get yer own drink.”

He tilts his head toward you, the tequila in his breath mixing with the vodka in yours. “But I wanna taste yours,” he whispers, and your cheeks warm – he hadn’t meant anything sexual by it, but he’s not complaining if you’re taking it that way.

He lifts your drink to his lips, keeping his eyes on you and reveling in the way yours drop to his mouth, and takes a sip. It’s just a Vodka Cranberry, which he’d already guessed by the scent of your breath. He puts it back down on the table, letting you have it again. “Thank you,” he jokes.

“Whatever,” you mutter, cradling the drink again. “Why’ve you been so mean to me this week?”

“Aw,” he coos. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yeah,” you say plainly, pouting. “You made me mad. Made me wanna do bad things.”

Desire spikes in Keiji’s body. “What kinda bad things?”

“Made me wanna be mean to you, too,” you say, oblivious to the way Keiji’s looking at you now. “Made me wanna hurt your feelings, too.”

“You did do that,” he says, laughing at you. “You were so mean.”

“Not mean enough!” you argue, leaning comfortably against him as he holds you. His hand gravitates from his lap to yours, the fingers he’d just had on your drink now cold and damp against your heated skin. You shiver at his touch, and he feels his jeans start to tighten. He draws small circles into your thigh with the pad of his middle finger, his intentions plausibly deniable even though his knuckles brush up against the hem of your dress every time.

“You don’t think calling my work ‘isolated and inapplicable’ is mean enough?” he coos down at you, watching with satisfaction as your lips part and you let out a shaky breath, because his middle finger is slipping once under the hem of your dress before completing the circle. He feels a shock of excitement fly down his spine and spread out across his skin, that live wire sparking in his chest.

He glances out briefly at the dance floor, confirming that Bokuto and Yachi are still jumping around and that Kuroo and Tsukishima have completely disappeared. He’s glad to know that he has more time with you. More time to slide his cold fingers across your flushed skin, more time to feel your body press tight to his. The thought of getting caught like this – with his arm wrapped around you and his fingers hidden under your dress – passes through his mind, and he can’t help that the live wire crackles dangerously, or that his jeans are uncomfortably tight on him now. But, still, he’s glad that no one’s seeing what’s going on over here.

He doesn’t want to share this with anyone else quite yet.

“Hey,” you grumble in his ear, low and whiny enough to make his cock twitch painfully. You grip his face with one hand, turning him back to you. Keiji stares down at you with wide eyes, his breath caught in his chest when you glare up at him and mumble, “You’re not payin’ attention t’me.”

He lets out a weak laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry – were you saying somethin’ important?”

Your pout deepens, and Keiji feels himself leaning toward you, his eyes fixated on your mouth.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I was talkin’ about how you deserve to be bullied.”

He huffs in amused disbelief, just staring down at you. “Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“I have a question.”

“Mm?” You tilt your head, attention his. He starts running his fingers over your skin again, watching when you shiver.

“Are we still meeting tomorrow? Or was I too mean this week?” He swallows hard, hoping you’ll understand what he’s asking. If things are too tense between you – if the arrangement can’t be recovered, after all of his screw-ups this week. 

Your eyes widen, flitting between his, and he grows a little nervous. But then your face warms, and you shift under his fingers, and your eyes drop quickly to his mouth before lifting again.

“I thought we were…” you breathe. “Are we not?”

His skin hums with the need to feel you underneath him again, the possibility of having that tomorrow night no longer hanging in the balance. But still, he has to check. “Not gonna find someone else to fuck ‘n throw me away?”

You giggle at his quote of your own words, and you shake your head. “Unfortunately for me, there’s no one else who meets all my requirements.” You grin up at him, your eyes full of humor, as though what you say next is stupidly obvious.

“‘s gotta be you, 'Kaashi.”

Keiji really regrets sleeping with you.

–

On Wednesday at 7:30pm, you find yourself slapping your hand around on the bedside table for the alarm that’s going off. You find your phone, shutting it off and tossing it down on the bed next to you. 

You’d woken up at 7am this morning, dreadfully hungover, and dragged yourself to campus to teach. You’d stayed in the department until the very first moment that you were no longer needed, and then you’d Uber’d home, throwing your stuff on the floor in your foyer and climbing back into bed.

You repeat the process now, but you feel significantly better after the extra sleep. Instead of the hangover, however, your brain is burdened by the knowledge that Akaashi will be showing up at your door in thirty minutes. You groan, not for the first time today, at the memory of the humiliating things you’d said and done last night. At the way you’d draped yourself all over him and pouted up at him like an idiot, admitting that he’d gotten to you with his behavior this week.

At the way you’d admitted that there can be no one but him in this stupid arrangement.

You grumble the entire time you wait, stomping around the apartment until you hear his knock at your door.

When you wrench the door open, he looks mildly unsettled, and you know that means he’s as nervous as you.

“Hi.” He shifts his weight awkwardly, hoisting his duffel bag high on his shoulder. He flits his eyes around your face and then down to your pajamas, brows lifting. “Did you just wake up?”

“I took a five-hour nap,” you sigh, letting him in.

“Did you not eat dinner?” he asks, setting his bag down in the spot by the couch that’s slowly becoming his.

“No,” you mumble, wandering into the kitchen and digging through the pantry. “Not super hungry, anyway – just hungover.”

“Oh.” His voice sounds a bit tense, and you realize belatedly that he might have been asking if you wanted to eat dinner with him. You purse your lips, groaning to yourself. Things are still uncomfortable with him – how could they not be? You’ve spent the week bouncing back and forth between being insatiably furious with him and completely folding whenever he gets too close. Even if he seems to have reciprocated some of the confusing feelings wracking your brain lately, it can’t be easy to be dragged back and forth by your mood swings.

You emerge from the kitchen holding out a packet of smores pop-tarts to him, the strawberry flavor open in your other hand. He stares down at it and then takes it, eyes on yours. “Thanks.”

“Your leftovers from Saturday are still there,” you offer, nodding back to the kitchen. “If you want them.”

“Man, you really do hate kung pao chicken,” he jokes lamely, swallowing hard as he opens the silver packaging. You wander toward your room with an awkward sigh. 

“Uhm… how many videos should we film today?” You flick your lights on and move to the closet, leaving your pop-tarts on the dresser. There’s a creak in your doorway, and you glance back to find Akaashi leaning against the door frame, his fingers tapping on the crinkly wrapper while he chews slow and drags his eyes around your room.

“Dunno… Three? Four?” He flicks his eyes to you and then away again. “Same deal as last time? Foreplay first, then sex?”

You nod, digging through your drawer full of lingerie. You look him over briefly, ignoring when he tenses under your gaze. He’s wearing baggy, light blue jeans and a form-fitting black t-shirt, tucked into his belt. You hum, plucking a simple white set from the dresser and then reaching into your closet for a pair of shorts and a baby pink graphic tee, a cute strawberry drawn on the front. You brandish the clothes at him in question.

“Girl-next-door enough?”

He nods, eyes lingering on the white lace in your left hand. “Sweet and innocent.”

You shrug jokingly. “Just like me.”

“Yeah, okay,” he snorts, shaking his head. You don’t move, and he lifts his brows at you as he’s lifting the chocolate-filled pastry to his mouth. “What?”

“Uh…” You give him an expectant look. “I have to change.”

“Oh–” He lifts off the door frame and turns in place, staring out into your living room. “Is this good?”

You roll your eyes and strip from your pajamas, tossing your shirt at the back of his head. He chokes on his snack upon contact, and you laugh while you pull the lingerie on. He clears his throat quietly.

“So… you think my research is inapplicable-”

You groan, your shoulders tensing in preparation for a fight. “Please, not now, Akaashi-”

“I’m just wondering if you meant that, or…” His voice is joking, and you know he’s just talking shit in order to fill the silence, but you’re still a little rough when you brush past him, fully dressed now.

“You know I didn’t,” you admit quietly, padding over to the spare room and hearing when he follows. “You said it yourself  – I’m not stupid enough to believe that.”

“But you said it.”

“You say a lot of things, too.” You glance at him while you fluff the pillows on the bed. “What is this? Why are you picking a fight right now?”

He shakes his head simply. “Just making conversation.”

“Well, can you make conversation about anything else-”

“Like what?” he argues. “We can talk about research, or we can talk about what positions you want me to fuck you in today-”

“Okay,” you say, flushing. And then you swallow. “What… positions are we doing?”

Any heat that had been in his eyes melts away, and he lets out a breathless laugh. “Seriously?” When you shrug, a smile crosses his lips briefly before he’s smothering it. “Which one’s your favorite?”

Your eyes go wide, and you start to fluff the pillows more aggressively now, your face burning. “They’re all fine.”

“No,” he jokes, stepping close. You’d left your phone on the dresser by the door, and he brings it with him when he approaches you. “You definitely have a favorite.” He slips the device into your awaiting hand. “Tell me.”

You square your shoulders, scrolling through your apps to dim the string lights and change the color, bathing the room in a soft, pink glow. “It’s doggy,” you say without looking at him. “But they’re all fine.”

“Doggy,” he breathes back, nodding. “Understood.”

“Whatever,” you bite, gesturing to the bed in embarrassment. “Can we–?” 

He lifts his brows with a grin, waving you toward it. “By all means.”

You sigh, climbing onto the bed and pointing toward the selfie stick you keep on the desk. “I’ll just hold the phone for this first part.” Akaashi goes to get it, and you slot the phone into it with ease. “Okay. Ready.”

He props himself up next to you, both of you leaning against the headboard. You click record and fix the zoom, centering yourself in the frame.

“Okay,” you breathe, settling for looking at him in the camera, because you don’t know if you’re brave enough to meet his eye right now. “We’re good. Uhm…” You think quickly about how this should go. “Just look at something on your phone, maybe, and then come in whenever you think you should.” He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, and you joke nervously. “Not your email, though. Nerd.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a hint of a smile. “Dumbass.”

You smile, refocusing the camera until neither of your faces are visible. You mess with your hair, watching the ends of it flutter on the screen, and trail your hand down your chest, kneading your breasts slowly and letting out slightly performative sighs. Your fingers dance along your thighs and between your legs briefly, and you see in the frame that Akaashi’s thumb has stopped scrolling. You don’t turn to look at him, but you do smile to yourself, watching his wrist start to go limp as he watches you, distracted. 

When you slide your hands under your shirt, your fingers moving the fabric as you squeeze and touch, Akaashi slowly moves to put his phone on the table. He shifts closer, turning his body toward yours, and his hand slides across your thigh. The touch makes you shiver, his palm searing hot on your skin and his fingers kneading at the inside of your thigh appreciatively. You hear him breathe in sharply, and then he presses his chest to your shoulder and drops his head to your neck.

The feeling of his lips on your skin is more intense than it had been on Saturday. You have no idea how, but you’re impossibly more sensitive tonight, and even the breath that fans over your throat between kisses has you panting. He sets two fingers on the wrist that you have hidden under your shirt, tugging your arm away from your body and angling you so he can fill the space.

His hand disappears under your top, and a quiet moan falls past your lips – because he’s cupping your breast, his palm warmer and larger than yours. You start to tremble, your stomach flipping with anticipation and desire every time his fingers move against you. You don’t know why everything feels so different tonight than it had only four days ago, but it feels like Akaashi’s experiencing the same.

His breath is ragged in your ear, and his lips are shaking slightly on your skin, even though all he’s done is touch you. His hand moves over your body almost nervously, fingers exploring in a way that falsely reminds you of anxious inexperience.

You turn toward him. “What’s with you?” you whisper, looking him over with wide eyes. He lifts his head, and you see that his pupils are blown wide. His cheeks are flushed slightly, and his lips are parted and wet. 

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. And then he tugs on your shirt. “Take this off.”

You hand him the camera stick, and he makes sure to keep you in frame when you peel your shirt off and toss it to the end of the bed. You kick your shorts off, too, while you’re at it, leaving you in your matching lingerie. He hands the camera back and scoots ever closer to you, his hand sliding across your body impatiently while he presses himself to you. You let your head drop and lean your weight against the headboard, letting him explore as he pleases.

When his fingers start to dip curiously between your thighs, that nervous anticipation is firing up. You spread your legs, breathing hard as you struggle to keep everything in frame, and he wastes no time, his middle two fingers sliding over your clothed core.

“Oh-” you moan loudly, much louder than you’d expected, given that he’s barely touched you.

Akaashi notices it too, it seems, because he lifts his head to stare at you, wide-eyed. “What was that?” he breathes, and you shake your head, your lips pursed in embarrassment.

“I was faking it,” you try, despite knowing what he’d told you last time about that.

He lifts his brows, and you see that it doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t buy it. “Liar.” He touches you again, circling your clit roughly through your panties. Your eyes widen, and your lips tremble when your breath comes out. He stares down at you in wonder, watching with a growing smile as you react much more intensely than you had on Saturday. “You’re sensitive today,” he notes quietly, a little satisfied.

You don’t bother denying it, not when he can clearly see how your body is reacting to him. “So are you,” you just whisper, eyes dropping to the front of his jeans. He’s already hard. “I haven’t touched you at all.”

He shakes his head, his fingers massaging into the wet spot in your panties with purpose. “‘s not a prerequisite.”

You lift your brows at the admission. “Good to know.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not like you’re gonna do anything with that information.” He pushes your panties to the side and touches his fingers to your soaked core, and you both gasp at the feeling. He breathes hard, eyes heated as he stares down at you. “You’re not brave enough.”

“Don’t-” you hiss through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to moan when his fingers push experimentally against your entrance. “-tempt me.” You reach your free hand toward his jeans, fully intent on unzipping them and touching him, but his hand comes down on your wrist – a smack of admonishment, gentle but firm. He narrows his eyes at you when you look at him in shock.

“I’m not gonna make it that easy for you, princess.” He pulls your thigh open over his legs to free up more space for himself, and then he’s dropping his head back to your neck and nudging against your entrance more seriously.

You’re wet enough that it only takes one try for both fingers to push into you, pressed against your walls and stretching you out. 

You gasp, your head falling back and bumping against the wall. “Oh, my God-”

Akaashi’s no better, his mouth open against your throat and his breath sharp and jagged. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his voice distracted and stunned. “Fuck.” 

“I’m,” you start, swallowing hard when he starts to move. “I’m not gonna last long-”

He groans, curling his fingers inside you and pressing hard against that spongy spot that makes you nervous. “I want you to squirt for me,” he breathes into your ear.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “What?” you say, high-pitched and shaky. “It’s-That’s not easy-”

You’re lying. It is easy for you, scarily so. And with the length of Akaashi’s fingers – with the way he knows how to press up against that spot every single time – it’s going to be so embarrassingly easy that you’re worried you might never live it down.

“I want it,” he breathes, persistent. He sounds a little urgent, bordering on desperate. “I want you to make a mess on my fingers.”

You whine, squirming against him as he picks up speed. You feel it forming, that pressure that’s different from the normal coil in your navel. “Uhm-I-” Your breath picks up, and his palm slaps against your skin when he slams his fingers into you again. The sting of it, repeated twice more, shoves you closer and closer to that dangerous pressure. “Mm-I’m gonna-” you heave, your body trembling in his arms and your hands struggling to keep the camera straight.

“Give it to me,” he whispers, groaning when your walls start to tighten around his fingers. “Be good and give it to me.”

You black out.

You black out, and you have no idea what happens when you do. You can’t feel anything, your entire body numb and light, floating on nothing. You feel your muscles spasm sporadically with the aftershocks, but you have no idea what had happened to get you here. Your hands are limp on the bed, but you can’t bring yourself to care if the camera had captured the moment. You feel Akaashi’s fingers still inside you – still moving – but you can’t do much more than listen as he pants in your ear and whispers ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ against the side of your head.

When you finally come to, you realize that you’re lying in a puddle. And Akaashi is hovering over you, his face flushed and his eyes full of disbelief and a burning heat.

“‘zzat good?” you slur, your head slumping against his shoulder, and he laughs against you, shaking his head.

“Holy shit, Y/n,” he breathes, laughing harder. “That was-fuck.” He jostles you gently. “Are you… Let me get you some water,” he says, shifting you, but you groan in protest.

“Did you come?” you breathe, dazed, and peel your eyes open to look at him.

“No.” 

“Then take your pants off,” you say, plain and direct. He looks into your eyes for just another moment, gaze tracking you and analyzing your energy, but you just level a frown at him. “Do you want to come or not, Akaashi?”

His brows lift, and his eyes flick down to the soaked blanket under you. When his gaze finds yours again, that heat is back.

He stands quickly, leaving you to shake the numbness out of your bones as he strips and moves impatiently to get the tripod. He sets your phone up with practiced fingers, and you sit up, shaking your head to clear it and sliding your panties and bra off.

“God, that was intense,” you breathe with a laugh. He glances back at you, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“You sure you’re good?”

“Super good.” You nod once, and then you beckon him toward you. “Hurry up, before I start to care what you think again and get embarrassed that that just happened.”

His burst of laughter echoes off the walls, and you feel pride at having drawn it out of him.

And then he climbs over you, and everything that’s not him fades into the background.

His eyes are steady on yours, but he moves with a decided lack of control, and that – his urgency – makes you more nervous than anything else. You lie back against the pillow and spread your legs for him, watching with bated breath as he shoves his boxers off impatiently and slots himself between your thighs. He leans over you, and one of his hands clamps down over your mouth while he lines himself up at your entrance.

He takes a breath, eyes flicking to yours, and you see the anticipation in them. Like he’d been waiting for this all week.

You’d been waiting, too, you realize.

He sinks into you in one press of his hips, and your back bows off the mattress. You moan loud against his palm, your eyes rolling back, and the groan he lets out – unfiltered, desperate – embeds itself into your skin. You struggle to breathe, to find your lungs when all you can feel is Akaashi inside you.

Your eyes focus and unfocus, searching uselessly for him while he slams his other hand down on the headboard to steady himself before setting a pace that makes your vision flicker. Your hands fly up, too, pressing back against the headboard to keep you from crashing into it. 

Akaashi’s hand falls from your mouth when he realizes that you’re not making noise, and it becomes clear that you can’t. Your mouth just hangs open, breath ragged and short while you gasp. Your eyes meet his, and he grins down at you.

“How’s that, princess?” he teases, panting tightly. “Still wanna find someone else to fuck? Or am I really the only one?”

He’s taunting you, torturing you. It makes some part of you angry – the part that hates him, so distant right now – and you try to argue.

“You’re only bitching-” You gasp sharply when the head of his cock bumps against your g-spot, scarily accurate like last time. “-because you got what you wanted-”

His next breath comes in a low growl, and he angles his hips so that he can hit your weak spot more easily. Your body shakes with each slam of his hips against yours, but you hold onto a shred of your sanity.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s so needy for me-”

“Look in the mirror, asshole,” you bite, using every ounce of your energy to keep this up. But he presses two fingers against the seam of your lips, shoving them into your mouth. You choke around them, and he moans, because your walls flutter tightly around his cock at the feeling of his fingertips hitting the back of your throat.

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up and get me off,” he snaps, gritting his teeth when your tongue curls wantonly around his fingers. “Maybe if you’re good at it, I’ll let you come again.”

You whine, despite yourself, and feel that twinge of need – the one that had reared its ugly head on Saturday. The need to give him what he wants, to fold for him and do what he says.

And then it hits you–

That this is what you’d felt all week.

That the gnawing in your chest and the frustration in your bones and the disorienting need to get his attention – good or bad – is exactly this. This need to bend to Akaashi Keiji’s will, because he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

You’re filled with an overwhelming rage, and you nip your teeth against his fingers – not hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to shock his system.

Akaashi’s eyes go wide, and he hisses and draws his fingers from your mouth, wet and dripping saliva on your skin. “What the fuck?”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you snarl, one of your hands leaving the headboard to shove against his chest. He stops moving, sitting up on his knees and staring down at you in confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

You shove him again, and he catches your wrist, his eyebrows furrowing.

“You’ve been messing with me all week on purpose,” you spit, and then you sit up, startling him. You use the moment to latch onto him and roll him onto his back, swinging your leg over his waist and straddling him. He stares up at you, wide-eyed, as you try to take control of this. “You’ve been hot and cold, and rude and flirty,” you snap, lifting your hips just enough to sink down onto him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his eyes roll back briefly, a quiet moan slipping past his lips. You plant your hands on his chest, finding a rhythm in his lap that has him gripping your waist tight. You grit your teeth and talk through the waves of pleasure, the ones that start in the crown of your head and make it hard to focus.

“You teased me at the party. And then you acted like I didn’t exist at the coffee shop.” You struggle to keep your breath, your movements growing unstable. His eyes search yours, alarmed.

“What-”

“You acted like I was a burden all day on Monday, and then you fucked with my head in the stairwell.” You glare down at him, hating wide-eyed way he’s watching you. “You fought with me in my office – you liked fighting with me-” You thump your fist weakly down on his chest while you bounce in his lap, angry – but not angry enough. It’s starting to fade into something else. Frustration that he’d played you, and confusion that he looks so confused. “And then you treated me like I was the only thing you could see at that stupid fucking club last night.”

The humilation creeps in – the embarrassment that you’d let this happen. You’d let him humiliate you. It makes your eyes prickle, and you squeeze them shut angrily. Akaashi slides his fingers roughly into your hair, holding tight when you try to shove him away.

“I hate you,” you say, choked and upset and refusing to look at him.

“Listen to me-”

“I hate you-”

“Listen to me.” He fists your hair tighter, jostling your head with enough urgency that your eyes fly open to find his. He’s glaring up at you now. “I’m not doing any of this on purpose.” You’d stopped moving in his lap at some point, too overwhelmed, but he bends his knees now, angling you against his thighs. You gasp when he starts to move, thrusting his hips up and using his one-handed grip on your waist to keep you steady.

“You think I wanted this?” he barks, snapping his hips up and bouncing you roughly against him. “You think I wanted to lose face at that fucking meeting? You think I wanted to fight in the stairwell like that?” His face twists into an angry scowl, and it’s your turn to be confused. “You think I want to get drunk and be unable to keep my hands off you? Huh?”

What-

What?

Akaashi’s hand slides out of your hair, dropping to the base of your throat. His fingers wrap around your neck, and your stomach flips with desire when he squeezes tight. You sigh in relief, the feeling of his palm against your throat when you swallow heavenly. He uses his grip to pull you close, until your nose brushes his. He sets a brutal pace with his hips, fucking up into you while he stares you down angrily.

“You know better than that,” he hisses. 

You start to shake over him, your desire mounting. “I-”

“You do know better, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice dangerously even. His eyes burn with anger. “Why are you acting like that? You told me you were smart.” His voice shakes a little, and you can see him struggling to keep up – his cheeks flush and his ears burn red, and he’s starting to pant, broken in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“I am,” you whisper, a bit whiny now. “I am smart – you’re just too confusing.”

The anger in his eyes solidifies into something worse. Something cruel and wicked.

“Then stop trying so fucking hard,” he snarls, slamming his hips up into you. You dig your nails into his shoulders, his sharp inhale clear in your ears. “Stop trying to figure this out.”

You shake your head hard. “I won’t. I can’t-”

“Oh, you can’t?” He mocks, and the edge in his voice kicks and shoves you right to your orgasm. “You won’t, is that it? Even though I just told you I’m not doing this on purpose?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The idea that Akaashi’s just as affected as you are – just as much a victim to whatever this is as you are – fills you with a terrifying feeling. A feeling close to freedom, close to something that makes you want to throw everything away and give in to him. Because it’s not his fault, either, then. Because – if he’s not doing this intentionally – then there’s no one to blame.

And if there’s no one to blame, then you’re going to stop fighting the way you feel around him.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes open without your permission. Cyan stares back.

“You think I’m doing this on purpose?” He’s breathless and frustrated, searching your face. “Look at me.” His eyes are filled with emotion – that same caution you feel, not wanting to give into this if you’re not going to give in with him. His grip tightens on your throat, and he pulls you close, whispering into the breath of space between your lips.

“You know me better than that.”

When he falls, he takes you with him. And, as much as you want to fight it – kicking and screaming – you don’t. 

You just wrap yourself around him and fall.

[emmyrosee]

suna and 11? CONGRATS EMMY!!!!

THANK YOU ANGEL FACE 🥹🩷

anonymous said 11. Suna and maybe u can tie it with ur recent post and possibly make them break up??? ❤️

11 with Suna… Argument 💔

There’s a deep rooted insecurity suna rintaro holds.

It’s not one he talks about often, nor do you bring it up, because it’s dumb, it’s a stupid little thing that you both know doesn’t make a difference in your relationship, yet Rintaro always finds himself harping and beating himself up over it.

Right now is no exception, as you stand across from him with your hands scrubbing your face, clearly exhausted by the fight.

“I don’t think of Osamu like that!”

“You sure had a hell of a time showing it!”

You had a crush on Osamu first.

Way back when rintaro wasn’t even into you, he couldn’t have known you from some random soul, you had feelings for osamu, but you never acted on them because you assumed he never liked you back- not to mention his insane fan girls. You kept your distance until you moved on; only to meet Rintaro in college, recognizing each other about three weeks in, where your feelings for him started to bloom.

You’d let it slip to him once when recounting high school memories how you fell hard for the dark haired twin, and while yes, it made rintaro tense up, you assured him it was over. You were done with him.

Yet every time you hang out with the group, Rintaro feels that same jealousy creep up his spine.

“God, when will it click for you that I love you!” You cry, desperate for him to hear you. “You! Only you! For five years Rintaro, it’s only ever been you!”

“Don’t act like you still don’t-“

“I DONT!” You bark. “I don’t! Whatever you’re about to say, I. Don’t. Because I do, with you!”

He feels sick to his stomach at this point, your sharp words to him only translating as a defense against his words, desperate to keep something hidden.

Not as a genuine frustration.

“I think you should go be with Osamu,” he snarls. “Since your so comfortable getting him drinks and putting your hands on him-“

“I wasn’t making out with the kid, I was patting his back after a joke!”

“-and maybe you should be with him since he’s just soo funny-“

“MAYBE I WILL!” You shriek.

The plates in the kitchen settle and the doors creak softly at the force of your yells, and your eyes glimmer with remorse but your face harbors exhaustion.

“…what?” He croaks.

“Maybe I should go be with literally anyone else,” you choke. “Since you think I’m flirting with anyone and everyone in the goddamned circle-“

“Wait- no, I just-“

“I don’t care what you do,” you whimper. “I’m sick of your jealousy. I’m sick of your hatred of my friendship with some kid who couldn’t give a fuck about me- you literally picked up the pieces of me he shattered, yet you still think there’s a chance I could love him?” You scoff, “you’re ridiculous.”

He sobers up as you throw your arms out in defeat, “I’m so… tired, of the accusations, Rintaro. I’ve given you five years of unconditional love and gratitude. And all you can boil me down to is someone who had a crush in high school?”

“I’m just so worried to lose you,” he says, voice breaking.

“Yeah? Well, you’ve lost me.” You take a step back and gnaw on your lip, “I’m going to go. Think long and thorough about this. But just know, I’ll always love you. Even if you’ve never trusted me.”

“No, no, no, please, don’t leave-“

“I’ll talk to you later…. Okay?”

He’s never going to hear from you again. This, he knows.

The door closes, and he wipes his tearful eyes with the back of his head, slipping out his phone to look at your happy smiling face again, one he took off the face of the earth with his jealousy.

There’s a black screen that faces back to him. It won’t turn on. He groans and hucks the thing across the room, hearing it clang somewhere far enough away.

He’ll deal with it in the morning. For now, he’s got some wallowing to plan out.

[residenthughes]

persuasion - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x fem reader

word count: 5.7k

tags/warnings: college/university au, fluff, slight angst?, fratboy! jack (he's sweet in this, dw), mentions of alcohol/drinking, no mention of y/n

summary: you get a bit more than you bargained for when paired up with all-american hockey star, jack hughes.

notes: hi. it's been a (long) while since i've posted on here. not to mention, i'm back writing about someone a bit different 😭 but i've recently gotten into the nhl and this fic is the result of me drunkenly coming across this photo a few days ago. despite the changes on this blog, i hope this post finds you well and that you enjoy this (poor) attempt of me getting back into writing. much love <3

The end of the semester couldn’t have come sooner. Swapped with what was possibly the busiest you’ve ever been, the sweet relief after submitting your last assignment was unparalleled and lulled you to a much deserved slumber, only to be awoken by a barrage of messages pinging from your bedside table. Disgruntled, your arm extends in search of your phone, groaning into your damp pillow as you blink away the tired film coating your eyes and read the messages from your best friend.

frat house party tonight, presence is mandatory! 

all the girlies are onboard, your sexy ass better be ready by 9!

Another groan emits from you, exhaustion seeping through your bones at the mere mention of doing something else besides rotting in bed. You’re about to type some incoherent excuse, but your best friend beats you to it.

apparently, z and his guys are going. 

chances are jack’s there too.

There’s a messy stutter in your chest upon reading the message and suddenly, you’re more awake than before as you gingerly sit yourself up in your bed. Of course, she’d mention he was going just to convince you further. You weren’t even aware she knew of your crush. Considering you hadn’t mentioned him much besides when asked, his name being referenced feels more intrusive than it should be. Then again, as perceptive as she is, there was no denying the fact.

Jack and yourself had worked on a group project earlier in the semester, which is how the two of you had crossed paths. Upon hearing of the task at hand, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh because you were never a fan of working with others you didn’t know, but considering none of your friends took your class, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get to know others and build your social circle. When your assigned group had got together towards the end of the lecture to discuss formalities and such, you hadn’t expected the whirlwind that was to come in the presence of a sandy brunette haired boy. 

Jack is as easy-going as he is charming. Cracks a couple jokes and suddenly, all the ice isolating your group dissolves to water and there are constant hums of conversation bouncing off every member of your group. He’s nice too, considerate of everyone’s schedule and what tasks they felt confident in completing, never uttering a word of complaint unless warranted. It’s interesting, he’s interesting, you think to yourself. Perhaps due to the fact that since he’d revealed himself to be in a frat, you had some preconceived notions as to what his personality would be like and maybe at times, he’d fit that stereotype to a tee, there were other times he’d stray away from it completely and leave you curious as ever.

Peculiar is what you’d describe those few weeks to be, your interest gravitating towards any relation to Jack. Heart beating as you walked past your university’s ice arena, knowing he practically lived on the ice beyond his time in class. Eyes lighting up when he texted in the group chat, mental fuzziness plaguing you every time you sat across from one another as you completed your portion of work in the university’s library. You’d be a fool to dismiss the budding attraction you felt towards him, spinning your world round but also leaving you feeling so unsure of everything, yourself included. There’s no scarcity of girls who like him, it proved to be difficult resisting the All-American hockey star with looks to match. However, taking into account the sheer volume of attention directed his way everyday, your lingering glances didn’t seem to be much more significant. So, one-sided this crush remains to you, storing away the quiet memories of shared laughs and time spent together in a place close to your heart. 

That was until he invited you to his game, shortly after your project had been submitted for assessment. You wanted to go, you wanted to go so badly that you agonised over the decision for longer than necessary, but ultimately, as you laid awake that night, eyes blazing red with fatigue, doom scrolling to further delay your dreams, the evidence for your answer surfaced. It was nothing but a silly Instagram post from one of his friends, Trevor Zegras, the boyfriend to one of your friends. A collection of typical photos: the boys, hockey and more of the antics they got to. It’s in the last slide where in the background of a recent football game is none other than Jack, in all his handsome glory, grinning ear to ear as a girl envelopes him in a hug that feels too intimate to be seen. Embarrassment runs your skin hot and jealousy leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the thought of you entertaining anything more than platonic with Jack a pipedream at best. Naturally, there can be so many explanations for the photo, but what rings true is that you’ve made yourself vulnerable to heartbreak, which is nowhere to be found on your agenda. So, you call it a night, turning off your phone and hoping to put the crush behind you come tomorrow.

And, it works for a bit. Jack doesn’t text you further and you don’t run into him on campus. Summer soon approaches and the last few days before your break have you buzzing with excitement for all the plans you have lined up. Your world doesn’t hinge on every interaction you have with Jack and your mind is freed from the shackles of mulling over every detail in said interaction. It’s liberating and you’d like to keep it that way. A fleeting crush, you reason, all said and done with. A mantra you repeat to yourself as you respond back to your best friend, gleaming as you and your group chat discuss outfits options and pinterest inspired makeup looks. 

-

There’s nothing better than being with your girls, you’re reminded, as the buzzing excitement never fizzles as the night stretches on. Controlled chaos dominates the night as you pack into one friend’s rooms to get ready together, helping each other with eyelash extensions and annoying back zippers. Someone makes the suggestion to drop by the campus bar for a drink or two, just to ease the nerves, and it turns out to be a great idea because by the time you stumble out of the bar and towards the frat house, the party’s in full swing. 

Trashed lawn and red cup galore, the music somehow manages to reach outside the house with hoards of people dotted around and inside the house. With the merry buzz you’ve got from the bar, confidence details your movements as you lead your friends with clasped hands into the packed house, mumbling a thousand ‘sorry’s as you trample on through the crowded hallways to find yourselves in one (?) of the living rooms. 

Hands suddenly grasp at yours and you’re thrown into a fit of giggles as your friends tangle themselves up in a messy but fun dance. You follow suit, fully relishing in the euphoria of the night and the found family you have in these girls as you dance and chatter until you have no choice to venture into the kitchen for a refreshment. 

Surprisingly, the kitchen is vacant as you push through towards its door you were directed to, scanning the room amongst belongings to find some mixer for your helping of vodka stashed away in your purse. Despite your better judgement, you resort to apprehensively searching through cupboards on your tippy toes in search for mixer and as you’re about to open the last cupboard, the kitchen door opens. 

“Looking for something?”

Goosebumps arise and your heart stills. You know that voice like the back of your hand, the same voice that echoes in the back of your mind and whispers sweet nothings in your ear when you dream. The fact that he’s so ingrained in your memory makes you curse at yourself, teeth gnawing on the plumpiness of your bottom lip as you attempt to recollect your racing thoughts. With a quiet breath, you sink back from your elevated posture and turn towards the source of the voice, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

It’s comical how such a simple sight renders you a loss for words. In the doorway of the large kitchen stands Jack, shoulder and head leaning against the doorframe as he looks at you with an expectant look and a cheeky grin to match. His legs are crossed at the ankles and he’s holding a beer, but he’s got this pearl white long sleeved polo on with washed out jeans and a black snapback to top it all off. The outfit in itself is so simple and yet, here you are, heart being sent into overdrive as the effortless combo drives you wild. Sets your skin alight and conjures up electricity that pulses through you like wildfire.

“Lemonade,” you gracefully croak out, gesturing towards your empty red cup. “I didn’t bring much to mix my drink with.”

“Here, I’ll help you with that,” he reassures you, bouncing off the door frame as he draws closer to you, your feet absently shifting a few steps backwards. “No need to back up. I don’t bite, you know?”

You huff at the comment, realising how foolish his mere presence makes you and will yourself to relax, shoulders easing down from your ears as you watch Jack search through the cupboards. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, pulling out a large bottle of lemonade that coasts against the marble of the countertop. 

“Feel free to use as much as you like, I never usually have this myself anyways.” insists Jack, turning himself around with his back against the countertop, arms crossed his chest with a peering eye directed to you. 

“How thoughtful of you.” you jester as a brief chuckle is shared between the two of you, the loud thumps of heavy bass music sounding from beyond the kitchen door as silence settles between the two of you. 

“It’s been a while, how’ve you been?” he asks, undivided attention focused on you as you pour the last of the lemonade. If not for the embarrassment of spilling your drink in front of him, the unsolicited awareness he’s currently given you would have resulted in exactly that, so you stop yourself and give him a convincing smile.

“I’ve been good, thanks. It’s the end of the academic year, I have no more complaints,” you muse, bringing the cup to your lips as you peer over the rim to look at Jack, his long lashes fluttering as his focus remains you. Your heartbeat picks up its pace. “What about you? Frozen four’s a big deal, but winning the championship is even bigger.”

Jack gives a lighthearted laugh, smugness adjusting his posture as his shoulders move back and his chest puffs out. Meanwhile, he gives this half shrug and grin that has heat gravitating towards the apples of your cheeks. It’s one of the things you like about Jack, how confident and sure of himself he is without it being overbearing and unappealing. It feels assuring, not having to dim your own light for the sake of his own comfort. 

“Yeah, that was nuts, I can’t lie. We had a really good run and I think our efforts really showed for themselves in that case,” Jack responds, taking a swig of his beer. “Christ, I sound like I’m talking to the media or something.”

“Well, consider this practice for when you join Jersey in the future,” you simper, snickering as you take a sip of your own drink. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun speaking to the media.”

He gives an eyeroll, amusement prominent in the way his eyes twinkle and you can't help but laugh more. “So you say. How did you even know about Jersey?”

Your laugh is cut short, ice cold realisation washing over you like a bad hangover as his words hang in the air like a gauntlet waiting for its descent. Of course, this was nothing to be caught off-guard by considering how much your university boasts about how Jack, amongst other talented players, were drafted before committing to your university. However, the painful memory of you awake one late night doesn’t escape you, said night spent hesitantly typing his name into Google to come across all the info you knew to confirm how great of a hockey player he was. You feel shameful even looking him in the eyes right now.

So, your eyes stray from him, the somewhat sticky floor being the source of all your interest. “Who doesn’t know? Our uni does a good job of reminding us of everyone that’s been drafted.” 

You decide to spare a glance at Jack, taking in how a pinkish hue decorates the surface of his cheeks as his lone hand goes to scratch the back of his neck. The timidity that clouds his movement evokes a simper out of you, one that you direct into your cup, its contents rapidly draining under the weight of your continued conversation.

“Oh, man. Maybe, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he jokes, smile all pearly white and heart fluttering. “Can’t blame a guy for being nervous, no?”

“Nerv-”

Suddenly, the kitchen door bursts open and a flood of drunken students come barrelling in, hollering as their drinks splash to the floor and chaos ensues. You’re just as confused at their unexpected appearance as you are at the comment Jack made, but before you have a chance to ponder further, a warm hand settles against the small of your back followed by the gentle waft of Jack’s aftershave, a mixture sea salt with a hint of lavender and spicy nutmeg. It takes everything in you for your knees not to buckle.

“Let’s head out back.” he whispers, breath fanning over your neck as his fingertips ignite fire against your skin. 

Abruptly, you clear your throat, mindlessly nodding along as you blindly follow him out back, Jack’s larger build serving as a shield of sorts as he seamlessly navigates his way through the hordes of students. He does so with your hand in his and as much as your internal monologue unleashes panicked squeals at the contact, you revel in his touch - calloused hands that hold yours like porcelain, warm hands that match together like the universe and all its stars. 

A cool breeze blankets your skin and your focus shifts from your inner thoughts, taking in the generous and lush green outdoor space with sparse camping chairs circling a bonfire and a large tree further up ahead draped in fairy lights. There’s some people here too, but the atmosphere is a 180 from the mayhem inside, hushed light-hearted conversations exchanged beside the lit bonfire with the faint smell of weed filtering through the crisp air. The dazzling fairy lights blind you into bumping into Jack’s back, apologising with a laugh before he collapses onto the daisy white hammock before you. 

You follow suit with the carefree attitude Jack gives you, but you miscalculate horrendously because you don’t fall into the place beside your crush, but into his lap. Shock runs through your veins like ice as your bewilderment freezes you in place, mouth gaping open as you turn to face Jack in absolute horror. He seems to fare better with the unexpected contact, enlarged azure eyes showing his awe and yet his hands are in all the right places - supporting your waist as your weightless body struggles to hold its own. 

“I’m-“ the hairs on your neck are standing and you’re close to crying, the heat of your mortification burning your body hot like a furnace. “-so sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t even-“

“Relax, you’re good,” the chill of his beer against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, the feeling intensifying by the thousands as Jack’s thumb gives your exposed skin the smallest caress. You’re sure you’re the personification of shock at how every inch of your features displays pure alarm. “Unless this was your plan?”

You’re shoving him before your brain is able to comprehend its commands, your flustered state leaping out of his lap and collapsing back alongside him this time, hands clasped over your eyes as you take the time to maybe calm down. “What frat house even has a hammock anyways?”

“Rachel - Z’s girl - thought it’d be a nice touch for the garden,” you hear Jack mumble, but you’re too busy nursing your ego to fully immerse in conversation. “You’re friends with her, right? You guys came in together.” 

“Keeping an eye out for me, Hughes?” 

Apparently, your ego isn’t as bruised to make such a comment, a smirk finding itself onto the surface of your face as you’ve yet to remove your hand from your vision.

“It’s hard to keep my eyes off you.” 

You freeze in place, the heaviness in your stomach incomparable with the hammering of your heart against your chest as your brain picks apart Jack’s comment at the speed of light. None of the comments Jack has made throughout your entire conversation have gone over your head, the flirty undertones as clear as day. He wasn’t as up front with his compliments when you two first started working together, the furthest compliment he’d given denoting how nice you looked despite rolling out of bed twenty minutes beforehand. His directness makes your eyebrows furrow, or rather his intentions have you looking around as if you could find some answers. Perhaps this is how Jack is at parties - all pleasant with a careful flirtation that gradually pulls you inwards. Or maybe, this simply is the case of him showing his interest in you. The concept is not lost on you, but there is still apprehension that manifests within you, for reasons you are yet to discover.

You’re about to say something, your parted lips issuing a single incoherent syllable that dissolves on your tongue when the faint murmur of country music from a group of guys up ahead takes your notice, Jack’s nose scrunching with delight as he exclaims, “Ah, what a banger.”

Your eyebrow quirks upwards, merriment spreading against your features. “I never pegged you as the country type.” 

“Well, I’m not a Drake guy, I’ll tell you that much.” Jack shifts in his seat, extending his arm out behind your back. 

“So, a belieber then?” you jester, taunting eyebrows raised as you can’t keep your snicker to yourself when you watch Jack roll his eyes with the same grin.

“If that makes you happy, then yeah,” Jack reasons nonchalantly, whereas you make a pathetic attempt at stopping the stammer in your chest. “But no, that’s pretty much all that plays when my brothers and I wakesurf in the summer, unless Z is on the aux. Then, he and Quinn have a go at each other for it.”

Chuckles emit from your lips as you picture the image of a sunny summer day out on a boat, Jack’s older brother, Quinn, and Trevor becoming enemies of silence as they bicker over music choices. A warm fuzziness embraces you, the image placing you right beside Jack as laughter bubbles between the two of you whilst Luke wakesurfs in the background. It’s a honeyed depiction, all rose-tinted and for you to hold close to your heart along with other fantasies you allow yourself to entertain.

“We’re planning on going back to our summer house upstate where we do loads of other stuff,” Jack trails off, his fingers tapping against the glass of his bottle as you two share a look between each other. His eyes flicker downwards almost immediately, the top of his ears crimsoning. “You should stop by sometime. It’d be good to see you over the summer.”

For someone as confident as Jack, these rare glimpses of timidity demonstrate themselves as a pure anomaly. So, you can imagine your surprise at not only his incredibly generous offer but also his sheepish demeanour; gaze never aligning with yours as you feel his fingers fiddle with the material of the hammock behind your back. The sight enamours you, a rush of endearment washing over you as you lean into the feeling, not bothering to hide the wide smile growing across the expanse of your face. 

If this is what awaits you at their summer house, you’re already packed and ready to go.

“I could be persuaded.” Jack’s already rolling his eyes and against his better judgement, he finds himself chuckling with you too. 

When your amusement blends into the night sky, Jack's eyelids fall halfway, gaze steady as he mirrors your prior smirk that’s all but gone with the quiet wind. “And, what would that involve?” 

A moment is shared between the two of you. Burning bright like a star and erupting fireworks in your fingertips as your eyes linger on one another longer than explanatory. The landscape of his dotted moles capture your attention first, your sight leading itself to the galaxy-like twinkle dazzling in the ocean blue of his eyes. It’s so precious, this point in time - so delicate and intimate that it feels like a secret, whispers of infatuation pulling you together by their invisible strings as Jack’s extended arm circles your shoulders. You lean in, the temptation of his lips calling your name. Earlier restlessness ceases to exist as your movements read as second nature, the bruising of your chest accompanying the fuzziness that dances in your stomach as Jack leans into too.

“Yo, Jack!”

The moment is all but gone, burst like a bubble as both your heads turn in the direction of the voice, spying one of Jack’s friends, Cole, standing on the porch with a hand clasped around his mouth.

“Get your ass in here, we’re playing Jenga!”

A string of unpleasantries filter through Jack’s mouth in the form of a murmur, remnants of your interrupted kiss lingering as Jack gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and gives you the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen. Puppy eyes and pouty lips, an image you lock away in your heart forever. 

“Did you wanna head in?” He gives you the choice, head tilted to the side as he studies your expression whilst you ponder the inquiry.

The almost kiss is something to behold and if this has occurred weeks prior amidst the intensity of your crush, you would have begged and pleaded to stay, hinging on the hopes of whatever this is being fabricated once again to fulfil your fondness dreams. But, this feels different. It feels sold, as opposed to balancing upon shaky possibilities. This is undeniable, a point in time that is infinite and kissed upon by destiny. A junction you can return to time and time again.

“Yeah, I’m sure my friends are looking for me anyways,” you unravel yourself from Jack’s loose grip, hoisting yourself up before you turn to face him with a soft beam. His expression reads unsure, gaze scattered before he looks upwards before your sneakers knock against his impossibly white Air Forces. You nod towards the house, the giddiness building within you exceptional as your hand extends out to meet his. “Let’s head in together?”

It comes out more of a question than a statement, but you could care less when Jack gives you that soft smile that’s only reserved for you, grabbing a hold of your hand after he brings himself off the hammock before you proceed to return back to the party.

The bustling atmosphere appears to have maintained itself in your absence, hundreds of conversations mixing in with the booming sounds of some bass heavy hip hop song. You nod your head to the beat, grinning when you see familiar faces in the crowd as you trail behind Jack yet again, following him in promise of your friends who Cole had mentioned joined their group’s game of Jenga. You make do with getting down the stairs of the basement without tumbling due to their frigid nature, face instantly lighting up as you catch sight of your friends, collapsing into a fit of excited hugs and shared giggles as you all catch up on the events of the party.

Amidst all the dialogue, some of which you’re assuming Jack’s sorority brothers and friends make quick work of getting the bare room ready, arranging beers for everyone as the box of Jenga is brought out. The weight of concentrated eyes seers into your goosebump-riddled skin and by the time you volunteer to assemble the Jenga tower, you’re more than aware of Jack’s attention on you. Even with how overflowing the confidence you possessed was as you left the back garden, the heat of his gaze reduces you to a sheepish mess, antsy hands uncertain of their movements as you attempt to achieve some standard of normalcy, your eyes avoiding his. It’s when your hands accidentally touch that you cannot avoid it much longer, peering through clumpy eyelashes with a flush that feels as vivid as painted glass. 

A lone corner of his lips inclines, his look of allurement tangled with blatant attraction enough to make you knock over some of the Jenga pieces. A deep chorus of disapproving sounds holler at your actions, your sheepishness fended off by the laughter amongst you and Jack as you continue to assemble the tower again, this serving as the last of your communication before the Jenga game commences.

Every Jenga piece taken out of the tower involves a dare that has laughter erupting from the pits of your stomach or mouth gaping open at the gull others possess whilst intoxicated. With the muffled sounds of the music upstairs and endless talk in the room, merriment captures your heart in a gentle squeeze as the dares carry on, the harmless fun quickly becoming one of your favourite memories in recent times.

It’s your turn to go and the frat guys are already teasing you with endearing nicknames, putting a smile on your face as your hands steady to pull out a tricky Jenga piece with ease. Wooden block in hand, your line of vision skims the chicken scratch of a dare with an effortless glee that’s swiftly replaced with plentiful surprise.

“What does it say?!’ exclaims Trevor, the anticipation in his voice evident as he squeals his words.

You’re reducing to your meek self again, not daring to look upwards as you enunciate your words to aid your own comprehension. “Spend seven minutes in heaven with the player across from you.”

You’re unsure whether the universe has some really good jokes up their sleeve or this is just fate to begin with because when you lift your head up, already knowing, Jack’s amused facial expression speaks for itself.  

Hollers and cheers fill the room, enough pandemonium to make you crimson as you stumble to your feet, casting a peek at your best friend with a cross between disbelief and delight. Your best friend, the same one that texted you about Jack’s presence at the party tonight, bawls her hand into a tight fist, bringing it to her chest as a sign of victory with mischief painted all over her. The ridiculousness of this farce eliminates you from ruminating about what awaits you in the closet a mere metres away. The guy most pleased with the situation opens the closet door, a few brooms pushed back into the compact space that is surprisingly clean with no cobwebs or dust in sight.

“All clean and ready for you two lovebirds,” Trevor grins with the keenness of a kid in a candy store, pushing back his long locks of hair as he sends a wink your way. “Don’t get too carried away in there, you’ve only got seven minutes.”

Jack says something in reply to Trevor’s cheeky comment but you’re too preoccupied by your own thoughts, feet carrying you to the fate of your Jenga dare as the door closes and darkness shrouds you. 

It’s silent for a minute, nothing but soft breaths and dulled whispers from outside the closet door. The closet is dangerously compact, your back up against the wall not sparing you from establishing your own personal space, the slightest shift of your shoes inevitably going to knock against Jack’s. Outside in the back garden feels so far away now, slipping through your hands as if sand with the daunting weight of unsaid expectations folding your arms and clearing a stubborn croak in your throat.

As the seconds tick on and no communication is shared, the everlasting laps you round around your mind exhaust you for the last time and you decide to face whatever this is head on, a start being making eye contact with the man that makes it the hardest thing in the world. However, with the tiniest sliver of dimmed light peaking through underneath the closet door, you can see him. Jack, in all his glory - soft and boyish, all charming in nature. The round pool blue of his eyes and the moles that dot his skin like constellations. It’s a rush of emotions, all raw and bare, to overwhelm and comfort you, with the easiness of his smile that directs your way and warms your heart like no other.

“We don’t have to do anything in here, I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable,” Jack explains, his hand reaching to drag down one side of his face as his eyes cast away. “I hope you know that.”

This - you feel resolute in - establishing some sense of security in this room as you smile up at Jack. “The thought didn’t even cross my mind.” 

There’s a double meaning in your words and you don’t bother to correct yourself, reading in between the lines cementing itself as your favourite pastime. But, Jack knows and so do you. Perhaps you knew all along that every nook and cranny in your heart was specially reserved for Jack and no other could do. Maybe, you spent so much time in your head because this unexplored territory felt like the birth of the universe, so big and beautiful that it had more questions than answers. A forbidden fruit of sorts - a sweet mirage that the more you pulled away, gravity pulled you right back. A place where you belonged - with him in this moment forever sealed between the two of you.

Jack offers a smile in the wake of your thoughts, timid yet teasing in nature and you can’t resist, in the almost dark of the closet, grin too because this was sealed from the very beginning. Alone with infamous fratboy Jack Hughes, under some sort of awkward pretence bringing you together because you let your fears get the best of you, a stark contrast to what they are now - engulfed in thoughts, feelings of your lips against his and how this charade will come to a close, the building tension boiling till it overflows

“Hey-” you both say at the same time, silencing as you chuckle at the unison you unite in.

“Ladies first.”

“I’m more interested in what you have to say.” 

Because there’s no doubt in your mind he’ll steal the words right out of your mouth, the mere thought of those words escaping his lips the centre of all your desires.

He pauses, eyes searching yours for confirmation which presents itself in the toothy grin he struggles not to reflect, canine sinking into the corner of his lips before he responds, “If you insist.”

Jack doesn’t miss a beat as he reaches for your hand, absently tracing patterns into the skin with a thoughtful hum that proceeds his words. 

“I think I’ve been a lot more straightforward with how I feel about you, but I’d like to chance to tell you right here that I’m interested in you, in being with you. To the point that the boys get sick of me yapping about it,” you chuckle at his comment, the humour of the joke distracting you from the flood of emotions that submerges you indefinitely. “I felt this way from the time we got assigned to work together. And, if maybe you had any reservations about us, I’d do whatever it takes so that they don’t exist because you’re what matters most and that will never change.”

No feeling can compare to this. It’s almost as if you’re experiencing the full spectrum of emotions for the first time, rejoicing in the sunshine Jack basks upon you in the wake of his confession. A mirage turned reality, the colours are bright and blinding and you’re so elated within yourself that you physically cannot do more than bring Jack’s hand to your cheek to kiss his palm. A confirmation that needs no words. 

The warmth of his hand against your cheek melts you into his skin, eyelids falling shut as you revel in the tender caresses of his thumb, of his love and the unspoken words between you. A graze against your throat has your eyes fluttering open, lips parted as Jack secures his hand gently against the nape of your neck. A soft inhale escapes you as his thumb traces the corner of your mouth, dilated pupils flickering between your own and your lips.

“Can I-”

“Yes, please.” 

A star is born at the centre of your lips as they fold over one another, blending seamlessly together as you move together in synchronised harmony. You taste the remnants of beer, inhale his musky cologne and send yourself flying into another universe as Jack holds you close for impact. All your brain knows to do is convey your sentiment tenfold, kissing him as if touch starved as your fingers thread through the curls of his hair. You commit this to memory - the slowness of the kiss, the scent of his apple shampoo and his curls around your fingers, the feathery feeling of your fluttering heart and the tenderness of your hearts beating as one. So sickeningly besotted with another that everything pales in comparison.

Reluctantly, you pull away from his soft lips when the shared oxygen between you two vanishes, eyes slow to open but ultimately capturing the part of Jack’s rouge lips that quiver in your wake, his gaze meeting yours moments later. 

You kiss him again for good measure.

“Alright, horny bastards. Time’s up!” Cole’s voice thunders from beyond the door.

Lips still pressed against Jack’s, you both smile into one last kiss, just as sweet as the last. Jack savours it for what it’s worth, forehead pressed against yours as you two stand together, bruised chests aching with all the yearning that can fit into your palms.

“Consider me persuaded.” 

[averyfuckingtiredyounglady]

play fighting | one shot

hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

Synopsis: you can’t help that you’re a bit awkward about expressing yourself, especially when it comes to Hyunjin. Thankfully, he can read your mind.

note: this is smut. I worked on this for waaayy too long. not only is this my first time posting a fic, this is my first time ever writing one and i got a bit carried away. cough* … 9k words cough* p.s. idk how none of this works. K bye

You hear the front door click shut, followed by the familiar shuffle of Hyunjin’s slippers dragging across the hardwood floor. The sound is slow and you can already imagine the tiredness etched into his face. He’s been working all day—longer than usual—and the exhaustion shows in the way he moves, like he’s carrying the weight of it in his bones.

He drops his bag by the door with a soft thud, and you peek over your blanket just in time to see him rub the back of his neck, trying to work out the tension. His eyes meet yours, and despite the weariness, there’s a warmth in them that makes your chest tighten.

“You tired?” you ask, your voice soft but teasing, knowing full well how hard his day has been.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice low and a little rough from the hours he’s spent talking, working, thinking. He kicks off his slippers with a lazy shuffle and makes his way into the room, the sound of his feet dragging across the floor matching the slow, easy pace of his movements. He’s tired, but the second he locks eyes with you, you can see the way his body perks up, a familiar energy filling the room.

Hyunjin pauses by the dresser, setting down his phone and keys with a clink. He stretches, arms over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned skin, and you quickly glance away, pretending not to notice.

But he catches it.

Of course he does.

“Miss me?” he asks, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk as he watches you from across the room. His eyes linger on you for a second too long, and you feel the tension settle in your chest, low and warm.

“You look exhausted,” you mumble, burying yourself deeper into your blanket as if it’ll help you escape the way he’s looking at you.

He lets out a small chuckle, the sound quiet and full of amusement. “Long day,” he mutters again, but there’s something about the way he says it now—something that suggests he’s already forgotten about the exhaustion, like being here with you is all he really needed.

He moves around the room with that lazy grace, his body still carrying the weight of his long day, but there’s a different energy now—one that’s focused on you. The way he looks at you, even though you’re wrapped up tight in your blanket, makes you feel exposed, like he’s already started undressing you with his eyes.

Hyunjin reaches into the bag he set down earlier, pulling out a chocolate bar with a smug grin. You don’t even have to say anything, but he knows you’ve been craving it all day—he’d promised you this exact chocolate before he left for work.

He doesn’t bother handing it to you, though. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he unwraps it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes a bite. He leaves it between his lips as he plugs his phone up on the charger, nibbling away at it while his hands are occupied. You watch it get shorter and shorter as he makes quick work of it. The smirk on his face widens when he sees the way you’re glaring at him from the safety of your blanket.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The subtle sounds of his chewing, the sharp crack of chocolate breaking between his teeth, fill the silence between you. You narrow your eyes at him, but the irritation you feign doesn’t fool him. It never does.

“You can have a little taste,” he says, his voice low and teasing, lips poking out in an exaggerated kissy face as he leans in closer. He’s taunting you, the chocolate still between his teeth, as if daring you to make a move.

You huff, rolling your eyes as you dive deeper into the blanket, your voice muffled but full of mock irritation. “If you didn’t bring me my own, I don’t want to kiss you.”

He grins, throwing himself onto the bed beside you, his body pressing against your blanket-shielded form. “Okay, okay! I got you one, don’t worry!” He laughs, his voice warm and full of mischief. He knows you’re smiling, even if you’re pretending to be mad.

“Mhm... if you don't want me to mess with you, don’t mess with me," you mumble, trying to keep the teasing up, but there’s no hiding the way your heart speeds up as he leans closer. His warmth, his scent, everything about him makes it harder to keep your cool.

“You already knew I brought you one,” he says, his breath is warm against your cheek as he leans closer, the faint scent of chocolate lingering between you. His lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice low and soft. “Thanks for waiting for me, y/n.”

“Give me my chocolate, bro.” You try to sound exasperated, but your voice comes out softer, the slight hitch in your breath betraying the effect he’s having on you.

“Give me a kiss first.”

You hesitate, but just for a moment. You know what he’s doing, and part of you is ready to play along. “When are you going to take a shower?”

“After you give me a kiss.” His face gets closer, that exaggerated pout now barely an inch from your lips, daring you to make the first move.

“Okay.”

As soon as the idea enters you mind, you can’t help yourself. You don’t hold back. Grabbing his face, you pull him in for a kiss that’s far more intense than either of you expected. Your tongues collide, messy and desperate, and you make sure he feels the bite of your teeth, the slickness of your lips, and the way your breath hitches as you pull away. The sound of your kiss, wet and sharp, lingers in the air like a challenge.

After properly sucking his face off, you release Hyunjin from your grasp and he pulls back, eyes wide, pupils blown, and for the first time, you’ve managed to catch him off guard. “Umm, why don’t you normally kiss me like that?” His voice is almost breathless, and you can see the way his chest rises and falls faster now, like he’s trying to catch up with his own desire.

“You nasty, freaky ass—” You start, but before you can finish, he’s right back in your space, daring you to say more with that wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Keep talking!” He taunts. There’s something almost primal in the way he looks at you now, his playful smirk giving way to something darker, more intense.

“Get off me! Perv!” You’re brain is scrambling for a way to fuck with him at this point, grasping at straws.

“Peerv? Eeeh?” He turns away from you. Just to give you a disapproving side glance.

“I don’t give a shit about your little look!” You do give a shit. “Get off me! You too boney to be laying on people like this.” Growing impatient, you wriggle underneath him.

“I’m ‘boney’ now, too? Woooow!” He rolls his eyes at your less than creative insult and puts all his weight onto you, pretending to yawn.

Wrapped in the blanket, you coincidentally made it easier for Hyunjin to keep you trapped under him with minimal defenses, frustrated, and a little embarrassed that you can’t come up with a better insult. But, how could you? You love this bastard.

You settle on bargaining. “Hyune, darling, can you please get off of me?”

“Aaw! You want the skinny, ugly, pervert off of you?” Hyunjin mocks, pouting in fake sympathy.

“I didn’t say you were ugly, a-hole.” You huff, still trying to shift him off of you.

He lets out a cackle. “You might as well have,” he ruffles your hair, displacing the strands all over your head, letting out a low chuckle. He rolls off you, shaking his head.

“I didn’t though. I could have easily said, ‘get your ugly, laying on my bed with your outside clothes, no chocolate bringing, boney knees stabbing me in the leg having ass—”

“Someone’s mad..” He cuts off your rant, poking you in the side with his index finger.

When you turn to him to continue running your mouth, he cuts you off with a kiss. Which you don’t take kindly to, but you melt into it nonetheless. His lips meet yours firmly, but with his familiar softness and the added sweetness of chocolate.

You feel the air between you crackle with tension, and for a second, you think about backing down. But then his warmth is gone, and he’s off the bed, leaving you to catch your breath. You bury your face in your blanket, trying to suppress a giggle, but it’s useless. The sound escapes, filling the room as Hyunjin rushes off to take his shower.

The silence left behind is thick, but not uncomfortable. Your heart is still racing, and your lips still tingle from the force of the kiss. You close your eyes, letting the moment linger, the faint sounds of water running in the bathroom grounding you. It’s cold, but the warmth from the bed and the lingering heat of Hyunjin’s body keeps you from feeling it too much.

When Hyunjin returns, his hair still damp, the soft scent of rose body wash clinging to his skin, he slides into bed beside you. He sinks into the mattress with a satisfied sigh, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist. “That’s better,” he breathes out, his voice soft and content. He tastes like chocolate and mint toothpaste when he kisses you again, his lips warm and soft as he presses closer, his body heat radiating through the sheets.

You turn onto your back, guiding him to rest his head on your chest. He sighs in contentment as his cheek presses against your skin, and you run your fingers through his damp hair, gently massaging his scalp. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and you can feel the last remnants of tension leaving his body.

He hums softly, the vibration of his voice tickling your chest. “I could stay like this forever,” he mutters, his voice quiet, almost drowsy.

You smile, continuing to play with his hair. “You always say that,” you tease lightly, enjoying the feel of him completely relaxed against you.

“Well, I mean it every time,” he says, cracking one eye open to look up at you, a small smile playing on his lips.

There’s a comfortable silence before he speaks again, his voice softer now. “Did you miss me today?”

You bite your lip, holding back a grin as you decide to mess with him. “Nope,” you say, keeping your tone casual, though you can feel his body tense slightly at your response. “Didn’t even think about you once.”

He cracks one eye open, glancing up at you. “Not even a little?”

You shake your head, your lips pressing together to hide your smile. “Nope. Not even a little.”

He huffs dramatically, pulling away slightly. “Okay then, looks like I’ll be going,” he says, pushing himself up as if to leave. “Nice seeing you.”

“Wait!” You quickly grab his arm, laughing as you pull him back down onto your chest. “I’m kidding!”

He lets out a playful scoff, lying back down with a dramatic sigh. “Mmmh, sure you were.”

“I was!” you insist, still grinning as you ruffle his hair. “Maybe I missed you… a little.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a smirk. “Thought so.”

“Okay, so…” he says, drawing out the words like he’s expecting you to follow along.

You blink down at him, confused but amused. “So what?”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, as if the answer should be obvious. “You kiss me now.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his directness. “Oh, is that how it works?”

You roll your eyes, but lean down anyway, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His hand drifts lazily along your side as you pull away, but you feel him shift, his touch becoming more deliberate, more suggestive.

You both settle back into the comfort of the quiet room, Hyunjin’s head resting on your chest as your fingers absentmindedly twirl through his damp hair. The warmth of his body pressing into yours is soothing, but there’s an underlying tension that slowly builds between you—familiar, electric. His hand slides over your waist, his fingers tracing slow circles over your skin.

At first, it feels innocent, but the way his touch lingers a little longer with each stroke, the way his breath hitches slightly, makes you suspect otherwise.

“Hyunjin…” you murmur, trying to sound casual, but the heat of his hand is making it hard to keep your voice steady.

He doesn’t respond, at least not with words. His fingers move lower, brushing against the curve of your hip, his thumb dragging lightly over the sensitive skin there. You shiver under his touch, your body reacting without your permission.

It’s subtle at first, but soon his hand starts to explore, slipping beneath the edge of your shirt, his fingertips grazing your bare skin in a way that makes your heart race. You feel him shift beside you, and before you know it, his lips are brushing against your collarbone, soft kisses that make your breath catch..

You tilt your head slightly, giving him better access as his hand dips lower, brushing against your waist, teasing the hem of your shirt. His touch is light, suggestive. His fingers slip under the fabric, grazing the bare skin of your stomach, and you let out a soft hum, your body instinctively arching into his touch.

Hyunjin smirks, propping himself up and shifting to hover over you, his body settling naturally between your legs. His eyes roam over you, absentmindedly checking you out, a playful gleam in his gaze.

“Mhm,” he hums, his voice low as he bites his lip, his hands settling on either side of you, caging you in beneath him. His eyes flicker back to yours, his smirk growing. “It’s working.”

There’s nothing hurried about the way he kisses you, each brush of his lips deepening the connection, the faint taste of chocolate and mint lingering between you.

Your tongues move together, messy and unhurried, and you can feel his body responding to yours—his chest pressing into you as his hands slide up, cupping your breasts through your shirt. He groans softly into your mouth, squeezing just enough to make you arch into him, wanting more of his touch.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes half-lidded, filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. His fingers slip under the fabric of your shirt, brushing against bare skin, and the warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. His hands glide over your stomach, fingers tracing the lines of your body with care.

“Mm, missed you,” he murmurs against your skin, his words barely coherent as his lips trace the curve of your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, drawing soft, breathy moans from your lips. His kisses turn rougher, more urgent, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and his fingers squeeze your thighs as you wrap your legs around his hips.

You press your body into him, running your hands along his waist as he is kisses trail lower, moving down your throat, leaving behind a subtle warmth that lingers on your skin.

He pulls your shirt up, his lips grazing the swell of your breasts as his hands knead your hips, pulling you closer. The way he touches you is gentle but deliberate, like he’s drinking in the feel of you, committing every curve to memory. His mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking gently, teasing you until your back arches into him, you wrap you arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your hands anchored in his hair.

His eyes flick up to meet yours as his mouth moves slowly across your chest, warm and soft against your skin. There’s something undeniably cute about the way he looks at you, his gaze a mix of playful affection and intent focus, watching closely for every little reaction. As his lips tug gently at your nipple, he’s not in a rush—just savoring the way your breath catches, the subtle arch of your back. He lets it slip from his mouth, the slight stretch of your skin before it snaps back, making you shiver. His tongue drags in wet, lazy strokes across your skin, as if he’s enjoying it just as much as you are.

His lips leave your breasts, but his hands don’t stop moving, sliding down the sides of your body, tracing the curve of your waist and hips, and you feel his breath ghost over your skin as he presses open-mouthed kisses down your body, taking his time on his favorite spots: the plush spot below your navel; the peaks of your hips.

When he reaches your thighs, his hands slide under them, lifting them slightly as he presses his lips to the sensitive skin there, his breath warm and heavy. He kisses your inner thighs, his mouth lingering, teasing, before he shifts lower, his lips brushing against your knee and trailing down to your calf.

He moves lower, his hand gliding down the length of your leg, his fingers brushing against your calf before he reaches your foot. He glances up at you, as if checking for permission, and when you don’t stop him, he smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your foot.

His lips are warm and soft, trailing over your skin as he moves lower. When he reaches your toes, he gently takes them into his mouth, sucking and licking them, his tongue swirling over the glossy nail polish you’d applied earlier. The soft, baby pink color stands out against his lips,

You don’t hesitate to take matters into your own hands. Your free hand slides down between your legs, fingers finding your slick clit, and the moment you touch yourself, a soft moan escapes your lips. Hyunjin’s eyes widen for a moment, a flash of surprise in his expression as he watches you take control, teasing yourself with delicate strokes. Your body moves on instinct, hips lifting slightly as you rub slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, your breath hitching at the sensation.

You can feel the heat building between your thighs, and it’s not just from your hand—it’s from the way Hyunjin’s eyes stay fixed on you, dark and focused, his attention is glued to the way your hips roll, a soft groan escaping his throat as he takes in every detail—your tits swaying gently with each thrust of your hips, your legs trembling as you hump your hand. His fingers pressing into your skin as he watches your hips rock in time with your fingers, fucking themselves onto your hand as you play with yourself. Your skin tingles under his touch, your heartbeat loud in your ears, each kiss and caress pulling you further under. His mouth moves over your toes with care, almost lazy in its pace, but the heat behind it is palpable.

It’s like he has a front-row seat to the most intimate show, and you’re putting it on just for him. His eyes roam over your body, noticing by the way your pussy glistens and creams around your fingers. His gaze lingers on your face, taking in the way your lips part with each breath, Your fingers move in sloppy circles over your clit, your hips rolling in rhythm, fucking yourself onto your hand while your other hand kneads your tits, fingers brushing over your nipples, teasing them until they harden beneath your touch. The way your hands move over your body only deepens your need for him. You let that desire guide your touch, giving him a show, knowing every move is going straight to his dick.

Hyunjin can’t help himself—he leans down, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers slipping through the slick wetness coating your folds. He groans at the feeling, his fingers teasing you for just a second before he pulls them away.

His hand slips under the waistband of his sweats, fingers wrapping around his dick just to relieve some of the unbearable tightness. Now coated in your slick, his hand tugs at his shaft. The sensation is instant—hot, wet, and filthy. He strokes himself slowly, spreading your wetness over every inch of his length, moaning into your skin as the sound of his hand working his cock fills the room.

Fuck,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flickers between your hand and your face, the hunger in his eyes growing darker as his hand moves faster, the grip tightening with each stroke. His hips jerk into his fist, his body on fire with need.

His eyes flick down, to your polished toes as he works over them, appreciating every small detail . He grins, the sight clearly doing something for him. “You taste so sweet everywhere,” he mutters between kisses, his voice rough as he pulls away for just a second, dark eyes flicking back to your pussy.“You look so fucking good like this.”

When he pulls your toes into his mouth again, the soft suction feels almost too much, the delicate balance of pleasure and sensitivity making your breath stutter. He knows exactly what he’s doing—his lips curve into the faintest of smiles, even as his tongue traces slowly along the delicate skin. You can feel the connection between his touch and the way your body responds, like a chain reaction you can’t stop, even if you wanted to.

You’re so beautiful,” he mutters between kisses, his breath hot against your skin as he licks your toes, his fingers sliding up to grip your ankle. His hand moves to caress your thigh again, his touch firm and steady as he squeezes the soft flesh beneath his palm.

His breath comes out heavier now, His chest rising and falling in time with yours. You can feel his gaze, the intensity of it making your skin flush hotter

Hyunjin’s mouth takes over, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thigh, the wet drag of his tongue leaving a slick trail that sends a pulse of heat straight through you. His lips latch onto you with a hunger that makes your muscles tighten involuntarily, each slow, deep suck drawing a soft tremor from your body. He bites down gently, just enough to make your legs jerk, before soothing the sting with his tongue, the warmth of his saliva mingling with the sheen of sweat on your skin.

His mouth lingers, sucking hard, the pressure nearly dizzying in its intensity, while his eyes are glued to the way your fingers move against your clit. It’s like he can’t decide which he craves more—the taste of your skin or the sight of you falling apart under your own touch.

“Fuck, your pussy’s so pretty,” he groans, his voice rough and breathless as his gaze locks onto the sight of your fingers disappearing between your thighs. your hips rolling harder. You can feel your pussy clenching around your fingers, spasming with every movement, slick and messy as you rub yourself closer to the edge.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker with curiosity as he watches you, his breath coming out in shallow pants as he takes in the way your body moves, how you’ve changed the rhythm. The way your thighs press together makes your pussy even wetter, the slickness dripping down your fingers as you rock your hips into your hand, chasing the new sensation.

“Fuck, you’re something else,” Hyunjin breathes, his voice rough as he leans in closer, his hand sliding up your leg. He watches the way your hips move, how your thighs tighten with every shift of your hand, and it’s clear he can barely hold back.

You don’t answer—not with words, anyway—but the way you tilt your hips, pushing your fingers against your clit just a little harder, says everything you need to. You’re in control now, and you can feel how much it drives him crazy. His hand grips the base of his dick, stroking it messily as he matches the movement of your fingers, his breath coming out ragged and uneven. You can see the way his dick twitched in his palm, thick and hard, ready to bury itself inside you.

Without another word, he positions himself between your legs, his cock pressing against your slick folds. The feeling of him against you—hard, warm—sends a shiver through your body, and you can feel your heart race in your chest as he holds you there, not quite inside, but so damn close you can barely stand it.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and intense, and for a moment, neither of you move.

“Ready?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, but you can feel the weight of the question in the air between you.

Hyunjin’s hand slides down your thigh, gripping it firmly as he pulls your leg over his hip, bringing you even closer. The friction is sharper now, more intense, and you can feel how hard he is pressing against you with each slow grind of his hips.

“Feel that?” he mutters against your lips, his voice rougher now, thick with need. His fingers press into your skin, holding you in place as he moves against you again, slower this time, like he wants to make sure you feel every inch of him.

I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs, his voice so low it’s almost a growl. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time cupping your breast, his thumb brushing lightly over your nipple. You arch into him, biting back a moan as your hips rock against his.

Your hands clutch at his arms, fingers digging into his skin as you try to hold on, but it’s impossible to stay quiet now. The soft whimpers escaping your lips are involuntary, and each sound makes Hyunjin press harder, his hips grinding into yours.

“Fuck,” you mouth the words, but the sound gets caught somewhere in your chest. Your cunt is pulsing as your wetness coats him, your body trembling as you lose yourself in the rhythm of his hips.

Your fingers had already left you soaked, but with Hyunjin grinding against you, sliding his cock through your folds, the wetness has become overwhelming, dripping down the back of your thighs and pooling beneath your ass.

Hyunjin notices it too, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches your pussy react, getting wetter with each thrust. “You’re making a mess, baby,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, his hips grinding harder as he pushes his cock through your soaked folds, his length dragging against your swollen clit. “Feels so fucking good.”

His body pressing against yours as his bare dick settles between your thighs, thick and hot against your slick skin. He grinds against you slowly, his length sliding through your wetness, dragging along your slit, The sensation is electric—raw and unfiltered, his dick rubbing against your pussy, skin on skin. You can feel the heat of him, the hardness of his length as it glides through your folds brushing your clit with the head.

Hyunjin leans back slightly, his eyes flicking down to watch the way his dick moves against you, the skin retracting and revealing the tip before it disappears again, swallowed up by the slick heat of your folds. His breath catches at the sight, the wetness coating his shaft and making each movement smoother. He can see how swollen you are, how your clit bumps against him with every stroke, your pussy practically pulsing with need.

“Look at that,” he mutters, almost to himself, his voice rough with desire. His hips roll forward, slow and controlled, watching the way his dick rubs against you. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

His hand moves down to grip your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he pushes his hips forward, the head of his dick bumping your clit again, harder this time. A low, guttural moan escapes him, vibrating against your skin as he presses his lips to your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “Mmm—fuck,” he groans, the sound deep and rough, spilling out involuntarily as his hips grind against you again. The sheets are soaked with your arousal, and every time he thrusts forward, you can feel his shaft dragging through the slickness, leaving a sticky trail along your folds.

Hyunjin shifts his weight slightly, propping himself up on one elbow as his other hand slides down your body, gripping your hip as he rolls his hips forward. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and intense, watching the way your face changes with every brush of his cock against your clit. His lips curl into a smirk as he leans down, his mouth brushing against your ear. “You like this?” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. “You like me rubbing my dick all over this pretty pussy?”

Suddenly, Hyunjin takes your wrist, pulling your hand up, welcoming your sticky fingers into the moist heat of his mouth. He sinks down, taking your fingers all the way to the base of your knuckles. His tongue slides out from behind his plush lips, gliding over the length, tasting every inch before slowly pulling back. He groans, sucking them clean. His eyes never leave yours, dark and hungry as he slowly pulls your fingers out of his mouth with a soft pop.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he mutters, his voice rough. He doesn’t waste a second before his hips are moving again, grinding his dick through your folds with more urgency now.

With a low groan, Hyunjin shifts again, pulling back just enough to line himself up, the head of his dick pressed right at your entrance. His eyes flick up to meet yours, watching the way your body reacts, teasing you by pushing just a little, enough to make you gasp. But he doesn’t push in yet—he holds there, letting you feel the pressure, making your pussy clench in anticipation.

“Tell me you want it,” he growls, his voice low and commanding. His fingers dig into your hips as his dick teases your entrance, “Beg for it.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give in that easily. You hold out, grinding against the head of his cock, trying to get what you want without saying it.

But he won’t give in.

“Come on,” he whispers, his voice rough as he teases you with shallow thrusts, just enough to make you moan but never enough to fill you. “I know you want it. Just say it.”

“Hyunjin—” You don’t mean to say his name, but it slips out, breathless and shaky.

You kiss him deeply, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips, your hand moving between you to wrap around his cock. It’s hot and hard, throbbing in your palm as you start run your hand along his shaft, rubbing the velvety skin of his tip and the familiar veins adorning his length.

For a moment, everything slows down. The room is dark, but the faint blue light from the window highlights the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that make him look even more beautiful, more desperate. His hair is a mess, damp with sweat, and the way he looks at you — his eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide with lust — makes your heart race.

You hear his breath shaking, a soft whimper escaping his lips as you squeeze him just a little tighter, and it drives you wild to see him like this, completely at your mercy. Beneath your touch, every muscle in his arms and chest tense up. You stroke him slowly, savoring every little sound he makes, every little twitch of his hips as he pushes into your hand.

“You’re so cute, Hyune” you whisper, your voice low, almost reverent as you admire him. His skin glows under the soft light, and you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

Your hand moves faster, stroking him from base to tip, feeling the weight of him, the heat radiating off his body as his hips start to move in rhythm with yours.

“Fu-uck, I can’t wait to feel you,” his voice breaks as you squeeze him tighter.

This desperate tone of his, you would have to say it’s your favorite.

You give him a soft, knowing smile, leaning in to kiss him deeply. His mouth opens to yours instantly, and the taste of him—the mix of desperation and need—makes you want him even more. Your hand slides up the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair. He groans into the kiss as you tug on it, just hard enough to make him moan. You pull back slightly, your lips barely brushing his, and you whisper, “I know.”

Before he can respond, your grip on his hair tightens slightly as you kiss lower, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. Hyunjin’s moans grow more desperate, his head tilting further back into your hand, giving you full access to his neck. He looks completely wrecked—his throat bobbing with every shaky breath, his lips swollen,

Hyunjin’s head lolls back, his lips parted slightly, breaths coming in soft gasps. His hands are restless, but weak, running over your body with no real direction—just a need to feel you. His eyelids flutter, barely able to stay open, and his legs fall further apart as if he’s unconsciously making more space for you. The tension in his muscles melts away, his body sinking deeper into you with each kiss you press to his skin. His chest rises and falls erratically, his fingers twitching every time your mouth finds a sensitive spot.

You continue your languid pulls of his cock, twisting your palm around his thick shaft. He groans, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as you keep stroking him, your hand moving faster now. His cock feels hot and heavy in your hand, slick with precum, and the way he twitches under your touch, the way his breath hitches, sends a thrill through your body.

You pull away, locking eyes with him as a smirk tugs at your lips. “Sit up,” you instruct, nodding toward the headboard. Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate, shifting back against the pillows, his body sinking into the mattress. His hard dick bobs and sways with every movement, and you can’t help but watch as he settles himself, positioning his back against the headboard.

You straddle him, grabbing his shoulders for support as you lower yourself down. Hyunjin’s hands shoot to your hips, his grip tight as he steadies you, but you don’t give him a chance to take control.

You slide down onto him, inch by inch, and the stretch makes your head spin, your pussy clenching around him as you take him all the way in. Hyunjin groans beneath you, his head falling back against the pillows as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Shit,” he mutters, his breath catching in his throat as you start to move, slow at first, grinding your hips against him, , making him feel every inch of the slide. Hyunjin’s eyes roll back, his lips parting as he moans, his voice high and desperate.

You pick up the pace, rolling your hips harder, faster, riding him with a rhythm that has the mattress shaking beneath you. Hyunjin’s hands tighten on your hips, his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to hold on, but you can feel how close he is, how your movements are pushing him to the brink.

You lean forward, your hands bracing against his chest as you ride him, harder now, faster, like you’re trying to fuck him straight through the mattress. Hyunjin’s eyes fly open, wide with shock and pleasure, as he grips your hips, trying to keep up with the relentless pace you’ve set.

You slide a hand between your bodies, your fingers finding your clit as you rub slow, teasing circles, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. Hyunjin’s eyes snap open, watching you with a kind of desperate hunger as your fingers move over your slick skin.

“Fuck—” he gasps, his voice strained as his fingers dig into your skin, hard enough to leave marks. “What the fuck—”

Hyunjin’s hands shoot up to your waist, his fingers gripping tight as he tries to hold on, his hips lifting to meet each roll of your body. “You’re fucking insane,” he groans, his voice breathless and shaky. “Y/n.. I-I can’t..”

You cut him off with a sharp grind of your hips, your clit brushing against his skin with every hard thrust. His eyes roll back in his head, and you can feel his dick twitch inside you, throbbing as his release inches closer and closer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters under his breath as his hips jerk up into you, desperate to keep up with the way you’re fucking him.

But you don’t let up. You ride him harder, faster, your body slick with sweat, your thighs trembling as the heat builds inside you, tighter and tighter, until you feel like you might snap. Hyunjin’s fingers slide up to your tits, grabbing them roughly as he thrusts into you, meeting your frantic pace with everything he has left.

You can’t help but smile at the way he looks at you, completely at your mercy. His hips twitching and you can feel it—feel the way his dick throbs, pulsing inside you as he gets closer. But you don’t stop. You ride him harder, faster, like you’re trying to break him. His grip on you is so tight it almost hurts, but it only pushes you further, spurring you on as you grind down on him, your pussy slick and wet as you take him over and over again.

Hyunjin’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, your thighs, gripping you like he’s afraid to let go, your thighs burning with every thrust as you slam yourself down on him, harder each time. His cock stretches you perfectly, and the wet slap of your bodies fills the room, but as good as it feels, there’s something just out of reach. No matter how hard you try, you can’t quite hit that deep, soul-crushing spot only he can find.

Your movements falter slightly, your rhythm slowing as you grind against him, trying to find it, but the frustration only heightens your need. His chest heaves beneath you, his eyes glazed with desire, yet you want more—need more. You need him to take over.

Without a word, you lift yourself off him, the cool air hitting your skin as his cock slips free. He looks up at you, confused for a brief second, before you shift onto your knees, presenting yourself to him, back arched and ass in the air. Your fingers slide between your legs, rubbing quick circles over your clit, silently begging for him to take control the way only he can.

He watches your wetness glistening between your thighs. The way your fingers move over your clit, desperate and slick, drives him wild. His cock twitches at the sight of you—so open, so ready, so fucking needy for him.

He’s up behind you, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he pulls you closer, positioning you just right. Your ass hangs off the edge of the bed, and Hyunjin’s heart pounds in his chest as he takes in the view. The curve of your back, the slight tremble in your thighs, the way your body moves instinctively, searching for his touch—it’s almost too much for him to handle.

“Fuck, look at you,” he mutters, his voice rough as he bends down, his lips grazing the soft skin of your lower back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His hands slide lower, fingers spreading your cheeks as he gets a better look at your glistening pussy, and without hesitation, he leans in, his tongue licking a slow, teasing stripe from your clit to your entrance.

The way your body jerks in response sends a thrill down his spine. He sucks gently at your clit, his tongue working in circles.

Then his fingers push into you, stretching you open. He massages your walls with his fingers, curling them inside you. You feel him smirk against you when you let out a muffled moan, your body twitching under his touch.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, his voice full of lust and awe as he watches the way your pussy clenches around his fingers. The sight alone is almost enough to push him over the edge, but he holds back, knowing you need him to take control now, to give you the kind of rhythm you’ve been craving.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, a string of slickness still connecting him to you as he grips his cock and lines himself up. His chest tightens at the sight of you like this—submissive but still so in control of his every thought—and he bites his lip, sliding just the tip inside, teasing you with the heat and pressure.

His eyes stay locked on you, watching the way your body reacts, the way you arch into him, begging him silently to go deeper.

Hyunjin stills, teasing you as he lets you sink down onto him at your own pace, feeling every inch of him. You shudder, hissing softly at the stretch as he watches. His eyes drop to where your bodies meet, seeing your pussy swallow him up, clenching tight as you rock your hips back, meeting his. He watches the way your ass bounces with each movement, every slow grind making him pulse inside you, but he stays still, savoring how you’re working for it, letting you fuck yourself on him.

“Hyune..” You croon out his name glancing back at him, catching him staring, his eyes dark with lust but softened by that familiar glint of mischief. The moment he notices you looking, he flashes a cheesy grin, and you can’t help but laugh, your face pressed into the sheets.

Your laugh quickly melts into a breathy moan, “Hah… ahh…”, as Hyunjin starts to really drive into you. The playful moment vanishes, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of him filling you, each thrust drawing a deeper, more desperate sound from your lips and you can feel the shift—his focus solely on pulling every sound, every reaction, from you as your body surrenders completely to his rhythm.

Fuck, you feel so good,” Hyunjin groans, his voice rough, breathless, as his hips snap forward again and again, the rhythm steady but intensifying. His hands grip your waist firmly, keeping you exactly where he wants you, but you’re not passive. You throw your ass back, meeting each of his thrusts with just as much force, grinding against him when he bottoms out inside you, relishing the way his dick fills you up perfectly.

His strokes are long and deep, hitting that spot inside you. You can feel him everywhere — his hands, his hips, his breath hot against your back as he leans over you. His body molds against yours, and you feel the shift in him when he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, lifting you off the bed as he hugs you from behind.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, the sound of his voice sending shivers down your spine. You can hear his breathing now, heavy and ragged, each gasp filled with lust and need as he fucks you deeper. His hands move upward, one slipping under your chest to cup your breast, his fingers tweaking your nipple, making you gasp. His moans fill the space between you, the sound almost desperate as he picks up the pace, driving into you harder.

His breath is hot against your neck, and you can feel his chest pressing against your back, slick with sweat. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he groans, his voice thick with need as he thrusts into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies filling the room. His fingers dig into your skin, and you know he’s getting close, the intensity in his movements growing with every passing second.

You push his hands lower, guiding him to where you want him, and he smirks against your ear, loving the way you take control. “Impatient, huh?” he teases, though there’s nothing but admiration in his tone. He loves when you take what you want, when you show him exactly how to please you.

You moan, your head tilting back against his shoulder as his hand slides down between your legs, his fingers rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit while he continues to fuck you.

his dick hitting deep, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. The wet, slick sound of him fucking you is filthy, obscene, and it only drives you higher, your body tightening around him with each thrust.

His lips graze your ear, his breath hot and heavy. He groans, his voice breaking slightly. “That’s it, love. Take me.”

You catch that edge in his voice—the hunger, the need for affirmation. He thrives on it, and you’re more than willing to give it to him. You let out a soft moan, your hands reach back, grasping at his thighs as you arch into him. “You’re so deep,” you breathe, your voice laced with pleasure. “Mmmh… shit.”

The moment the praise slips from your lips, you feel him falter, his hips stuttering as a low groan escapes him. He lets out a deep, shaky breath. “Fuck…” His hand reaches out, grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging you closer. He gazes at the side of your face, your expression twisted in pleasure, eyes shut tightly, gasping and crying out for him. “My angel,” he breathes, voice thick with emotion, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts harder.

You moan again, louder this time, making sure he hears every breath, every sound. “You’re so good, Hyunjin. You’re fucking perfect.”

His breath hitches, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he reacts to your words, his grip tightening as if he needs to hold on to something. You know you’ve got him hooked, teetering on the edge,

He grips your shoulders firmly, using the leverage to pull you back harder onto his dick, each thrust hitting deep, sending a jolt through your body. The intensity makes you gasp, a choked sob slipping from your lips. Your teeth clench, reveling in the feeling of Hyunjin taking you for his pleasure, using your tight hole as he pounds into you, stretching you raw with every thrust.

Hyunjin lets out a rough moan, his voice thick with desire. His higher moans turn into grunts, guiding your body as he fucks you deep and steady. His strokes are long and deep, so deep, savoring the way your wetness coats him, his dick throbbing with each slide into your tight heat.

You roll your hips back onto him, your ass slamming against his thighs as his dick disappears inside you, the sharp slap of skin against skin making your body tremble with each impact.

You moan, low and throaty, unable to hold it in as he wraps his arms around you tighter, pulling you even closer. His hands cup your breasts again, squeezing them firmly as he nuzzles into your neck, his moans vibrating against your skin. The rhythm between you is fast, desperate, and you feel yourself spiraling closer to the edge with every movement. His breath is hot and ragged in your ear, his lips brushing against your neck as he mutters, “You’re gonna cum all over my dick, aren’t you?”

You can feel it—the moment where everything in you unravels. Your back arches, hips jerking as the orgasm slams into you, sharp and overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around his cock, and a low, broken moan tears from your throat as the pleasure floods through you. Your vision blurs, heat washing over you in waves, your body trembling uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, your voice trembling as the intensity of your release ripples through you. Your body shaking intensely as Hyunjin fucks you through it, riding the feeling until it’s almost too much. And he follows close behind, his lips sucking harshly on your skin, whimpering prettily into the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering as he cums inside you, stuffing his cock in you completely. He holds you there, letting your walls milk him, his release dripping down your thighs.

You clutch onto the sheets, your body still buzzing with the remnants of your orgasm, your eyelids fluttering as you’re able to focus your eyes. Your heart is pounding in your ears, the steady thrum of it comforting in the quiet of the room.

Hyunjin runs his hands up and down your back in soothing strokes, his breath still heavy but gradually evening out. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice rough, and you can hear the awe in his tone.

He lay down on the bed, pulling you with him. You cuddle up to him, your head resting against his damp skin, the sheets strewn about you in a mess. The pillows on the floor. A small smile tugs at your lips, and you lift your head just enough to look at him. His eyes are half-lidded, his expression soft and content. There’s a peacefulness about him that makes your heart swell. You press a gentle kiss to his lips, a quiet thank you for the intimacy you’ve shared.

Hyunjin’s hand moves to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss as he lazily brushes his lips against yours, savoring the moment. There’s no rush now, no urgency. It’s just the two of you, tangled together, your bodies warm and sated.

“Feel better now?” you tease, your voice barely a whisper against his lips.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your cheek as he presses another kiss to your forehead. “You have no idea.”

Hyunjin turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he gazes down at you. His fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You laugh softly, the sound light and breathless. “You always say that after sex.”

He grins, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “That’s because it’s true. Especially when you’re all… fucked out.”

You roll your eyes, playfully swatting his arm, but there’s a warmth in your chest at his words. He always knows how to make you feel seen, feel cherished, even in the most vulnerable moments.

As the afterglow begins to settle, Hyunjin pulls the blanket over both of you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. His body molds to yours, and you nestle into his warmth, feeling utterly content.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The silence is comfortable, filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing and the steady beat of Hyunjin’s heart. It’s in these quiet moments that you feel most connected to him, like there’s an unspoken understanding between you.

Fin

Second a/n: im cryiinng.. this is really long no? It was actually 12k words and i decided to shorten it cuz it seemed a bit crazy .. haha… haaaaaa…

Anyway it took me months to write. Probably over 30 hours… or more i didnt keep track but i had many hours long sessions writing this editing and taking stuff out and putting stuff back in.. cuz im a bit insane but im also a pervert. I have never committed to anything like i have this stupid lil smut fic. Im not clowning. Thanks for reading to the end!

[niningtori]

an iron man | preview I

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: beomgyu has only ever known how to live function as a rental sexbot. he fucks whoever and whatever comes his way with a forced smile plastered on his face. that is, until you, a self-proclaimed trainwreck, come along.

genre: angst, romance, smut in full fic (mdni), android!au, sub!gyu probably

notes: the moral of the story is... do not trust a fucking thing i say when i'm in a depressive episode bc why'd i just say i wasn't gonna post anything for a while and now i'm so excited ab this i can't wait to drop it? let's give it up for bipolar disorder everyone!!

-

beomgyu doesn’t know how long he’s been living like this. living is an odd term, too, and it’s not just because “life” is ill-defined for an android, but because to call what he experiences a life feels like a bastardization of the term. his power is turned on at some point, usually late at night, he fucks or gets fucked by somebody he probably doesn’t know, then he does the same shit all over again. so yes, he may be “alive”, but he wouldn't dare to call what he experiences living. living is too precious of a term to be used so cheaply on a sex android who’s made available for rent for the highest bidder of the night.

he’s seen how people live through his scattered vignettes of human life. he only gets them when he’s powered on, but he soaks them up with pleasure because they’re the only thing he’s ever known. some people do it wildly, living unattached to everyone and everything. their lives are not completely dissimilar to his, in a way, except they have a choice in the matter. they have time to find themselves, what their likes and dislikes are, and they get to connect with people in a way he will never have the power to. others, though, live the kind of life he really wants. they live by loving and being loved, knowing and being known. he wonders what it’d be like to know somebody outside of whatever secret deviant sexual pleasures they have. he wonders what it’s like to be known, too, but he guesses you would need to have something for someone to care enough to know about in the first place. he has no such thing.

it’s a night like any other when he’s powered on by a total stranger. he briefly takes in his surroundings and notices that it’s a really nice place, but you wouldn’t be the first rich person to rent him — not by a longshot. next, he takes you in. now, there’s no reason for you to dress up, really. you have no need to tempt him, as he will be able to feign attraction no matter what you look like, but he still finds it odd that you seem to have forgone any effort to appeal to him, if only because most people’s fantasies require them to look and feel sexy; but you don’t look sexy at all. you look like you’ve just gotten home from a long day at work, and honestly? you kind of smell like it, too.

“do you think you could do the dishes for me? i’m exhausted,” you ask with a perfectly-timed yawn. what...?

-

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[churipu]

Hi! ☺️ First and foremost, I hope you're doing well. Also, I just recently found your page and I love your writing!

I really liked your post on the super sensitive reader with the jjk men. Can I get headcanons of the jjk men with reader who is very stoic and a little emotionally constipated? Like they have never seen reader cry ever while in their relationship together, but then reader ends up having a hard week and ends up crying from frustration.

jjk men & their emotionally constipated partner

featuring. shiu kong, itadori yuuji, todo aoi, geto suguru x reader

warnings. cursing and jjk men being sweet and soft to their partner <;33

note. hi anon! i'm doing great, hbu love? thank you for liking my works, you don't know how much that means to me, i hope you have a great day! and thank you for requesting, i find this request very interesting <33 also, thank you guys for the big amount of support i've been receiving for the last two days, can you imagine i gained like 140+ followers in that matter of time? i'm going to start violently sobbing istg. anw, i hope u sexies enjoy this <33

SHIU KONG. shiu loves you a lot, even if you struggle in showing the love back to him, he knows you love him a lot. shiu would receive random messages (mostly a picture of something and then you tell him that it reminded you of him, probably deemed as your love language now). i feel like shiu is partly happy that you don't take things into the heart - but at times he'd be very worried about you. you never cry, you almost never get angry at him even if he did something wrong (you'd just tell him it's nothing and you weren't mad, but he sometimes think it's because you didn't want to engage yourself in arguments), and hell, he barely sees you smile at all.

shiu has heard you tell stories about your new work place, which you quote unquote as toxic. and you've been in the company for no longer than three months, but the stories about your very annoying co-worker and your boss never stops. he swore that the topic of your work place was the only thing that could get you riled up.

i feel like shiu would be the type of boyfriend who would tell you to stop working because he's financially stable enough to provide for you, but you decline telling him that you didn't want to live off of him.

shiu didn't force you to stop or quit your job though, he'd be glad to listen to you talk about your days at work.

"y/n? you're ho— darling, what happened?" he saw the solemn look on your face and realized that something must have happened (yet again) at your work place, he dropped the cigar that was lodged in between his lips and immediately approached you.

you shook your head, inhaling sharply before kicking off your shoes, "work, of course."

"is it your boss? or that same co-worker again?" shiu knew that it was either your boss or this one co-worker who doesn't seem to enjoy your presence in the office.

"both." you sat down on the couch, throwing your head back in exhaustion (you were about to cry and the only way to stop your tears from coming out was to just force it back in with your head back), "i'm getting my paycheck reduced this month."

shiu took a seat next to you, "why?"

"i was blamed for something my co-worker did, this is so unfair," your voice cracked a little and shiu pulled you into a hug, you choked out a sob, "this is so unfair," you muttered out, your pent out anger and disappointment finally seeping out in a form of tears.

"hey, shh..." he soothes you, pulling back to see your tearful eyes. he grazed over your cheek to wipe the droplets away, "let me take care of them, yeah?"

you shook your head, "don't have to, i don't want to make this into a bigger mess."

shiu planted a kiss on your forehead, "don't worry about it darling, you trust me, don't you?"

"yes."

shiu had a "talk" with your boss and your co-worker the very next day and your co-worker ended up resigning right after, and your boss, well they never bothered you anymore (and you're getting an extra paycheck for the next half a year).

ITADORI YUUJI. people always wonder how you and itadori ended up with each other. him being this ray of sunshine, and you were like the moon. but he didn't care about what everyone says, he loves you — and that's what matter, right?

wrong. don't think that you didn't notice the enormous shit talking about you behind your back, about how you probably bribed itadori into dating you and what not. usually, you'd shove all those down the drain and forget about it.

but for some reason, you couldn't help but to rethink about what they said. how itadori isn't too fit for you, or how you don't deserve him at all. the only thing that managed to trigger you was how somebody said that itadori deserves someone more "emotionally available" for him, and that person isn't you.

you never liked being emotionally constipated, people always talk about you behind your back, saying how you're so distant and that being the reason you don't have any friends. you keep telling yourself that you're used to it when it comes to you, but when it comes to itadori and your relationship — you feel helpless.

"y/n? are you okay?"

you looked up at him, a glint of worry flashing in his eyes. and you can't help but to feel the frustration building in you as you remember the words people say to you, "yes..no? i don't kno—" you choked out, smacking your hand on top of your mouth at the sound you let out.

it just got worse when you feel the tears you've been penting up for the past few weeks come out. itadori blinked feverishly, a little surprised to see you crying like this. he has never seen you cry before, "y/n..?" he breathes out, his hand reaching out to you, but you moved back, trying to avoid his touch.

the embarrassment you felt was horrid, you hated crying in front of people, even your own boyfriend, "baby," itadori mutters out seriously, grabbing your arms and then pulling them away from your face, "tell me what's wrong. talk to me."

i feel like he knew where this was going, he had a hunch. for the past few weeks, you asked him about why he was with you, why he loves you when there were better people out there (you think). and he knew it was because of what people said.

"i...i just don't think i'm the right one for you, yuuji. they're right, you need a more emotionally available partner."

itadori's face fell when you said that, and he shook his head, pulling you into his embrace. rocking back and forth like a baby, "why would you say that? why would you listen to them y/n?" he asks quietly.

"i...don't know."

he pulled away, brows furrowed and he held your shoulders, "you're perfect for me, i don't give a fuck what they said about you and i. the next time someone says something, i'm going to beat them up," the thing is, he looked so serious you couldn't help but to chuckle.

"you just chuckled.." he breathes out, "my life is complete."

TODO AOI. he's very boisterous, and i feel like he'd be the type of person who would defend his partner everywhere they go. when you accepted his feelings, he was surprised since he never expected you to like someone like him. but he was pretty damn proud of you, and as a boyfriend, he shows you off like a trophy.

telling people about how amazing you are, how you make him happy, or how you treat him nicely. but people are fucking judgmental, some of them don't like the idea of others living happily — and you never thought that "these" particular people would target you next for it.

saying how fucking weird todo is for liking someone like you, and you had to be honest, it did get into you. and so began your avoidance to your own boyfriend, todo.

he hates it. he hated how you changed out of the blue, no matter how hard he tries to reach out for you, you weren't the same anymore and he never got why you decided to change.

believe me when i say that he tried asking his friends about it, or about tips to get you to talk to him. but really, they weren't much of a help, saying how you probably got bored and is avoiding him so he would be the one to break up first with you.

todo didn't want to let the idea of that get into him, but after a few weeks of you avoiding him non-stop, he began thinking the same thing. were you bored of him? did he do something that you didn't like? or is it because he ate the last chocolate chip cookie you were saving up and blamed it on someone else?

so when he got the chance to bump into you, he immediately took it as a chance to ask you about it.

"why are you avoiding me?" you tried ending the conversation right away by going the other way, but man is fast fast so he didn't let you — still wanting to know about the sudden change in your behavior.

todo knows how you didn't like being cornered, or how you don't like talking about the relationship, sappy shit. but if he didn't talk to you about this, todo knew he was going to regret it.

"y/n," he grabbed the back of your collar, pulling you back lightly, "did i do something wrong?"

you were silent for a few seconds before todo's ears perked up at the sound of soft, choked out sobs. you were crying. you were crying. and the panic sinks in, "i..i'm sorry, did i pull on your collar too hard?!" he panics, flailing his arms.

you shook your head, "...no, i'm sorry for avoiding you."

todo stopped his panicking and stood up straight, "i couldn't stop thinking about what people have to say about us, and now that i think about it, i feel like you deserve more than me," todo widened his eyes and looked around.

"who the fuck said that? i'm going to beat them up so bad people won't recognize them," todo mutters out and the corner of your lips tugged upward, "is that why you're avoiding me?"

you nod, "it was wrong. i know i should've said something about it. i'm sorry for avoiding you."

todo laid his hand on top of your head, brushing your h/c softly with a gentle smile, "you're perfect for me, fuck those people," he cusses out, "next time you hear em', don't forget to find out their names— i'm going to give them a lesson for it."

SUGURU GETO. suguru and you are like two peas in a pod. people never see him without you and vice versa, and often people would say that you both are the perfect couple. despite your personalities almost being the same type of calm, suguru is a calm man, and he's soft spoken. while you were just plain cold and stoic, rarely speak of something or even show your emotions.

someone bothering you? okay. someone making fun of you? okay. you were practically a walking definition of "i give zero fucks". but that doesn't mean you can't feel hurt, you are still human after all.

so when suguru told you about how he has a new co-worker, and how she has been clinging onto him, how she tries to get in his pants. you find it cute how he tells you about it, even telling you that you should come to his workplace so he could show you off.

you didn't feel anything because you trusted him. until you see the so called "co-worker" of his. she's pretty, you can't deny that. and you could see how she gets along with almost everyone, having no problem in instigating a conversation or complimenting people. people definitely like her.

that's where the insecurity began sinking in.

would suguru fall for her like everyone in his workplace does? would he leave you for her? so many questions you wanted to find the answer to.

"baby?"

you look at him, completely out of your daydream. he cocks his head to the side, "are you okay? you've been zoning out a lot lately..." he said, voice gentle and worried.

you nodded, "yeah. sorry. got a lot in my mind."

"do you want to talk about it?" he brushes a few h/c strands from covering your face, "you've been a little distant. is it something that i did, baby?"

god, just the thought of suguru thinking it was him made you a little sensitive. the past few weeks was already hard enough for you to contain yourself from breaking down, and him asking that made the tears you held in for so long drop out all at once.

suguru was a little taken aback and he sat straight up, alarmed, "y/n? baby? what's wrong?" he asks you gently, wiping the tears that never ceased from your face.

"i feel..i feel like i'm not enough. you deserve better than me, suguru." suguru swallowed the lump in his throat, he should've known, ever since you came to his workplace, you had started getting distant. and he should've known that was the reason.

suguru shook his head, cupping your face before giving you soft little kisses all over your face, "don't" a kiss on your forehead. "you" a kiss on your left cheek. "dare" a kiss on your right cheek. "say" a kiss on your nose. "that" a kiss on your chin.

the male gazes into your eyes deeply, "i love you," he softly said before planting a kiss on your lips, "you're the one i want, you're perfect for me. i can't see my future without you y/n, so please don't think about that..."

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[cryptictongues]

The Sun Lives in His Eyes

pairing: Vincent Valentine x Fem!Reader rating: Explicit (MINORS DNI; 18+) word count: 6.9k summary: You try on swimsuits for Vincent, and he doesn't know how to handle it.

warnings: porn with feelings, angst, teasing, lots of dry humping and making out, come tasting, sexual tension

Spoilerwise, I made it so the emotions after the second visit to the Golden Saucer were present but didn't get very specific as to why aside from the keystone and what the stone is needed for (which is in the OG game too). Other than that, this is pretty spoiler free!

Also, just to add, when trying on bathing suits, please for the love of GOD keep your underwear on. Don't let your bare cooch touch it.

Please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog’s content is NSFW.

[AO3 link]

It was midday in Costa Del Sol and it was alive as usual. The beach goers were all in their swimsuits, with their beautiful lays and their skin that had been kissed by the sun. The sky was as blue as can be with a slight overcast of clouds. Booths of a multitude of items for sale and fun games that make the atmosphere of the area feel like one big fair. It was a refreshing change of scenery, especially after the last 24 hours.

Traveling back to Costa Del Sol was no easy task, especially when exhaustion, anger, and disappointment have infiltrated the air. With the failure to retrieve the keystone, the direction of the group had faltered. No one had a clue where the Temple of the Ancients was located, and the future seemed bleak. That was until the mysterious man, the one you have grown very attached to, had suggested using the Tiny Bronco’s radio to try and intercept the signal from the Turks to retrieve the coordinates.

Vincent Valentine: the epitome of peculiar. A man, a beast, a creature of mystery. You and everyone else’s first interaction with him being an almost fatal one, for the bestial side of him was quite destructive. He was fairly fast for a creature of his size, strong reflexes, and phenomenal perception. He wasn’t a normal beast, but of course he wasn’t: he was still a human underneath it all. Which is why once he had transformed back into his original form, the brokenness and anguish that appeared on his face was apparent. You remember vividly how he had looked directly at you, stunning you in your place as you wondered what you had done to receive such a stare. 

You never thought you’d make contact with those eyes again with his lack of interest in coming along. So, it was a surprise to see him hop on the Tiny Bronco, explaining the sins he must atone for. It made sense, but a weird part of you sensed that it wasn’t the full truth, especially when he kept looking your way during his tiny monologue. It stirred something within you, having never felt an intensity such as his before. All in all, however, he was a quiet one, kept to himself, and very much an observer. 

A very, very good observer. 

Something that drew you to each other was neither of you were talkers. You’ve always been the reserved one of the group, not minding wandering around on your own while the others stayed together. The introvert in you enjoys the peace and quiet when able to have it, even though you love your found family. You assumed Vincent relates in some way because after the arrival to Costa Del Sol the first time, he has lingered by your side ever since. You didn’t mind the company, especially when there was a silent mutual understanding between you two.

What you did mind, however, was how utterly insane he’d make you feel. You don’t know if it’s all in your head, but day by day you swear he is advancing his way into your heart and loins. It started with simple glances that led to subtle grazes of his covered fingers on your exposed ones. The intimate moments have gradually increased, which have haunted your dreams in the most intimate of ways.

Back at the Golden Saucer, you and Vincent had been off on your own together. You both had stayed in the Queen’s Blood gaming area for a while, playing stacked games since you both were considered pros amongst most people. It was the last round, and you had a slight lead. You were waiting for him to take his turn, watching him contemplate his hand. You were hoping, praying even, that he didn’t see how you had set yourself up to win. 

But of course, he had seen right through it. Once he plucked the card he wanted to use from his deck, you already knew it’s game over. You had let out a groan before he could put it down and the look in his eyes shifted as quickly as they had shifted back in amusement.

“You don’t even know what I am playing.”

“I can take a wild guess.”

“Hmm, is that so?” He had hummed, leaning in as close as he could without his body messing up the board. He had held his card between two of his left fingers, dangling the damn thing in front of you. “If you guess the specific card I’m about to play correctly, you win.”

You were in shock as he was one to never willingly gamble his wins. In your dysfunctional brain, you had thought about all of the cards he had in his possession. Vincent’s biggest asset as a player was knowing how to use his cards, often using ones that didn’t seem to do much on the surface. You had thought long and hard, debating between which cards he could have considered, before deciding there was only one that made the most sense.

“Grandhorn.”

Vincent chuckled, putting his card down, and low and behold the Grandhorn appeared. It boosted his score a point above yours, but it hadn’t mattered. You had won.

“So, I guess I won since I guessed correctly?”

“I suppose so, but I expected nothing less.” He had leaned in once more, a glimmer in his eyes as he looked you dead on. “Smart girl.”

The way he had said it had made your insides curl with delight. Having someone like him be so teasing and flirty in his own way with you had you flushed, and you knew he noticed. Before he had said anything to send you into another flushing fit, you had quickly gotten up and told him exactly what you wanted to do next.

You had dragged him over to the G-Bike game, insisting to play as you’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle, even if it’s just in simulation form. However, within 30 minutes, you were flinging yourself left to right with frustration with the lack of ability to get at least a one-star rating. It wasn’t until you had felt a weight behind you, recognizable leather clad arms wrapping over yours, did you realize how fucked you really were. His body was pressed right against you with every limb touching your own. His fingers had curled over yours and his breath was brushing against the sensitive skin of your ear. 

“ Give me the glasses ,” he murmured.

“Let me take you for a ride.”

Needless to say, you had to excuse yourself. You had felt a tinge of embarrassment at how you reacted, but it was quickly stomped out by how much you needed to relieve yourself. You had felt bad leaving Vincent alone to wander a place that was outside of what he was acclimated to, but the hormonal teen in your brain was screaming at you to do something. 

You had been thankful that everyone was out doing their thing because the minute the hotel door was shut, you were on your bed with your hand down your pants. All you could think about was how good he felt against you. He was warm and you could feel everything; from the buckles, to the leather creases, to the outline of his long cock you felt pressed against your backside. With every twist and turn, your bodies would shift, and it created a friction so teasing that you couldn’t have helped but whimpered.

You had thought about his groans when you would accidentally push back on him. The sound had vibrated on your skin, proving how close his mouth was to your neck. You remembered how his cock twitched against you. Those thoughts had only made you rub your weeping cunt more, leading to more devious ones. You wondered what would’ve happened if you had just kept grinding on him. Would he have lost control? Would he have been as flushed as you had been 30 minutes prior? Picturing images of him flushed below you as you worked each other up had sent you spiraling into release, biting your arm so as to not cause any alarm. 

You had a hard time looking at him the next day without your mind wandering to something sinful. Things have toned down since due to the interruption of plans, but his gazes have stayed firm. You could always feel the stare of his eyes burning into you, and it never failed to make you squirm and plunder. 

Presently, all of you were on the dock, discussing the coordinates Vincent had found over the radio. A game plan was being formed, an agreement that the rest of the day should be one of rest and preparation before the journey tomorrow. The party started to disperse, some with tasks like gathering supplies and booking rooms for the night. You were left to your own devices, debating on what you wanted to do to pass the time. You look out onto the water, and you don’t know if it is the heat or the exhaustion in your muscles, but going for a swim sounded absolutely divine. 

You heard the metal clanking of Vincent’s shoes behind you, making you turn around to greet him. The thoughts back at the saucer were begging to be reminded but you pushed them back, not sure if you would survive those them with him in front of you. He greets you with a hum, hovering very close to you to the point you have to look up at him. Damn, he is so tall!

Clearing your throat, you greet him back with your thumbs twiddling with each other nervously. “So, is there anything you want to do today?”

“That is entirely up to you. Wherever you’d like to go, I’ll follow.” 

Your breath starts to shutter, but you cough to cover it up. You didn’t want to make it obvious how much he is affecting you right now, even though you are sure it didn’t matter what you did. He always knew. 

“Well, this may sound crazy, but I kind of want to go swimming.”

“Oh?” His head tilts, eyes amused.

“Y-yeah, but I know you cannot be comfortable in this heat. I wouldn’t want to keep you in it.” 

“I can manage.”

You laugh because of course he can. “If you say so, but I will need to get a swimsuit. You don’t mind coming with me to buy one, do you?”

He shakes his head, moving to your side to allow you to lead the way. You both start walking towards the bathing suit booth up ahead and as usual Vincent’s fingers linger by yours. There is no touching, but you can feel them right by you, causing your fingers to twitch. It’s driving you mad, and you are tired of him teasing you to the point of insanity. So out on a whim, confidence boosting, you let your hand grab his metal one. You feel his walk stutter, but he quickly recovers to let the gold claws wrap around your own. 

You lead him to the booth right past the dock and start to look around. There are so many options, and you can feel yourself become a little overwhelmed at your choices. 

“Is everything okay?” Vincent was behind you. You guess he can see the tension in your shoulders as you peruse the different styles.

“I guess I just don’t know what would be best to wear.” You admit. 

The young woman running the booth must have been waiting for an opportunity to sell because the next thing you know she is right in front of you. “Good evening! Would you like some help?”

“Oh, uh…” Before you can utter anymore words, she continues her pitch.

“It is no trouble! I can curate some of our different pieces so you can decide which ones you like best!”

Before you can decline again, she is already ushering you to the changing booth, basically shoving you in. “I’ll be right back with some swimwear!”

You peek out and you can see Vincent about to walk over to the seller, irritation clear on his face. Shit.

“Vincent, come here!”

He turns to you before walking up. As he stops in front of you, you see how much his eyes are flared, burning more red than usual. You aren’t sure how to calm him down, not seeing him like this since the incident at Shinra Manor. You reach out, letting your palm rest against his cheek, hoping that will somehow ease his mind. 

“She shouldn’t have put her hands on you. She is lucky to still be standing on her two feet.”

The protective nature he was exuding was endearing, but also very sexy. You put those thoughts on the backburner, bringing your hand to his neck to stroke the irritation there. 

“I appreciate you looking out for me, but I promise it’s okay. I’m okay.” You reassure, squeezing his skin right above his collarbone. “Let me try on what she offers and then we can get out of here.”

“Alright, here are a few pieces I think would go perfectly with your style!” She hands you the pieces, and turns to Vincent, clueless to the absolute annoyance he wanted to convey in that moment. “I apologize, sir, but let’s give your lady friend some privacy.”

You see his eyes flare again, and you quickly shoot your other hand out from behind the curtain to keep him facing you. “It’s okay! He can stay!”

“Well, if you insist! Just no funny business you two!” She winks at you both and walks back to her station. You gulp out of a nervous habit, even though there is no spit to swallow. Is it that obvious that you two have some unspoken thing for one another?

“Okay, um, let me try these on.” You squeeze his arm in reassurance before going back into the changing booth. You close the curtain and lay out the pieces you were working with. You inspected each one, and you came to a horrifying conclusion: these were very revealing swimsuits.

There was nothing wrong with revealing swimwear, in fact you actually quite liked the ones the lady picked for you. However, Vincent was right outside and would see you in one of these. Would it be too much for him to see you so bare? You are very covered up in your usual attire, so this is a complete 180 and leaves little for the imagination.

You decide to try one on anyway, picking the one-piece swimsuit that is all black and has a long v-line cut. You strip away your clothes, and slip the suit on, adjusting it so everything is even. You go to tie the string in the back, but you can already tell it will be a challenge. You try to tie the knot, but you could feel yourself getting frustrated, grunting in aggravation as the tie keeps going undone. 

“Are you okay?” Vincent called from outside, obviously hearing you struggle.

You sigh in defeat, ready for some assistance. “Um, I think I need help tying the string in the back. Can you give me a hand if I come out?” 

You hear him hum in agreement, and you open the curtain and quickly turn your back. “Just the one string please.”

He hums again and gets to work, grabbing the two ends and crisscrossing them before pulling tightly. You hear him shuffle closer to you, and once again his breath is on your ear. “Is that tight enough for you?”

You freeze. He said it so quietly that you wonder if you are hallucinating but you know what you heard. He is teasing you again. He is trying to rile you up like he did at the Golden Saucer. Well, two can play at that game.

“Yes, that is good. Please tie it.” You feel him take a step back, and he ties the strings to ensure they stay together. 

Once you feel his hands pull away, you turn to him to show off your swimsuit. It hugs you in all the right places, quite comfortably, and it covers you aside from the middle of your body. The v-line shows off your chest, covering your breasts and getting narrower until the point stops down at your belly button. You feel sexy and seeing Vincent’s reaction was the cherry on top.

You watch as his eyes take in your form. You see them wander from your chest to your sternum and it is crazy how much the red of his eyes get smaller as his pupils blow wide. His fingers tremble against his side with slight movement in his arms like he wants to reach out for you, but they stay in place. His control is absolutely astonishing. 

“Vincent? Do I look okay?” 

His eyes snap away, coughing in the process like he didn’t just eye fuck you. He rubbed his neck, forcing himself to look anywhere but towards you. “Yes, it looks fine.” 

You release a smirk, feeling almost powerful seeing this man react the way he had. “Okay, well I am going to try the other ones on.”

You go back inside, and giggle quietly to yourself. It felt good to tease him. With how much he teases you, with how much he riles you up, it is his turn to be on the receiving end of torment. You rip off the one piece, and decide to put on one of the two pieces you were given to try. 

The one you decide to put on is a dark red bikini. The top clips on, so you didn’t need assistance this time. You look in the mirror and you notice how much the top pushes out your breasts. The flesh sticks out, making them look so much bigger than they were. You don’t know if Vincent was a boob man or not, but all you can think is you can’t wait to find out.

“Hey Vincent, can you tell me if this looks okay? I’m not sure how I feel about this one.”

You push the curtain open just as he turns to look in your direction, and his look is priceless. You see him take a heeded breath, one hand turning into a fist and the other gripping his side in what appears to be a hard grip. You hold back a smile, not wanting to give hints to your actions, and walk towards him. You are now standing toe to toe with him, looking up at a man who clearly was losing his cool. 

“Vincent, are you okay? You don’t look so good.” You coo, placing two fingers against his pulse point under his chin. He lets out a grunt at the contact, and your mind is reeling at how fast his pulse is going. 

“Vincent, what are yo-”

“I’m fine.” He grunts, taking your hand away from his neck.

You let it drop, and turn around to the booth. “Just one more and we can go, okay? I’ll be quick.”

You don’t give him another glance as you go back in. You fist pump the air in success as giving him a taste of his own medicine was truly a sight to behold. You are ready to go in for the kill with the last one, which is another bikini. However, this one was black with stretchy black laces that wrap around your stomach. This one felt like a good in between from the other two, but you feel this one will affect him the most. You don’t know why, but something about the intricacies of how it covers your body is simply seducing. 

You finish putting it on and you can’t help the excitement you feel. Out of the three, you like the way this one fits you the most. Not only is it comfortable, but it is an absolute confidence booster. It fits your body well and the laces across your waist accentuates it beautifully. Not only was this the swimsuit you would be purchasing, but you are excited to show it off to Vincent for another reaction. 

You rip open the curtain, cutting right to the chase, only to see he is no longer where he once stood. You hop out of the booth, looking around for the spiky black hair and red cloak, only to see him nowhere in sight. 

“You looking for your boyfriend, babes?” 

You turn to see the seller approaching you, the word boyfriend not even registering. You just want to find him.

“Yeah, did you see where he went?”

She nods over to the dock, back where the Tiny Bronco was located. “He went onto the dock. He seemed to be in quite a rush.”

You quickly thank her. You grab your things from the changing booth, and quickly round up the gil for the swimsuit you were wearing. “Thank you, keep the change.”

You run back to the dock and see the Bronco’s door slightly ajar. You push the door open, not wanting to alarm him as you climb on. You see him sitting on the bench in the very back, hands clutching his head and breathing heavy. Alarmed by how he is reacting, you make yourself known and slowly approach where he is sitting.

“Vincent, are you okay?” 

He grunts roughly, fingers visibly clutching his head harder. “You need to get off.”

You contemplated your next move. You could listen and get off, let him calm himself down. But then you think what if he can’t calm down? What if his mind spirals from his thoughts? Would you leaving really make things better or worse?

You think back to the time when you first met him, how defeated he looked after he had transformed back. How he had stared you down, taking your breath away at how utterly disheveled and beautiful he looked. He had been alone for so long, and that thought turned your rational mind off. You weren’t going to run. He needed you. 

“Vincent, I am not going anywhere.”

His head shoots up, his eyes crimson and face scrunched up like he was holding himself back. He notices your final change of the evening and the growl he lets out is feral. “You,” he snarls, “better not take a single step more.”

You stop again, realization hitting you like a freight train. Did I do this? Did I go too far? 

“Did I do something to upset you?” You ask quietly, afraid of what his response was going to be. “If I did, I am so sorry.”

He doesn’t respond, still looking to the ground although his breathing has subsided slightly. You approach him again, this time making it so you were only a foot away. 

“You don’t want this.” He mutters. 

“What do you mean?”

“I am a monster. The baggage I bring with me, the absolute madness that stirs from within. I don’t know if I can control myself, and that scares me, which means it will scare you.”

You can’t understand what he is saying. “You don’t scare me, Vincent. You could never scare me.”

He grunts out a laugh, like he doesn’t believe a word out of your mouth. “You don’t understand what primal thoughts are going through my mind right now.”

“Well, try me.” You reach out for his face, wanting to touch him, but his right hand grabs your wrist. 

“You don’t know what you want, so stop this.”

You feel like you could cry. The whiplash you are receiving after he has gotten under your skin only to rip himself away is too much. How dare he make your blood run hot and then make it go cold in an instant? You rip your arm away, taking a step back. Your gaze falls to the Bronco’s floor, feeling stupid at your attempt to draw him in. Your arms wrap around your body, sequestering it away from his gaze. 

“You don’t know what I want, so stop putting words into my mouth.” You choke out. Your fists are clenching on your tummy, anger starting to bubble to the surface. “I know you know how I feel about you because you wouldn’t continue to rile me up the way you do if you didn’t. I wouldn’t react the way I do if I didn’t. Truthfully, I love it. So don’t you dare tell me that I don’t know what I want.”

Everything goes quiet. The only thing that can be heard is the heavy breathing on both of your ends. Your anger disappears and is replaced with disappointment. You don’t know if there is any way to convince him, and you aren’t going to be made a fool in the process.

“I know what I want.” You say softly. “I have desires too.” 

It all happens so quickly, your body jolting forward until you are straddling his lap. You gasp, immediately feeling his hard on against your own clothed slit. He’s bigger than I thought, you think, for a man so skinny and sculpted . Two golden claws tilt your chin up, forcing you to be face to face with him. He is much taller than you, so he is slightly over you as he closes in. His breath fans over your lips, eyes erratic and glazed.

You let out a shaky sigh, letting your hands travel up to his face, cupping his cheeks gently as if to let him know what he wants to do is okay. “Do it. Show me you want me too.”

Lips press against yours instantly. It’s intense and intimate with the way he still has a hold on your chin and the way his free arm wraps around your waist to keep you grounded against him. You don’t know if it is the way he has you pressed to him or the way he surrounds your senses, but you feel calm. Even with the aggressive nature of his kisses, it is like he has seeped under your skin, a venomous serum to calm his prey down before he devours. You want more. You need more.

Your hands travel up past his temples to the back of his head, curling your fingers around his black locks. You pull delicately, not knowing how keen he was on pain, only to hear the most delicious whine leave his mouth into yours. You take the opportunity to let your tongue touch his, already becoming addicted to the way he tastes. His grip got tighter on you, trying to pull you in closer even if it wasn’t possible. There was an urgency in his actions as if what you two were doing was too much yet not enough. 

His erection was starting to react more and more against you. You could feel yourself growing restless with the need for some sort of contact. You work to shift your knees slightly, spreading them out more across the bench, and start to grind against the shape of his length. 

A growl from the deepest part of his throat rips out into the open. The claws of his gauntlet let go of your chin and latch to your hip. You stop your movements, thinking he was going to stop you, but he does no such thing. He pushes you down further onto his crotch, moving you himself to urge you to keep going. You follow his movements, letting him guide you back and forth on his cock. All you can think about is how large he is, and how good he feels against your pussy. However, it still isn’t enough. 

You move a hand down to your bottoms, sliding the part covering your heat to the side to get more friction. You can’t help the moan that leaves you the second your clit rubs against the leather of his pants, the roughness different from that of the silk. You move your hips faster, not skipping a beat as to chase a release. 

“That’s it,” Vincent growls against your lips. “Just like that.”

His encouragement sends dopamine right to your brain, giving your hips a mind of their own as you continue to rut against him. Your hips start to tire, becoming noticeable as your knees give out slightly before you readjust. Your mind begs you to keep going, begging to keep your pace so you can reach any type of peak. 

Your knees collapse again, and next thing you know your knees are no longer on the bench but spread far apart by Vincent’s thighs. His garbed hands are on your ass to keep you right where he wants you, and with the motion of his own hips he is rocking up into you slowly with firm pressure. You release his lips, your head resting on his shoulder as he grinds up into your cunt.

“Fuck, Vincent,” you drawl out, gripping his hair tighter with the hand still there, your other hand finding purchase on his shoulder. 

Vincent was having none of that, his right hand shoots to your head to pull it back to face him. What you see invigorates you, as Vincent’s eyes no longer had a red presense. They were the color of the light of day before dusk. The whites of his eyes were illuminated, and his canines had elongated drastically. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Vincent hisses. “Do you still want this?”

The self-pity in his eyes was becoming, and you weren’t having any of that. You were not about to have the man, who is making you go crazy by just nuzzling his long cock into your nethers, get distressed by disillusions. Your left hand drops from his head, dipping down where both of your crotches meet. The tips of your fingers dip into your dripping cunt, the evidence clear as day on his leathers. But if you must show extra proof, you will.

You stuff two of your fingers into your hole, still making eye contact with his yellow orbs as you let your face contort. Your fingers come out covered in your sticky fluid, translucent webbing formed in between your fingers. You bring it between your faces, your eyes bold and lips curling devilishly. “Does this answer your question?”

You don’t know what possessed you, but you let those fingers touch his lips. You pull his lower lip down, seeing if he would let his tongue travel out for a taste. You hum approvingly when he lets the tip give a small lick, and moan all together when he starts to lick them clean. Seeing Vincent obey such a small, unspoken command was the sexiest thing you have witnessed to date, and it makes you want to push him even more. 

You pull your fingers away, causing him to follow them to continue getting his fill. “Look at you,” you purr. “Like a kitten begging for milk.”

“You are one to talk.” He grumbles, thrusting his hips up so it rubs right against your clit. “You’re the one rubbing your bare cunt against me.”

A high-pitched moan wrangles from your throat as he bounced you up and down, followed by a sex drunken laugh. “Why don’t we change that?”

You push his chest so he is leaning way back on the bench, allowing you to steady yourself as you unbuckle his belts. As soon as you open his fly, his bulge pushes outward and you can hear the sigh of relief leave his lungs. Your hands dip into his underwear, pulling the elastic down to release his cock fully. His cock springs up, precum drooling from his swollen head. Your hand wraps around the tip, squeezing to see another pearl form. Your thumb sweeps over it, gathering as much as you can, before bringing it up to your mouth with the need to taste him.

If Vincent’s eyes could glow brighter, they would have blinded you with the way he was watching you. You let your thumb pop out of your mouth, letting some spit travel down your hand before rubbing it over his cock. You readjust once more, angling your hips so your clit would connect with his tip with each roll, and sit right back onto his lap. You both cry out in unison, both of you sensitive and in dire need of release. You crash your lips against his as you roll your hips in a slow, yet firm rhythm. Your hands grip at his hair, loving the way he ruts into you when you pull on it. You don’t hold back, too far gone to tease the daylights out of him, moaning into his mouth every time the head of his cock kisses your bud. 

Vincent wasn’t faring any better, his volume only increasing at the friction. He releases your lips, his head falling onto your shoulder with a long groan. You feel tiny prickles against your skin, his fangs grazing it as he kisses and sucks on your flesh. His hands go over the strings of your swimsuit, gripping the skin of your waist to pull you closer.

His mouth proceeds up your shoulder to your jaw, nipping your pulse point before licking it. The difference between the movement of his hips and his lips is drastic. His lips move slowly, caressing the skin after every love bite he gives you like you are delicate, while his hips buck into you with conviction. It is like he doesn’t know whether he wants to cherish you, or prove to you how much of a monster he can be. 

Both of your essences are mixing as you continue, creating easier movement and a more heavenly feeling. You can feel yourself getting close to your release, hips flying back and forth trying to grasp onto it. It isn’t until your hips give out, a frustrated whine leaving you as the peak downtrails.

“Don’t you dare give up on me.” Vincent orders into your ear. 

“Fuck, I can’t,” you sob, the ache in your hips and knees showing as you start to slow down.

You don’t fully comprehend what happens next, not until you feel the cold metal of the Bronco’s floor on your back. Vincent yanks your bottoms down your legs, exposing all you have to offer to him. He is on you, hunched over you as he thrusts against your fully exposed cunt. You can’t help but shove your head into the crevice of his neck, wailing at how fast he is going. You are surprised he hasn’t accidentally slipped in with how wet you are, the sounds coming from your nethers making that more apparent. 

“I am so close, fuck!” You whimper. You are on the cusp. You needed something. Just a little push to put you over.  “Please, please, please, Vincent! I need it so bad! I need you!”

You feel his fangs against your shoulder, nipping and licking the same spot over and over again. A warm sensation fills you, not registering it until the piercing pain of his incisors sink into your skin. It hurts so good, the combination of pain and pleasure shooting through your system. It sets the tone for your release, causing you to scream into his shoulder. It is electrifying, ecstasy filling in the gaps as your orgasm rolls in waves. Vincent wasn’t far behind, and something about your blood must have sent him into a frenzy. His hips are going inhumanly quick, and after a few more thrusts he ejects his fangs from your body as he cums.

His moans echoing into your ear has you gripping onto him harder, comforting him as he rides out his high. Fingers stroke the hairs on the back of his neck, hushing him soothingly as his body shakes. It isn’t long after he starts groaning, his grip tightening on your thighs. 

“Are you okay?” You ask worried, lifting his head so you can get a good look at him. But what you see stirs something from deep within your chest.

You don’t know if it’s because golden hour has reached its peak, but he looks ethereal. His fangs were no more, but there was blood that has stained his mouth. The beams of golden light reflect off of him, his pale skin shining from the light perspiration on his face. He looks so beautiful in the sun’s rays, like an angel wrapped in light. His eyes slowly open, and a soft gasp leaves your lips. His eyes were no longer illuminating yellow. His eyes, the vibrancy of them, have transformed into the sun. Their usual molten color is bright like the sun's surface. His usual orange rings that surround his pupil are golden, and you can see your reflection in the deep black.

He takes a minute to gather himself before nodding, a sigh passing through his lips before sitting up on his knees. You peer down to your lower half, which is now covered in his seed and your own mess. Vincent’s eyes are glued to your mound, his cum having pooled there from his heavy release. After a moment, he takes his leather glove off his right hand, skin pale and blue from the veins protruding. His fingers dip into his cooled cum, letting it collect on his fingers before pulling his hand away. 

“Vincent, what are yo-” you start before you watch him bring his fingers towards your lips. He lets them hover, waiting to see if you would be as keen to sampling him again like he did with you. 

A light chuckle leaves your lips. He is just full of surprises.

You sit up on your elbows, your mouth pressing light kisses to his fingers before indulging. Your eyes flutter close, a quiet moan rumbling from your chest as take in his taste for a second time. He tastes neutral, nothing too bitter or too musky. It tastes exactly as you expected. Because it was him, he tasted absolutely delectable. And you can’t get enough.

“Look at you,” Vincent mimics your tone from earlier, smirking in the process. “Like a kitten begging for milk.”

His fingers leave your mouth, making you chase after them until he kisses you suddenly. The iron attacks your senses pleasantly, and his humming tells you that his seed is having the same effect on him. You both stay there for a while, just kissing in each other’s mess, and before you know it the sky has turned into its orange hue before the nightfall. 

You decide to pull away first, bringing your hands to his face to soothe the sweat dried skin. “I don’t want this to end, but we should get going. The others may be wondering where we wandered off to.”

He hums slowly, like he was debating whether he cared or not, but ultimately decided to sit fully up. He puts his cock back into his leathers, getting himself situated before he helps you stand up properly. Your body doesn’t feel real from how drained your muscles are, and you think he can tell by the way he guides your hands to his shoulders. He brings your bottoms over to your legs, and urges you to put your feet through the openings. Using his shoulders as leverage, you do as he silently instructs and he pulls them up until you are covered. You look down and see the cum has dried on your skin, and the thought of anyone possibly seeing it makes your cheeks burn, knowing you’d never live it down. 

“Do you think anyone will notice?”

Instantly, like he was already planning to do this, he undid the buckles of his cape and wrapped it around your shoulders. With him being such a broad and tall man, his cape covered you very well and hid the evidence of your coupling.

“It gets cool during nightfall. It won’t be suspicious.”

“But what about your pants? There is cum on them too.”

“Truthfully, I don’t care.”

You pull the cape closer to you, inhaling and exhaling his scent, filling your brain with a sense of safety. Vincent believed he wasn’t deserving of you, that he was a danger to you and others. But when you feel such a sense of security with him, how can he not see that you need him?

He finishes putting his glove back on, flexing his fingers before he goes to open the door of the Bronco. Your brain reacts first, hand grabbing his arm before he could expose you both to the outside world. You needed to know something. You needed to know if he still feels how he felt earlier.

“Vincent, can I ask you something?”

He turns to you, curiosity peaking. He places his golden fingers over the hand gripping his arm, signaling for you to ask your question.

“You don’t regret what just happened, do you? I’m not going to wake up like it was yesterday, am I?” 

There is silence, and you mentally hit yourself for the lack of confidence, your voice having dropped to a whisper. Your head drops again, worried about what was about to not be said, before you feel a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“There is nothing to regret,” he murmurs. “Especially when it comes to you.”

You lift your head up, eyes meeting his, before letting a smile form on your face. His facial features match your own, and he brings you in for a sweet kiss before you two return to the others. You don’t think about them though, because all you can think is that he let you in.

He willingly let you in.

[dyk3tastic]

friends

victoria neuman (the boys) x reader

genre: angst, light smut, hurt/comfort(ish)?

summary: when victoria shows up unannounced at your apartment in the dead of night you want nothing more than to kick her to the curb, you let her in anyway. reader is a member of the boys, could be read as a follow up to my previous fic “cant have both” or as a stand alone. (now wiv a follow up u can read here)

warnings: weapons, language, slightly nsfw, light smut, mentions of sex

a/n: back with another one. getting back into posting ff, haven’t written for an ‘audience’ in a while, feedback is appreciated. enjoy! :)

“wow, you really gonna treat a friend like that?” victoria drawled, foot blocking your front door, stopping you locking her out. wide grin flashing her perfect white teeth. the last thing you wanted at 4am was to shuffle bleary eyed through your shitty apartment, glock firm in your grip by your side, to answer that incessant hammering against your door. when you open the door to see her standing you want nothing more than for the earth to open up and swallow you whole, dreading wallowing in the limbo between you both. the space between hate and longing, betrayal and understanding, where all interactions between you two now seemed to take place. you were tired.

staring up at you under her thick dark lashes, you knew you couldn’t get rid of her even if you wanted to. “we’re not friends” you croak out, voice rough with exhaustion. she just laughs at you, continuing to blink up at you like a fawn, flashing her predatory smile. “what are you doing here vic?” you hiss frustrated by her brazenness and lack of explanation.

“can i come inside? i want to talk to you”, she lets her smile drop. “please”.

you say nothing to each-other as you turn to let her in, she slides past you, eyes dragging down your body, heat prickles your ears as she clocks your batman underwear. she strides in, confident and assured as ever, walking towards the kitchen as if she were coming home from work, like she owns the place. just as you’re starting to become hyperaware of your lack of clothing she speaks again, voice gentle and relaxed over the quiet hum of the tv, “i knew you wouldn’t be asleep yet”.

“is that what you’ve come here to do, pretend to know me so well, tell me about my fucking sleeping patterns?” you mutter, irritated. resting against your kitchen counter you stood opposite her, taller than her now that she had her heels off. the low orange glow of the kitchen light illuminated her bronzed skin. victoria looks up at you, all brown eyed and beautiful, and it makes you forget what she’s done, what you’ve done, just for a second.

“i want zoe out. i want her far away from all this bullshit. i want out. i need you to help me undo this, to just leave it all behind. please.”

hissing, voice scratchy in your throat you half sigh, “you just turn up here and expect me to trust you, expect me to risk my life for you, blinking up at me like bambi and expecting me to feel fucking sorry for you.” “i trusted you, believed in what we were doing, in us. i thought we were working towards something right, some fucking justice for once. to find out those years of my life were useless, sisyphus pushing that rock up that never fucking ending hill for vought. when i told you about-“ you stop abruptly, tired of rehashing the past, take a deep, shaky breath and collect yourself. “coming round here talking about friends” you scoff.

chest rising and falling with uncertainty she stares you down, face unflinching. mocking and faux innocent she asks “we weren’t friends?”. “i’d say when i’d ride your pretty face til it was covered in my cum that we were friends, at least i definitely considered you my friend.” her smile is sharp. “when you’d rut against my leg all desperate and pleading you didn’t think i was your friend?” she added with an exaggerated pout.

you recognised the deflection immediately, could see that all she wanted was to crawl under your skin and pull you back to her. but you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t effect you, the full truth of it all hanging in the air, your skin prickling with memory and mouth dry with the her boldness. “we’re not friends now” you say, proud of yourself for managing to keep your voice steady.

she steps forwards, encroaching in your space. “that’s okay, we don’t need to be friends”. she moves closer again, you don’t dare move, anxious not to scare her off, anxious to close the gap between you two. she breathes an “i’m sorry” into your neck, voice laced with what you so desperately want to believe to be sincerity. moving her head up, her nose bumps your cheek, plump lips pressing a soft kiss against your mouth. your arm moves of its own accord, snaking around her waist, urging her closer. her next kiss is less gentle, her mouth greedy and desperate against yours, chills run down your spine as you let out a quiet whimper. tongue swiping over her lower lip you let yourself get lost in her, in the kiss. transfixed by her touch heat pools deep in ur abdomen, your underwear growing sticky and uncomfortable.

the nights spent touching yourself, seething with anger as you imagined your fingers buried deep inside her, imagined pulling out those little pants and whimpers that made you want to never hear another sound again; those nights seething in your betrayal and wetness couldn’t compare to the electricity that ran through your body as her warm tongue licked lewdly into your mouth. nothing could compare to the feeling of her pressing her warm, petite but deadly body against yours. revelling in the feeling of her tits against your chest it was the bumping of her hip against the hard glock tucked in the thick waistband of your underwear that brought you out of your trance. both of you breathed heavy hot air against the others face, panting as you try to remember why you were here, to clear away you heady thoughts, to regain some semblance of control.

[surfinminho]

Things that turn them on

Hyung line | maknae line

Wc: 1.3k

Warnings: gun play, anal, sub!skz, mommy kink, slapping/hitting

authors note: I'm back!! please bear with me, this was a draft since February so it might suck and I haven't wrote since lmao 😭 idk when I'll post the second half of this, but I'll try not to go AWOL again😪

Chan

You had him wrapped around your finger, he doesn't usually act like this. Being a leader of a group doesn't usually allow him to behave this way.

But when he's with you? It seems as if ever thought in his head disappears. He tries to not let it show especially when he's with the members but he can't help himself.

Him changbin and jisung were all in the studio, doing their tasks while sharing lyrics they came up with.

His complete focus was on this one assignment, something just didn't seem right. In the late nights when he was awake on his laptop, trying to get the lyrics right you would come. Calming his nerves and making him take a break. He needed that stress reliever again with the way he felt like he was going to cry over this demo.

his phone buzzed, sending vibrations in his pocket.

"Hi chan ^^ I'll be home a little late. Like late late, I picked up a extra shift. Hope you don't stay at the studio for too long. Love you 🩷"

He sent a quick message back, running his hands through his hair for the nth time.

The clock ticks to 1:30 am. Exhaustion took over him. Eyes threatening to close.

"I think it's time to call it wraps" changbin spoke up, shutting his notebook.

Chan and jisung both agreed, going their separate ways.

When chan got home, he felt so different. He took his usual shower, eating a snack, even managing to get a little more done on that track. As he got into bed, his nose was filled with the scent of you. He didn't even know when he started tearing up, or when they started pouring out.

To his luck, you came home at that time. Taking off your shoes and hanging your coat up. You didn't bother eating anything, having eating at your job.

You expected chan to be asleep when you walked into your shared room, not him crying in the dark.

"Chan? What's up?" Your socks padded against the wooden floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed.

"N-need you mommy" he tugged at the bottom your shirt, hand reaching underneath it.

It was something you guys did when he was really stressed. You didn't mind it, as it calmed him down.

"Need me? How so?" You maneuvered yourself to sit on top of him, hands grounding yourself by holding his thighs.

"Wan- wanna suck your tits. Please?" Tears were still seen in the corner of his eyes. Threatening to fall once more.

You lifted up your shirt, unclipping your bra in the back, letting him attach his mouth to one of your breasts. It's easy for him to relax and fall asleep just like this. Though, he doesn't think he'll let anyone know Abt his little secret.

Minho

I think I've mentioned this in my other ot8 post but honestly I see minho into gun play. Like if it's minho giving it, (que mafia trope) he's definitely a person in charge or In high rankings. And the more well known you are the more someone wants your head on a platter. He would never want to hurt you, that should be a given. But the thrill he gets from pressing a gun against your neck as his fucks you can give him jerk off material for days.

It was in the spur of the moment, you were perched on his lap in his office, and you were asking him questions about things he had on him, random I know. But it sparked a conversation about guns and one thing led to another and your chest is pressed against the desk, leather glove covered hand covering your mouth while the other has the gun pressed against your neck.

"Shut the fuck up will you?"

If it was minho receiving it, it would probably be a enemy situation. You had known him but jobs and other things tore you guys apart. Saying you missed him would he an understatement.

But when your boss said you had to interrogate him, you got a little giddy.

When you saw him in your basement, you had your hand on your gun. Even though he's tied up, doesn't mean you can't use it.

"Hello there" he smiles at you attempting to wave.

"Let's get this done, just tell us what you were doing." You stood in front of him, gun pointed at his forehead.

"You have the gun there as if you're gonna shoot me. Nice joke bunny." He was taunting you, which for some reason you couldn't take lightly.

You pryed his mouth open with two fingers, shoving the gun into his mouth. You heard him gag on it while you push it to the hilt.

You eyes trailed down to see him hard, straining against his pants.

"Really? Hard because of a gun? Pathetic."

Changbin

He wants you to fist him. That's it that's the sentance.He has almost an infatuation with pegging anal gaping and what not.

He was big and buff, and you.. well you weren't. If anyone was nosy enough (his friends) they would think he was a Dom. And nothing's wrong with that, until he starts talking about how strong he is in bed. What a lie.

When you guys were back at the dorms, you had him face down ass up on the bed. Working him open with three fingers, you made him cum once by sucking him off then again by fingering him. You had him whining like a little bitch. It made you smile.

"Binnie, baby give me another one. Or are you gonna fight me back? Since you're so strong." You rolled your eyes at the last statement.

"I- I said I'm sorry!" He shoved his face into the pillow, hoping to not wake up his flatmates.

"Are you really sorry? Do you need me to pick up the pace? Or add another finger?" He clenched on your fingers as you said that last sentence. Moaning your name as his came for the third time.

"Need me to add another one hm?" You laugh, easing in your pinky.

"No- no more, mommy stop!" You knew he didn't mean for you to stop, he had his safe word. But the thrill of it makes it better.

"Baby, we both know how you love to get your tiny hole stretched, don't hide it."

Hyunjin

I see hyunjin as a hard sub. The whole package if you may. You were hesitant at first, not wanting to hurt him. But soon you got use to it. Inflicting pain on someone was not on your years bucket list. You weren't gonna say you dislike it- actually you were the opposite of that.

Some of his close friends (who happened to be yours) said maybe you are being too rough. Then theyd point to the purple marks scattered around his neck and wrist, but he knows his safeword. He would tell you if it was too much.

He was being good this week, and you decided to give him a reward. It wasn't as usual for him to get a reward, mostly because he's always acting like a piece of shit. But that's besides the point.

You let him have your ass.

"You ready?" You question, digging your nails into his waist.

"Yea" he pulls his slick fingers out, replacing it with his cock.

He presses his cock head against your hole, whining when he couldn't push pass his tip.

"Can't- too tight" he threw his head back, clawing at your waist.

"Baby.." you smiled, grabbing his chin.

"How about we use that brain of yours? Or are you already fuzzy?" You roughly let go off his face, throwing him a bottle of lube.

"I'm feeling nice, try again."

He repeated his actions from before, opening you up a little more.

"Thank- thank you" he read your mind, I mean how could you spoil him and not get a thank you. How ungrateful.

"So warm" he whines, bucking up into you.

"Shit- hit me, mommy- mama please I want it"

[flemingsfreckles]

I’ll Look After You

Synopsis: you and Jessie are still adjusting to life with a baby, Jessie notices that you’ve been struggling more and more recently, until you break.

Warnings: mentions of postpartum depression and anxiety, language

WC: 2.7k

A/N: hi, I haven’t posted in a while, just sort of been struggling, work has kicked my ass, and my motivation has just drained a bit but I’m trying to get back into it.

The first noise Jessie hears after the jingling of her keys in the sound of crying. It’s not an uncommon noise in your household, it’s an everyday, every couple of hours occurrence. But what she notices is the crying isn’t just that of your five month old daughter. She can also tell there’s the sound of an adult crying.

She quickly places the diapers and bag of baby clothes she had purchased on the counter and makes her way to your daughter's room.

She walks into the nursery to a scene that breaks her heart. You’re sitting in the rocking chair, your daughter resting in your lap. You’re both crying, your daughter wailing while you’re sniffling, shoulders shaking while you still try to console the baby in your lap. You looked exhausted.

“Oh my love.” Jessie says rushing to your side. “Let me take her.”

“No!” You snap at Jessie. “She won’t eat, but she’s hungry, that’s her hungry cry. She won’t latch, I can’t help her, but she needs to eat so she needs me.”

Jessie kneels in front of you. Her hands reach out to take your daughter. Already feeling panicked from the hours of crying you’ve sat through and the feeling of failure as a parent, you push Jessie’s hands away. You had been dealing with postpartum anxiety, you knew it and Jessie knew it.

It had started with just not letting your daughter out of your sight. She came with you everywhere, the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, she was always just a few steps away, in every moment you had your eyes on her. Even as she slept you watched her though the baby monitor, hardly ever getting rest yourself. That lasted a for the first few months and then it only became worse.

Then you started having nightmares of terrible things happening to her. That’s when you started not letting her out of your grasp. You no longer brought her out to Jessie’s games. You didn’t let family or friends hold her, everything was a threat to her. You held her constantly, feeling as if any place besides your arms was dangerous to her little life.

This even meant Jessie’s arms. You knew deep down Jessie was safe, she was even more cautious than you were with her, but your anxiety refused to let up when it came to your wife. Any time the baby awoke in the middle of the night, you were up too. Despite Jessie’s insisting you stay in bed, being the first one out of bed to get your daughter, as she’d get up, you’d follow her. You watched Jessie like a hawk when she held your daughter, terrified something would happen. It was all crazy, Jessie was the best partner and parent you could’ve ever imagined but your postpartum brain remained in panic at all times.

“What if she just never eats? She’ll starve, it’ll be all my fault. I just want to help her.” You managed to choke out between cried. Jessie could see the dark circles under you eyes, she knew you hadn’t slept that night and now it was early morning, the exhaustion beginning to take its toll.

“She’s not going to starve babe.” Jessie tried her best to console you. She didn’t know what to do, she felt helpless so many times seeing you stress and worry about your daughter, knowing she could only ease your mind so much.

“She might Jessie! She won’t latch! I can’t fucking feed her. I’m a terrible mom, I can’t even feed her.” You move through anger, yelling at Jessie and your fist hitting the armrest of the rocking chair, to feelings of sadness in an instant, tears falling again.

“You’re not a terrible mom.”

“I can’t protect her. She’s always crying, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I can’t keep her safe.”

“You can keep her safe, you do keep her safe. She cries because she’s a baby, she can’t talk to us, her crying is not an indication of you as a parent.” Jessie’s hands gently caress your shins, trying to help you relax. “Now, can I please hold her?” Jessie brings her arms out again. She knew she had to be patient with you but she also knew you had hit your breaking point. Your lack of sleep, your mood swings, your frustrations, all worried her.

She knew you had been up all night with her. It had taken the two of you a while to get her to fall asleep, and just a short hour later she was up screaming again. You changed her and put her back down, before returning to bed. She had started crying at midnight and you had gone into the nursery, telling Jessie you’d wake her for the next time she cried. Except you hadn’t. You never came back to bed after that wake up. Jessie had heard the crying on her own and made her way into the nursery at 2am. You had sent her back to bed saying you had it covered. Jessie listened, knowing it was smarter and safer to have one rested parent, she also wasn’t interested in making you upset.

Then when Jessie woke up again and noticed you were not next to her, she came to find you. At 4am she found you asleep on the floor next to the crib. She had placed a blanket over you and let you sleep while she made herself coffee. The baby had woken up again at 4:30 and you had been up with her since. Jessie had run to the store to get some necessities, hoping when she got back the two of you would be sleeping again. You had now been awake all night, with only a combined hour of sleep worth of naps to hold you over. Jessie knew she had to take your daughter away from you, you needed sleep. She wanted you safe and she wanted your daughter safe.

You just stare back at Jessie. This was your wife, you trusted her with every bit of yourself, your fears, your accomplishments, you trusted her with your body, with your heart, but for some reason you were terrified to hand her your daughter, the baby she had a hand in making, the baby that was half her, you couldn’t hand her over.

“Babe.” Jessie’s tone was no longer asking politely. “For her safety and more importantly, for your safety, I need you to let me hold her for a bit, you need a break.” Her arms extend once again. She had realized this was getting out of hand, not only did she need to take your daughter in this moment, it was probably time to seek professional help. Jessie made a note to bring that up later with you.

“I don’t need a break, I don’t get a break, I'm her mom!”

“I’m her mom too!” Jessie getting more and more concerned about your own safety starts to snap at you.

Jessie was right, she was her mom too. You look down at your daughter, who is still whimpering. You look at her small face, her little nose, the way her eyes were scrunched and her mouth open crying. It had you tearing up again, seeing how upset she was with no relief thanks to you.

“I couldn’t help her, I changed her, she’s warm enough, she’s burped, I checked her over a hundred times, there's no scrapes or rashes, nothing should bother her. She just is hungry but won’t eat.” That’s when you start feeling your heartbeat in your chest, the whoosh of blood through your ears. You can feel your chest heaving as you try breathing in air.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Jessie’s hands come off your shins and onto your face.

“You’re okay. She’s okay, look at her she’s okay. You’re both okay. I’m going to take her just for a moment, I’ll stay here by you so you can watch. But I’m just going to hold her for a bit.” Jessie drops her hands from your face and gently scoops up your daughter, bringing her to rest on her chest. Your daughter’s head rests on Jessie’s shoulder. Jessie stands up and bounces her lightly, hand running down your daughter’s back trying to soothe the crying.

Jessie extends her other hand out toward you. “Come here, let’s go lay in our bed.”

You look up at Jessie and nod, taking her hand before dropping it. “Two hands on her.” You say, already worrying somehow your daughter will slip from Jessie’s strong grip.

“Okay, two hands.” Jessie shoots you a smile before placing her other hand onto your daughter's back. She follows you out of the nursery across the house and into your bedroom. You watch Jessie as she carefully places her into the bassinet next to the bed.

“There’s nothing in there right? No toys, no blanket, no pillows? Did you check that there isn’t a spider or anything?” It was your paranoia coming back, but you had to ask.

“No babe, just her. There’s nothing that’s going to hurt her in there.” Jessie says looking between you and the bassinet. “She’ll be okay, I’m going to pick her up again in a moment. Let’s get you changed first.”

Jessie took another glance at the bassinet before coming over to where you stood at the end of the bed. She lets her hands rest on your shoulders. “Would you like a shower?” You shake your head, you did but you didn’t have the energy. “New clothes at least? Brush your teeth? Wash your face? What can I help with?”

“I dunno.” You feel on the verge of even more tears, you’d think by now you’d be completely dry. You feel your lip start to tremble again and you bite it trying to hold back the sob ready to fall out.

“Okay, sorry, I gave you too many options. Let’s just get you changed.” Jessie says her hand gently falling to your shirt. “Can I take this one off?” You nod and lift your arms, Jessie gently pulling the shirt over your head. You stand there shirtless as Jessie walks across the room to her own dresser, pulling out one of her old shirts that you frequently stole and would wear to bed. On your way back to where you stood your daughter lets out a cry. You watch as Jessie quickly moves to grab a clean pacifier, placing it into her mouth before coming back over to you.

“Arms up pretty girl.” You do as she asks and she pulls the shirt down over your head. Her hands drop to the shorts you have on. “These off?”

“Ehh she didn’t puke on them, they can stay.” You say. And Jessie’s hands move off of them.

“Okay, in bed.” Jessie walks over flipping back the cover to your side and waiting for you to get in. You climb in and she gently pulls up the covers before walking around to the other side of the bed. She picks up your daughter from the bassinet before she climbs into bed next to you. “Come here.” She pats her side and encourages you to curl into her.

You watch as she holds your daughter, you watch carefully, making sure your daughter's head is supported, her back is in a good position, you watch Jessie, who’s looking between you and your daughter.

“Close your eyes, I’ve got her, she’s okay, if she cries you’ll hear her and wake up.” You lay there for a moment, Jessie was right, she was right next to you, if she cried you’d hear. You’d be able to get up and help in a second's notice. You take one last look at Jessie and your daughter before closing your eyes.

You’re not sure how much time passes when you finally wake up to the sound of your wife talking to your daughter. “Here ya go. This’ll make you feel better.” You blink a few times and see Jessie with your daughter, a bottle in her hand being held up to her mouth.

Your eyebrows squint as you try to take in the image of your daughter eating from a bottle. That was different, it was rare that she ate from a bottle especially when you were home with her, you’d wake up and feed her, there was no need for her to feed from the bottle. It made you upset that Jessie hadn’t woken you, maybe she didn’t trust you to feed her since you had failed earlier. Maybe she thought you were a bad mother.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You feel Jessie jump, not having realized you were awake and being startled by your voice. “I don’t want her to have formula yet, we talked about it this.” You had been strong in your decision to feed her, Jessie knew that. Bottle feeding her was one thing, but you hadn’t pumped, there wasn’t milk for the bottle, Jessie had to be giving her formula. “You should’ve woken me up, I would’ve fed her.”

You move to sit up, starting to pull your shirt up and reaching for your daughter at the same time. Jessie’s hand gently releases the bottle for a moment before her hand comes down onto yours.

“You are feeding her. It’s not formula, it’s your milk from the freezer. You’re still feeding her.” Jessie says looking at you, her hand returning to hold the bottle to your daughter’s mouth.

“Oh.” You feel stupid, you had frozen milk. Frozen milk you had pumped and saved back when your daughter was first born. She didn’t yet eat enough to use it all, so you had saved it. As she grew she drank more and more and you stopped freezing it. You had completely forgotten. You had forgotten, Jessie hadn’t.

“Go back to sleep love, I’ve got her, well, actually you’ve got her, you’re the one feeding her, I’m just holding the bottle.” Jessie smiles down at you, bringing a hand to run her fingers through your hair. “Close your eyes.”

You feel a sudden rush of emotions again, feeling overwhelmed by the kindness of your wife, who you had been cold to since the anxiety started. “I’m sorry.” You can feel your chest tightening and your vision becomes blurry with tears.

“For what?” Jessie looks down questioning what you could possibly be apologizing for.

“Just everything, I’ve been so mean, and I just, I worry and I can’t let her go, if something happened to her, I don’t think I’d survive. I’m so scared for her, she’s helpless, and I’m her mom so that’s my job and I think sometimes I forget you’re her mom too, and I don’t want to burden you with the responsibility, and I just, I’m not being fair to you.”

“You’re also not being fair to yourself. You’re tired, you’re overwhelmed, I don’t like seeing you like this.

“I know I just can’t help it.” You blinked hard and the tears began to run down your cheeks, Jessie’s finger gently wiping them away.

“I know, it’s not your fault. We’ll talk about this later, just get some sleep honey.”

“Okay.” You sniffle, trying to slow down the crying. “I’m sorry, I love you, you’re a really good mom.”

“Shhhh.” Jessie lets her fingers run through your hair again, trying to soothe you back to sleep. She doesn’t need to hear you apologize for something that was beyond your control, she knew it was all hormones, your brain playing tricks on you. She knows she’s a good mom, she knows you’re a good mom, she doesn’t need your reassurance but it is nice to hear. “I love you. I’ll look after you and her. I’ve got you. Just close your eyes.”

You do, quickly falling asleep with the feeling of Jessie’s fingers in your hair and the sound of her whispering softly to your daughter about the first time you and she met, one of Jessie’s favorite stories to tell. The anxiety and stress wasn’t gone, but for once, with her by your side, it suddenly wasn’t all consuming.

[thecapricunt1616]

Lily of the Valley - (c.b. oneshot)

𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 (𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒): “Yes, what is all this baby?” You asked, motioning to the roses. “Did I forget somethin? Our anniversary isn’t for another 2 months” you asked a bit nervously. Carmen wasn’t a stickler for dates, but it would break your heart if you were to forget something important. “No- no. I just…just love you- I wanted to show you, and especially after this week I know I’ve been crazy busy, and I’ve been comin’ in late and leavin’ early, and…I just wanted to show my best girl how much she means t’me” he kissed your forehead sweetly and you felt a blush creeping to your cheeks. 

O/S INSPO:  Lily of the Valley Soothing, calming, draws peace and tranquility, and repels negativity. Assists in empowering happiness and mental powers. Married couples should plant Lily of the Valley in their first garden to promote longevity of the marriage.  POSTED DATE:03/30/2024 W/C: 4,114

A/N: FINALLY!!!! I am so sorry this took forever! This O/S is based on this adorable request from the LOML @daysofyellowroses - please check out her blog! I hope this satisfies your Carmy Proposing idea! I'm sorry it took so long i've been sick, but we’re back baby!!! Requests are opennnn y'all!

WARNINGS FOR BTC: Smut, Swearing, NO USE OF Y/N - As little physical description as possible, fluffy Carmen, OC Carmy - (He's more emotionally grown obvi hahah)

You pushed the heavy, bulging tote bags full of groceries up your arm as you walked back to Your&Carmy’s shared Condo Building. The wildflower seeds you’d thrown on the little patches of grass on your walks to the train, along the sidewalk on your block had finally started to bloom. Adorable tiny little flowers in vibrant shades of blue, pink, purple, yellow, and white peeking out over the sidewalk's edge. 

Spring had most definitely sprung in Chicago by this point. Your commute whilst walking to work down Michigan Ave, passing the stunning array of tulips, had told you that fiercely every time you walked to and from the train this week on the way to work. It was finally Friday, and you couldn’t be happier. 

Carmen had been so busy this week- busier than normal. You’d usually just hang out with your best friends to fill that pathetic, lonely void while grading papers and doing your own assignments- but they were busy this week too! You were convinced the universe had bound you to loneliness this week, so naturally, all you wanted to do was get home, crawl into bed, and sleep- until Carmy came in around 2 to 3 am, and get that savored 15 minutes of cuddles after his shower, before exhaustion came over you again and you fell back asleep. 

You used your special key fob to get in the door of your condo’s shared building, which to your standards was very luxurious- it included amenities you’d never even thought of. You and Carmy had moved in together 3 months ago, it took a lot of convincing on your end. You and Carmy had lived on opposite ends of town, so every time you’d see eachother, (which was very often) -  it would be an hour's drive that he insisted- or, him losing the battle- and allowing you to take the train back all those stops. 

You weren’t particularly religious,  it was more just a personal preference - that you would be at least engaged before you were to move in together. Especially before having a mortgage together. You’d told Carmy this, and he’d given you the same answer each time over the last two years he’d been begging - “Baby we know we’re in love, you know we’re eachothers forever person - we tell eachother every day! We’ve been together 3 years, Let me take care of you” 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be taken care of- it’s just…you liked working. You loved your job, you’d went to school and earned a masters degree for Christ sake, and were currently working on your PHD. You couldn’t ever see yourself giving that up, and moving in with a boyfriend and him insisting on paying all the bills made you fear you’d fall pregnant, and then your professional life would be over. 

But, Carmen had insisted to you he wasn’t interested in children unless you were. You were sure at one point you never wanted them, but you were becoming more afraid, because seeing as amazing an uncle Carmen was, how naturally kind and understanding he was of children- it brought out something in you. It was so sudden that you could imagine turning your shared library / art studio into a nursery during slow time at work. 

You walked down the hall, in no rush to be home. The only presence waiting being your cat, Truffle, Carmy had insisted on the name due to his deep black fur. 

You approached the door, confused as to why you were hearing…music? From your apartment? You shook the hope of Carmy being home this early away, not wanting to be dissapointed. The neighbors downstairs must be blasting that same kind of jazz instrumental Carmy listens to so loud that you heard it through the floor. 

You unlock the door, and sure enough the music playing softly through the condo gets a tad louder but the first thing to catch your eye was the white and pink rose petals making a trail to the kitchen. You heard Carmy humming lightly, the sound of chopping on the cutting board. 

“Bear?” You quickly nudge the door shut with your hip, not even bothering to take your shoes off and rushing down the hall into the kitchen. Sitting atop the breakfast bar, was a vase packed with beautiful pink and white roses. 

He looks up from the cutting board “My favorite girl” he stops what he was doing immediately coming and taking the bags from your shoulders, setting them down before greeting you with a sweet kiss. He cupped your cheeks gently, pulling you in to him so you were flush together with his other hand.  

“You used our card f’that right?” He asked softly when he pulled away. You roll your eyes a bit, he had insisted you get a shared credit card, and that you purchase everything with it- and at the end of the month, he will show you the statement, and only pay a quarter of the total, just another one of the ways he assured every financial burden of yours was eased significantly. 

“Yes, what is all this baby?” You asked, motioning to the roses. “Did I forget somethin? Our anniversary isn’t for another 2 months” you asked a bit nervously. Carmen wasn’t a stickler for dates, but it would break your heart if you were to forget something important. 

“No- no. I just…just love you- I wanted to show you, and especially after this week I know I’ve been crazy busy, and I’ve been comin’ in late and leavin’ early, and…I just wanted to show my best girl how much she means t’me” he kissed your forehead sweetly and you felt a blush creeping to your cheeks. 

“That’s so sweet Bear. Thank you I love you, this is…no one’s ever done this- oh my god- are those balloons?” You giggled, seeing heart shaped foil balloons tied to your chair at the table and he smiled proudly. 

“Mmhmm, the lady at the flower place said that - we can talk about it later. You wanna cook w’me? You can just watch if you want?” He asked, gently brushing his fingers through your hair. 

“I never turn down a lesson from the best, let me go get changed real quick” you headed toward the bedroom and he stopped you by your hand pulling you back into his chest, kissing your neck with wet open mouth kisses earning a giggle that you couldn’t contain. 

“Mmm- don’t go in there right now, it’s for later. I already got your pajamas right here” he said going over to the couch and grabbing your favorite pair of sweatpants and his old ‘the beef’ tshirt that to you was the most comfortable thing in the world, especially when he wore it to bed for a few nights before giving it back. 

“For later huh?” You muse, taking off your heeled booties and unbuttoning your slacks before peeling them off and trading them for your soft fuzzy grey sweatpants. 

“Mmhmm” he hummed in response and took your pants for you and your blouse and bra as well, bringing them to the laundry room as you put the shirt on and got your hair situated into a bun. 

“What are we cooking today, chef?” You asked, heading over to the kitchen to see there were little bowls of vegetables that have been precut and you gasp happily. “Stop- are we really?” You giggled. 

“I told you that it’s easy baby but you hate eggplant so ratatouille isn’t gonna be something you’re a big fan of” he chuckled. You had watched the movie with him, and told him that the ratatouille dish looked insanely delicious and that you wanted him to make it for you, but he told you your aversion to eggplant would probably turn you off the dish. 

“But there isn’t eggplant” you said looking over the dishes filled with various vegetables. 

“That’s right, this is princess ratatouille. I’ve been figurin’ out different vegetables w’Syd that would work for it, we finally got it right. We have zucchini and a few different squashes, and we have onion and garlic, tomato, bell pepper, everything you like. I think you’ll love it baby.” He said rubbing your back gently. 

“Of course I’m gonna love it bear, I love everything we make together you have the magic touch. So what’s my job?” You asked eagerly. 

“You my special sous chef, are gonna help put the veggies in and I’m gonna do the sauce” He kissed your temple gently. 

“Ok! Let me get my apron” You said, happily turning to the drawer you kept your aprons in.

“Wait-” he said, holding your arm. You look back at him and he looked…nervous.”Is…something wrong?” You questioned, brows furrowed slightly in concern.

“No- no I um….i got you a new one” he said sheepishly, walking over to the island and opening up the cupboard beneath you never used. 

“Oh- ok..Leveling up are we?” You joked, happily leaning against the counter. 

“Jesus-” he chuckled, “Close y’r fuckin eyes- carnival psychic” he teases and you laughed, obliging and closing your eyes.

“Carnival psychic?” you asked and he came over gently putting bundle of fabric in your awaiting hands.

“I swear t’god- you went snoopin’? Open your eyes” he said. You opened your eyes, looking into your hands and seeing an apron. It was white, just like his, and folded perfectly. In thick black letters, intricately painted, ‘ Will You Marry Me? ‘ Adorned with a little red heart over the center pocket that had a square shaped bump.

You felt all of the blood leave your face, your knees feeling wobbly, your mouth gaping in to an O shape, as you stare down at the apron. “Where did you get this?” you whispered, completely awestruck. 

“I-I…um…made it?” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I- shit. Fuck- is this not how you pictured it? I’m so fuckin sorry babe- I-I thought…I dunno- like.. You wanted it private? Cause I know you said you’d never-” he’s interrupted by your lips crashing on his in a fervent wanting kiss, a mix of spit and teeth and lips and tongues, he moans softly into your mouth, squeezing your waist.

You were pressed together so firmly that the small box dug into your ribs, eventually pulling away from him with shaking hands and reaching into the pocket, pulling out the small black velvet box. You ever so carefully opened it, your breath catching in your throat when you saw the absolutely breathtaking ring.

“I-it’s not uh..not a diamond- cause I know you said-” you interrupt him

“Princesses and Queens don’t wear diamonds, they wear crystals” you finished, staring at the beautifully cut opal, at least 8 carats, banded by a intricate edwardian band… nothing short of a ring for a Goddess.

“But..But- this one…it does- it has both…because uh” he swallows thickly. “It…in my mind- when I s-saw it, it represented your soul, and your physical body.. And I liked that. Cause- y’re my diamond, but you’re also my queen, my everything, baby. Like how - how you said that…you wished your aura was opal? It is. It is, angel. And every time you look at that, I want you to remember that you’re beautiful from your diamond exterior, to your opal soul” he brushed his finger over the ring, before meeting your gaze once again.

He gently wiped the tears that were running down your cheeks freely, hot and wet and open. It was rare that Carmy genuinely used his words rather then his actions to express his love for you, so you were nothing short of savoring this. “Holy fucking shit” you laughed, shaking your head and looking down at the ring box. “Put it on my hand” you held your left hand out. 

He chuckled a bit, “so… yes? You will?” he asked carefully, pulling the ring out of the box.

“Are you kidding, YES! Put this ring on my finger and fuck me dumb- this is all i’ve ever wanted, Bear, I fucking love you- and youre asking if I want you to be my husband?! I’ve wanted nothing more for two years- at least!” you shake your left hand for emphasis, a wide large grin on your face.

He carefully slid the ring over your manicured finger, and it just made you cry more how it fit perfectly. “How do you know my size?!” you asked, since most of the vintage rings he'd bought you were adjustable so it didn't matter the size of the rings he’d gotten for you before.

He chuckled a bit, “so- y’re ring…y’know the one…y’thought you lost it at Chipotle like…ahhh- 8 months ago now? In the bathroom? Y’took it off at the table, you wore it on your ring finger so I had to take my chance. You kept sayin how it was like- the only ring you’d found that fit without takin’ it to the jewler. So uh” he dug in his jeans pocket, placing your beloved vintage ring with your starsign on it in your palm.

“I got that ring, based on the size. I got it uhhh…sorry dont be offended- it’s not new… I got it at an estate sale of this lady- it was crazy- the way I came across it babe… like fate. It was when Syd and I went to New York for that interview, she literally dragged me to this sale cause she said the lady who died was said to have a bunch of vintage fur and stuff she was looking f’somethin- anyway. We met the lady’s daughter- Stella? I think it was? Doesn’t matter… but she um..said her Ma was some crazy astrology nut, also said she only wore crystals. So I took a look… that was the first box I opened. And y’ring on my pinky, it fit perfect, so I tried it on- it fit like a glove. I’m glad we don't have to size it. Asked her if it was real, she said - her Ma told ‘er some…. Like life coach? Er- astrologer life coach author? Gave it to ‘er on a trip to Jamaica in the 60’s. Told ‘er ‘this ring will someday be worn on a hand proudly as a devotion of true love’- Miss- No! Madame ! Madame Stardust. Nutty name right?” he chuckled a bit. 

You smiled proudly at the ring, a devotion of true love indeed. “I think” you turned to the counter, stacking the bowls of vegetables together and putting them in the fridge as you friskily countered “you are not going in to work at all next week- wifes orders” you walked over to him, hips swaying. “And after you fuck me absolutely stupid” you grabbed his collar, pulling him in so your faces were meer inches apart “Oh- and we talk about how this mademe stardust? Confirms that our souls are indeed woven together like a fucking wicker basket” you kiss him roughly, weaving your fingers through his dirty blonde curls and tugging firmly. 

He moaned into your mouth, his hands trailing down and squeezing your ass firmly. You hummed in satisfaction, leaning against him and he stumbled back, back, back, pushing the bedroom door open with a squeak. You looked up, Breaking your kiss with wide eyes.

All throughout the bedroom, were printed photos of you and Carmy throughout the years, suspended with clear wire so it was as if the photos were floating midair. You clasp your hands over your mouth, admiring all the hard work and pure thought that had went into the gesture. You looked over all the photos, three years of memories hanging before you like a gallery of love surrounding you, all of your fondest happiest memories at every flicker of your eyes.

“Carmen” you whispered, walking forward and admiring each and every photograph…

He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Y’know how you said no work next week…” he said softly, kissing up your neck with wet, sexy, open mouthed kisses. “We leave Sunday… F’Cyprus” He said hotly in your ear, his breath tickling your neck causing a moan to escape your lips as he gently lifts your shirt, palming your breast gently.

“Is- is that-” you breathe out

“We’re getting a tour of Aphrodites Baths” he said softly, rolling your taught nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ah- y-you remembered?” you gasped, he let out a soft deep chuckle, Kissing the corner of your mouth and gently laying you down upon the soft sheets of your shared bed. 

“I’d have proposed over a year ago- when I got the fuckin’ ring if i coulda gotten us the tour sooner” he muttered into your skin, tugging off your- (his) shirt, leaving supple, gentle kisses over your stomach and up your ribs.

“Mm- are we- can we swim?” I asked hopefully.

He  gently wipes your tears away, “No” he said a bit sadly, “We can dip our hands… some asshole ruined swimming for people years ago…before we met…but- we were also gonna Parga Greece, baby. We’re spending 2 days in Cyprus, then flying to Parga on a charter- we can swim, fuck, do whatever in those waters baby. Amidst the Goddess of the Underworld f’five whole days” he smirked and you gasped, as if he’d gotten you the moon on a string.

“The Acheron River?” you whisper and he nodded, gently rubbing his thumb over your lips.

“That is the sexiest thing i’ve ever heard in my life- you’re gonna make me cum in the 2nd most famous river of Hell?” you giggled and he snorts a laugh, pushing you on the bed gently.

“Fuck yeah, you little fuckin’ freak” he teased, tugging off your panties and sweatpants in one swift pull, leaving you soaked and bare before him.

You gasped at the rough action, quickly being soothed by soft, sweet kisses over your hipbones. 

“I fuckin smell y’kitten fuck” he growled, kissing the inner of your thigh in the way that made you creen. 

“Shit- good- right? If y’compared me to a seafood market i’d break your nose” you teased, hooking the crooks of your knees over his shoulders, shivering when he leaned in closer, his hot breath directly over your clit- his lapis blue eyes boring into yours.

“That question doesn’t deserve an answer” he grumbled hotly, spreading your folds with his fingers and admiring the wet, slick, mess in front of him. “S’fuckin pretty princess- fuckin’ prettiest pussy in the world” he nearly moaned, burrying his mouth where you needed him most, eyes fixed on yours.

You couldn’t even make a sound- a hot breathy gasp escaping your slack-jawed stance as your head flopped back on the mattress with a soft bounce. “Mmmmm shit” Carmy hummed, satisfied with your taste as if he was devouring his favorite dessert.

“F-Ffuuuckkk” you whimpered out pathetically, voice cracking and bleeding out between the fracture lines of your hot intense pleasure.

“Mmhmm-mmmhmmm” Carmy mumbled confidently against your now firm clit, tongue flicking over it at a mind-numbing pace, bringing you right to the edge and hanging you there by a single finger.

“Ahhhh-Ahhhh-Fuck!! Carmy! Oh- ohhhh!!!” You whined, spine pointing in an arch off the mattress, your hips and thighs quivering and shaking wildly as your orgasm crashed over you like hot lightning before you could even warn him, or know yourself it was so close.

“Goooood girl, thats it- mm- my good fuckin’ girl- Y’gonna be my fuckin’ wife baby? Mmm? Gonna be mine? F’rever?” He grumbled, placing a gentle kiss to your clit before placing gentle yet firm pressure over it with the pad of his tongue that made your hips buck with a mind of their own.

He chuckled slightly into your heat, the vibration causing you to whine pathetically. “Y-yes-yes-fuck i’mfuckinyoursBear-y’gonnamakemey’wife? Yeah? Gonna make me Mrs. fuckin Carmen Berzatto?” you slurred, pulling him into a messy wanting kiss, soughing at the flavor of your core coating his spit.

“Fuckin- spit in my fucking mouth- claim me” you groaned. He smiled against your lips, pulling away slightly, a thick hot string of saliva connecting the two of you.

“So fuckin dirty” he grumbled with a smirk “Open that filthy fucking mouth” he ordered, getting quiet for a moment as he gathered saliva in the front of his mouth.

You obeyed him immediately - your jaw going slack, tongue stuck out ever so slightly and eyes fluttered shut. Then- you felt it, hot, sweet, salty saliva coating your tongue, you groan at the flavor as it continues pooling over your tastebuds. “Do not fucking swallow yet- greedy girl” he tapped your chin firmly, before pulling your jaw open wider with Tthe pad of his thumb. 

“Stick out that pretty little tongue” he grumbled, you obeyed with a smile, opening wide as you could, sticking your tongue out far, showing off the creamy white saliva he’d dressed your tongue in, so much it was seeping down onto your chin, threatening to coat the front and back of your throat.

“Good girl- that's my good little kitten” he purred, “How d’you want me princess?” he gently collected the excess saliva from your chin on his thumb, sucking it off his digit hotly as he awaits your response while you swallow gratefully, the taste setting your soul ablaze.

“I want you to fucking claim me, Carmy, holy fuck- use me, worship me, fuck me like a goddamn animal- whatever you fucking want- please” you begged after you’d savored the taste while you swallowed, his sky blue eyes going dark as navy slacks with lust at the admission. 

“Yeah? Why not all three?” he pushed you down to the mattress by your throat, not hard enough to bruise- but hard enough for the breath to leave your lungs and your core to throb so hard you were clenching your thighs, trying to give any solace of pressure to your swollen aching clit.

“P-please” you stuttered, writhing against the mattress and he chuckled darkly. 

“Are we a little needy? Mmm princess?” he pushes your knees apart with his thigh, aiding the throbbing pressure with his strong fingers, rubbing firm, slow circles into the twitching bud that made your hips snap into the mattress and head fall back to the bed, eyes rolling back with a sharp gasp of pleasure. 

“Pl-please-” you gasp out, spine arching sharply as he replaced his fingers with his mouth on your clit, 2 fingers slipping inside of you with no resistance due to the fact your core was so soaked it was beginning to pool at the dip of your bum and soak the sheets. The squelching as he pumped into your g-spot mixed with your high-pitched moans and frisky growls was absolute sin.

He opens his jaw wider, tonguing your entrance wildly and nuzzling his strong nose against your clit in broad strokes, randomly flicking back and forth quickly making you squeal in pleasure as you grind against his mouth, fully out of control of your movements as if you were a puppet on a string.

“H-Hooooo-i’m cumming- oh- don’t you dare fucking stop Carmen” you growled, grabbing his curls and pullinghim further into your core. “I’m cumming- i’mcumming-holy-holyfuck-imfuuuckiing-AAAH!” your thighs and hips shake and quiver, stars of ethereal white filling your vision.

“Mmhmmm” he grumbled, coming up and sucking your nipple with his slick lips, his chin and nose soaked with your arousal, so much so his chin dripped onto your ribs. 

“H-Oh-yes Bear” you whined out, head tilting to meet his gaze. “I need you- I-I need you inside- like- fuck- when you- you have my knees around your hips and y-you fuckin’- just drill me Carmy- I need that- need you deep” You reverberated wantingly, wrapping your thighs around his waist taughtly, making it easier for him to take you exactly how you wanted.

“Jesus Christ- I can’t fuckin’ stand y’baby. Y’re like a fuckin’ drug- it’s like I fuckin’ function unless I’ve had a hit” he nibbed your collarbone, quickly removing his jeans and boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

You gave him a mischievous smile, inching your hips forward. “C’mon- I don’t give a fuck ‘bout cooking right now- fuck me absolutely dumb- then take me to Sam’s f’r chocolate chip pancakes- sure that waitress will be over the moon bout my ring” you mused, capturing our lips together, as he scoops up your shoulders and holds you chest to chest, your third of many orgasms that night building throughout every muscle.

It was going to be a long night….

[justwinginglife]

What Lies After?

Y'all, spoilers- it's a depressing one and I'm so sorry in advance. I promise I'll post something more wholesome later.

You're dying.

You're dying and Soshiro can't do a damn thing about it.

Amidst the chaos of people pulling each other from the rubble, medics running to and fro, and other soldiers groaning in pain as they writhe in the dirt waiting to see if death or the medics will claim them first, he can still hear the situation you're facing a couple feet away from him (in fact, it's the only thing he can hear at this point). You're never far away from him, he would never allow it. He doesn't know what it's like to not be by your side. But he can't reach you. He's badly injured himself and though he gave crawling a good, hard attempt, his bruised, bleeding organs won't allow him to get any closer to you though he's already pleaded and begged them to. He'd plead to anyone who'd hear him, who'd save you. The doctors, the gods, the devil himself.

The sound of the defibrillator thumping at your lifeless body is deafening to him. He can hear his own heartbeat vying for attention as it thunders in his ears and he wishes it would shut up and let him join you.

He wipes blood from his eyes, as it's started to drip down his forehead, he's desperate to see you better. Even if the color has drained from your face he still thinks you're the most beautiful thing ever placed on this Earth. His weak eyes widen slightly, as much as they have the energy to, as he sees the doctors starting to pull away from you. He sees the resigned looks on their faces, though muddled by his own tears, and he thinks he might just choke on his own lungs when he finally brings himself to look at the unforgiving, unbudging line of what was your heartbeat flattened against the cold screen of the monitor.

He stops looking at you. You're not there anymore. He's got nothing left to look at, nothing left to look forward to.

He lays down flat again, pressing his back up against the dirt, and peering at the sky while he still can, his eyelids getting heavier with each aching breath. I'll be there soon, love, wait for me.

He thinks about your laugh. How you'd probably say something about how we shouldn't waste the chance to enjoy such a bright blue sky. How we have to seize the day. And then you'd seize his hand and take off running, laughing and laughing, the way you always do. The way you always did.

Why was the sky so damn blue today?? How dare it be a perfect, clear day when nothing about this day was perfect or clear?

You would've loved today. If you weren't... gone.

He'd always make fun of people who used euphemisms. Just be honest, and say they're dead if they're dead. None of this "kicked the bucket" or "gone to a better place" bullshit. They're dead. But he can't bring himself to think that about you. He settles on "gone to a better place." Darling, save me a spot up there, won't you?

He lifts his fingers weakly and waves at the sky and what is presumably heaven.

He's never thought about religion before, but now every torn, exhausted fiber of his being hopes to every god out there that there is a heaven and that you're waiting impatiently at the door for him, tapping your foot and rolling your eyes but still grinning nonetheless. "Welcome home, Soshiro." You'd say with open arms.

"He's crashing."

He wonders if God will let the two of you have that house that you'd always dreamed of. He's sure God could spare a house or two for the love of his life especially when you're such an angel. He's made up his mind that God definitely wouldn't be able to resist a cutie like you if you asked nicely.

"Get him under control now, I'm not losing another one, damnit!!"

He wonders if you're an angel now. You always did believe in angels. You always believed in everything good and pure and wonderful like the saint you were. He smiles at the thought of you with a little glowing halo above your head and a white flowing gown. He'd kill to see you again. He'd die to see you again.

"Vice Captain, don't you quit on us!"

He wants to quit. He will. He'll do it. He doesn't know who said that but it wasn't you so he doesn't much care. He misses you so much. He misses you. What he'd give to hold you again, to smell your hair- you thought he wouldn't noticed that you'd changed your shampoo recently but he did. He never got to tell you he liked the new shampoo. He never got to tell you a lot of things. His trembling fingers move towards his pocket where he knows the ring is sitting snug against his leg but he stops himself. He doesn't want to touch it. He can't take it, it might kill him if he thinks about whatever future you might've had together. It might kill him. He touches it.

Everything goes white. Your face is coming into view now. He can almost see you fully, your hair bouncing in the wind, your sparkling eyes gleaming at him, your full lips waiting to be reunited with his. Just a little longer baby, I'm coming.

"We've got a pulse! He's stabilizing. He's going to make it!"

No.

Fuck.

[mercilesstickler]

Favorite Tickling Techniques - Mine Would Have to Be "Red Dot" Tickling

Given my particular kink, and the friends I've cultivated on this site who share my love of all things tickling related, I've gotten several messages asking the same question - "What do think is the most effective tickling technique?" Well the real answer is...it depends. Based on my experience, and assuming you have a highly sensitive ticklee, my mind inevitably goes right to what I call, "The Red Dot Technique".

Let me explain...

Here is the setting - highly sensitive ticklee, 4 poster bed (or something similar), Lee tied spread eagled using 8 ties (wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts - then add a tie to each elbow and knee and secure to the side of the bedframe) complete and total immobility. Teasing is ESSENTIAL here. Tie her slowly, firmly but gently...then smile at her and reveal a red satin blindfold....place it on her to significantly heighten her nervousness and sensitivity. Then pour yourself a drink, sit on the bed next to her and chat...tell her you are just going to admire her body while you plan out your next moves...casually remark..."You have nothing to be nervous about...unless you're ticklish..." Watch as she tries to squirm away and begins to freak out a bit...now the negotiating begins...then as she is trying to convince you not to tickle her...you begin. Starting with her palms and ending with her soles you slowly explore every single inch of her helpless body. Nibbling, tickling...doing anything to elicit laughter. As you find an especially explosive spot....one which elicits that beautiful squealing "volts of electricity through the body" tickle response, you take out a soft tipped red pen...and you make a very tiny dot on that spot. Then you move on. By the end of this adventure you will have an exhausted ticklee...and a complete map of her absolute worst tickle spots.

This is where the real fun begins....after letting her rest for a bit...kissing her gently...refreshing your drink...you take out one of her favorite vibrators...she hears the buzz...you lie next to her and whisper in her ear, "So here is what is going to happen....I'm going to slowly bring you to a long, wonderful orgasm...you are going to cum like you never, ever have before. Then, after you cum and are lying there in that wonderful post-orgasm hypersensitivity, I'm going to slowly tickle you again...only this time I'm only going to tickle the parts of your body with the red dots. And then it begins....you slowly arouse her with the vibrator. As you do you whisper in her ear, "Don't you dare cum...don't you dare..." Of course this only makes her cum faster. When she does, you give her a long, deep kiss...and whisper in her ear, "You just lie back and relax sweetie. I'm going to do some exploring..." And round 2 of the tickling begins...and then it becomes an evening or orgasm...red dots...orgasm...red dots...You get it.

That's the most effective technique I know...

[itsfairly]

Saying Out Loud // Nanami Kento x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k

cw: none.

notes: HAPPY PRIDE YALL! i normally post once a month, but lets pretend last post was the make-up for may and this one is june's. either way, fits the month, right?

liked this? show it with a like, reblog, and/or comment. each is greatly appreciated and celebrated!

"I'm bisexual," you said with a small crack towards the end of your words.

your eyes were constantly shifting between his, searching for any reaction or response from Kento as your fingers fidgeted with each other in an effort to calm your nerves.

it was so uncomfortable, so tense, so terrifying. you know this stuff is told at the beginning of a relationship, not months into it, but things with Kento were going so well. you've never felt so calm around someone, so loved in the most simple yet concrete ways, that a relationship could be so easy and rewarding as this one with him. you wanted to hold on to this stage, this moment where things flowed perfectly and the world seemed to say yes, these two are meant for each other. that's why you took so long to tell him.

after all, how many people treated you differently after they learned this about you?

sorry, its just that i dont want to date someone who will make me look over my shoulder to see if they are being faithful.

what? so you're just gonna leave me when you want to date a man or something?

does that mean we can have a threesome?

its was as if there mere mention of your bisexuality was a burden to them or some sort of fetish. it was exhausting and no matter how much you tried to be fine with it, you weren't.

it wasnt like you didnt trust Kento, he had been nothing but respectful to you and such a gentleman. but god, did those relationships screw up your confidence in this area...you thought you could keep this to yourself, but then again, he deserved to know before things went any further, to walk out if this wasn't what he hoped. you would get it even if it was unfair.

with every second his eyes looked into yours, taking in your words with that stoic expression of his that you could barely read at the moment, the fear was growing in your chest. It kept expanding until it reached your lungs and had to take deep breaths to appear calm about this when you were scared shitless. what would he say? why was he taking so long? he wants to break up, doesn't he? of course, he-

"what made you want to tell me now?" Kento asked, his voice calm as ever as if he was asking where you wanted to have lunch, making you wonder if he was even understanding the severity of your words.

"we've been dating for months now, exclusively even, and you deserved to know before things got serious," you said, feeling your heart race with every word you said. hell, you wondered how you managed to speak so clearly with these many thoughts in your head.

"but are you telling me because you want to or because you felt like you have to?" Kento asked, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes showing this concern.

that made you blink a few times. this wasn't the kind of reaction you usually received. you were bracing yourself to hear any apprehension, maybe for him to reject or twist your words, but not to see him worried for you like this.

"i told you, we have been dating for a few months and it would be fair if i kept this from you-"

"but its not fair to force yourself either." Kento interrupted you, his words having this firm yet soft tone to them.

his hands reached out to one of yours, covering it completely in his hold. a steady hold opposite to the fidgeting of your fingers, but in his hands, your hand had no choice but to relax.

"you look so stiff you might break, try and take a breath," he adds, his head tilting to the side as his expression softened.

you do just that, mirroring Kento as he also took a deep breath to encourage you to do the same, and while it did help with the nerves, it didn't relieve your confusion. he wasn't saying much on your coming out, he hadn't say a single word about it yet.

"i wanted—want to tell you because i don't want you to find out later on after investing so much in me and just...you don't need to waste your time if someone like me isn't what you were looking for," you explained.

of course you wanted to tell him, but it didn't took away how scary coming out is, especially when the person you're coming out to is so special and you want them in your life regardless. you didn't want to lose him, but you also didn't want to deceive him like this. maybe you did had to push yourself to say it, not wanting to ruin things so quickly, but you couldn't wait any longer.

Kento sighs, making your heart stop for a second. Was he disappointed? Infuriated? Angry?

But when you heard his words as he squeezed your hand, you were surprised to learn how far off you were...

"i must be awful at making it clear that you're exactly who I'm looking for."

suddenly, its as if your heart gains this new energy, beating and beating as if you just ran a marathon. your mouth feels dry as youfeel your brows knitting together, feeling as if this conversation was bringing more surprises to you than to him.

"you don't care that i'm bi?" you asked quietly, your hand squeezing his back in hopes you didn't hear him wrong.

Kento shakes his head, "i do, but not in the way you think," he says, a shadow of a smile coming to the corner of his lip as he scoots closer to you. His eyes look at yours, silently asking if that was okay. You nod.

"i care, not because it annoys me—i would be an asshole if that were the case—, but because i'm learning about you. The you that you feel most authentic to. While i am happy that you are opening up to me about something so important to you, i wished you would feel more comfortable telling me about it because you were ready, not because you felt pressured to. i'm sorry if i made you feel that."

you didnt know what it was at this point, whether it was the adrenaline or sweetness of the moment, but you knew Kento was the reason with all these words he was saying. he wasn't anything like anyone you'd dated before, he was being so sweet and just a dream. you never thought your chest could swell with this feeling while coming out to someone. it felt...easy.

you quickly shake your head, your turn to scoot over to him with your knees bumping against his. "no, no! you didn't pressure me in any way, Kento. its just that i know how much of a dealbreaker this is to some and i..." you took in a deep breath, feeling your throat hitch with this lump, "god, you have no idea how relieving it is to hear that."

you didn't wait a second longer before you wrapped you arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug as you rested your forehead in his shoulder. you felt his arms wrapped around you in return, pulling you closer to his body as his hand caressed your back in soothing circles that made your heart calm down.

"someone like you is special," Kento says softly, his breath tickling your ear, "you're choosing me over anyone else, and i feel so honored that you are with me."

you laughed softly, pulling your head back from his shoulder and looking at him with a huge grin. god, he made this so, so easy.

"kento, you have no idea what this means to me. No idea how easy it is to feel lucky right now." You said quietly, taking a deep breath before resting your forehead against his, "thank you, just thank you."

Kento hums, his hand coming up to your scalp to stroke your hair gently. hearing all your words and seeing all the emotions you wore on your sleeve made him realize how big of a step this was for you, how heavy of a topic this was on you. it didn't take a genius to know that this reaction from you meant that this situation didn't went as well in the past with other people, which made his heart hurt for you. Sweet you who thought about him first before herself when this wasn't about him.

more than ever, Kento would make sure that you felt comfortable in your skin and secure in your relationship. you deserved nothing less than that and you were worth investing in as you said in your own words, though he would much rather call it loving you. it sounded more accurate to what he wanted to do.

"you know, now i have to put more effort into our relationship," Kento said softly, a hint of playfulness in his voice, "after all, I'm showing you off to double the people, aren't i?"