#wait no also coffee extract

[kinokochouchou]

used male shampoo and my hair is so soft and easy to brush through. smell amazing too. bitch

[rottenssystem]

does this mean the ever delicious vaniljepulver that i love so much is actually real vanilla and not some fake version like ive been led to believe by the non danes who cant believe i say that you can NEVER put too much vanilla in ur food????? because it has the little black spots.

this the powder. i cant get a photo of the inside but this shit????? if it says 2 spoonfuls put three. its so fuckng yummy

but this shit??????? appearently if it says 1 teaspoon measure it out by the miligram to make sure its not even one gram more of this cursed abomination. its a lethal poison potion at anything more than one teaspoon according to others.

now THESE?????.............. probably dont eat them idk but put them in your sugar containers to help make them taste better. my mom used to do that and her sugar was a little nicer tbh.

i hate being from Denish Kengdom its not even the kingdom everyone knows its just a slightly worse colonizer with an even worse language.

woke up and someone spilled vanilla extract all over my dash, so as punishment you strange little beasties are getting all the VANILLA FACTS i know:

vanilla is the 2nd most expensive spice in the world (2nd to saffron)

which is why more than 99% of what we call "vanilla extract" is actually vanillin (vanilla's dominant flavor compound) and is not extracted from real vanilla.

luckily, even professionals struggle to tell the difference when it comes to things like baked goods. but there is a distinct difference in non-heat treated products like vanilla ice cream. real vanilla has a more complex, individualized flavor profile.

why is vanilla so expensive? because it is a ridiculously delicate & demanding crop. complete primadonna.

vanilla beans come from vanilla orchids. these crazy flowers bloom for A SINGLE DAY and have to be HAND-POLLINATED in a process that is exhausting, delicate, and requires specialist knowledge passed down over generations.

then, if you're lucky, you get vanilla beans.

which then require months of further specialized treatment.

the entire process takes about a year and can go wrong at any stage

vanilla has been cultivated for over 800 years (possibly much longer). the first known cultivators are the Totonac, an indigenous people of Mexico.

the Aztecs used it as a sweetener to balance out the bitter taste of cocoa. it was popular in a drink called xocolatl--the precursor to modern hot chocolate!

it is only pollinated by a very specific orchid bee!!!

which is why no fruit could be grown outside of Mexico until the 1800s

Edmond Albius, born into slavery, invented the pollination method we still use today--launching a global industry when he was just 12 years old.

today, the majority of the world's vanilla is grown in Madagascar

if you want real vanilla, read the labels carefully--it's harder to find than you think!

in conclusion, those tiny black specks you see in fancy vanilla ice cream? those are vanilla bean seeds! itty bitty orchid seeds!!! they are delicious and also a PRISSY BITCH!

(src)

[haveihitanerve]

Okay but hear me out- the batkids as actual Vampires. Not bruce, just the kids, and bruce providing for them. Because he just has the tastiest blood.

Little Dick toddling over to Bruce, tears in his eyes because he ate his bloody dinner too fast and hes still hungry and Bruce just sighing and sticking out his hand and Dick lights up and they watch a movie while dick is happily gnawing on Bruce’s thumb and sucking his blood. Big Dick complains very loudly about how hungry he is and Bruce will glower at him before finally giving in and throwing an arm around his eldests shoulders and Dick pecks his cheek with a sweet “thank you dad.” before sinking his teeth into Bruce’s arm. 

Little Jason would very politely come over and tug on his hand and Bruce would pick him up and let him bite his hand and drink, but Big Jason just pounces on Bruce from behind and sinks his teeth into Bruces shoulder/neck for blood. 

Little Tim slipping five dollar bills into Bruce’s hand just before chomping his thigh and Big Tim very casually stabbing a needle into Bruce’s leg, extracting blood and then putting it into his coffee and walking away. Sometimes, if he’s feeling nostalgic, he will curl up with his head on bruce’s lap and actually bite him for blood, for pure blood, but he likes his coffee bruce blood blend better

Little Cass never once asked bruce for blood because she was scared, but Bruce would just scoop her into his arms and offer her his already cut open shoulder until she was comfortable enough scaling him like a tree and drinking from his shoulder. Big Cass still doesn't ask for blood, she just lands on his shoulders and bites his bicep. 

Little Steph was a little vampire gremlin and any time she saw Bruce without clothes (since his children feed off of him Bruce wears very little, just a tank top and shorts and makes sure to shave as much as possible to provide ample biting space, but as Batman he still wears his full suit just easy to slip off certain parts so his kids can feed easily) she would suction onto him like a little affectionate leech and dig her little teeth into his back. Big Steph also likes his back and has much the same habits as little steph did. 

Little Babs wasn't too keen on blood, but sometimes Bruce would offer her his forearm while she was working and she would work and eat. Big Babs has no qualms about taking his blood, but has few chances, so he stops by her Oracle hideout sometimes and just holds out his arm for her to drink

Little Damian thought drinking blood from a human was beneath him. Until he saw Cass doing it and wanted to follow her footsteps, but he cant climb bruce as well as her, so he just sank his teeth into Bruce’s calf. Big Damian will wait until Bruce sits or lays down and props his feet up and will then enjoy his calf blood. 

Bruce Wayne who is covered, littered in bite scars of varying sizes, who was once knocked over by his three eldest sons because they had been on a mission away from him for a week and were hungry and before they even said hello just sank their teeth into his neck, hand and thigh. Bruce Wayne who’s majority of scars come from his children, not villains and who willingly offers up his neck to any one of his children if they seem hungry. 

Bruce Wayne who, as Batman, will peel his protective bat suit arm off because Dick was hungry on a stake out. 

Bruce Wayne who is not a vampire but his children all are and he’ll be damned if he deprives them their nutrients. 

(selina kyle who is also a vampire and also gets her blood from bruce but from his-)

[honeekyuu]

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

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

or

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

series status: [ongoing]

masterlist. || next.

a/n: this series is going to be the death of me. im currently writing ch. 2, and the first scene (the first scene!!! of 9!!!!!) is 10k words. i wrote a 10k smut scene. :)))) im actively dying. please enjoy chapter 1!!!

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

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

“ Shit, shit shit- ” You throw things all over the apartment, searching for your keys. The clock on the wall reads 10:55AM, flipping quickly to 10:56 and making you swear again. “ Fuck! Oh-” You snatch up your house keys with a victorious cheer and then immediately race for the door, your bag hauled over your shoulder on the way.

You turn the 30-minute bike ride to campus into 20 minutes, but that still gets you to the door of the Linguistics department by 11:15. You slam down on the elevator button repeatedly while you wait, glancing back at the rest of the lobby only when you hear someone call your name. It’s a student of yours, so you have to smile and wave back politely, even though all you want is to scream ‘ I’m so fucked! ’ into the void. 

The elevator doors open, and you treat the buttons on the inside panel with the same cruelty, choosing to text your frustrations to Bokuto while you wait to arrive on the 5th floor.

[11:16 AM]

You: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Kou: OMG SAME

You: ?? whats wrong on your end

Kou: nothing why?

Kou: IS SOMETHING WRONG???

You snort, rolling your eyes.

You: late to my 11am

Kou: OH THE READING GROUP

Kou: which one is that??? Linguisticsomething of something something??

You: you know,,, there was no way to be wrong with that answer kou

Kou: :))))) 

You: it’s LEM

Kou: LINGUISTICS AND EXPERIMENTAL METHODS

Kou: RIGHT

Kou: oh wait isnt that the one akaashis in?????

You: thats why im fucked

Kou: oh im sure he wont say anything

Kou: SAY HI FOR ME

The elevator opens, so you shove your phone away and race down the hall to the lab room. You skid to a stop in front of the door, taking a calming breath before pushing into the room as quietly as possible. A few people glance up from the round table in the center with small smiles before returning to the presentation on the screen, but you know well enough that you’re not in clear.

“-f it’s true then that case gets valued where base-generated, rather than at the landing site after Movement, we should see that these forms are nominative-marked. However, clearly, we get accusa-” 

You take the seat closest to the door, and it creaks.

Akaashi Keiji’s eyes find yours.

You grimace openly at him, and he lifts an eyebrow, his finger still hovering over the example on the TV.

“Y/n. Would you like me to start over?”

You struggle not to roll your eyes at him, your face burning with embarrassment. “Of course not. Please, continue.”

“It might be helpful if I start over-”

“I don’t need the background on case valuation in Korean, Akaashi,” you snap. “We work on the same language.”

You watch his eyes harden. It’s only you that he looks at like that. He opens his mouth, but your advisor cuts in on your left.

“Okay, you two,” he says. “Let’s try not to kill each other today.”

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, and meet Akaashi’s eyes evenly. He stares back blankly only a moment before returning to his presentation.

“So, we can see here that accusative-marked nominals are permitted, despite the prediction that only nominative is grammatical-” 

You let out a quiet breath, trying to pay attention to his presentation – because, no doubt, he’d put you on the spot about it soon – while also recovering from the adrenaline rush of getting here. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you extract it subtly, glancing at the screen. There are two alerts.

Bank Account Balance (Oct. 10); $562.95

Rent Notification: Rent and Utilities; Payment ($1018.00) Due Nov. 1

Your heart sinks, a lump forming in your throat, and you shove your phone away, returning to Akaashi’s presentation. A coffee cup from the nearby cafe slides into your periphery, and you turn to see your advisor pushing it toward you silently, his own cup in front of him. He doesn’t look at you, but he does crack a tired smile.

“ Drink, ” he whispers. “ You’ve had a hard couple days. ”

You smile and bring the cup to your lips, ignoring when Akaashi glances at it and then between you and your advisor. It’s your regular order, and you’re immensely glad that most of your advisor meetings happen at coffee shops. You make it through Akaashi’s presentation with little issue – unsurprisingly for the department’s Golden Boy, his work is flawless. You agree with every argument he makes, every flaw he finds in the analyses of previous work.

So when he says “ Any questions?” in that polite, soft-spoken way of his, you’re prepared for the very few questions asked to be nothing more than clarification. No one has any comments about his thinking or his analysis, and no one challenges him. Because Akaashi Keiji is always right. 

But you can also see that these questions don’t excite him. He answers each one nicely, nodding along and mumbling ‘ Yes, that’s right ’ or humming thoughtfully – as though he needs to think about it at all – and then shaking his head, clicking through his slide deck until he can point to something and correct someone’s thinking. But he looks a bit disappointed, like he’d been hoping for a bit more of a discussion. He even glances at your advisor hopefully – but your advisor is also his advisor, so why would he have any notes? He’s already pre-approved all of this.

Well, that’s what you get for being so smart, you think with a little bit of snark. Your advisor always preaches to the group that peer feedback creates room for improvement, but what’s Akaashi supposed to do when there’s no more room? He’s already the best.

He meets your eyes briefly, and you look away. You’re not going to give him what he wants.

“Okay, then,” he says after a moment, unplugging his laptop from the TV. “Thanks for listening – Y/n?” You pull your laptop from your bag, standing and rounding the table. You take the HDMI cord from him, slipping into the chair he’d occupied. He takes yours, careful not to touch your things. You sigh softly and then smile at the rest of your reading group.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for coming.” You gesture to the TV, your slide deck open. “So, if you were here for my most recent project, you know that I got some interesting results and will be broadening the scope in order to explore them for my dissertation.”

You launch into your presentation, the material so familiar to you that you don’t have to think about what to say. Your second major project had wrapped up last year, your name sitting on a journal article set to print at the end of the month. You’d gotten a number of reviewers asking similar questions, all related to the experimental results of one of your tasks, so you and your advisor had decided that, for the dissertation, you would be increasing the technical difficulty and redoing the experiment with new materials and a more rigorous theoretical analysis.

You present this to the group, outlining your idea and the changes you’d be making to the original project in order to answer the open questions left by your reviewers. By the end of your 20-minute slot, you’ve got most of the group nodding along in agreement.

Most of the group.

You do your best not to look at him, but you can still see Akaashi sitting there with his arms folded in his lap, his expression void of everything. His eyes skim your slides, unreactive, and you just know that you’re in for it.

“Okay-” you sigh, clapping your hands on your knees. “That’s it. Thoughts?”

Your advisor lifts his brows, a smile tugging at his lips, and you know he’s thinking the same thing.

Just the grilling of a lifetime incoming .

There’s silence for a while, everyone trying and failing not to look at Akaashi, because they know how this will go. And then his lips part, a soft breath taken.

“Can I… ask a few questions?” He starts gentle, the way he always does. He fools everyone into thinking he’s sweet and soft and careful, but you know better. You know that, if you were anyone else, he wouldn’t have started like that. He would have complimented their work first, noted the things he thought they’d done well.

You’ve never heard a compliment from Akaashi Keiji in the five years you’ve known him.

“Of course,” You sigh. Some snickers pass through the group.

“How do you know that this will tell you anything at all?”

He doesn’t hold back – you’ll give him that.

“Sorry?”

“If your results indicate a misalignment between the production of this ambiguous form and the comprehension of it, why are you using eye-tracking to test only comprehension? Where’s your production gone?”

You inhale slowly, flicking back through the slides. “Like I said before, there are two possibilities for why this form was over-produced and under-accepted by participants. Either they are operating within their grammar and just attaching an emphatic element to a different word, resulting in a homophone with the ambiguous form I’m interested in-” You flick through more slides. “Or they’re operating outside of their grammar, in which case there are discourse factors at play.” 

You meet his eyes with a tight smile, trying to remain polite. “Running an eye-tracking task with comprehension will let me see, in real time and without metalinguistic interference, if they accept this form in situations that should be ungrammatical. If they don’t, then these results are due to emphatic attachment and that’s that. If they do, then..” You shrug. “There’s more to be done. But my point is that production wouldn’t be necessary here. I have what I need.”

The group all shift their eyes from you to him in an instant, waiting for the tennis match to start. Akaashi only meets your gaze for a moment and then nods, and you feel mildly victorious at having won this interaction. But you swallow it down, because he’s opening his mouth again.

“And what about case?”

You almost roll your eyes. “What about it?”

“What analysis are you adopting?”

“I’m only using accusative-marked forms for this experiment,” you say. “The object of the embedded clause is the position I need. I’m not adopting competing analyses.”

“But there are other ways to mark case on these forms – as I’m sure you’re aware.” His gaze narrows at you when he says it, and you know he’s getting back at you now for your comment earlier. “What about those?”

“I’m not interested in them-”

“ Right ,” he bites. “I understand that. But what are the case alternations available?”

It takes a special kind of person to draw Akaashi Keiji’s patience short, and you’re happy to be that person every single time. You have to purse your lips not to smile, because there’s a little piece of you that finds it funny to draw out that twitch in his eyebrow that no one else claims to have ever seen.

“Genitive and nominative, and dative under restricted circumstances.”

He lifts his brows at you. “So pretty much all of them.”

You nod simply. “But using pretty much all of them means I’d have to change the structure of the sentence for each type. It’s not a simple swap.”

“Then do it.”

“Excuse me?” You lift your eyebrows in disbelief.

He shrugs. “Your results could be due to any of the things you’ve talked about. Or they could be due to this form being preferred with different case markers in different situations. You could be getting low acceptability because of the case, rather than what you’re interested in.”  

You just stare. “That’s, like, four dissertations, Akaashi.”

His eyes have flattened out again. “Then maybe you should have done it right the first time.”

“ Okay ,” your advisor says, clapping his hands. “Hour’s up. Let’s thank Keiji and Y/n for their time.”

Your eyes stay locked on Akaashi’s while the room clears out, both knowing that you’re not allowed to go anywhere. You get a couple ‘ good job ’s from the people leaving, but you can’t bring yourself to break eye contact first. In fact, it only serves to irritate you more – why is it only you that gets those reassuring comments? Why don’t people tell Akaashi that he’s doing well? Do they think you need it? Does everyone think you need it more than he does?

“Alright,” your advisor breathes, shutting the door again and turning toward you. “Oh-Come on, you two.”

You break first, dipping your head and turning to unplug your laptop from the TV. 

“That was good, both of you.” Your advisor cuts a glance at Akaashi as he sits. “A little harsh there, but-”

“Sorry,” He mumbles, immediately deferent. But you know he’s not apologizing to you, and that makes you finally roll your eyes.

“Okay, okay,” your advisor laughs, taking his coffee and sipping at it. “Let’s just finish this up so I can get away from all this hostility.”

The meeting ends quickly, the three of you just summarizing thoughts and future steps for each of your projects. Akaashi purses his lips when you speak about your plans, but he doesn’t push at you any further. 

Finally, you’re able to leave, so you gather your things quickly and bolt for the door. Unfortunately, your office is directly across from Akaashi’s, so the walk down the hall is spent with him on your heels.

“It’s not four dissertations, by the way,” he says as soon as your advisor’s out of earshot. “Just redesign your materials to include the case alternations, and you’ll get something interesting.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, not stopping your march down the hall. “I’ve already designed the eye-tracking materials, Akaashi. It’ll take me weeks to redo them for case.”

“Then take the weeks ,” he argues, just as you’re both arriving to your respective doors. “Do you want to do it fast, or do you want to do it right?”

You whirl on him, your anger unfiltered now that you’re alone. “What would you know? You’ve never done the kind of research I have to do. You don’t know anything about psycholinguistics – you don’t know what goes into something like this. You just sit in your world of theory, without ever thinking about the practical applications. You might be right about everything all the time, Akaashi, but I’m the one who has to take those theories and do something with them.” 

He stares back emptily while you rant, and then he leans in close, his eyebrows lifting as his voice drops. “Are you really going to be okay not including the case alternations? Now that I’ve brought it up?” When you only sigh heatedly through your nose, glaring up at him, he shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” Then he turns to his office door, slotting the key in the lock while mumbling to you. “You’re a lot of things, Y/n, but you’re not lazy.”

You stare at his office door long after it’s been shut.

You really hate Akaashi Keiji.

–

“I dunno, Kou, I’m not sure what to do,” you sigh, running a finger along the rim of your coffee cup. It’s the same from earlier, because you don’t have the money to buy another and because drinking it slowly helps to stave off your hunger. You’d been too rushed for lunch before leaving home, but you know dinner’s only four hours away. You can last until then.

“Well-” Bokuto talks through a mouth full of food. “-is it gonna bug you to not do it?”

“ Yes ,” you admit a little grumpily. “Of course it is. But I don’t have the time – I wanted to have pilot data for the experiment by the end of October.”

“What would happen if you pushed it back a few weeks?” He asks loudly, spooning more food into his mouth before he’s even done eating the first mouthful.

“I don’t know. It would just push my whole timeline back, and I’d graduate later than expected, and I’m already losing my mind. I need a job , Kou – I can’t live on grad student wages much longer.”

“Yeah, I feel you,” he nods, pulling more food out of his backpack. “But at least you’re still splitting that nice apartment with your roommate! $500 a month is so nice.”

You stare down at your lukewarm coffee.

You haven’t exactly mentioned to him or your other friends that your roommate had moved out. She hadn’t left for anything negative – in fact, she’s a good friend of yours. The two of you had posted in the graduate students’ forum over the summer before your first year, each requesting roommates, and you’d paired up nicely. Your personalities had gone together well, and you’d stayed roommates the entirety of grad school. But she’d had to go home suddenly, which was fine for her because she’s finishing up her dissertation and doesn’t need to be on campus.

However, that does leave you without a roommate in the middle of the semester. There’s a fee for you to break your lease early, and it would overall be way more expensive for you to move out, especially in the middle of October. But paying over $1000 on your own, with your limited salary, is extremely difficult.

You’d looked for another roommate, but there aren’t any grad students without housing this late in the year – the only people you’d seen posting on the university Facebook page about housing had been undergrads, and you’re certainly not comfortable with that. So, you’d looked for extra jobs, but your student contract only allows you to be employed a certain amount, and you’d already reached the maximum. Your advisor had told you as much, shaking his head regretfully when you’d all but begged for extra hours in his lab. You’d even tried finding jobs outside of the university, but most of them had asked for a consistent work schedule and more hours than you can afford to give. 

Which might be why you’d decided to turn to making adult content online.

You’re not particularly attached to the idea of being a porn star, but you’d seen a video online talking about the amount of money that adult content creators can make even from a single video, and you’d made an account without giving yourself time to think about it. You’d taken all the necessary precautions – things like always editing out your face and the singular tattoo you have on the inside of your ankle, or never displaying your background in a way that would be recognizable to someone who knows you. You really don’t need anyone finding out about this, especially not your friends.

You’re not sure that Kuroo would really care – the chemistry student’s nosy, sure, but he’s a big proponent of leaving people to their lives. And you know that Bokuto would probably find it interesting, but he’s got an objectively big mouth and little social control, so it would be a risk to tell him. The only person you’re really worried will find out is Yachi – your closest friend, that sweet girl wouldn’t be likely to judge, but she certainly wouldn’t understand. She’d ask a lot of questions – ‘ why would you do something like that?’; ‘well, are you sure there aren’t other options?’; ‘i would rather move out if i were you’ . Yachi’s had a very straightforward way of thinking ever since you met her, and she’d be the most likely to tell you that pursuing this line of work is drastic and unnecessary. You’re not sure you’re emotionally strong enough to deal with that.

Especially since your new occupation isn’t exactly going well . You’ve only been at it a few weeks, and you’ve garnered a decent number of subscribers on your platform – 897, to be exact (you check every day; you’re desperate). But, in the month since your roommate’s left, you’ve hardly made $300, and, while $300 of extra income per month is certainly not insignificant, it’s not enough to pay your rent.

Which is why you’re sitting here now, lunchless and sipping pitifully at cold coffee. But at least you’re in good company, Bokuto’s presence always a weight off your shoulders.

“Hi, Bokuto.”

Here comes the weight, right back on your shoulders.

You look up from your cup, meeting Akaashi’s eyes. He scans you quickly but doesn’t greet you, only setting his lunch tray down on the table and taking the seat beside Bokuto. The silver-haired man looks between you with wide eyes.

“Aw, man! Did you guys fight at your reading group?!” He rubs at his stomach. “Don’t fight now, too. It’ll make my tummy hurt.”

You laugh weakly, turning away and surveying the crowded dining hall. “Of course not, Kou. You’re neutral ground.”

“What she said,” Akaashi says, carefully mixing his food with his chopsticks. He cuts a glance at your coffee cup. “Is that the same one from this morning?” He glances at the time on his phone. It’s already past 2:30.

You’re instantly defensive. “Yeah.”

He hears the edge in your tone, shaking his head with a breath of laughter while pulling noodles into his mouth. He chews and swallows before responding, ever the gentleman. “Didn’t bring lunch?”

“Forgot it at home.”

He points at the buffet line at the back of the dining hall. “Then buy something.”

“Trying to save money,” you say. You watch his eyebrows pull together in confusion, and you know why – the dining hall’s extremely cheap, usually only $8 or $9 for a fair lunch. The issue is that you don’t have $8 or $9. You don’t have rent money, so you don’t have lunch money.

Thankfully, though, he doesn’t say anything else about it, and you’re briefly appreciative that he’s respectful of your financial situation. You’re also appreciative that he doesn’t tip Bokuto off about it. The large man is tapping away on his phone while he chews loudly, so he’d barely heard the questions Akaashi had asked you. He looks up at the silence now, glancing between you. 

“What’d I miss?”

“Nothing. We were fighting,” Akaashi says. Today’s turning, shockingly, into a day of appreciating Akaashi Keiji.

“ No, ” Bokuto whines. “No fighting.”

A body slides into the spot beside yours, and another into the spot beside Akaashi.

“They fighting?” Kuroo asks, organizing his food on his tray. Tsukishima snorts across the table, mumbling ‘ aren’t they always? ’ quietly.

“We’re fine,” you laugh. “Trying not to make Kou’s tummy hurt.”

“Fair enough,” Kuroo says as he’s lifting a bite of food to his mouth. He stops, though, staring down at your cup. “Your tummy hurts, too, I guess.”

“I guess so,” you say, smiling and sipping at the now-gross coffee. He doesn’t say anything about it, only turning to ask Tsukishima about some ongoing drama in the history department. But he does slide his tray between the two of you while he talks, shoving his chopsticks into your hand and then leaning casually over to keep chatting to the blond, as though he’s merely asking you to hold them while he talks. You purse your lips, embarrassment warming your ears, but you pick at his tray anyway – just a bit of rice and a thin cut of spam balanced on his spoon. You take two bites and then slide the tray back, muttering ‘ thanks ’ under your breath.

You feel Akaashi’s eyes on you, but you refuse to meet them. Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and you pull it into your lap.

[2:47 PM] New Comment on Your Video

Your eyes widen, and you lower the brightness and turn your back slightly to Kuroo. 

user6969 : pretty hot, would be hotter with someone fucking her tho

It already has ten likes. Your eye twitches, and you clear the notification quickly. You could never film with another person. You can’t . That defeats the whole purpose of keeping this anonymous. 

But what if that’s the thing keeping you from making money? From paying rent? At this point, would you rather bring someone else into this, or would you rather eat the cost of moving out?

But you can’t move. With breaking the lease and having to sign a new one – moving fees not included – you already don’t have enough money. There’s no way to get approved for a new place with such little money in your bank account. 

Should you sell feet pics? No, you can’t switch platforms or content at this point. You’d be starting from nothing in that case, and it’s no guarantee you’d do well there. Not that you’re really doing well with your current account, either.

Are you going to have to find a partner to film with?

“ Y/n .”

You jump, looking up. Akaashi’s staring back, standing behind Bokuto with his eyebrows raised and his tray in his hand. He looks a little annoyed.

“I’ve been calling your name.”

You blink. “Sorry. What is it?”

He lifts his brows impossibly further. “We have to go.”

You start, checking the time again. It’s 2:52. You have to go to the undergraduate class you’re TAing with him. “Oh, shit,” you mutter, standing with your bag. “We’re gonna be late.” You wave a cursory goodbye at the others, rushing to toss your coffee in the trash. 

You chase after Akaashi, cursing his long legs, and follow him across the quad to the lecture hall. You both slide past the doors just as your advisor’s clearing his throat to get the class’s attention. 

“ Now that our distinguished TAs have arrived, we can get started… ” he says into the microphone connected to the podium.

You follow Akaashi up the steps to the top row, managing to control the urge to roll your eyes at the number of undergrad girls watching longingly as Akaashi passes by. You sit with him in the back corner, huffing quietly and then hugging your bag to your stomach, because a low gurgle of hunger is creeping out. Akaashi snorts quietly, and you glare sideways at him. But he just reaches down into his bag, extracting a granola bar and offering it to you, his eyes still on the whiteboard at the front.

You grimace. “ I’m good, thanks, ” you whisper.

“ It’s going to annoy me, ” he says, jabbing the bar at you. You take it with a soft sigh, mumbling ‘ thanks ’ to him while you try to unwrap the plastic without being loud. You eat it quietly, deciding that it’s the least he can do for torturing you during LEM. And then you stuff the empty plastic in your bag before extracting your laptop, intending to take notes on your advisor’s lecture.

The screen is bright and noticeable when it opens to your most recently opened tab – thankfully not your porn account, which you’re always mindful to close before leaving home. But it is open to your bank’s website, still signed in and clearly displaying the meager $562.95 in your checking account.

You jump, rushing to lower the screen brightness and close out of the tab at the same time, and then you cut a glance at Akaashi. He’s not looking directly at your screen, but he’s certainly not looking at the whiteboard anymore. His eyes hover suspiciously in the space between your laptop and his, and he meets your eyes quickly before looking away when he realizes you’re watching him.

“ Sorry, ” he mumbles. “ Brightness caught my eye. ” 

“ Don’t say anything ,” is all you say. All that you’re willing to plead with him. He just lifts a brow and nods, saying nothing else as he refocuses his attention on the lecture. You sigh, pushing two frustrated fingers against your temple, because now Akaashi Keiji knows you’re broke and living way too far above your means.

–

You sit on your couch four days later, scrolling aimlessly through Tinder. You grimace as you swipe, unable to bring yourself to approve of any of the guys you’re seeing. There are obviously some good-looking ones, and even some extremely attractive ones, but every time you start to swipe right, you hesitate.

How crazy are you going to look, matching on a dating app with someone, only to ask them if they’d be willing to be your faceless porn partner?

You groan, throwing your phone down. You can’t believe you’ve even gotten to this point. Just this week, you’d sworn you would keep running your account alone. You’d sworn you wouldn’t let anyone else get involved with this, for your pride and for your anonymity.

That’s another reason you’re so unwilling to match with someone on Tinder. What if he ends up being a total weirdo? What if he leaks your name online or talks about you to his friends? Or-

Oh, God, what if he lies about his age and ends up being an undergrad? Even worse – an undergrad in your department ?

“ Ugh- ” You shudder, picking your phone back up. “No. No fucking way.” You quickly delete your account and the app, shaking your head. It’s too much of a risk, and you’re not even sure you could ever trust someone you don’t know to help you with something so private and sensitive.

Do I really have to find a partner?  

You pull your laptop from the table and open it, logging into your porn account and scrolling through the videos. You’d stuck to the same posting schedule since you’d started, maintaining consistency and posting every day over the last four weeks. It had definitely helped with your views, because the subscribers you do have know when to expect a new video. But, even this week alone, your view count has become stagnant and – in the case of the video you’d posted today – even gone down a few thousand hits.

You check the section for monetization, seeing you’d made an extra $16 dollars in the last four days. $16 dollars in four days. You might as well start selling your couch.

But if you can’t find a partner amongst the hundreds of men you don’t know, then it has to be someone you do know.

“Kuroo,” you sigh, leaning your head back against the couch. And then you shake your head. He’s the best choice – he’s private and minds his business. He would never be a risk for outting you. He’s also extremely attractive, and you have decent chemistry. But he’s also one of your closest friends, and you’re not even willing to tell him you do this for a living, for fear of something changing between you. You could never ask him to help you.

“Bokuto,” you move on, bobbing your head back and forth. He’s definitely the least likely to let anything change between you – he’d find it interesting, and he would never judge you. He’d also be more than willing to help, especially since this is for the purpose of paying your bills and not just something you do for fun on the side. He’s incredibly kind and motivated in that way… but still, it isn’t right. 

Not only does it feel a bit weird to imagine having sex with him, even for business, but it also wouldn’t be long before he accidentally lets something slip to someone. It would be unintentional, of course, but Bokuto Koutarou isn’t exactly known for his subtlety. Not to mention that you need someone who can’t be recognized on camera, even faceless, and Bokuto’s presence is so overwhelming that it would take no time at all for someone who knows him to pinpoint exactly who it is.

You shake your head, going through the mental list of every guy you’ve ever interacted with. You don’t really know Tsukishima, despite eating lunch with him most days and seeing him at almost every function, and you get the feeling he would laugh in your face if you ask. You think of guys you’d known in college and even some guys you’d met at the events that your friends have invited you to. You even pick up your phone and start scrolling through your contacts, really stretching the limits of your imagination.

None of them work.

“ Fuck ,” you groan, scrubbing at your brow. This isn’t going to work.

Your phone buzzes with a text, the message sliding into view before disappearing.

[9:48 PM]

Akaashi: i printed copies of the handout for discussion on monday

Akaashi: putting them in my mailbox so you can grab them before class

Akaashi: youll print the exams next week, right?

You stare at the messages as they come in.

Akaashi . 

His name drifts like a whisper through your mind, and you have to throw your phone on the table and stand, your eyes wide.

“No. No,” you say, rounding the couch and pacing behind it. “No, no, no.”

Not him. Anyone but him. You can barely stand him, and the idea of him knowing what you do to make rent is unfathomable. You can’t trust him with something like that-

But, he is trustworthy. He’d shown himself not even a week ago to be sensitive to your personal information and financial situation. He makes judgment calls that benefit you, even though he could be doing everything in his power to make your life hell. As annoying as he is – as rude as he can be, especially to you – he’s a decent human being. He’s private, he’s subtle, he’s quiet and keeps to himself, and-

And he’s average. A very good-looking man, yes, but overall a perfectly normal, average guy that would never be recognized.

“ No! ” You groan, starting to pace harder. “ No, no, no! ”

Your phone starts to ring on the table. You jump, staring at the screen.

You can see his name even from here. 

You approach it carefully, hands shaking as you reach for it. 

“H-Hello?”

“ Y/n, ” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

“Uh-” You laugh weakly. “Hi. What’s… up?”

“ I’m just checking you got my texts. I’m leaving the department now. ”

“You stayed there until 10 on a Saturday?”

“ I lost track of time. You got my texts, then? ”

“Yes,” you sigh. “Yeah, I got them. Thanks for printing.”

“ And you’ll-”

“Yep. I got the exams.”

There’s silence on the other end, followed by the quiet jingle of his office keys. “ Are you… You sound.. not great. Nervous. ”

It’s mortifying that he can hear that it in your voice. Why can he hear that in your voice?

“No, I’m good. Just-just busy. Stressed.”

“ Oh. Okay, then. ” He pauses a moment, and you wonder if he’s giving you time to say more. You don’t. Finally, he clears his throat. “‘ Kay. Bye. ” He hangs up before you can repeat it back to him.

A perfectly average, decent human being who’s private, subtle, quiet, and keeps to himself.

The only issue is that you hate each other.

Great.

–

You pace in front of his office door two days later, biting your nails while you think. Anxiety swoops low in your gut, over and over again while you imagine talking to him. Swelling and heaving when you imagine the look on his face, inevitably judgmental and maybe a little amused that you’d even thought to approach him.

God, you can’t do this.

“No,” you mumble, turning back toward your own door. You’ll find someone else.

The door opens behind you, and you jump, spinning around. Akaashi stares at you in exasperation, his glasses askew and his hair ruffled like he’s been pulling his fingers through it.

“Are you going to come in, or are you just going to stand outside all day?”

“Uh,” you stammer, shaking your head. “Uh, no. No, I didn’t-I don’t have anything-”

“Y/n,” he sighs. “You’ve been pacing out here for ten minutes. I’ve been watching your feet go back and forth in front of my door this whole time. It’s really fucking distracting – I’m trying to work.”

Your eyes go wide, because you’re not sure you’ve ever heard Akaashi swear before. He opens the door wider, beckoning you in with an impatient sweep of his arm. You find yourself stepping past the threshold, wringing your hands as you stand in the middle of the little room. He leaves the door cracked, slipping past you carefully and returning to his desk.

“What is it?” He sits and starts sorting through his papers, attention only partially on you. “Something about LING 303? I graded my section’s assignments already – do you need the answer key?”

You swallow, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. “No, I… I have an answer key, too.”

“Then?”

A large part of you wants to leave. He’s in a bad mood, and he’s clearly busy. You’re not sure this is the best time to bring up something this sensitive with him. But then again – when would you ever find the best time to talk to Akaashi Keiji about your secret porn account?

So, with a shaky breath, you return to the door, pushing it closed quietly and locking it.

“Uhm,” you start, turning slowly on the spot and facing him. “Can we talk?”

He’s got his eyes, wary now, on the doorknob where your hand rests, your thumb still over the lock that’s been pushed in. He blicks and flicks his gaze to yours, eyes narrowing when he sees the discomfort in your expression. 

“O…kay?” He sets his papers down and leans back in his seat, his attention yours now. “...What’s up?”

You make your way to the chair in front of his desk and perch in it uncertainly. “Okay. Is it okay if I say everything before you talk?” He just tilts his head, watching you intensely, and then he nods once. Whatever had been on his mind before is clearly gone, and you silently hope it hadn’t been some groundbreaking idea that you’ve just interrupted.

“So,” you start, heaving out a nervous sigh. “You saw my bank account the other day. Last week.” He nods again, and you rush into the speech you’d practiced all morning, not wanting him to think you’re just here to ask for money. That might be easier, honestly. But your courage might never come again, so you need to barrel through this now. “It’s been that way for about a month now. I live in a 2-bedroom apartment, and – when I had a roommate-” He squints now, because he’s certainly heard Bokuto talk about your roommate as though she still exists. “-my rent was only $500 a month.”

He opens his mouth to speak, thoughts very obviously swirling in that overactive brain of his, but he shuts it again, remembering he’d promised you silence. He nods, and you nod back.

“She moved out a month ago for personal reasons, and if I break the lease and move out, too, it would cost more than just continuing to live there on my own. And-” You throw your hands around while you talk, ramping up in intensity now that you’ve gotten started. “-I know that in the long run, it’s more cost-effective to eat the move-out fees and the cost of moving, but you saw my bank account. I don’t have any way of doing that right now.”

“You need a roommate,” is what he says, unable to stop himself. You sigh, shaking your head.

“I tried. The only people searching for housing this late in the semester are undergrads.” He grimaces, and you nod. “So that’s not an option.” You sigh again, trying to remember what to say next. “Uh-Oh, right-So-” You wring your hands in your lap. “My rent’s over $1000, and I obviously don’t have that. And I’ve tried looking for extra jobs and for extra hours around the department, but I’m at max hours, and there are no part-time jobs that are flexible with my research and teaching schedule.”

You sigh shakily, staring out the window behind his head. You stay that way for a minute, gathering your courage. Akaashi watches you carefully, tracking the slight changes in your expression and the defeat that crosses your face.

“Y/n?” he asks, his voice soft now, in that way that he speaks to everyone who’s not you.

“Sorry,” you laugh. “Nervous.” You clear your throat and ground yourself, looking him straight in the eye. “So, I had to turn to some… desperate measures.” His eyebrows lift with interest, and you think you see him lean in almost imperceptibly. “I… decided to start making… content -”

You watch understanding cross his face immediately – of course it does, he’s not the Golden Boy for nothing. His eyes go wide, and he inhales quietly, leaning back in his chair and letting out a long, drawn out breath that ends in a quiet ‘ oh, boy ’. You stop talking, just watching him nervously. He stares back a moment, his mouth opening and closing with thoughts unsaid as he considers how to respond.

“And it was your only option?”

“Probably not,” you laugh. The sound is watery, and your eyes are starting to sting. “But I couldn’t think of anything else at the time, and I haven’t figured out anything better since – anything short of asking someone for a $500 loan.”

“Okay,” he says simply. You meet his eyes, searching for judgment or thinly veiled disgust, or anything . But he just looks back at you, his face devoid of everything but concentration as he thinks. “So, why are you telling me this?”

You break eye contact, staring down at your lap. You’re sweating profusely, your stomach doing that terrible flipping. “It’s… not exactly going well .”

Silence, and then-

“Define ‘ not going well ’.”

You flick your eyes to meet his briefly, seeing that he’s staring at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. When you make eye contact, he takes a breath.

“Y/n-”

“Someone-” You swallow. “I’ve only made $300 in the last four weeks, and my roommate helped me pay the October 1st rent because she felt bad for moving out so suddenly. I’m clearly desperate, Akaashi, because I’m not making the kind of money I need to be making, but there’s nothing else. And someone commented on a video that-” You break, rubbing at your brow and breathing hard. God, this is so difficult. You don’t know how to say it to him.

“You need a partner.”

You suck in a breath, your own watery, stinging eyes meeting his. He’s breathing a little harder now, and his expression’s not as guarded as it usually is. He’s tapping a finger nervously on his desk and blinking a lot.

“Why me?”

You fumble for an answer. “Uhm-Because-”

“Why not Kuroo?” He asks, his voice calm despite the increased tapping on his desk.

“‘m not sure our friendship would survive it. I care too much about him.”

He nods, clearly not offended by the implication that you’re willing to risk things with him . He’s not your friend and he knows that. The relationship between the two of you is delicate and tense, but it’s never entered the realm of care. Professional respect at most, outright hatred at worst. There’s nothing to risk by asking Akaashi Keiji to help, aside from the risk that he’ll make you feel bad or even that he’ll tell someone else. And it must mean something that you’re trusting him not to do those things.

“Bokuto?” he asks, jumping through all the same mental hoops that you had.

“There’s a million reasons it can’t be him,” you say, sighing tiredly. He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion, but he doesn’t push it. He just shakes his head slowly.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to do this with someone in the same department.” He considers something else, rolling his eyes slightly. “ And we have the same advisor. It’s too close. If something goes wrong…” He shakes his head again. “I don’t know, Y/n.”

“Right,” you say emptily. You’re already recalculating how often you can film and post solo content without losing too much sleep, the thought of selling feet pics popping up again. Anything to keep your mind off of the fact that talking to Akaashi had been a mistake – a waste of his time, and an exposure of yourself that had amounted to nothing. 

This had amounted to nothing, baring this piece of your life to him. How humiliating.

“Y/n,” he says gently. You don’t meet his eyes, just patting your pockets for your office keys.

“Okay, well – thanks for your time-”

“I won’t say anything, Y/n,” he tries. “About any of it. I promise.”

“Thanks,” you laugh. “Yeah, I would appreciate that. Sorry for wasting your time.” You stand quickly, spinning to the door.

“Y/n- Y/n- ” 

The sound of your name is muffled as you yank the door open and slam it closed behind you. You hear him sigh on the other side, a quiet ‘ fuck’ uttered in the stifling silence. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you plead for it to be Bokuto or Kuroo or Yachi.

Shockingly, it’s all three, sent to your group chat.

[2:26 PM]

Kou: LUNCH? TEN MINUTES?

Tetsu: bo we eat lunch at THE SAME TIME EVERY SINGLE DAY

Kou: IM JUST CHECKING, FUCK

Hitoka: i like that he reminds us, hehe

Kou: yeah, see??? Yachi’s forgetful!!!

Hitoka: hey now.

Kou: oops-

A small smile tugs at your lips as you drift down the hall to the grad student lounge to get your lunch. But, as you’re typing out that you’ll be down soon, another text comes in.

Akaashi: y/n i wont say anything

Akaashi: i swear

Your face burns with embarrassment. It’s damage control, plain and simple, and the fact that he feels the need to do that at all makes this whole situation worse. You can’t bring yourself to open the text or say anything else to him. It’s humiliating, knowing that Akaashi Keiji knows what you do for money now. That you’re not even good enough at it to make rent.

Akaashi doesn’t make it to lunch that day. You try your best to shrug uncaringly when Bokuto wonders aloud why he’s not there.

–

Keiji has never known what to make of you.

From the moment he’d met you – at the department orientation five years ago – he’d found you interesting, and not always necessarily in a good way. When you’d rattled off that list of research interests during your self-introduction, the one that had been unrealistically high-reaching and ambitious, he’d written you off as naive. When you’d made friends easily, your smile bright and your laugh loud and grating against his ears, he’d written you off as annoying.

And then you’d gone ahead and proven that that list wasn’t as high-reaching as he’d thought. Or maybe it was, and you’d just had a touch of insanity in your blood. You’d proven that you aren’t just ambitious – you’re successful. You’re smart – brilliant, even. And Keiji had found you interesting again, because he could never tell if you’d realized it. He still can’t.

You carry an intensity in your shoulders and eyes that he’s always caught off guard to see. You question the work of your peers with the kind of brutal honesty that should make you unpopular. It should make people hate you, the way you pick apart their ideas and results. But they never do. They never hate you, and he kind of hates that. 

Maybe it’s because you always seem so eager to learn. You don’t criticize when you question – you just question . You don’t tear anyone down – in fact, your questions only seem to build people up, to the point that you’re often stopped in the halls and asked for your opinion on methodological choices and theoretical connections. People seek you out, and you’re all too happy to help.

But with your own work, you’re suddenly unsure. Keiji bristles when he sees it, that uncertain tilt of your head when you talk. It’s almost impossible to notice, and he’s sure that, to everyone else, you’re just being humble, or a nervous public speaker, even. You’re knowledgeable about your work, you seem confident when you answer questions, and you accept criticism with grace, taking notes diligently when points come up that you hadn’t thought of.

But he sees it – that uncertainty in your own ability. And it pisses him off.

You are annoying, he’d decided after the first time he’d noticed that hesitant nature. It annoys him, because you work just as hard as he does – you’re just as smart as he is – and you can’t seem to see it. Or is it a ploy? Is it an act, a performative relatability that only he can see? 

You piss him off.

How can both of you be so brilliant, but you seem so much more likeable? How can people call him the Golden Boy and then be too afraid to approach him? You’re the Golden Girl, for fuck’s sake. Can’t they see it? Why are you so easy for people to talk to? Why do people tell you ‘ good job’ when you give presentations, and he’s never gotten so much as a pat on the shoulder? Why do people like you so much , and all he gets is polite smiles and nervous expressions? Why does his name float around the department in reverence, but it’s your name that people say when they want to get a second pair of eyes on their proposals, their chapters?

And why , for all that is good in the world, do you not realize it ?

That’s why he targets you. It’s like an itch he can’t reach — he just can’t help himself. He doesn’t offer you meaningless platitudes or careful language when he gives you feedback, because it’s not your favor he wants. What he wants is to push you. He wants to push you to your limit – bully you to it, if he has to. 

Because it’s your research that’s born of brilliance, the kind of brilliance that makes goosebumps rise on his skin. The kind that makes his spine straighten and his gut wrench with excitement. It’s your research – your mind – that he’s drawn to. He wants to see you succeed, because he wholeheartedly believes that you could change the field.

But you don’t see that. No one seems to see that, except him and, undoubtedly, your advisor. So, when he pushes you, he know it looks like a personal attack. He knows it looks to you like he dislikes you for no apparent reason, because you’re just trying your best and he’s the department genius that thinks you’re beneath him. He knows how it looks, and he makes not a single move to fix it – because he’s seen, more than once, how what you think he is and what you think he’s doing has moved you to do revolutionary things.

He’s seen you do remarkable things with just a little bit of hatred. 

So he keeps it up, because maybe he hates you just a little bit, too. Maybe his own work is as unquestionable as it is because he’s secretly begging you to question it, begging you to give him that focused look and that critical eye that always makes his breath hitch. But you never give him what he wants, so he doesn’t either. He doesn’t give you the softspoken voice or the gentle, polite demeanor that he gives everyone else, even though he can see you yearning for it. He won’t give you that, not until you realize what you are – a genius, just the same as him.

When you come to him on October 16th, opening your life to him in ways he hadn’t expected, he means every word he says to you. It shouldn’t be him – it would get messy, the two of you having sex. He knows you had to have thought this through already, that you would never have approached him unless he was the absolute last option available, but he can’t bring himself to say yes to you. He knows you need the money, and there’s a non-insignificant part of him that actually wants to say yes. That wants to help you, because, despite how he feels about you, he can recognize the severity of the situation. Of the look in your eye, desperate and scared.

But he can’t bring himself to do it, because he knows that this intricately built web of hate and respect that you’ve built together is incredibly fragile. That whatever you two have – whatever this thing is that can’t be called friendship or anything close to it – would collapse and change. Keiji doesn’t like change. 

So he watches, over the course of October 17th, 18th, and 19th, as you become more desperate. 

He catches you dissociating more than once during your shared reading group meetings, and you don’t even pull your laptop out during the syntax class you TA together. You avoid his eyes for the duration of the 17th, but you seem to forget about him entirely the rest of the days, your gaze distant and stressed. You check your phone more than once during class, and he doesn’t dare look, because he’s certain you’re looking at your porn account for views and comments.

He catches you chasing after your advisor after group meetings, and he realizes quickly that the man’s aware of your financial situation, because he only shrugs regretfully and leaves you in the hall, staring down at nothing. He catches you turning down Bokuto’s lunchtime offer to hit up a bar on the evening of the 18th, and then he glances into your office the morning of the 19th – you’re staring blankly at the journal article on your desk, not reading a single word, and Keiji begins to understand how this might impact your research.

He confirms it that afternoon, a cloudy Thursday just before lunch. He’s passing his advisor’s office on the way to the grad student lounge, a can of iced coffee waiting with his name on it – but he stops short when he hears your voice inside.

“ ...have to find another job, ” you say, your voice clearly stressed. “ There’s no way to get an advance on next month’s paycheck from the department? ”

The old man sighs loudly. “ I’ll see what I can do, but you know these things don’t usually work like that. And they take time. I think another job’s the only option at the moment. ”

“ Okay, ” you say. “ In that case, I’m not sure what to do about my research- ”

Keiji inhales sharply, pressing his ear to the door. You’re not postponing your experiment, are you? You can’t. He knows he told you to push it as much as necessary for the case marking issues, but he hadn’t meant for it to be like this . 

“ Take some time to focus on your personal situation ,” your advisor says. “ Find a part-time job with stable hours, and we’ll work your research around it. It might double the time needed- ”

Double?!

Keiji’s starts to shake his head. No, that’s not possible. You can’t.

“ Fuck ,” he whispers, stomping off down the hall, his coffee entirely forgotten. God, is this really going to be the thing that brings you down? Is it really going to be this ? 

He barrels into his office and starts to pace the length of it. He thinks through your situation in extreme detail, rubbing at his brow and sighing in frustration every time he has to turn and pace the other way down his office. 

Obviously, you’ve thought through every option, but he runs through them anyway, if only to confirm for himself that you really are left with no option except finding a job and delaying the progress of your research.

Well, there’s one option.

One option that wouldn’t require you to put your energy toward applying for jobs and training for some side gig you have no interest in. One option that doesn’t require you to lose sleep or miss class or drop out of optional reading groups due to having to work somewhere across town. One option that would probably get you immediate payout, which he knows is the reason you started in the first place.

He looks at the little flip calendar on his desk. October 19th. 12 days until your rent is due. How long would it take you to apply for jobs? Would they let you start right away? When would you get your first paycheck?

Is finding a part-time job even a solution anymore?

“ Fuck! ” He throws himself down in his chair. There’s a very large part of him – the majority, even  – that’s concerned about your research progress. It’s unwarranted, his dedication to work that’s not his own. But it’s not even about that – it’s the fact that he knows how this will tear at you. How it will eat you alive, not being able to work on your research. How agonizing it’ll be, seeing the rest of your cohort progress while you struggle to pay rent. Because you think like he thinks, whether you’d like to admit it or not.

Maybe that’s the smaller part of him, too. The part that wants to help you because it’s you . Because, as much as he dislikes and even hates you at times, he wants to fix this for you. He wants things to be okay for you, because you’re a person with a life – a person in his life – and you don’t deserve the kind of torment you’re currently experiencing. He doesn’t want to see you crushed by the stress.

Not when there’s something he can do about it.

–

Akaashi texts you that night.

You sit, hunched, at your dining table, frantically fixing your resumé and sending it off to different cafes, restaurants, and bars all over Tokyo. You’ve been applying all week – two places have already rejected you, saying they’re only hiring full-time workers, and one place has scheduled an interview with you, but it’s over a week away.

You’re staring intensely at your laptop, pushing down the continuous sense of dread by finding more and more places to apply. You barely notice when your phone buzzes next to you, and you pick it up without looking, thinking it’ll be one of your friends sending a meme to the group chat.

[7:59 PM]

Akaashi: i’ll do it.

You stare down at your phone, unseeing. Your ears start to buzz, and your vision goes blurry for a moment.

He’ll do it? He’ll-

You press call before you can think of anything. He picks up on the first ring.

“ Hello? ”

“You’ll do it?” Your eyes focus in on a scuff on your hardwood floors, latching onto it so you don’t have to look at anything else. “Really?”

“ Yeah. I’ll do it. ”

“Why?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, and you eyebrows scrunch the longer it stretches on.

“ I could use a bit of extra money, too. Once you’re done paying rent. ”

It’s insultingly easy to spot that that’s bullshit, but you don’t press it. You can’t risk pressing this. Not when your solution – this miracle – is finally within reach.

“What about the other stuff?”

“ We’ll figure it out. I can draft up a contract and bring it by tomorrow, if that works for you. ”

“A contract?” You want to roll your eyes, because that’s incredibly Akaashi Keiji , but you also recognize that you hadn’t thought of that.

“ Are you in or not? ”

There’s no way in hell you’re passing this up.

“Yes-Sorry, I’m just… surprised. But, yes.”

“ Alright. Tomorrow afternoon? ”

“I’m free after 2.”

“ I’ll be there at 2:30. Send me your address. ”

“O…kay. Okay.”

You hear him swallow and shift on the other end, and then he mumbles, “ Okay. See you tomorrow. ”

You’re left with the dial tone, that scuff in the hardwood burned into your mind when you blink.

“Okay,” you say to no one.

The conversation had lasted 55 seconds.

–

He shows up at 2:29 on Friday, rapping three quick knocks on your door and scaring the shit out of you as you pace the living room nervously. You rush to get it, fixing your hair and clothes as you go and giving the room a cursory glance. You’re suddenly so nervous to exist in front of him, feeling your appearance and the cleanliness of your home under scrutiny even though he hasn’t seen either yet.

You pull the front door open, dragging your eyes up to meet his. He’s wearing a pair of black slacks and a tucked-in white button-down, the collar peeking through the top of the black sweater vest he’d fitted over it. His glasses, black and settled comfortably on the bridge of his nose, glint in the light and block you from seeing the look in his eye when you appear in front of him. And then he shifts his weight, and you see those deep blue eyes staring right into yours.

Akaashi adjusts his backpack on his shoulder. “Hi.”

You swallow hard. “Uh. Hi.” You step back quickly to let him in, and you try not to notice the subtle cologne he’s wearing when he brushes past you. Had he always worn cologne? “Thanks for coming.”

“Mhm,” he hums, slipping his sneakers off and setting them neatly to the side in your foyer. When he stands, you watch him cast his gaze across your living room and dining area, tucked into a corner by the kitchen. He steps into the living room, wandering slowly to the side of the couch while looking at the space. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to let this place go.”

High ceilings, lots of windows, and a small balcony. Hardwood floors and an open floorplan – the kitchen is visible past the island counter, two beams capping the ends of the bar to section the area off from the rest of the room. Your bedroom door is just past the couch, your roommate’s old room hidden down a narrow hallway with the bathroom. 

When you and your ex-roommate had found the place together, five years prior, rent had been cheaper and $500 hadn’t been considered a steal for a place like this. You’d managed to keep the landlord from raising the prices over the years, the two of you stellar tenants with not a single issue to note. That’s the only reason he’d let your roommate break her lease so suddenly – especially since you’d said you could take the entire thing over until you could find a new roommate.

Not that that new roommate would ever appear.

“Yeah,” you say, following Akaashi into the room and gesturing for him to sit. You move to the kitchen to get two glasses of water while he takes the corner and sets his backpack down at his feet. “I’ve made my home here. Would hate to start over, I guess.”

He looks around, eyeing all the decorations and furniture in the room. Your roommate had left you with the furniture, thankfully – this place would be barren otherwise. She’d even left her bed and the little couch in her room, reasoning that keeping the room furnished might encourage someone to move in. 

You’re not sure you’d ever tell her what you use that bed and couch for now, a conveniently placed “studio” right in your own home.

You join Akaashi on the couch, offering him the water and just nodding awkwardly when he thanks you for it. His fingers brush yours when he takes the glass, his attention still on the room, and you fight the blush that rises. There are a number of thoughts floating through your mind as you examine his fingers, but you shake your head to clear them, because technically no contracts have been signed, so you’re not allowed to think about how pretty his hands will look on camera.

“So…” you start. “What exactly did you have in mind for these contracts?”

He blinks, as though remembering why he’s here, and sets his glass down. “Right.” He rustles through his bag, extracting two sets of papers and handing one to you. “I… had to look up a template for this kind of contract-”

You snort despite yourself, because he’s blushing slightly at having to admit that he has no clue what he’s doing. He rolls his eyes but continues anyway. 

“I think it’s standard to just discuss expectations, boundaries, and-uh- preferences .” 

You flip the first page over, finding blank lines to fill in the terms of the agreement – and then a long checklist that spans about two more pages. It consists entirely of turn-ons, turn-offs, kinks (taboo or otherwise), and absolute non-negotiables. There’s another page with blank lines, the section titled ‘ Agreed Upon Consent System ’. 

You nod slowly. “You did your homework.”

“Did you forget who I am?”

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head as you look through the checklist again. “Sorry – is ‘Shibari ’ listed here because you know it, or because you expect that I might?”

He smothers a smile, but you catch the downward turn of his lips before it’s gone. “I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh. And then you look at him. “And… you’re sure you’re okay with this?” When he just nods, meeting your eyes evenly, you watch him for a moment. “And you won’t, like, hold this over my head or something?”

His brows furrow for a moment before smoothing out. “No. Of course not.” You don’t respond, and he sighs. “I don’t benefit from hurting you, you know.”

You relax at that. You suppose that’s true – the two of you might not like each other, but it would be another level of messed up if Akaashi were to use this against you in any way..

“Okay. Sorry. I had to check.”

“Surprisingly, I’m above blackmail.”

You shake your head, wondering if he’d always been a little funny, or if this situation’s so ridiculous that you’re finding everything hilarious. “Okay, so – terms?”

He shifts his weight forward, leaning his elbows on his knee while he looks down at the first page of the contract. “I think payment’s the most important part right now.” You nod, watching as he retrieves a pen from his bag and clicks it a few times. “I was thinking… I take 20% of the cut for each video, but only when it wouldn’t prevent you from paying rent and bills?”

“How’d you decide on 20%?”

He shrugs. “I’m relatively comfortable financially, so I don’t need a large portion. And I don’t expect anything for the first few weeks, at least – not until your finances are settled.”

You watch the side of his face while he thinks – his lips pinch into a grimace and he shifts his head back and forth. He’d always been that way, from the beginning. He clicks his pen a few more times, and then he glances at you.

“Is that okay with you? I’m good for 10%, too.”

You shake your head right away. “No, of course not. 20% is completely reasonable.”

He nods, tapping his pen to the paper and writing out the agreement for payment. He sighs quietly. “Okay, next thing… What do you do for privacy?”

You take a breath. “I edit my face out of everything, and-” You stretch your foot out and lift your pant leg, displaying the small sunflower tattoo on the inside of your ankle. “-I edit that out, too.” You point down the hall. “I film in the spare bedroom, so that no one recognizes the stuff in my room. And I muffle some of the audio, so my voice isn’t easy to recognize. It would help, too, if we need to talk to each other.”

He nods, and then he starts to roll up the sleeve on his right arm. “Would it be hard to edit this out?” There’s a medium-sized tattoo on his forearm, a stretch of the moon cycles sketched in black across his skin.

“Oh, woah-” You scoot in on instinct, your fingers hovering over his milky skin. “When did you get this?”

“Last year, when I passed the Prelim.” His voice comes from over your head, quiet and low. You smile to yourself, examining the intricate line art. “I wanted to gift myself something.” You find it interesting to imagine Akaashi Keiji being nervous enough about passing the milestone between doctoral student and doctoral candidate, so much that he’d promised himself something if he were to pass.

“Pretty cool gift,” you mumble, your fingers tracing the air over his skin but never making contact. He lowers his arm, and you seem to realize only now how close you are. You meet his eyes quickly, seeing the silent amusement in his gaze, and you scoot back to your spot. “Sorry.”

He says nothing of it, just nodding down to his arm. “Can you edit it?”

You squint at the art. “I can try, but if you move your arms a lot, it might be easier to cover it with makeup. We can test it – film from the other side, lower the camera so your arm’s out of frame. That kind of thing.”

He nods, rolling his sleeve down again. You look away from his hands as he works, taking the moment instead to reflect on how business-like this conversation is. You’d expected more discomfort, given the circumstances. But you both treat it with detachment and only a few hiccups that can be recovered easily. It’s oddly easy, in a way that you can’t imagine with Bokuto or Kuroo – perhaps because of how much history you have with them, how much would be changing by entering into this kind of agreement together.

There’s nothing holding you and Akaashi together that would prevent you from doing business together in this way. It’s reassuring to realize that.

Akaashi buttons the cuff on his sleeve again and reaches for the pen, jotting down the terms of privacy. He glances at you briefly. “About who we can tell…”

Your heart jumps. “No one, preferably.”

“Right,” he says. “But if someone were to find out on accident, or if someone puts together that we’re having sex… what do we say?”

“Oh…” You tap your nails on your thigh. “Just that we’re hooking up?”

He nods. “That’s fine. I also think it’s fine if you decide to tell someone what we’re actually doing.” He cuts you short when you open your mouth to protest. “ I won’t tell anyone, because this isn’t my financial situation and this wasn’t my idea. This is your business, and I’m mindful of that. But I think it’s perfectly possible that you might end up wanting to tell someone, for whatever reason. And I think that’s your prerogative, so I don’t mind if you tell them that I’m part of it.” He takes a breath, smiling to himself when he considers something. “Uh, but – maybe don’t show them anything.”

“Oh, God, I would never,” you reassure him, shaking your head. “That’s a huge violation. And I don’t expect that I’ll want to tell anyone-”

“Still,” he argues. “It’s good to have the option. If you’re stressed or need a friend.”

“Well, what if you want to tell someone? What if you need a friend?”

His eyebrows tent in amusement, and he sighs. “How about we just agree to ask each other first? Whatever the reason.”

You take a breath. “Okay. I’m okay with that – reserving the right to say no?”

“Of course,” he says plainly, adding that to the terms.

You nod, sighing shakily. You feel an odd sense of trust with him – that he’s good for his word, because he’s, more often than not, honest to a fault.

“Anything… else?” you ask. “Before we get to the… technical parts?”

He snorts through his nose while he writes, and you’re reminded of the absurdity of the situation. “Yeah, just one more thing.” He purses his lips now, not meeting your eyes. “When was your last health visit?”

“Oh!” You blink rapidly, realizing what he’s asking. “Oh, I’m clean. I get a yearly health check, and I haven’t had sex in– I dunno, probably two or three years, so I’m good,” you ramble, laughing to yourself as you brush off his concern. Then you stop, because he’s looking at you like he’s fighting laughter himself, and you register what you’d said. That you’d just admitted to him that you haven’t gotten laid in three years . “Uh-”

He shakes his head. “Good to know. And it’s been at least a year for me, too.” He reaches into his bag, retrieving a sheet of paper. “But I brought this, in case you needed it-” He starts to hand it to you, and you piece together quickly that this is his health check. You take it, only glancing at the date to confirm that it was, in fact, done today.

“You went to the doctor today?”

He blinks. “I thought it would be best.”

You gape at him. “You didn’t have to do that. I would have believed you.” You glance around your living room. “I don’t even know where my sheet is- I went two months ago-”

“I don’t need to see it,” he says, shaking his head. “I believe you.”

“Dude! You can’t have all these weird, anti-double-standards.” You throw your hands up and hand him his health check back, and then you stand, moving to the file cabinet in the corner. “I’m finding that little fucker-”

“ Y/n ,” Akaashi laughs, and you pause, if only because you’ve never heard your name like that from him. He looks more visibly relaxed, too, now that you look at him properly. “It’s fine . If you want to find it, find it later.”

You sigh, staring him down a moment but returning to the couch nonetheless. He tries to hand you the health check again, but you brush it off with a grumble. “I don’t need your stupid health check, damn it.”

“I went through the trouble of getting it,” he argues, lifting his brows with a smug tilt of his head. You glare, snatching it from him but leaving it on the coffee table.

“What else, huh?” You bark, half-joking. “Got any other surprises for me?”

“No,” he says with a patient shake of his head, his lips tugging his smile away. “We can get to the technical part.”

You sigh, lifting your copy of the contract from the table and leafing through it. “So, I post every day on a consistent schedule. Obviously, I don’t want you to give up every evening of your week to film for the next day’s post, nor do I have the time.”

“And it would look weird – both of us becoming suddenly unavailable to see our friends every night,” he reasons, and you nod.

“Exactly. You have a life, and so do I. I usually batch all my content one night a week, and then I spend a few hours the next night editing everything and scheduling it to post.”

“You’ve really thought this through,” he comments quietly, also leafing through his contract. You warm, realizing it’s a compliment. 

“ Thanks ,” you mutter. “I’d hoped it would have yielded better results, but at least I have a consistent schedule now.” You return to your proposal. “I think filming partner content will take longer, naturally, but I don’t want us meeting every night, so how’s twice a week? Five or six hours each?”

He hums and nods right away. “Makes sense. And we can change the days every week, so we’re not both conveniently missing every single, say, Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Yeah, good point.” He writes it down, and you clear your throat. “And I don’t think we should kiss,” you suggest, your voice quiet.

“I agree.” He doesn’t think twice about it, just writing it on the next line, and relief fills you. You hadn’t been sure how to bring up to him the fact that you find kissing personal and intimate in a way that you aren’t comfortable experiencing with him. It would probably offend you if he were anyone else – the way he agrees immediately – but you know he’s only thinking about this as logically as you are.

You appreciate, for once, that you and Akaashi Keiji think so similarly.

“And,” you start, clapping your hands as you realize something suddenly. “As for protection-”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, reaching down into his bag. 

He drops a box of condoms on the table, size large.

You stare down at it dumbly. “Oh. Okay. That’s-” You’re not sure you’d ever expected to be in the know about the size of Akaashi’s-

“I was at the store and didn’t want to forget.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine, it’s just-” You smile to yourself, a little embarrassed to know this. “Videos with condoms don’t really do as well as videos without.”

You feel his eyes on the side of your face. “I… did not know that,” he says. “But I can understand why.”

You swallow, handing the condoms back to him with an awkward grin. “I’m on the pill, is what I wanted to say.” You’re glad to see that the apples of his cheeks are becoming rosy.

“Got it,” he says, turning to put the box in his bag again. He scribbles ‘ birth control ’ haphazardly on the sheet, and you let out an accidental snicker. He shakes his head at it, and you catch the grin on his face just as he’s turning away.

“Uh,” you start, trying not to laugh again. “I was also thinking pet names might be necessary.”

“Oh, if we need to talk to each other,” he realizes, nodding. “Yeah. Do you have a preference?”

“I think that question might be better for you,” you muse. “I’m good with most things-”

“ Sweetheart ? Princess ? Pretty girl or baby girl ? Darling ?” he asks without thinking. You watch his mouth move, words you’d never expected from him just falling from his lips like nothing. 

“S-Sure. That’s all fine with me.”

“Okay,” he says. “I think for me… I mean, baby ’s fine. I’m not really into the… more stereotypical names.”

You tilt your head. “What, like daddy ?”

He grimaces. “Yeah, that’s not my thing-” He cuts a glance at you. “Sorry, if it’s yours.”

You smile wide now, utterly amused. “Can’t say it is. But – are you a dom, Akaashi? Or a sub.”

“Why?” he says, a single eyebrow lifting as his lips quirk in a grin. “Because I like to be called baby ?”

“I’m just curious,” you say, feigning a seriousness you simply don’t feel.

“Well, be curious in bed, not now.”

You laugh loudly, throwing your head back. “Yes, Sir.” His fingers twitch on his pen, and your eyebrows lift with interest. You lean forward. “ Sir ? Is that it?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“But you reacted when I said it-”

He rolls his eyes and starts to flip the page toward the checklist of preferences. “It’s not what you said, it’s how you said it.” 

“How’d I say it?”

He stands, glancing down the hall. “Like a brat.” Your smile drops, right along with your stomach. It flips violently, and your fingers start to tingle, but he barely gives you a second look. “Give me a tour of the spare bedroom? While we go through these.”

Your legs shake when you stand. “Sure.” You lead him down the hall, contract clutched in your hand and heart in your throat. You weren’t prepared to hear that from him.

You push the door open, letting him in. He wanders to the center of the room, turning in place. You’d put plain white sheets on the bed, the comforter a deep red color. The couch in the corner is covered in a pale green sheet, and there are a few throw pillows and blankets laid over the arm and back of it. There’s an empty desk in the corner, one that Akaashi eyes with an amused lift of his brow. 

“It’s nice in here,” he says blankly, his eyes still tracking the decor in the room. It’s all plain enough not to be recognizable, but the room is comfortable to be in. You’d put string lights all around the wall, your phone equipped with an app to change the colors whenever. You’ve got one tripod for your phone near the bed and another near the couch, and there’s a chest at the end of the bed. Akaashi taps it with his foot.

“Functional or just decoration?” Your harsh flush is his answer, and he reaches for the latch, pausing for permission once he’s got his fingers on it. You nod curtly, and he drops his contract and pen on the bed so he can crouch by the chest and lift the top with both hands.

He gives you no indication of his thoughts when he looks inside – it’s filled with sex toys, harnesses, props, and basically anything else you thought might be useful. Looking at it now, you’re certain it looks like you’re into a lot of interesting things, but he only glances at you for a second round of permission before he reaches in. He seems to understand that it’s one thing to look and another entirely to touch , but you give him that permission, too.

The first thing he extracts is a whip. “Have you ever used this?”

You smile emptily. “On myself, once. Wasn’t very fun. And I didn’t upload the video.”

He sets it back inside gently. “I prefer to use my hands, if that’s okay.”

“Oh.” You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to this. “Sure.”

He spends the next few minutes quietly pulling out a variety of dildos, butt plugs, and vibrators and laying them neatly on the bed, side by side. You grow warmer with each one, unsure what to do with this situation. He also retrieves a stretch of black cloth that you’d used once to blindfold yourself. It hadn’t gone as well as you’d hoped.

He stands with it now, tugging on it experimentally. “I like this.”

“Okay.”

He nods to the items on the bed. “I like all those, too-” He glances down and reaches into the chest again, setting a bottle of lube next to the vibrator on the end.

You approach him finally, standing beside him as you survey the collection. “Okay. Why?”

He picks up his contract, scanning the list and pointing to your bed as he speaks. “Guided masturbation.” He points to the dildos and the vibrators. He points next to the butt plugs. “Anal-”

“Oh, I’ve-” You fidget with your fingers. “I have yet to be successful with that.” He stares down at you in confusion, and then gestures to the fact that there are three of them on the bed, varying in size. You smile pitifully up at him. “I thought the issue was the size.”

“O…kay,” he says with a breath of laughter. “We don’t have to include anal-”

“No, I’m…” You chuckle to yourself. “I’m not opposed… obviously.”

There’s a long moment of eye contact, one where you become incredibly warm and his lips fight to tug into a smirk, but he eventually turns back to his contract. 

“Understood.”

You wonder how much longer this torture will last.

He moves to the couch, sighing quietly and clicking his pen again. You’re starting to get the idea that that’s a nervous tick. “Should we just go one at a time and say yes or no?”

“Okay. Sure.” You close the lid of the chest and sit on it, ignoring the pile of toys behind you. 

You spend the next ten minutes that way, voting on a list of kinks with Akaashi Keiji, as though you haven’t spent the last five years dreading every second with him. You learn that he’s into choking – giving and receiving – but that he prefers giving oral more than receiving it. You tell him that you like being tied up but that you’ve never tried it with a partner before, and then you admit to a slight oral fixation. He jokes dryly that you’d have to settle for his fingers in your mouth, in that case, and you bite back a warning that the oral fixation includes marking your partners up where others can see. He only lifts a brow and asks if he should check off ‘ exhibitionist ’, and you joke that your balcony isn’t visible from the street. You ask more certainly if he’s a dom, because it’s becoming obvious that he is, and he rolls his eyes and asks if you’re always this bratty.

The list goes on and on, and you’re surprised by how honest both of you are being. He checks ‘ dacryphilia ’, and you tell him with waning embarrassment that he can go ahead and check ‘ somnophilia ’ while he’s at it. Even things you’ve never tried but have been quietly interested in make the list, and you wonder if maybe it’s because this is a chance to try all those things without fear of judgment from the person you’re doing it with. There’s no pressure with Akaashi, because there’s no crushing fear that he’s going to find you strange or uncomfortable. 

He’d shrugged and nodded when you’d said the word somnophilia, for fuck’s sake. He utters the words ‘ temperature play’ , ‘ overstimulation ’, and ‘ ruined orgasm ’ with ease, and you rattle off ‘ edging ’, ‘ praise ’, and ‘ dirty talk ’ like it’s nothing. There’s nothing to worry about with him.

Eventually, he sighs, turning to the last page of the contract, which only has the ‘ Agreed Upon Consent System ’ section and lines for your signatures. “And… is it alright if I’m a little mean?”

You tilt your head at him, your embarrassment long forgotten. “Like, degradation? Calling me names?”

He hums and then shakes his head. “Not exactly.” He thinks for a moment. “More like… disinterest.”

“Oh.” You consider it. “I suppose that’s a kind of degradation.”

“I suppose it is.” He shifts. “Just worried, since you mentioned praise.”

You feel a little embarrassment now. “Well, is there a way to do both?”

His smile is surprised, and he ducks his head when he laughs. “Yeah, I think there might be. Disinterested praise.”

“Yeah, see? Just make sure not to smile at me when you say nice things,” you joke.

He shakes his head and then taps the paper. “What’s our consent system?”

You shrug. “I’m only really familiar with the color system.”

“Green, yellow, red?” he asks, already starting to write it down. You hum in agreement, and he holds the contract up when he’s done. “Okay. I’m ready to sign if you are.”

You leave your blank copy on the bed and hop off the chest, joining him on the couch. You watch as he signs his name and marks the date on one of the lines – he hands you the pen after, and you do the same, your name sitting neatly under his. 

“Okay,” you breathe, staring down at the paper with fresh eyes. He nods beside you, and then he turns his head. You feel his eyes on you, so you meet them, and he sticks his hand out to you.

“Let’s get you your rent money.”

You can’t help but laugh when you take his hand, shaking it firmly.

–

He texts you later that night, after you’ve had time to lie in your bed and process what’s just happened. 

You feel, weirdly enough, more comfortable with him – not completely, and certainly nothing of the friendly sort, but you feel like the afternoon hadn’t been that tense or difficult. It had mostly been awkward and a little funny, which is only to be expected in this situation. It makes you wonder, while you’re showering and making dinner, if maybe Akaashi’s not all that bad outside of an academic context.

Of course, things between you inside an academic context are so hostile that it had always bled over into whatever social interactions you’d been forced into by your mutual friends. You can’t imagine that those things will change anytime soon – it feels strange to picture Akaashi as anything but rude and torturous within the department, and you find that you’re not so enthused at the idea of him suddenly warming up to you. You like how things are between you. You like him just how he is, predictably annoying and cold.

So, when he texts you, you’re unsurprised that your guards go up.

[10:16 PM]

Akaashi: i need your account name + site

[10:18 PM]

Akaashi: please

You feel the floor drop out from under you, and you answer in a frenzy.

[10:19 PM]

You: no fucking way

Akaashi: ???????

Akaashi: i need to study before tomorrow??????

Yes, you’d agreed to spend the majority of the day tomorrow batching content for the week. But you have no idea why you hadn’t anticipated this. 

Aghast, you don’t bother typing, just jabbing down on the button to record a voice note.

“You need to study?! ” You say, exasperated. “My body’s all over that account! I’m doing a lot of things on that account! Naked things!”

You send it and wait, pacing the space around your bed. He sends a voice note back. You click play with a shaky thumb.

“ Are you insane?” he says, and you hear that he’s laughing at you. You swell with annoyance as he talks. “ Did you plan to have sex with me with all your clothes on? ” You roll your eyes, sitting at the edge of your bed. 

“Yeah, that was a stupid point,” you mumble to yourself.

“ I need to see what the general aesthetic of your account is, okay? To see how you film. ”

You press the microphone again to record. “Yeah, but this feels super unfair! You’ll have seen my whole body, and I won’t have seen yours – this is skewed!”

He texts back this time.

[10:23 PM]

Akaashi: oh, sorry. let me link you to my porn account, too, then.

Akaashi: are you hearing yourself???

You groan, throwing yourself back on your mattress. You know he’s right, but it’s terrifying to know that Akaashi will have seen you naked – more than naked, really – and you will have no clue what you’re walking into tomorrow. Still, you just flail on your bed a few times in protest before sighing and lifting your phone to your face.

[10:26 PM]

You: xxxvids .com

You: username tokyolovely

You throw your phone down and roll over to bury your face in the mattress, screaming into the comforter when your phone buzzes with his response.

Akaashi: … no comment.

You want to smack him.

Akaashi: and why couldnt you choose one of the big sites that everyone else posts on???

Akaashi: onlyfans?? pornhub even???

Akaashi: i swear to god if i get a virus from xxxvids .com

Akaashi: rent is not the only expense youll need to worry about

You definitely want to smack him.

–

Keiji throws his phone down on his desk, shaking his head with a sigh.

“What even is that?” he mumbles to himself, typing the site into his laptop. “ XXXVid- This is so stupid. Just use PornHub at that point.”

He’s accosted immediately by thumbnails of naked women and men with penises that just have to be cosmetically enlarged. He plugs his headphones in quickly, very much not needing any audio surprises from this site, and makes an account, rolling his eyes when he needs to come up with a username.

When he’s done, he types your name into the search bar.

“ Tokyo…lovely, ” he says as he types, and then his middle finger hovers over the Enter key. 

His goal really is just to look at how you’ve set up your account. He just wants to see the general tone of your channel. If you’re loud or quiet. If you’ve marketed yourself as one of those gentle, virginal girls or as a sex freak that makes a lot of noise. He needs to know these things, so he knows how to perform tomorrow. It’s logical. It makes sense.

But still, he sits here, finger hovering over the key while he contemplates it. He’d gone through the entire contract with you and revealed his deepest interests – previously experienced or otherwise. But this feels like a move he can’t take back. Once he does this, he will have seen your body, and that’s irreversible.

You agreed to this, you idiot.

He groans, jamming his finger down on the key before he can think further about it. The website buffers long enough that he wonders about that virus again, and then it loads.

Oh.

His heart jumps, and he finds himself looking away from his screen and glancing nervously around his living room, as though he doesn’t live completely alone. And then he looks back, met with the sight of your body.

He can only tell it’s you because he knows it’s you, and – looking at you in a set of black lingerie in the first thumbnail – this body looks like yours. The next thumbnail has you in a mismatched bra-panty pair, and, in the video after, you’re not wearing anything at all. He sucks in a breath, glancing away every few seconds while he scrolls, because it feels wrong to stare. He focuses on the titles, testing every ounce of his reading comprehension in this moment.

[Oct. 19] Shy Girl Fingers Herself to Orgasm

“Shy?” he mumbles, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

[Oct. 18] Virgin Sends Masturbation Video to Boyfriend

“Not a virgin,” he says. “No boyfriend.”

[Oct. 17] Girl Makes Herself Squirt on Friend’s Couch

“Not a friend’s cou-Wait.” He blinks. 

You can squirt ?

The room becomes noticeably warmer as he stares down at the little thumbnail of you curled up on the couch in your spare room. He’d intended to watch one video, just to see the extent of your editing, but he’d meant only to skim through it, skipping parts and examining the video from a purely analytic standpoint.

But… Well, if he’s going to watch one, anyway… 

He drags his mouse over it, about to click into it, when a pop-up banner appears from the left side of his screen.

TOKYOLOVELY IS ACTIVE NOW – SAY HI!

Keiji jumps, feeling as though he’s been caught doing something awful. And then he sighs heatedly and clicks on the banner, watching it open to an empty chat box.

[10:35 PM]

tokyohandsome: stop anxiously scrolling through your own videos

tokyolovely: YOU FUCK, YOU CHOSE THAT NAME ON PURPOSE

tokyohandsome: get offline, tokyolovely

tokyolovely: youre not allowed to watch the one of me with that dildo in doggy

Keiji blinks hard. The what ? Where you’re what ?

tokyohandsome: go to bed, youre driving me nuts

tokyohandsome: wait-

tokyohandsome: can you see which video i view????

tokyolovely: …. if i say yes will you exit this website

tokyohandsome: ill take that as a no.

tokyolovely: YOU HAVE TO TELL ME WHICH ONE YOU WATCH

tokyohandsome: goodnight, lovely <3 

tokyolovely: i hate you.

He laughs to himself, bright and hidden in his hand.

tokyohandsome: do you get paid for interacting with viewers in dms?

tokyolovely: yes.

tokyohandsome: do i decide how much they give you?

tokyolovely: … it’s a rating after i log off.

tokyohandsome: then you better say goodnight to me and log off, lovely <3

tokyolovely: ….. goodnight, handsome.

tokyohandsome: :((

tokyolovely: …. <3

tokyohandsome: :))

TOKYOLOVELY HAS LOGGED OFF

He sighs, pleased, and gives you a five-star rating like he’d always intended, closing the chat. He’s tempted to go looking for that video of you in doggy position, but he respects your hyper-specific request and returns to the video he’d originally seen. He clicks on it now, nerves a bit eased after that absurd interaction with you, and settles back in his chair.

The video starts with you in your underwear, touching yourself gently through the fabric. He watches with distant interest as you squeeze your breasts through your bra and then drop one hand to the spot between your thighs that’s currently hidden by how you’re curled up. You touch yourself vaguely, and he hears the beginnings of a moan, quiet in his headphones.

The sound grows the longer you continue, and he wonders if those moans sound faked because they’re obviously so or because he knows you. From the many years of hearing your voice – albeit never in this situation – he can’t imagine that this is what you would actually sound like if you were feeling good. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he watches you start to slide the panties down your thighs. 

He’s certain he can pull better sounds out of you than that.

He watches a few moments longer, genuinely critiquing the video and your performance, if only to gauge how he should act, too. 

But then you drop your panties on the couch beside you, sighing breathily, and move to unhook your bra. Keiji’s eyebrows lift as you slip the straps off, and suddenly he’s not thinking about things he plans to do differently as your business partner.

You prop your feet up on the couch and spread your legs, and he spreads his, too, unconsciously, eyes dropping to your exposed core. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and he shifts in his seat, his sweats becoming suspiciously tight. He watches you on his laptop screen – the way your fingertips swipe over your clit in two tight circles before dropping to your entrance – and he swallows, committing the motion to memory, because he’s here to study. To study .

He blinks hard, shifting again and ignoring the way his cock twitches in his pants and strains against the band. He watches you dip both fingers into your entrance before slipping out, and he has the torturous thought that your fingers look a lot smaller than his. You repeat the motion three or four times, working yourself open until you can fit both fingers up to the knuckles. 

You moan in Keiji’s ears, loud and a little gratuitous – but he moans back.

He palms himself through his sweats, watching you finger yourself. His breath hitches, and his stomach swirls with nerves, and he feels a wave of desire crash over him.

And then he hears your voice, in that note you’d sent him.

‘-feels super unfair – You’ll have seen my whole body, and I won’t have seen yours-’

He groans, throwing his head back against his chair briefly, and reaches for his phone before he can overthink.

“ Fuck it, ” he mumbles in a strained voice, opening the camera and propping his phone up against the stack of books on his desk. 

He presses record.

–

At 11pm, you get a text.

You’ve sat on your bed the last thirty minutes, scrolling through Twitter absentmindedly as you think about what Akaashi could be watching. You wonder if he’s actually watched anything, or if he’s just skimming the thumbnails and titles, or maybe if he’d just logged off right after you, satisfied with teasing you a little. 

You feel painfully vulnerable in your state of not knowing. You have no clue what you’re walking into tomorrow. At least before, you were partially comforted in that neither of you had seen the other naked, and also in that neither of you had been with someone else in at least a year. There had been an air of safety, knowing that you and Akaashi were on relatively equal ground.

You’re horribly underground, now.

So, when his first text comes through, the banner pulling down over the top of your screen, you think the worst.

[10:59 PM] 

Akaashi : [Video Attached]

What is that? What did he do? Did he record your videos on his phone? Is he commenting on them? At the very worst, he’s making fun of you, and at the very best, he’s offering you tips to improve your filming or editing. You really don’t know which you hate more.

But then his second text comes in, this banner replacing the last.

Akaashi: making it a little less unfair.

“ What? ” you mumble, brows furrowed as you click on the notification. Your phone jumps to the text thread, and you squint at the thumbnail of the video. It’s just him leaning toward the camera with a furrowed brow, seated at his desk in grey sweats and a white t-shirt, with his glasses perched on his nose and his hair slightly wet from what’s probably a recent shower. He’s got headphones in, and there’s something bright on his laptop screen.

It’s the glare in the corner of his glasses, a reflection of his laptop screen, that makes your heart leap.

You know that pale green sheet.

“What… the fuck …?” You bring the phone close to your face, too scared to press play . “Is that asshole live-reacting to my video?” With a trembling finger, your click on the video.

And you realize immediately what’s happening.

Akaashi settles back in his chair with a heated sigh, his tongue darting out as he watches his screen. It’s because he leaned back that you can see properly now – the tent in his pants, the hand he presses over the outline of his cock with a quiet sigh.

Your jaw drops. He’s-

His eyes track your movement on the screen, which you can now see clearly in the glare of his glasses, and his bottom lip catches between his teeth. He breathes hard, palming himself through his sweats as he watches your video. He glances once at his own camera, clearly nervous about recording this, but then his eyes widen and fly to his screen, whatever sound you’d just made in his headphones drawing his attention completely.

“ Oh, f- ” He purses his lips, and you feel yourself leaning in, wanting to hear what he’d been about to say. He blinks rapidly, eyes trained on one spot – you can see exactly which video it is now, and your heart jumps when you recognize the way your own body moves in the reflection of his glasses.

So that’s what he’s into.

You spend so long staring at the reflection in his glasses that you nearly miss the way he starts to move. You drop your eyes in time to catch him lifting his hips just enough to slide his sweats down to his thighs. He tucks one hand into his boxers, and you watch with parted lips as Akaashi Keiji’s eyes roll back into his head.

“ Fuck, ” he breathes, his head dropping back momentarily, and your mouth falls open more, your brain stunned into nothingness as you watch him masturbate to a video of you masturbating. As you realize that this isn’t just anyone watching one of your videos – liking one of your videos.

This is Akaashi Keiji.

Akaashi Keiji’s just given you the confirmation that you’re good at this, after so many weeks of feeling quite the opposite.

“Oh,” you breathe, the sticky heat of understanding washing over your skin. It worsens when he uses his free hand to tug his boxers down, making this ground feel suddenly a lot more equal.

Oh.

Akaashi keeps his eyes glued to his screen, and you catch a glimpse of your on-screen self coming more and more undone. You examine him closely while he watches it, too – his lips are swollen and wet from pursing and biting at them, and there’s a flush high on his cheeks and a hooded, hazy quality to his eyes that makes your stomach flip with nerves. His tongue darts out again, wetting his pink lips just as he’s parting them to sigh. 

Your eyes drop, watching how he slides his palm against his cock, slick with precum and making the most impolite, soft squelching sound whenever he flicks his wrist. Your thighs press together instinctively, a hard throb pulsing through your core when his hips jerk slightly. 

His breathing speeds up, as does the flick of his wrist, and you realize in the reflection that you must be starting to squirt. Akaashi grips the arm of his desk chair with his free hand and presses his lips together, his moan muffled but still audible. His hips jerk and stutter, and then his eyes roll back into his head again as he comes all over his hand and stomach, streaks of white painting the back of his hand and wrist.

His lips part in a gasp and a rough sigh as he’s coming down, and he slumps against his chair, breathing hard as he stares at nothing – the screen is dark in his glasses now. He drags his clean hand through his hair, tugging hard and breathing out a soft ‘ fuck ’. He breathes twice more, and then his eyes flick to his camera, as though he’s only just remembered it’s there.

He sees himself in the video and rolls his eyes immediately, a breathless laugh leaving him as he shakes his head and looks away.

“ Uh, ” he says, still laughing. He leans forward, reaching with his free hand for the phone, and shakes his head again. “ See you tomorrow, I guess.”

The video cuts there, leaving you with silence and a sudden, overwhelming attraction to Akaashi Keiji.

Oh.

[calicoups]

౨ৎ sheet masks & kisses — csc

synopsis you couldn’t let those sheet masks you ordered go to waste, could you? pairing seungcheol x fem reader genre fluff. word count 1.3k hani’s note just terms of endearment for reader (doll, sweetheart) and use of scissors (for its intended use, of course). literally thought of this as i was doing my skincare before bed. and also i miss my cutie cherry bunny guy :((

seungcheol’s shoulders shake with laughter at a video of a cat falling on his phone. it’s actually amusing seeing the things seungcheol finds funny. you swear his laugh could heal someone.

at this moment, you’re laying comfortably on seungcheol’s chest who is splayed out on the couch. you’re not doing anything in particular, just admiring seungcheol. you play with his brown locks, the silver chain around his thick neck and you poke his cheeks, pink lips and his dimples whenever they pop out as he smiles.

you swear a family of eight could live in his dimples.

there’s this glow on his skin, it makes you jealous how beautiful he is and so effortlessly at that. your finger travels upwards from his jaw on the left side of his face to his forehead then back down on the right side of his face, finger landing in the dip above his collarbones. the indent above his clavicles are deep due to the way he’s laying on the couch.

“cherry?”

a ‘hm’ sound echoes in the room, his chest vibrates. seungcheol pauses the video and looks at you, giving you his undivided attention.

“do you wanna do sheet masks with me?”

“sheet masks?” he cocks his head to the side slightly.

“yeah, i ordered a bunch two weeks ago and they came a few days ago but i didn’t have anyone to try them with,” you pause, “wanna be my testing buddy?”

“testing buddy, huh?” he muses, “let’s do it!”

without saying another word, you scramble off of seungcheol and disappear to grab a few sheet masks. when you return, you notice that seungcheol has gone back to watching those cat videos while he was waiting for you to get back. you tap his knee and hold out the different sheet masks, fanning them out like a deck of cards.

“take your pick: lotus, shea butter, green tea or mung bean?”

“hm,” seungcheol puts a finger on his chin to exaggerate his thinking then puts that finger on a packet, “i wanna try lotus root.”

“green tea for me then!” you put the rest on the coffee table, “do you want me to do yours first or mine?”

“can i do yours first, please?”

you think you might die there and then. cause of death: seungcheol saying please.

when you agree to his request, he lets out a quiet yet excited ‘okay’ and plants his knees either side of your body. using his hands, he pushes back your hair, “don’t wanna get it trapped under the mask.”

then, he grabs the green tea extract mask you picked and very, very carefully rips it open, slipping out the wet sheet. and all you can do in this moment is simply stare at seungcheol. he’s doing this with almost trembling hands, wanting to be so careful with the mask, not wanting to tear it as he unfolds it and not wanting to startle you as he places it on your face.

the mask is definitely bigger than your face, it bunches up at the ends and becomes annoying for seungcheol as he tries to smooth it down. remembering a video he saw, he wipes his hands on a tissue from the coffee table and gets up from his spot.

“wait here, i’ll be back in a second,” he ruffles your hair and walks away to grab a pair of small silver scissors.

“are you going to do what i think you’re going to do?” you watch as he straddles you again, scissors in hand. you admit that he looks a little crazy right now, kneeling above you with the scissors in his large hands.

“depends on what you’re thinking,” he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, “i saw this trick somewhere to make your mask fit better because your face is so tiny.”

“oh yeah, i’ve seen that! go ahead, just don’t poke me.”

“i would never, doll.”

seungcheol uses his thumb and forefinger to lift the mask so that the scissors don’t touch your skin, snipping at three spots: the nose bridge, upper lip and chin. he uses his fingers to connect the cut pieces together then leans back to look at his work.

at some point, he had grabbed a mirror on the way back from retrieving the scissors and he hands the mirror to you which you use to inspect for what feels like a while because how is he so good at this?

“i’m just too good, aren’t i?” seungcheol puffs out his chest in pride and you gawk at him then back at yourself in the mirror.

“yeah,” you mumble, “a little too good…‘cus who else have you done this on, huh?”

“excuse me?” seungcheol dramatically places a hand on his chest, “only you, sweetheart, you know that!”

you laugh at his exaggeration, “just teasing you, cherry.”

seungcheol folds his arms over his chest and pouts before mimicking your pose on the couch next to you, “whatever, it’s my turn so get over here.”

since seungcheol’s legs are stretched out, you take this opportunity to sit on his thighs instead of kneeling like he did. you kiss his pouty lips, “such a cutie guy.”

“here,” he hands you the packet of the sheet mask and you take it to tear it open.

the sheet is cold at your fingertips and the liquid coats them. seungcheol holds his hair back for you to lay the mask on his face. to no surprise, the mask fits perfectly on his face and doesn’t even need sizing it down like yours did.

seungcheol stares at you, his brown eyes following yours. you know what he’s doing. he’s making sure that you know you have all of his attention, that he’ll do anything you ask, may that be big or small, silly or not.

you copied what seungcheol had done to your mask and flatten his, getting rid of bumps and making sure it stuck to his handsome face properly. you were almost done but seungcheol being seungcheol, he can never be serious. he captures you with his arms and pulls you close to his chest, squeezing his arms around your body.

“this is payback for the same thing you did to me last time, doll.”

you can barely get your words out with the strength he’s using, “what did…i do last…time?”

“you did this too! said you were loving me or something?”

you never forgot, you just wanted to taunt him because you love when he's on the receiving end of your teasing comments.

“let go! i can’t breathe!” you wiggle in his tight hold and he finally spares you. you put on an act of trying to catch your breath, seungcheol scoffs playfully, “i didn’t even squeeze you as hard as you squeezed me, doll.”

“yeah, you got me there. but you weren’t affected by my strength, anyways,” you point out, “you’re way stronger than me.”

“maybe you should come to the gym with me next time.”

“yeah, yeah,” you pat your face to check the mask, “hey, i think we should remove the masks now.”

you both take the mask off and stuff each one back in its packet.

“okay, now pat the extract in!” you instruct and gently pat at your skin. seungcheol just watches.

“why aren't you patting it in?” at this, seungcheol doesn’t say anything but tilts his head up to gesture at you to do it for him. so, you use your hands to do seungcheol’s job, palms curving at his cheeks as they tap repeatedly. you get more aggressive with each tap and seungcheol’s eyes close shut at each contact of your hand with his cheeks.

“okay, now you’re just borderline slapping me.”

you squish his cheeks together and kiss his lips, “sorry, need your skin to absorb it quick.”

“i need to be compensated, doll.”

“compensation? for what?”

“for all the slapping!”

“i wasn’t slapping but fine, i’ll compensate.” you huff, “what must i do?”

seungcheol puffs out a cheek and taps it, you press a kiss to it. then, he turns his head and puff out the other cheek, you kiss it. he does it again and you can’t help but giggle at his antics yet you follow without protest.

“how many more kisses do you want?” you punctuate each word with a kiss to his cheeks.

“hm…one more?”

you sigh loudly because seungcheol points to his lips this time. say less, you would gladly kiss his lips anytime.

[lqfiles]

SCORE THAT GOAL! — 21. man up and break it

(wc: 1.701)

“welcome in y/n! make sure to take of your shoes and follow me into the living room. you can hang your jacket up or leave it on the couch if you want.” jaemin blurted out in one go, already moving away from the door he had opened for you only a few seconds ago. appalled, all you could mutter out was a quick ‘hi jaemin’ before following his instructions.

“good to see that you came here safely.” jaemin settled down on the ground next to the coffee table placed in the room, beaming a bright smile your way. you felt awetruck, subconsciously smiling at jaemin. he was a pretty man, you always thought that was the case. “yeah, took me a while but i’m here now.”

“soooo, advertisement?” you took out your laptop and notebook, placing them onto the table before looking back at jaemin and nodding. “i just need you to look at my work and see if i could improve on anything.” jaemin also nodded in return, waiting for you to unpack all your equipment before continuing.

jaemin took out his phone. “would you like to see the work that got me a good grade?” he asked softly, phone still facing him in case you refused. you shook your head in agreement, shuffling closer to him to see his high quality work. you hummed. “you really put a lot of detail into everything, i don’t know if i can do all that..” you groaned, feeling a headache brew in the back of your mind. jaemin chuckled, dragging your laptop his way. “i can show you how i did some of those effects while explaining it at the same time, is that okay with you?”

you sat up more and sent jaemin a small nod. you were grateful that jaemin was willing to help you out on your assignment, you could exaggerate and say you owed him your life but it really did feel like that at the moment. especially with the way his brushed through various techniques and topics so briskly, simplifying it for you too. “is it okay if i get some water?” you whispered, hating that your thirst was breaking the steady process you were working on with jaemin. his kind smile made you feel more at ease, finally standing up and following his given directions.

the kitchen wasn’t that far and was easy to spot. you made your way into the room and went to the cupboard, extracting a glass from it before making your way over to the sink to get some water. “you’re (—).” a voice, all too quiet yet loud enough catch your attention, emerged from behind you. you squealed and almost dropped the cup. turning around, you weren’t sure who you were expecting, but a brown haired boy dressed in an equally brown cardigan who was around your height wasn’t your first thought.

“and you’re the roommate renjun.” you addressed back, remembering the mention of a roommate. the boy who stood in front of you let his gaze wander up and down your figure before nodding. “jisung is upstairs.” he spoke out, moving past you to wash his hands in the sink. you furrowed your brows and turned his way. why would he tell you this, and why was jisung here? “…okay.” was all you managed to respond back.

“i thought you’d want to say hi, apparently you two know each other.” renjun shrugged, moving himself away from the sink and instead to the fridge before rummaging through it. “oh, yeah.. yeah i know him.” you answered back hesitantly. you slowly stepped out of the kitchen, not too sure if this conversation was over but you didn’t care much, it was starting to get awkward.

“did you meet renjun?” jaemin asked as he saw you walk back in with your glass of water. you nodded, looking back into the kitchen. “he’s your roommate?” you didn’t know if you meant it in a positive or negative way, you’d like to believe it was more so out of disbelief. as in, your roommates with someone who seems to be the polar opposite of you? “yeah, renjun and i have been friends for three years now.” jaemin smiled, and you once again looked back at the door you just came out of. maybe opposite attracts?

“actually, i need to ask him something really quickly, can you stay here for a bit?” jaemin abruptly stood up, leaving your work open so you could continue yourself. you let him know that it was alright and went back to sit on the ground jaemin previously sat on. looking through your work, he definitely improved it by a lot. you felt bad, he was doing your coursework for you and all you are paying him back with was a few movie nights. maybe you’ll up your budget for your lunch and buy him some as well.

“hey.” the familiar deep voice that you were still not used to broke the silence you had gotten comfortable in. it made you snap your head up to the side, watching jisung peak his head around the corner of the door. he held a hesitant smile on his face, not sure what to say. you took it as the initiative to wave your hand back at him. “hi jisung.” jisung decided to fully enter the living room, still maintaining close proximity to the door. “what are you doing down here?” you asked.

“renjun kicked me out of his room since jaemin and him are having a private conversation.” jisung rolled his eyes, looking over at your figure seated on the ground. ‘man up and break it’. jeno’s words were practically stuck in jisung’s mind ever since he entered the apartment. he could see where jeno was coming from, they are in the same club, the same year, they even share the same friends. there was no reason for there to be an ‘awkward tension’, like jisung described it. “how long have you been here for?” he asked.

“almost an hour i think?” you checked the time on your phone to confirm your guess. jisung nodded, still leaning against the door. there was a silence that neither of them knew how to break, before jisung swallowed and spoke again. “how’s club practice? are you liking it?” jisung questioned curiously. you thought about it. were you liking it? partially. because of him, but he didn’t need to know that. “it’s alright, i think i’m getting the hang of the game. though i’m not as good as you and jeno are.” you shyly smiled.

“practice makes perfect you know, i’m sure in a few months you’ll be up to par with either one of us.” you could’ve sworn you saw the slightest hint of a smile on his face when you looked back at him. “i guess you’re right… how is sociology?” you decided to ask back, not wanting to take this opportunity of a two sided conversation for granted. jisung thought for a second before answering. “alright too? i’m currently doing my homework in renjun’s room for it.”

as if on cue, both renjun and jaemin had seemingly summoned out of nowhere, entering the room after one another. jaemin held an apologetic smile on his face. “sorry (—), we’ll have to continue this another day since me and renjun have some house stuff to take care of.” jaemin apologised, pouting at you with a genuine expression of guilt. you shook your head. “it’s okay, we already did quite a lot, thank you for your help.” you thanked him, already packing up your stuff.

“and you need to go too.” renjun turned towards jisung, who frowned. “what? but i’m always here.” jisung protested. “well not today, we need both of you out.” renjun rubbed his face. “jisung be a gentleman and take her home, it’s getting dark outside these days.” renjun lastly said before walking back up the stairs. “but-” the sound of a door closing was enough for jisung to realise there was no ‘but’s. jaemin apologised once more before making his way up the stairs himself.

jisung slowly looked over at you who was already staring at him in silence. it took him a few seconds before he let out a sigh. “come on, he’s right. it’s getting late.” jisung sighed before he turned around and took his jacket off the hanger. you were glad his back was facing your way, because that meant he didn’t see the way your jaw had dropped. you shook your head before following him outside, the both of you taking the bus back. jisung’s sudden chatty attitude caught you off guard. he was willingly trying to make conversation with you on the way, breaking the silence every 5 minutes. were you complaining? not one bit.

“i’ll see you next week.” he said, the two of you reaching a point where each could part their own way. you smiled and nodded. “see you next week.” you turned around to walk away, ready to break into a grin.

“oh yeah, (—)?” you heard him call out from behind. you craned your neck to see him hesitate before a small smile formed on his face. “let’s watch where we walk from now on, yeah?”

you went home with the biggest grin on your face.

previous — master list — next

notes ; PROGRESS PROGRESS PROGRESS RAAAAAHHHH

TAGLIST ; @rksbae @222brainrot @severefireangelprune @violetvoo @prdshobi @kikookii @haechansbbg @en-dream @bbxnny-bbxtch @cvpidxo @jaeminslattes @90s-belladonna @softieluvsyou @wenjunblossoms @be0mluver @jeongintwt @myhaechan @love1again @ckline35 @cassie6392 @hibernatinghamster @starboys-gf @rllymark @mfaal @snflwrhaerecs4u @sunflowerbebe07 @ahnneyong @enhalovie @galacticpurpl3 @manooffline @luv4jeno @mikadorbs @1moo7 @ksywoo @ohdudehesflirting @savluvsmingi @finnydraws @invumi @crvzy-fujoshi @peterparkerluvvbot @hrjunluvs @i2kittenz @jisungji @http-peachie @jisyng @sweetcandycum @giaccolo @shotaroswifeyily @sinsgaybutthatsokay @be-my-sunrise @syzavxy @kyusqult @mxlly143 @o-schist @bigjishirt @snuglyjwi @hyunniesvlog @shuaadmirer

[marlboro00999]

THE MARLBORO MEN'S CLUB - Part 1

The leader of the Marlboro Men's Club wasn't called Max for nothing. Everything about him was max... his smoking addiction, his stamina, and the size of his 'tool'.

Max was also the most prolific recruiter of new members and former non-smokers to the Club. It didn't matter their sexuality. Max had the charm and ability to negotiate the character of any young man, regardless of their background or sexuality.

His targets were always non-smokers. They were his favourite 'victims' to recruit. Joe wasn't his first, and wouldn't be his last. Max discovered Joe in a cafe, sitting alone with a drink and focused on his phone. He asked Joe if he could sit at his table, and Joe nodded and smiled politely. It wasn't long before Max got Joe into conversation, seducing him with his charm and piercing eyes.

It turns out that Joe was 19, a non-smoker, and in a rocky relationship with a girl. Max had an extraordinary ability to make his targets totally comfortable in his company, able to extract information someone would rarely reveal to a stranger. But Max was no ordinary stranger, and he had already set himself a goal of a specific timescale to initiate Joe with what he referred to as his 'Victory Scene'.

The other members of the Marlboro Club were familiar with Max's Victory Scene. It was very simple, with Max pumping his new recruit's passage with his tool while the young man pumped on a Marlboro Red.

It was going to take a couple of months for Joe to be cultivated to this goal, but Max would be patient, as he gradually moulded Joe towards it. The 'rocky relationship' would be Max's first issue to deal with, with care and empathy. He arranged to meet up with Joe regularly for a coffee over the following few weeks, working his way into Joe's mind, reading his every response to him like a game of chess. Without suggesting it, but simply through Max guiding Joe's emotions, it was two weeks since that first meeting... and Joe reported to Max that he'd broken off the relationship.

That was the first practical barrier removed. From then on, Max became Joe's sole confidant. Joe poured out personal information and feelings he'd never revealed to anyone else before, as Max gradually broke him down. With everything he knew about Joe, the sexuality question would be easy to overcome. Getting Joe starting smoking would be nurtured during the walks together that Max initiated.

Five weeks since the first meeting, Joe began to smoke his first cigarettes with Max on their walks. As Joe became emotionally dependent on Max and more tactile in their interactions, getting Joe smoking wasn't too difficult after the first couple of "No thanks, Max. Really, it's not something I've ever wanted to do."

"Have one for me. Just try it, Joe. It would really please me for you to smoke a cigarette with me"... "Honestly, you'll look great."... This was Max's way in. By this time, Joe wanted to please Max.

A month on, and Joe was smoking a few Reds per day as cravings began to take hold. Max decided to delay Joe's initiation for a further month, wanting to ensure that Joe was fully hooked up to him. The meetings had gone from 3 times a week to almost daily. It meant that Max was neglecting the other young men in his hareem, but they understood, and had plenty to be doing themselves in their own recruiting duties for the Marlboro Men's Club.

The next step was ready to be embarked on during an evening walk. Max had nurtured Joe thus far to his requirements, and Joe was totally infatuated by Max. Max timed it during a particularly emotional conversation where Joe was especially emotionally vulnerable and needy - as Max pulled him into the shadows on a deserted street, gazed deep into his eyes and held him firmly. He was reading Joe's soul, waiting for Joe to respond as Max wanted and expected. This was the moment.

With eyes of adoration, Joe moved his head forward towards Max, his lips trembling.

Max's tongue sunk deep into Joe's mouth as Joe melted under the most passionate kiss he'd ever experienced. Max surged with passion as he saw his 'Victory Scene' in sight. Max took a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled it deep into Joe's lungs.

As Joe's cravings increased, so did the number of cigarettes he smoked. Each meeting from that first kiss would involve regular passionate and deep embraces. The cafe meetings were long past, and they met in secluded locations. But, it would always feature smoking as they shared their saliva and exchanged the Marlboro smoke between their lungs. Joe was progressing exactly as Max required of him, as he increasingly fondled Joe's ass and began to push his finger into the rear seam of Joe's jeans during their outdoor sessions. The 'anal focus' needed to be developed for Joe's initiation into the Marlboro Club. Max wanted to impress the other members at his Victory Scene, displaying Joe's utter adoration and submission to Max... and his increasingly developing Marlboro fetish and smoking proficiency under Max's guidance.

On a few evenings, Max introduced some different Marlboro Club members to meet Joe on their walks. He wanted to show Joe off to some of his brothers, and wanted Joe to become comfortable meeting others with Max. He told Joe about the Marlboro Club, once he was confident about Joe's rapidly developing cigarette and Marlboro fetish. Joe was excited by it, and Max encouraged him in his eagerness. The Club had weekly evening meetings, and there'd always be at least one new initiate to assimilate into the organisation, and often more. The Marlboro Men's Club was expanding quickly, each member wearing their leather biker jacket uniform to the meetings.

It was time now. Joe was ready.

Three and a half months since the first meeting in the cafe, and Max was confident that everything was in place. Joe literally could hardly keep his hands off Max. He'd become Max's compliant and adoring puppy. Although they'd not yet 'consumated' their bond, Max had got Joe to practice at home with a but plug to prepare himself for Max penetrating him. Joe was eager for it. Max had moulded Joe so well to his requirements that Joe was even excited that his initiation would be public before the other members of the Club. He'd come such a long way from the straight young man with the girlfriend.

Max was satisfied, adding Joe to his collection of toys.

THE MARLBORO MEN'S CLUB - Part 2

[crabsnpersimmons]

Crabs this is Noa you need to help me I'm in love with your restaurant AU I need more I love food and you combined it with the dca I can't I ca

Uhh what's in the menu? :D

HEHE ME TOO NOA!!

legit every meal i have is inspiration for this AU 😂

as for the menu, welllll most of it is based on Hong Kong style cafe foods (because that's what inspired me at first), but the specials change regularly and go into many different cuisines.

the boys also specialize in different things too:

Sun specializes in healthy, nutritious meals. he’s also the most interested in learning all about food, from farms to cooking methods. if you ask him to surprise you, he’ll discretely scan you and determine what your body needs and will cook something accordingly.

You are surprised as a bowl of soup appears in front of you, held by a gold hand. You follow that hand to it’s owner—meeting Sun’s blank eyes staring down at you.

“I… didn’t order a soup,” you stutter.

“You appear to be low in iron today,” Sun responds in his monotone voice before turning away, then adding, “There is more if you need it. It's on the house.”

Without a further word, Sun returns to the kitchen.

The smell of the soup wafts to your nose and you decide to dig in. It’s a fairly clear broth yet surprisingly flavourful—the kind of soup that takes more than a day to properly steep and simmer to extract all the flavours from it’s ingredients. Despite that, the soup was clear of any dregs at the bottom—just the way you like it.

You feel your face warm—from the soup or from the attention, you’re not entirely sure.

You might take his offer for seconds.

Moon specializes in everything indulgent! juicy fried chicken? the cutest pastries? he loves them all and he’s always experimenting with new recipes. sure he recognizes the importance of a healthy meal, but sometimes you just need a boost, yknow? food is more than fuel, it can be something to be enjoyed.

When you stepped into the restaurant that morning, Moon could already tell you were off to a rough start. He watched from the kitchen window as you ate your breakfast, staring dryly at your phone.

And then he had an idea. Ooooohoohoohoo, clever Moon!

“Gooooood morning, starlight,” Moon walks over to your seat at the bar table. “How’s your breakfast? Would you like some dessert with it?”

You groggily look up from your phone, and nod, barely registering what he said. Then before you know it, Moon is gone and back again with a warm plate of french toast.

Moon wasn’t kidding when he said dessert—the toast is thick enough to be a cake! When you cut off a manageable bite, you realize it’s actually two slices of toast, sandwiching a gooey filling.

You take a bite and you’re surprised by how delicate and rich it is. The toast melts in your mouth and leaves behind the aroma of butter and eggs and the delightfully chilled sweetness of condensed milk coats your tongue.

Your expression must betray your reaction, because you see Moon smiling back at you so sweetly.

Eclipse is the main front of house, waiting tables and charming customers. and he’s also the barista, preparing a variety of drinks (and sometimes putting on a bit of a show while doing so). he can cook as well, but he leaves it mostly to Sun and Moon.

You have no idea how you got here. You decided to stop by the restaurant, only you forgot that today was their day off. However, you’ve learned that the chefs live in the apartment above the restaurant, which explains why Eclipse found you and let you in.

Now you were seated at the empty bar table, while the charming barista prepared you a drink.

“Here we are,” Eclipse gently places a glass in front of you.

Based on the colour, the ice, and the straw, you take a guess, “Iced coffee?”

“Half correct,” Eclipse chuckles and pours himself a glass as well. “It’s one of my old boss’s favourites. It’s called ‘yuenyeung’, a mixture of milk tea and coffee.”

“Oh, so ‘yuenyeung’,” you grimace at your butchered pronunciation, “means ‘tea-coffee’, I guess?”

Eclipse smiles. For the short while you’ve known him, you have learned you do not trust that smile. “No, ‘yuenyeung’ refers to a pair of mandarin ducks that look very different, male and female. They’re a symbol of conjugal love—a pair of two different elements coming together as one.”

You freeze as Eclipse chuckles and clinks your glass with his. “It’s more fragrant when it’s served warm, but it’s too hot for that today. I’ll save that treat for a day you need the warmth.”

He’s right. It is too hot for this today. You take your glass and sip on the straw, Even chilled, the aroma of black tea, coffee, and smooth milk is strong on your tongue.

Even after downing your entire glass, you still feel too hot.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Hi! Congratulations on 300 & here’s to many more! 🫶🥳

would you be willing to write something warm & fuzzy & fluffy with husband! Matt?

I’m thinking cool early autumn mornings with no obligations. Just cozy-in-sweatpants snuggling. ☺️

Thank you for your request 😊

I hope this satisfies, it was fun to write despite my computer's attempts at sabotage.

Credit to @sunflowersandsapphires for the breakfast in bed idea.

Cozy Sunday

It wasn’t often that you woke up before your husband. Matt frequently had difficulty falling or staying asleep. More often than not, you woke up to discover him already awake. But not this morning. This morning, he was deeply asleep.

You relished the rare sight before you. No little worried furrows across his brow. No stress or anger pulling down the corners of his mouth. Not tightness in his jaw or around the eyes from pain. Just utter peace. Lightly brushing his hair out of his face, you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

What was normal about this morning was the way he was curled around you like an oversized octopus. Which rather complicated your planned surprise. You needed to get out of this bed for it. But you didn’t want to wake him up if he was sleeping this well. He so rarely did . . . And it wasn’t like either of you had anywhere to be this morning. Technically there was Mass but you made the executive decision that Matt was skipping it. He needed the sleep more.

But as the sun rose above the skyscrapers, you knew that you would have to risk it. Sooner or later, the increasing noise of the city would penetrate his snooze cocoon. Or someone would call. Or one of the thousand other things.

After pressing another kiss to his forehead, you managed to extract all your limbs out of his octopus grip. And wonder of wonders, you didn’t wake him up. He must be really tired.

You shivered. There was a distinct bite in the air this morning. Especially when you weren’t cuddled against your husband. Who, in addition to being an octopus, was five feet ten inches of human furnace. But you ignored the chill in favor of walking to the kitchen as quietly as you could.

You put on the coffee, using the beans that you had ground the night before and stored in the fridge. It was probably some kind of coffee sacrilege but it had to be done if you were going to succeed. Matt preferred fresh-ground coffee but the grinder would absolutely wake him up. So you crossed your fingers and hoped it wasn’t too stale.

Also out of the fridge came the tray of cinnamon rolls that you had prepared yesterday. You were confident that Matt hadn’t opened the fridge when he dragged himself in last night. Or rather this morning. Rather long night since he had slipped out just as the sun was setting. You had stirred a little when he came in but he didn’t seem hurt when he crawled into bed. Just tired and slightly damp from the shower.

He likely hadn’t missed the smell of yeast and flour but you baked things all the time. Not even the smell of apples and spices should have tipped him off to your plan. It was autumn. You made many things with apples this time of year. No reason for him to think you were making his favorite cinnamon rolls.

The rolls had done nearly all of their proofing before being put in the fridge so you didn’t have to wait two or three hours to bake them. Just pop them in the oven and finish making the apple topping. As with the rolls, you had done all the prep for that last night. You just needed to cook the apple and spice mixture in some butter until everything was all gooey and delicious.

Matt must have been more tired than you thought after a hard week of lawyering and Daredeviling. Normally the smell of coffee and breakfast would be enough to rouse him. But as you plated the rolls and poured the coffee, no vigilante / lawyer came stumbling out of the bedroom. Perfect. He had surprised you with breakfast in bed on your last birthday. Now you could finally return the favor.

“Whaz that?” Matt slurred, his voice thick with sleep as you placed the serving tray on the bedside table.

“Morning, sleepy head,” you said. “And this is your breakfast.”

He blinked. It was unbearably cute. Especially when his hair looked like it had been styled by a hurricane. “My breakfast?”

“Yep,” you said, popping the p. “Your favorite cinnamon rolls.”

“Why?” His brow furrowed, clearly trying to remember which special occasion might have slipped his mind under the weight of an intense week of Daredeviling and lawyering.

“Because I love you,” you said simply. Matt smiled, looking simultaneously deeply touched and slightly disbelieving. The battle to convince your husband that you loved him as he was, warts and all, was ongoing but it was one you were determined to win.

It didn’t take much coaxing to get Matt to sit up and eat his cinnamon roll while it was still warm. And it didn’t take much coaxing on his part to convince you to return to bed after the food had been put away. As you noted earlier, it wasn’t like you had anywhere to go or anything that you had to do today. 

And if you wanted to spend all day cuddling with your husband in your sweatpants, who was going to stop you?

ENDING NOTES

I didn't see anyone doing that apple topping with cinnamon rolls, all the recipes I could find had them putting the diced apples into the rolls, then baking them. But I figured that if you finely dice the apples, then cook them in a pot with some butter, sugar, and spices, you'd get a nice topping to pour over the rolls.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Just wanted to say ur posts always make me cackle 😂. Forget them haters!

Thoughts on how AGSZC would react at the dentist??

(thank you ❤️ 😂 )

Angeal: SOLDIER has a dedicated team of dentists who provide dental care for its operatives, and Angeal is eternally grateful for it. Because his family didn't have much money, he rarely had the opportunity to visit the dentist. While Hollander did offer dental treatments on multiple occasions, Angeal's mother was always wary of Hollander being near her son. So when Angeal joins the army and SOLDIER and gets ready access to dental care, he's determined to follow the dentist's instructions. Too determined, really. He thinks it's a competition.

Angeal: So what's my grade? Dentist: You don't get graded on your oral hygiene. Angeal: But how are my teeth? Dentist: They're in perfect condition⏤ Angeal: Perfect I got an A. Dentist: Angeal: Take that, Genesis. Dentist: Angeal: He got an F didn't he?

Sephiroth: His experiences with dentists have been limited to Hojo either performing his dental work himself or closely monitoring professionals during surgeries and unnecessary procedures (like pulling out teeth to observe how fast they grow). Needless to say, he was hesitant about visiting a regular dentist until Angeal suggested it to show him that not all dentist experiences are uncomfortable.

Sephiroth is pleasantly surprised by the dentist's office he visits in Sector 8.

*During his appointment* Dentist: How are you finding things? Sephiroth: Excellent. The waiting area was stocked with books and magazines, there was calming music, the receptionist offered me coffee. Now there's a TV on the ceiling, which I'm so distracted by that I barely notice the treatment being done. You're also being very gentle. Thank you. Dentist: I'm flattered⏤ Sephiroth: It's nice not having to worry about one of my teeth being extracted against my will. Dentist:

Genesis: "He hates the dentist" is what he tells people, when in reality he lives in constant fear that he'll randomly black out one day and wake up strapped to a dentist chair. No one knows why, not even Genesis himself understands why the dentist makes him so uncomfortable. He doesn't like sitting with his mouth open while someone pokes around in there, he doesn't like how sterile the dentist office feels, he doesn't like the prospect of having a cavity or something he'll have to be treated for, so he combats this by simply not going to the dentist. Done. "If you don't know about it, it doesn't exist."

Unfortunately this backfires horribly the day Genesis won't stop complaining about a toothache⏤and refuses to get it checked⏤so Angeal and Sephiroth take matters into their own hands.

*Lazard sees Angeal and Sephiroth carrying an unconscious Genesis into the elevator* Lazard: Please tell me he's still alive. Sephiroth: No, not murder. We cast sleep on him. Angeal: We're taking him to the dentist. Lazard: And what will you do once he wakes up screaming? *Sephiroth produces a hammer out of nowhere* Lazard: ...............

Zack: Loves the dentist. LOVES it. If Zack could go to the dentist every week, he would.

Angeal: Hey buddy, how was the dentist?

Zack, with his face full of stickers and sucking a lollipop: It was great! They got a new gaming setup for the waiting room. And I watched a movie while the dentist worked, plus he was suuuper proud of how white and healthy my teeth are. He praised me, and I even got a gold star. Oh! And on my way out, he gave me a goody bag. *Zack lifts a bag filled with toothbrushes, toy cars and crayons* Sephiroth: Does the sign outside your dentist's office say 'Pediatric' before it? Zack: Yes, why?

Cloud: Cloud doesn't fear the dentist. The dentist fears Cloud. His dental records come with a warning for every new dentist at the barracks: "WARNING: BITER." He's not doing it on purpose, in fact, he'd rather not have the reflexes that make his jaw clamp shut tightly around foreign objects. His habits are also every dentists worst nightmare. Chewing ice, nail biting, using his teeth as a tool to open things, and drinking a blend of black coffee with soda "because it tastes nice."

Zack: How'd the dentist go? Cloud: He went to the E.R. Zack:

[jungle-angel]

Master Of The Earth (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Out of all the Daggers, Bob has the biggest green thumb of all

Tagging: @floydsmuse @callmemana @attapullman @bradshawsbaby @withahappyrefrain

It was one of those spring days where you knew summer would be right around the corner, bright and sunny, the birds singing and the fresh early morning air making its way into the house. You had been sitting out on the front steps, enjoying your morning coffee and relieved that your lesson plans for your class's sixth grade year were finally done and that all you would have to worry about were the Greek Games and the spring fair at the school you taught at.

You heard the faint playing of music coming from somewhere around the corner, just having finished a phone call with Bob's grandfather and wondering if your mind was playing tricks on you.

You wandered around the back to the backyard where the garden was already beginning to bloom, noticing that the greenhouse door was cracked open just a little to let in the fresh air. A cheeky grin played with your lips when you heard the bluetooth speaker playing "Shambala" by Three Dog Night and your eyes laying upon Bob who was dancing shirtless as he shoveled some of the bagged soil into the clay pots on the long wooden table.

"BOB!!"

"Jeebus FUCK!!!" he blurted out, jumping a little.

"Have you been in here all morning?" you asked him.

"Since five in the AM," he chuckled, drawing you in for a tight hug.

Oooh he was warm, so warm and a little sticky from the greenhouse humidity, smelling of fresh dirt and wet leaves. You kissed the curve of his neck and the tops of his pecs before he gladly and eagerly returned the kisses you had been giving.

"Oh, I've gotta show you these," he said excitedly.

He gently guided you to the bench where a whole pile of seed packets were waiting to be opened. "Oh my God," you chuckled. "Did you raid the entire Home Depot garden section?"

Bob had opened his mouth to say something. "I......ya know......it's funny you should ask that....."

"Robert Joseph......"

"(Y/n) I swear half of it was my dad's idea, I'm not lying."

You laughed and rolled your eyes. Bob, his dad Joe Floyd and Joe's father, Lowell, were the only three people on the face of the earth who would have willingly raided a Home Depot garden section and not given a single fuck hereafter. "Alright Professor Floyd," you said. "Continue with the lecture."

"Ah ok," Bob said. "Now we have here an assortment of plants that will be first put into clay pots and then gradually into bigger ones until they are ready to root in the ground. Now if you would like to flip through the pile of seed packets, you may feel free to do so."

You laughed and gladly flipped through the pile of packets, amazed at what Bob had been able to get. Calendula, oregano, cayenne pepper, chamomile, poppies, lavender, rosemary, mint, marigolds, valerian and a whole host of other herbs and flora that you swore weren't even native to where you lived.

"Ooh, yarrow," you said.

"That was always Meemaw's favorite," Bob explained. "I've also got tulsi, catnip and mugwort too."

"What else did you plant?" you asked him.

"Maybe a peach tree," Bob said, blushing a little. "For my sweet, juicy little peach of course."

You giggled, the heat filling you from head to toe.

"I've also got a few bushes too," Bob continued. "Blackberry, elderberry, raspberry.......maybe a camellia bush. Black cohosh will help with mom's hot flashes and keep the pests away. Nasturtium will grow hardy but they need wood dowels to climb up. I'd like to see about some mullein and nettle but I'm not sure where we'd put it. Hawk said he would come by later and give me some white sage seeds that he extracted from his daughter's garden too."

You could have listen to him babble on for hours about the plants and the experiments he was trying. You made a mental note to introduce him to Mr. Jenkins, the high school science teacher who was teaching his ninth graders some of the principals and techniques involved in holistic farming, as the two of them would have a day long conversation.

You and Bob set to planting the seeds, scooping the dirt and putting it into the pots along with the seeds and properly burying them just enough so they could push through to the surface when the time came. You watered and fertilized as you saw fit, taking pictures of new sprouts or buds and adding them into Bob's journal full of his drawings, writings and observations. You both had lost track of the time until you realized it was already noon and time for lunch. But thankfully, the day wasn't over yet and you could do as much more planting as the day would allow.

[milk-tea-sakura]

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆𓍢ָ໋🎂 ༘⋆°🌷

𝓒𝔀: 𝓕𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯, 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻, 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴, 𝓼𝓶𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓭, 𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 2487

𝓔𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮: 9 𝓶𝓲𝓷 46 𝓼𝓮𝓬

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆𓍢ָ໋🎂 ༘⋆°🌷

The day dawned bright and sunny, a perfect backdrop for Changbin's 25th birthday celebrations. Y/n had carefully planned a special surprise for her boyfriend, eager to make this milestone birthday unforgettable. She had decided to keep it a secret, wanting the look of shock and excitement on Changbin's face when he discovered her preparations.

As Changbin woke up, blinking tired eyes at the early morning light streaming through the window, he felt a sense of anticipation in the air. It was his birthday today, and he couldn't help but wonder what Y/n had planned for the day. He knew she had been acting strangely secretive the past few days, which only fueled his curiosity.

After a quick shower and breakfast, Changbin ventured out into the living room, where Y/n was sitting on the couch, pretending to read a book. He could tell she was trying to act nonchalant, but he could also sense the barely concealed excitement in her demeanor.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Y/n greeted him with a smile, closing her book and putting it aside. "Happy birthday, babe. Did you sleep well?"

Changbin couldn't help but grin at the sight of her. "I slept fine," he replied, plopping beside her on the couch. "But I have a feeling you didn't do much sleeping last night." He raised an eyebrow, smirking at her attempt to keep a straight face.

Y/n feigned innocence, placing a hand on her chest. "Me? Up all night planning your birthday celebrations? perish the thought," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Changbin chuckled, reaching out to pull her closer to him. "You're a terrible actress," he teased, wrapping his arms around her. "I can tell you've been up to something. You're practically vibrating with excitement."

Y/n giggled, resting her head on his chest. "Fine, you got me," she admitted, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I do have something special planned for you today. But you'll have to wait and see what it is."

Changbin groaned dramatically, pretending to pout. "You're going to make me wait all day?" he asked, his tone laced with mock disappointment. "How am I supposed to survive the suspense?"

"Well first, you have to head over to the company for your birthday party from them. Then you'll get the suprise from me" Y/n tells Changbin.

Changbin grumbled good-naturedly, reluctantly extracting himself from the comfort of her warm embrace. "Alright, alright," he said, standing up from the couch. "But you better make whatever you have planned worth the wait, woman."

Y/n rolls her eyes "Yeah, yeah… Now go be Hyunjin's wife for a while"

Changbin shot her a mock glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "You're lucky I love you," he said, grabbing his phone and keys from the coffee table. "Otherwise I'd make you regret that comment."

"You love me because I'm hilarious," Y/n retorted, sticking her tongue out at him. "And don't pretend you don't enjoy being Hyunjin's favorite."

Changbin huffed in exaggerated annoyance, but he couldn't keep the small smile from his face. "I do enjoy being his favorite," he admitted. "But don't tell him I said that. His ego is already inflated enough as it is."

Y/n laughed, pushing him towards the door. "Your secret is safe with me," she said, giving him a playful shove. "Now go, before you're late for your own birthday party."

"Alright, I'm going, I'm going," Changbin said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I'll see you later, babe. Try not to miss me too much while I'm gone."

Y/n blew him a kiss, a cheeky grin on her face. "I'll try my best, but no promises," she teased. "Now go have fun at your party, and behave yourself."

"When do I ever misbehave?" Changbin asked, feigning innocence. "I'll be the perfect gentleman, I swear."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over her face. "I'll believe that when I see it," she said, crossing her arms. "But seriously, have a good time and tell the others I said hi."

"I will," Changbin promised, opening the door to head out. "And I expect some incredible surprise from you later."

"You won't be disappointed," Y/n assured him, leaning against the doorframe. "Now go, before you actually are late. I love you."

Changbin smiled, leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on her forehead. "I love you too," he said, before heading out the door.

A few hours later, Changbin returned home, a content smile on his face. The members had thrown him a wonderful surprise birthday party, complete with cake, silly games, and plenty of laughs. But now, his mind was focused on the much-anticipated surprise Y/n had been talking about.

As he entered the apartment, he called out, "Babe, I'm home." The place was silent, except for the faint music coming from their bedroom. Curious, he made his way to the bedroom, his heart racing a little with anticipation.

As he pushed open the door, his breath caught in his throat. The room was lit with dozens of candles, their flickering light casting a warm and romantic ambiance. In the center of the room, a large gift box was placed, tied with a silky red ribbon.

Changbin stepped further into the room, his eyes fixed on the gift box. It was large and flat, and he could feel the excitement begin to thrum in his veins. Then, he heard the door close behind him, and he turned to find Y/n leaning against it, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Happy birthday," she said, her voice soft and sultry. "You like your surprise?"

Changbin's gaze flicked from the gift box to Y/n and back again, a mix of surprise and anticipation etched on his face. "I…" he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words. "This is… wow. It's incredible."

Y/n sauntered towards him, her hips swaying in a hypnotizing manner. "I'm glad you like it," she said, stopping in front of him. Her eyes glinted playfully. "Now, are you ready for your present?"

Y/n's smile widened as she saw the effect she was having on him. She walked past him towards the gift box, her fingers trailing lightly over the silken ribbon. "Patience, Binnie," she teased, looking back at him over her shoulder. "All good things come to those who wait, remember?"

Changbin groaned, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You're killing me, you know that?" he said, watching her every movement with rapt attention.

Y/n giggled, enjoying the effect she was having on him. She picked up a pair of scissors that had been sitting on the dresser and cut through the ribbon, letting it fall to the floor. Then, she lifted the lid of the gift box, revealing the contents inside.

Changbin took a step forward, his curiosity piqued. But before he could see what was inside, Y/n stepped in front of the box, blocking his view. "Ah ah ah, you can't see yet," she chided, holding up a hand. "Close your eyes."

Changbin huffed, but obeyed, closing his eyes obediently. He felt Y/n's presence in front of him as she approached, her breath warm against his skin.

Y/n reached out and took his hands, guiding him forward. "Now, keep your eyes shut, and don't open them until I say so, okay?" she instructed, leading him towards the bed.

Changbin nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel the soft sheets beneath his legs as he sat down on the bed, his hands clutching Y/n's. "I won't peek, I promise," he said, his voice a little shaky with anticipation.

Y/n chuckled, amused by his eagerness. "Good boy," she murmured, letting go of his hands. "Now stay right here and let me work my magic, okay?"

Changbin gulped, feeling a little vulnerable. But he trusted Y/n, so he dutifully kept his eyes closed. "Okay, I'm all yours," he said, leaning back on the bed.

Y/n began to work her magic, starting with a gentle face wash to cleanse Changbin's skin. She massaged the cleanser in small circular motions, taking her time to get to every area. As she worked, she hummed a soft tune, the sound adding to the relaxing atmosphere.

Once his face was washed, Y/n moved on to a toner, to help balance the pH of his skin and prep it for the next steps. She poured some onto a cotton pad and gently patted it over his face, making sure to cover every inch.

Next, Y/n reached for an essence, a lightweight and nourishing serum that would hydrate and soothe his skin. She poured a few drops onto her fingertips, and then gently applied it to his face, massaging it in with gentle, sweeping motions.

Finally, she finished off with a moisturizer, choosing one that was suitable for his skin type. She took her time spreading it over his face, massaging it into his skin, and making sure he was left with a smooth, glowing complexion.

"There," she said, satisfied with her work. "All done. You can open your eyes now, babe."

Changbin slowly opened his eyes, feeling his face with his hands. His skin felt smooth and soft to the touch. "Wow," he breathed out, his eyes meeting hers. "This feels amazing. You're so good at this."

Y/n smiled widely, pleased with his reaction. "I'm glad you like it," she said, walking around behind him. "But we're not done yet."

Changbin's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "We're not?" he asked, turning his head to look at her. "What more is there?"

"Well, we need to take care of the rest of your body too, remember?" Y/n teased, running her fingers through his hair. "Can't just focus on your face, babe."

Changbin felt his heart skip a beat at her words. The idea of having her touch him all over was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking at the same time. He swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. "Right, of course," he said, trying to sound casual.

Y/n chuckled, seeing right through his attempt at nonchalance. "Don't worry," she reassured, her hands sliding down to his shoulders. "I'll take good care of you. Just relax and let me work my magic."

Changbin took a deep breath, trying to get himself to relax. He let his body sink into the bed, feeling the tension in his muscles begin to slowly melt away. "Alright," he said, closing his eyes again. "Do your thing, babe."

Y/n started with his neck, massaging the tight muscles there. She used gentle but firm pressure, working out any knots or tension. Then, she moved down to his shoulders, using her thumbs to knead the muscles there as well.

As her hands worked their magic, Changbin found himself sighing in pleasure. Her touch was both soothing and igniting an aching desire within him. "God, that feels good," he said, his voice hoarse again.

Y/n smiled at his reaction. "I'm glad you're enjoying it," she replied, her hands trailing down his back. "Now, let's take off your shirt, shall we? I need access to your muscles."

Changbin shivered at her words, the thought of her touching his bare skin sending a thrill through him. He sat up and obliged, pulling off his shirt in one swift motion.

Y/n stepped back for a moment to take in the sight of his bare back. Her eyes traveled over the muscles that rippled beneath his skin, and her fingers itched to touch them. "God, you're gorgeous," she murmured, stepping closer again.

Changbin felt heat rise to his cheeks at her words, the compliment making his heart flutter. But he barely had time to respond before her hands were on him again, trailing across his back in slow, deliberate movements. Her touch was firm but gentle, and it sent shivers of pleasure up his spine.

Y/n continued her ministrations, taking her time to work on every muscle group. She paid special attention to the knots and tension spots, kneading them until she felt them loosen. As she worked, her hands drifted lower, down to the small of his back and over his hips.

Changbin gasped as her hands moved lower, the sensation of her touch on his bare skin setting his nerve endings on fire. He could feel his body responding to her touch, and he struggled to keep his breathing steady. "God, Y/n," he groaned, his voice strained.

Y/n was enjoying the little sounds he was making, and the way his body reacted to her touch. But she wasn't done yet. "Turn over for me, babe," she said, her voice soft yet commanding.

Changbin obeyed without a second thought, flipping over onto his back. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire. "What now?" he asked, his voice rough with need.

Y/n straddled his hips, settling herself on top of him. Her eyes roamed over his chest, taking in the sight of his muscles. Then, she leaned down, her lips grazing his earlobe. "Now, I work on your front," she whispered, her breath hot against his skin.

Changbin shivered at her words, his hands instinctively moving to her thighs. The feel of her legs straddling him sent a jolt of desire straight through him, and he struggled to keep himself under control. "You're killing me, you know that?" he managed to say, his voice a low growl.

Y/n just smirked at his words, knowing full well the effect she was having on him. She ran her fingers lightly over his chest, tracing the hard muscles there. Then, she began to work her magic, massaging and stroking his chest and stomach with practiced ease.

Every touch of her hands sent sparks shooting through his body, leaving a trail of heat wherever she touched. Her touch was both soothing and maddening, and he found himself arching into her touch, wanting more. "God, you're so good at this," he gasped out, his eyes fluttering shut.

Y/n chuckled, enjoying the power she had over him at this moment. "I know," she said, her hands drifting lower, to his abs. "I know all the right buttons to press to make you lose control, Binnie. And I intend to press every single one."

The rest of the night was spent with Y/n continuing to pamper and tease Changbin, drawing out more gasps and groans of pleasure from him. She knew exactly how to wind him up and then bring him back down again, leaving him on the edge of ecstasy. Eventually, they both lay sated and satisfied, with Y/n curled up against Changbin's chest.

"Best birthday ever," Changbin murmured, his eyes closed and a contented smile on his face.

[featheredclover]

Orphic

Chapter Five

Read from the beginning

Also on Wattpad

Chapter Four < Chapter Six

The birds chirped along as they fluttered from branch to branch. But the day greeted the Gupta mansion with much less peace that morning.

Khushi bit into her toast, as Sumi poured juice into her glass.

“Shashi! I am getting nervous. Will Mr Raizada say something now?”

Her papa shook his head, his forehead scrunched in a frown.

“Rajiv has hinted at nothing. Even Shyam has not come up in our talks. I don’t know what to expect, Garima.”

“It would have been a milestone for us” she sighed, “ But what can we do except wait”

“Khushi, have some fruits,” Shashi said as he passed her a bowl.

————

Her thoughts were clouded with worry for her parents as she walked into Venus Designs.

She had never seen them so unsure, so worried. And she had never felt as helpless as she had today.

“Morning Leela”, she smiled at the receptionist.

“Khushi, some big client has come here asking for you!” Leela whispered.

“Me?!” She gasped.

“Yes! They are with Madhumati ma’am right now. You better go in. She told me to usher you into her office as soon as you came!”

And so Khushi found herself half-pushed inside her aunt’s magnanimous office.

“Good morning Khushi!”

She couldn’t believe her eyes. Madhumati bua was laughing! Her usually stern eyes were now soft as she looked fondly at the two men.

She looked at the well suited gentlemen, and wondered which of her previous works could have impressed them.

The men stood up.

She found herself stunned as the smirking visage of Arnav Singh Raizada greeted her.

“Meet Arnav and Aman! They are from the Raizada group of companies. Arnav wants his new office to be designed by you.” Her aunt continued jovially.

But her eyes couldn’t leave the devil’s, who had come to extract his pound of flesh!

“ But I-I have never designed professional spaces before.”

“I did mention that to Arnav, but he said he wanted his office to have a bit of domestic touch. Now, now go on. You have to work from the site.”

Rummaging through her mind to look for an excuse , Khushi looked at her aunt trying to signal her to refuse on her behalf.

“I’ll take Khushi with me Mrs. Madhumati. After all, I need the job done by next week.” 

She watched as he put on the best buttering act with her aunt. All sweet smiles and flattery.

“Hi, I’m Aman Mathur, ASR’s right hand man.”

The young man ,she hadn’t paid much attention to , shook her hand, offering her a glimmer of hope.

At least, someone is kind here.

“I think you’ll have a great time working with Arnav. He’s as clear and concise in his demands as it gets.”

“Yeah” she grumbled “Hitler pales in front of him”

Aman raised his eyebrows in amusement .

“ He is demanding, but not a dictator”

“Aman.”Arnav had already reached the door.

“Let’s get going, shall we?”

————

And that’s how Khushi Gupta found herself in a Bentley, heading towards the heart of the city.

“Why are you doing this?”

She couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“I wanted to spend time with you “

Blushing pink, Khushi marvelled at this man’s shamelessness.

“I forgave you already-“

“That’s not enough for me”

Exasperated, she ignored him for the rest of the ride.

—————

Slouching over the desk Aman had provided her, Khushi scribbled into her notebook.

Designs, light source ideas, decor pieces and vendors all in one place.

With that out of the way,she began sketching. 

Her pencil flew across the page, as she thought of the space where he would work. 

The desk where his coffee machine would stay. The few photographs he took, that he wanted on the wall. The antique telephone he had bought from Paris.

“I have never seen a better portrait of me”

She jumped and twisted her neck, as Arnav grabbed her book from her in a split second.

Grinning, he squinted, pretending to judge her sketch of him.

“I must say Miss Gupta, you have observed me quite closely”

“Shut up! I was just sketching the office “

“And got distracted? Well since I am to be blamed for the distraction , it will only be fair of me to buy you lunch!”

He bent down and grabbed her purse, meeting her petulant face with a wink.

“Shall we?”

—————-

“And there he was, telling me to run for the damn election!”

She giggled as Arnav finished his story. She hadn’t expected to have a fun time with him. So far she had only experienced mad rage and mad lust for the man. And that had to say something!

“You left the states to come back here?”

“I wasn’t really sure about where I wanted to live. And dad really wanted to come back. After mom’s death-” he blinked.

“Are you okay?” Her hand found his.

“Yeah” he held her hand tighter “He took years to move on. The last time we were here was for Di’s wedding”

Khushi swallowed as she realised the topic was now down to his brother-in-law, Shyam. Can she ask him about the deal her parents were after?

“My papa really likes your father. Um…he invited him to brunch…”

“I know Khushi, I was there” he smiled in amusement at her sudden fluster.

“Yes, well they were wondering if Mr.Raizada had made up his mind about the deal.”

Gasping inwardly, she hated herself at that moment for blurting it out. 

She wanted to seal her big mouth forever.

Understanding that anything she said now will only push her further down the hole she had dug, Khushi held her silence.

To her dismay, even Arnav stayed quiet. No jokes, no witty remarks to erase her folly.

“Well, Khushi I can’t say much about that”

She nodded meekly.

“Let’s head back, shall we?”

And that’s how Aman found them in the office that afternoon. One deep in thought, and one mortified.

Tagging: @arshifiesta

—————-

Next chapter>>

@jalebi-weds-bluetooth @barshifan @andli @shiyaravi @muttonthings @hand-picked-star @msbhagirathi @phuljari @sankititaliya @thenainitaldisaster @thedupattaknowswhatsup @chutkiandchotte @laad-governess @laadgovernors @laadgovernorandsankadevi @leila1 @hi-this-is-permabanned @arshispyaar @minpdnim @thedustyshehnai @bigfatreader @arshiradio @simplycurlz @scorpio-smiles @bengudill @exosexosekai @0218fm

[studyblr-med]

haven’t been doing any work in the past few days but got these new notebooks i can’t wait to use and I have rested quite a bit so that’s good!!🌸🎀🩷 also if you add a little honey, cinnamon and vanilla extract to your soy milk before pouring it in coffee it tastes like psl and even better I think😍wishing everyone the very best and gentle day wether it is a day of work or a day of rest🫶🏻🩷

[therealdisneyfan2319]

The Spider and The Witch Chapter 1: The Experiment and The Flu

Summary: Peter Parker and Y/N L/N are junior biochem majors at Empire State College.  Peter needs a volunteer for his research project, and a series of events leads Y/N to come down with the flu...or does he?

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Language, blood, needles, description of medical procedures

Word Count: 3.6K

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“I don’t know how I managed to let you talk me into going to the lab with you this early.”  You stretched your arms out as you yawned, keeping your arm just so to keep your coffee upright.

“Dude.  It’s 10 am,” Peter chuckled.

“These good looks don’t just happen, man.  I need a full nine hours.”

“Maybe if you went to bed before 3 am-” “Now wait a minute.  You’re lecturing me about going to bed early when you used to pull all-nighters slinging webs around Queens?”

“Shut up!” He swatted your arm before you had the chance to pull away.  “At least I was doing something productive with my life, not playing Pokemon-” “Completing the Pokedex is extremely productive.  Now it might not be the same kind of productive as extracting the Spidey mutation from your genome sequence, but categorizing all the Pokemon from the Galar region is an important, time-consuming task.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he rolled down the sidewalk next to you.  You chuckled, taking a sip of your coffee as you shook your head.  This sort of banter was typical of your friendship.  Peter was one of your closest friends and easy to joke with, but you also worked well together.  It didn’t hurt that you were both biochem majors and had the same sort of scientific mind.  Since you met in world civ last fall the two of you had been as thick as thieves.  It didn’t matter that he was three years older than you, a grade above you, or that he used to be Spider-Man.  Finding out that the guy in the Stark tech wheelchair who loved Led Zeppelin and Star Wars was once the friendly neighborhood superhero was not what you expected when you went over to his dorm to hang out for the first time.  Peter was used to people freaking out when they found out and was thrilled when you shrugged it off.  

“So what exactly are we doing today?” you asked.  You had volunteered to help him out with a research project he was working on.  He hadn’t told you much about it, only that it was being funded by Tony Stark and dealt with genome sequencing. 

“Nothing too crazy.  I need to take samples of your blood.  I’ll use those as test subjects against my blood.  That’ll be the control sample.”  He punched in a sequence on the keypad on the arm of his chair.  Tank tracks dropped down from the bottom of the seat as the chair began to climb the stairs to the science building.  

“You know how to take blood?” you asked, holding the door open for him as he wheeled into the building.

“Yeah, well…yeah.  I mean Sam taught me how to start an IV and drawing blood is the same principle, right?  You gotta find the vein.”

“Oh my god I’m gonna die,” you mumbled as you turned down the hall toward the lab Peter worked out of.  It was one of the newest labs on campus.  Tony Stark had donated a sizable amount of money toward the Empire State College science and research division with the provision that all the money go toward funding better facilities for students.  The new building had just opened at the beginning of the semester.  Peter was more than excited to have a space stocked with the latest Stark technology to work on his newest endeavor.  It was more convenient than trying to head upstate to the Avengers Compound a few times a week.

“I won’t let you bleed out on me, man.  Worst comes to worst we’ll just throw some webs on it and send you to New York Pres.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about all of this?  Because it’s totally not.”  You hated needles.  You hated doctors.  The thought of someone who was decidedly NOT a medical professional fishing around your elbow for a vein made your stomach flip flop.  Maybe a large coffee wasn’t the best idea for breakfast…

The bright fluorescent lights in the lab snapped on as you opened the door.  They seemed unnecessary as sunlight flooded the windows that took up the entirety of the easternmost wall.  The overhead haze added to the sterile feel of the room: the latest in Stark Technology, ranging from microscopes and test tubes to autoclaves and fabricators, shone brightly against the lights.  It was nerd heaven, stuffed to the brim with everything anyone could ever need for any experiment they could dream of.  You threw your backpack on a lab table adjacent to where Peter was setting up his laptop.  Once you were done helping him out, you figured you’d swing by the library to start cracking on the paper for your art history course.

“So I already took my own samples earlier this week,” he explained. “I’m storing them in the fridge over there.  Mind grabbing them for me?” He motioned with his head to the mini fridge that sat next to the sink.  You walked over to the fridge, seeing a rack of blood vials sitting on the bottom shelf amongst the Petri dishes of spores and sole can of Coke.  “Don’t drop it,” he cautioned as grabbed a ziploc baggie of medical supplies out of his bag.

“Whoop.”  You fake tripped, stumbling around and swinging the tray to and fro aimlessly.  He shot you a somewhat serious glare.  You returned a toothy grin.  

“Dude if you drop that-”

“Relax, Pete.  I’ve got steady hands.”  You placed the tray on the table in front of him with the grace of a swan.  “See?” You raised your hands up defensively.  “Steady hands.  I should be a goddamn surgeon.”

“Ah yes, Dr. Y/N L/N, the surgeon who hates blood.”  He dumped the contents onto the table.  Out fell some rubber gloves, a rubber tourniquet, needles, tubes, alcohol wipes, and cotton balls.  You gulped at the sight of the paraphernalia.  “So why don’t you just sit there and roll up your sleeve so we can do this.”

“Are you sure you can’t just, like, prick my finger?”  Plopping onto the stool you rolled up the sleeve of flannel.  

“Do you want to sit here and fill up these tubes one drop at a time?” Peter asked from the sink.  The tray of tubes, empty ones and ones full of his blood, sat next to him as he washed his hands.

“Good point,” you muttered.  It felt like you were chewing on the flannel from your shirt.

“Just relax, I did it on myself the other day and I turned out just fine.”  There was a slight waver in your friend’s voice as he spoke.  Try as he might to hide it, Peter was nervous, too.  He snapped on the baby blue gloves.  You turned your head away, refusing to look until he was done.  “Can you just make a fist for-good okay, yup, I see the vein.”  The sudden coolness of the alcohol against your skin made you shiver, but you refused to look.  Even as you felt the slight prick of the needle against your skin you kept your eyes firmly shut.  “Told you I wouldn’t let you bleed out,” he chuckled, replacing the now full vial with an empty one.

“How many vials do you need?”  You strained your neck as you tried to look as far away as you could from the scene unfolding in front of you.

“I don’t know, I did six of my own.  That should be enough,” Peter shrugged.  

Six vials of blood?  Why did you even decide to do this in the first place?  You could’ve been back in your dorm in the comfort of your bed, sleeping the morning away, instead of having your blood forcibly removed from your body.  Peter definitely owed you big time.  

He removed the tube from your arm, handing you a cotton ball to stop the bleeding.  “That should be it.  Mind putting those back in the fridge for me?”  

The second your feet hit the floor your knees wobbled.  It was probably psychosomatic, but the sight of all your blood sitting inches outside where it should be made you the slightest bit queasy.  “Yeah, no problem.”  You shook your head quickly.  There was no way you were going to let yourself puke or, even worse, drop the vials and have to do it all over again.  

It took all your effort not to look down at the plastic tray in your hands.  You concentrated all your effort on staring down the refrigerator.  That ultimately meant neglecting your untied shoelace.  Before you realized what was happening you found yourself tripping over your feet.  While you managed to not lose your balance completely, the sudden jolt sent two of the vials crashing to the floor.

“Shit,” you mumbled as you set the tray on the floor.  There were shards of glass and blood splattered across the marble tile.  You quickly glanced over your shoulder, hoping Peter hadn’t seen your mistake.  Much to your relief he was engrossed in his notebook.  That bought you some time to quickly clean up the mess.  You looked around for a roll of paper towels, spotting the roll next to the sink and tearing off a few sheets.  The crimson puddles looked like they’d be easy enough to clean up.  Not thinking too much about it, you knelt down and started blotting at the spill.  A sudden stab caused you to recoil from the ground in pain.  As you examined your hand, you noticed a small scratch on the pad of your thumb.  

“You good?” Peter’s voice broke you away from staring at your hand.

“Yeah.  Dropped one of the vials and cut myself.  I’m good.”

“Was it one of mine or yours?”

“Uhh, mine.”  Truth be told you had no idea if it was yours or his.  There was no way to know which vial was which.  Peter knew.  He probably had it marked down in his laptop or something.  But you remembered that his vials were facing you when you pulled them out of the fridge.  That meant yours were away from you and there was an empty spot there.  Yeah, it’s mine.  “You need me for anything else?”

“Nah, you’re good,” Peter focused intensely on his laptop, typing away as you finished cleaning up your mess and putting the samples away.  “Are we still on for dinner tonight?  Ned’s dying to try out that new Thai place on Watts Street.”

“Yeah, shoot me a text.  I’m headed to the library for a bit.”  You slung your backpack over your shoulder as you headed for the door.  “See you.”

“Thanks again, Y/N.”

******

You spent the rest of the day in the library researching and typing and revising your paper.  The minutes ticked by as you lost yourself in the endless barrage of Western paintings you thought looked all too similar.  Yet as the day passed you found yourself feeling strange.  At first you thought you had been studying too long.  The words on your laptop screen seemed fuzzy and you found yourself re-reading the same paragraph on Donatello about a dozen times before anything seemed to click.  Then the library seemed to drop ten degrees before abruptly shooting up another twenty.  Sweat on the back of your neck ran down your shirt and chilled you as fast as it cooled you off.  The lights were suddenly too bright and even the silence was too loud.  

Shit, you thought to yourself as your felt heat radiating off your forehead.  It was probably the flu.  It had been making the rounds through campus for the better part of a month, so you weren’t completely surprised.  Closing your laptop and shoving your books in your bag, you texted Peter as you left the library:

Got the flu.  You and Ned go without me.  I’m gonna go to bed.

The walk back to your apartment wasn’t long, but it was a near-impossible task in your ever-worsening condition.  Every step felt like you were trudging through molasses.  Your legs were as heavy as cement and you prayed you wouldn’t trip because you weren’t sure you’d be able to get up again.  Tears clouded your vision.  Rubbing your eyes didn’t help.  The only thing on your mind was downing half a bottle of Nyquil and passing out as soon as you got back to your room.  

Much to your relief you walked into an empty apartment.  Peter and Ned must’ve already left for dinner.  You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag at the front door.  There was no doubt in your mind that this was the flu: you felt like absolute garbage as you shuffled to your bedroom.  As you flopped on the bed, clothes and all, your body felt like it was made of lead.  Bone-crushing fatigue consumed you as you shivered on top of your bedspread.  You prayed that you’d be able to get a little bit of sleep to help dull the pain.

When you woke the following morning, you were surprised to find that you didn’t feel sick at all.  In fact, you felt better than you had in a long time.  There wasn’t any evidence that you felt so poorly only a few hours ago.  You swung your legs around to the side of the bed and stared at the floor as you thought about what you were going to do all day, but when you tried to stand up something was off.  As you stretched your arms above your head, you felt something engulf you: it was your blanket.  It was stuck to your hands.  

Did I spill Nyquil on my hands? you wondered as you tugged at the fuzzy fabric.  No, I didn’t take any Nyquil last night.

It took a considerable amount of effort to tear just one of your hands away only for it to stick on the wall as you balanced against it for support.  Paint flaked away as you ripped your hand away.  At that point you weren’t sure if you were still asleep or not.  Squeezing your eyes shut, you reopened them to find flakes of drywall still attached to your fingers.  What the hell?  You shook your hands, trying to free yourself of the debris, but as you flicked your wrist downward, you heard a loud thwack.  The sticky white residue covered Marty McFly’s face on the Back to the Future poster that hung next to your bed.  That same white residue balled up on the inside of your wrist.  When you tried to pull it off, a long spindly web came with it.

Oh fuck.

The implications of what just happened were huge to say the least.  The vial you broke yesterday wasn’t yours: it was Peter’s.  His blood contaminated yours when you cut yourself and now you had…spidey powers?  It couldn’t be.  This all had to be some sort of nightmare.  You were just a normal guy trying to make it through college relatively unscathed.  Sure, your roommate was an Avenger and that was a little weird, but other than that your experience was pretty normal.  You had no interest in having superpowers or saving the world whatsoever.  

“Everything okay in there, man?” Peter asked as he rapped on your door.  It momentarily snapped you out of your panic.

“Uhh yeah, yeah.  I’m good,” you hollered through the door, still looking at the web in your hand.  

“You sure?”

“Yeah.  I’m okay.  Just, uhh, knocked my blankets off the bed.”  You wiped the web up with a tissue, praying that it wouldn’t stick to your hand, too.  It didn’t, much to your relief.  

“How are you feeling?” he called as you started taking off your clothes from the day before.  A long shower would help you figure out what your next move was.  

“Good.  Great actually.  I feel fine,” you responded, throwing your dirty t-shirt on the ground.  “How was dinner?” “It totally sucked, man.  You didn’t miss much,” Ned’s voice was faint as he yelled from the kitchen.  

“Bummer.  I told you that you should’ve done Indian instead.”

“Well hey if you’re feeling better why don’t we go for lunch?” Your stomach grumbled at the thought, but images of getting stuck to the subway pole loomed in your mind.  “Yeah, sure,” you responded absentmindedly while kicking your pants off and grabbing a clean pair of sweats off your bed.  

Wearing nothing but your boxers, you opened the door fully intending to go straight to the bathroom.  The second Peter and Ned saw you their jaws dropped.

“Dude!” Peter exclaimed. 

“Wha-?”  

“Woah!  Y/N, when did you get ripped?” Ned asked.  You were thoroughly confused.  None of your hobbies included going to the gym or working out.  What were they talking about?  The lights came on in the bathroom and as your eyes adjusted to the brightness you were shocked.  It was like someone took a  chisel to your body overnight.  There were muscles in places you didn't know there could be muscles.  The reflection in the mirror showed you defined pecs, swollen biceps, and the faintest outline of a six pack.

“What the hell?” you mumbled in disbelief.  Your fingers traced over your chest, taking in the new body you’d inadvertently fallen into.  It was a surreal experience seeing an unfamiliar body in the mirror.  It was almost like you were watching someone else live your life while you watched from outside yourself.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Y/N?” Peter asked as he wheeled himself in front of the bathroom door.

“Yeah.  I’ve just got spidey powers now.”  It didn’t even feel like you were the one saying those words.  Haze clouded your periphery, forcing you to focus on the newness of your body.  It was an out-of-body experience in every way.  There was no way to really process the profundity of the situation.  

“You WHAT?”

Time stopped.  Everything stopped.  Peter’s face contorted with dozens of emotions in the blink of an eye.  Glass shattered on the kitchen floor as Ned’s glass slipped out of his hand.  

“Umm, yeah I guess.  I’m starting to think that was your blood that I cleaned up yesterday.”  You half expected Peter to be furious at the truth, but the beaming grin on his face told you otherwise.

“It worked!  Holy shit it WORKED!”  He spun his chair around excitedly, whooping all the while.  “Mr. Stark, oh man, he’s gonna be so excited!  He’ll want to meet you.  Man, now he doesn’t even need to look for someone to be the next Spider-Man because…oh this is great, I can teach you everything!  That way you’ll be WAY ahead of where he thinks you should be and he’ll let you onto the team fas-”

“The next Spider-Man?”

“I mean yeah, Mr. Stark will definitely want to talk to you about it,” Peter replied.

“Dude, I’d kill to be Spider-Man!” Ned added, sweeping up what remained of his glass.

“No way, absolutely not,” you groused as you stormed out of the bathroom.  “No offense, Pete, but I don’t want to be an Avenger.”

“You don’t have to make a decision now.  I don’t even know if he’ll ask.  I mean he probably will but that doesn’t mean anything.  He might just want you to come in to do, like, more testing or something.”  Peter gingerly walked back his excitement.  The prospect of training the next Spider-Man brought a sense of optimism back into his life that had long been forgotten.  Losing his identity as the local neighborhood web slinger stripped away a core part of his identity: Peter Parker and Spider-Man were one in the same.  Sure, he still used his powers and webs when he could, but it wasn’t the same.  Tony had offered to make him an exosuit after the accident, but he knew that he couldn’t do it anymore.  One close brush with death was more than enough for him.

“Look,” you sighed, “I’m not you.  I don’t want to go out and swing through Manhattan and stop burglars or fight weird lizard things.  I just want to be a normal guy doing normal guy things with my normal guy friends if I can even call the two of you normal.”  Peter chuckled half-heartedly.

“Wait, can you stick to the ceiling?” Ned suddenly asked.  You sighed again, shaking your head as you extended your arm up and jumped: you stuck.  “Woah!  That’s sweet!”

“Yeah, it is kinda cool I guess,” you chuckled as you watched your fingertips completely suspend your dead weight from the ceiling.  Getting used to your new body was a curious sensation.  Everything felt sharper.  Colors were brighter and bolder.  You saw incredibly small movements even from the corners of your eye.  Your body felt stronger and faster and more agile.  It was strange, spending your entire life as a regular human being and then waking up one day twenty years later with these weird spidery feelings tingling inside you.  

“Do you want one of my web shooters?” Peter asked as you dropped down.

“Web shooters?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied questioningly as he raised an eyebrow.  “You don’t think I can actually make webs, do you?”

You responded by mimicking the hand gesture Peter frequently showed you, flicking your wrist downward as a raveled strand of webs flew out of your wrist.  Peter ducked his head out of the way in the knick of time while Ned’s jaw dropped in amazement.  

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

[milk5]

THE MILK5 COFFEE GUIDE VOL. 1

REMOVE #BADBEANS FROM YOUR LIFE FOREVER

If you are a #TrueBlueCoffeeHead and subsisting on supermarket beans and/or frequent visits to big chains like Starbucks, PLEASE help yourself (and your local community, the environment, coffee workers, etc) and buy a pour over filter and freshly roasted, quality beans from a local roaster. Explicitly seek out Fairtrade Organic/Smithsonian Bird Friendly certified beans if possible. The taste of shade-grown coffee is incredibly flavorful AND you can be certain that your beans aren't the product of yucky pesticides, actual slave labor, and the annihilation of millions of acres of rainforest.

To start with what you need, a goose-neck kettle and pour over carafe are good purchases, but a suitably sized mason jar and regular kettle still work on a budget. Learning how to make a great pour over will raise your home coffee game to professional standards without needing to spend literal thousands of dollars on a real grinder/steamer/espresso machine setup -- if you're able to buy all of these items new for less than a thousand dollars, you're going to be down a few hundos in exchange for some pretty shitty machines. Regardless, a pour over setup with good beans will pay for itself VERY rapidly, assuming it replaces frequent Starbucks visits or whatever other chain you were going to. If you frequent a LOCALLY OWNED coffee shop that you like, keep going! You're an important part of the ecosystem.

What about grinding the beans? Should I get pre-ground beans? Would a cheapo blender-like blade grinder work?

NEVER touch a blade grinder again. It doesn't matter as much if you have #BadBeans, but if you have good beans, ALWAYS use a grinder with a burr; blade grinders just chop up your beans randomly into particles of massively varying sizes, leading to simultaneous over-extraction and under-extraction, generally leading to wildly inconsistent flavors and low repeatability. Burrs will always grind the beans into uniform particles and ensure that you're always (more or less, every cup is different to an extent) getting a consistent flavor. Don't buy a burr grinder -- just bring your beans to a local coffee shop, buy a drink, tip well, and ask the barista if they could grind the beans for you when you can clearly tell that they aren't busy. I have NEVER been refused, just go to a place with less sour employees if they won't help you out. Specify the coarseness that you'd like; smaller grounds have a greater surface area, so they're extracted to a greater extent, resulting in a more intense flavor; coarse grounds are the inverse. Lots of people recommend medium-coarse for pour overs (about 80% coarse 20% fine), but I prefer the stronger flavor of medium/drip (dead middle, 50% coarse 50% fine). It's also better to grind your beans periodically, as freshly-ground beans will taste better, but it's fine to have it pre-ground or ground all at once if you aren't able to easily make coffee shop trips every week or two. As far as roasts go, there's an entire gradient for you to explore -- not just the few that I list here; light roasts have a more sour, fruitier flavor, medium roasts are well rounded, and dark roasts are rich and smokey. Medium-dark is my personal favorite.

Experiment!!! It's all about your own taste, after all.

How do I make a good pour over?

Again, it depends on your taste. My go-to is a vigorous fourth-cup of grounds to 300ml of water; this is easily on the stronger end, but it's what works for me. More common ratios are usually weighed out on a kitchen scale, so consider picking one up if you don't already have one. Document your process until you get to your favorite! I always stop the kettle a little before it gets to its terminal temperature, then pour just enough water onto the grounds to let it bloom -- wait for one minute, and then start pouring a small-ish portion of the water onto the grounds every 20 seconds (this is where my own technique varies the most, it usually takes between 3-4 minutes to finish since I'm not pouring standard amounts; some people DO measure their pours for even greater consistency). Use the stopwatch on your phone, it's much better than keeping track in your head. Make sure to distribute the water evenly over the grounds, particularly making sure to wash the grounds off the sides every pour. When I'm finished, I like to immediately take a sip to see if a splash of milk or half-and-half would help or hurt the cup -- I think a very good cup of coffee can easily stand on its own without anything else, but additives can absolutely help depending on your personal preferences. Just be sure to taste the black coffee before you add anything.

What if I like the syrupy sweet drinks? What about iced coffee?

From my experience working at/visiting coffee shops, Monin is the most common syrup brand I see at local places. As far as iced coffee goes, coldbrew would be probably be the superior option -- it's also pretty easy to make at your home. I'm not going to be writing a guide for coldbrew any time soon, so you're out of luck there. I also never steam my milk if I'm doing a pour over, so I can't really point you to an inexpensive way to do that. Just know that the cheap handheld stick-frothers do not do the same thing as an actual steamer.

What was that about certifications?

Fairtrade is a pretty notable certification for food items produced in areas that have a history for being exploited (so pretty much the bulk of the global south), it can get very complex -- read more about it here. The goal is to ensure that the workers and communities involved in the production of the product receive fair, livable wages, that labor conditions are safe and reasonable, and that the decisions around the production of the product are made by those directly involved in the labor. FTO refers to Fairtrade Organic, which just means that it meets the standards of both Fairtrade AND organic production -- I'm not exactly sure if the organic standards are based on where the coffee is sold, produced, or both, but regardless, it's still a bonus; organic coffee will almost ALWAYS be shade-grown, which is the way that coffee grows naturally. Since coffee is an understory tree in nature, shade-grown coffee is produced more slowly and under a canopy and thus does not require the forest to be damaged or destroyed to grow; however, not all organic coffee will necessarily take place in a completely natural, untouched rain forest setting. Industrial non-organic coffee is most often produced under direct sun in gigantic clear-cut monocrop rows and usually with massive usage of potentially harmful inputs like, such as various pesticides and fertilizers. Direct sun coffee grows faster, but it has a distinctly different taste and is easily the most damaging method of coffee production to both the environment and the local communities. Smithsonian Bird-Friendly is the most rigorous certification for coffee in particular; FTO is more or less a pre-requisite to achieve SBF. Coffee likes to grow in tropical, equatorial environments -- these environments are also the areas of the greatest bird diversity in the world (and, really, biodiversity in general) and the destination for most migratory birds during the winter. The coffee industry has destroyed literal millions of acres of rain forest across the world, which has resulted in the death of billions of birds worldwide over the past 50 years. SBF guarantees the FTO criteria PLUS the additional criteria that the coffee must be produced in forests that are more-or-less in their natural state with thriving diversity of endemic species of flora and fauna. It's harder to find SBF-certified coffee than FT(O)-certified coffee, but the Smithsonian website has a handy vendor locator here. I'm not confident that it works beyond U.S. vendors, so I apologize to anyone interested abroad. Note that some of these certifications may be exclusive to particular continents; I need to do more research on the subject, but the tropical forests around the world vary wildly -- this adds a level of complexity to the goals and criteria of a particular certification. I am confident that all of the certifications that I have mentioned apply to South and Central America (and most likely the Caribbean), so keep that in mind. Also, watch out for phony certifications; big corporations frequently buy out existing certification organizations and/or create new green-sounding organizations to fool well-meaning consumers.

Where should my brand new beans come from?

Like wine, the exact qualities of a bean depend on its terroir, or the specific methods and geographic factors involved in its growth. However, some countries have trends in how the coffee is generally grown; some counties will practice shade-growing more than others and some countries will practice direct-sun industrial methods more than others. As a rule of thumb, Arabica beans are mostly grown in shade or partial shade, while Robusta is generally grown in direct sun. Defer to certifications if applicable.

The following areas primarily practice shade-growing:

Mexico

El Salvador

Peru

Panama

Nicaragua

Guatemala

Cuba

Timor

New Guinea

Ethiopia

Burundi

Rwanda

Tanzania

Zambia (*)

Zimbabwe (*)

Papua New Guinea

Sulawesi

Timor + East Timor

India

The following areas primarily practice direct-sun growing:

Colombia

Brazil

Costa Rica

Hawaii

Yemen

Kenya

Angola

Benin

Central African Republic

Congo

Gabon

Ghana

Guinea

Equatorial Guinea

Ivory Coast

Liberia

Nigeria

Sierra Leone

Togo

Cameroon

Madagascar

Malawi (**)

Democratic Republic of the Congo

Sumatra (***)

Java

Vietnam

China

Jamaica

Again, this is just a rule of thumb; there are exceptions to both and I'm sure that I've left out several production areas. Most of this information comes from the blog Coffee and Conservation, written by ornithologist Julie Craves. I've only tried a very small percentage of these origins; so far, my favorites are Sumatran (Arabica, of course) and Peruvian.

*The source that I got this information from mentioned that some avoid Zambian and Zimbabwean coffee due to concerns of it helping fund violent conflict in the area; this particular article, however, is from 2006 and may be wildly out of date. I couldn't find much more info on this topic when I searched elsewhere.

**They primarily produce Arabica with organic methods, despite the sunny conditions.

***Sumatra is likely the most notable coffee-growing island in Asia; while the majority is Robusta grown on plantations that have deforested a horrifyingly large percentage of the island, the Arabica grown in the north is well-known for its far healthier growing conditions (shade + organic, usually) and extremely distinct flavor.

Volume 2?

I may eventually add on to this post, most likely with a Turkish coffee guide coming next. I used to make Turkish coffee quite frequently, but I would need to dig up my old favorite recipe and cezve first. French press and coldbrew stuff will be in the more distant future if at all.

If any of this info looks wrong, let me know and I'll edit the post :-)

Enjoy your cup!!!!