#I hope I don’t start sweating while I’m on this video call

[therichantsim]

I have my first job interview ever. I’ve always been self-employed even when I worked with companies like L’Oréal I was more of a consultant than an employee. It’s a work from home job which is very nice. I can still be a full time artist but also make a steady consistent income to offset the slow times in between gallery shows.

I’m so nervous though. All I’ve ever been was a cosmetologist that who specialized in hair color. It’s a call center job for a small IT company. I’m excited but anxious at the same time. Wish me luck and positive vibes please. I’ll keep y’all posted.

[heartyluv]

Note: Writer’s block is strong, but I’m stronger 💯💪🏽. In all seriousness, for this fic to turn out so simple, it took me so long to do… That’s how I know the block is serious. And I am apologizing in advance if this is one of my not-so-great works, but I wanted to try and do somethingggg. Don’t throw tomatoes at me for this lolllll. But regardless, I hope you enjoy, luvlys. Even if it’s just a little.

Contains: Confessing feelins, use of pips/pipsqueak, dry humping (there’s not much happenin. this fic honestly makes me think of a scene out of a romcom or something. a dirty one)

Word Count: 2.9K (who would’ve thunk)

Summary: Caleb makes you wanna stop, drop and roll into his arms.

Firefighter&Roommate!Caleb/Reader

It’s nearly ten o’clock at night when you hear keys rattling just outside the front door, the familiar sound of them being used eliciting a loud click from the lock as it’s turned to grant entry to the only other person who has access.

You turn your head to see Caleb walk in and toss his duffel bag down by the shoe rack before toeing off his heavy duty black boots. Just as you prepare to greet him and ask about his day, your roommate lifts the hem of his dark navy blue t-shirt to lazily wipe the sweat from his hairline.

The innocent action stops your filthy mind dead in its tracks and your breath gets caught in your throat when you watch his defined abs ripple, the impressive muscle gain a sight you’ll never get used to seeing no matter how many times you have. With a clenched jaw and impure thoughts, you selfishly let your greedy eyes gawk at the faint veins beneath his smooth skin that trail up a little ways past his belt buckle like a roadmap to the unknown before he stands upright again.

He’s fast but you’re quicker, swiftly redirecting your attention back to the piping hot pot of food in front of you before you’re caught. You press your lips together and continue to stir the dish you didn’t intend to start so late while he mumbled to himself about how hot and humid it was outside.

Striving to get your last bit of work done before you shut your computer down for the night is why you’re in the kitchen cooking what might be classified as more of a hefty late night snack rather than dinner.

When you chose to complete paperwork that needed to be submitted to your boss and finalize a few reports instead of calling it a night when the time came, it was all worth it in the end as you had no workload to follow you into the weekend. But in turn for being so consumed, rather than being fed and in bed like you’re used to, you were standing over a steamy stovetop and preparing something to kill the hunger you left idle for too long.

Finding something small and simple would’ve been easier, but you wanted a nice home cooked meal after your demanding day of emails and video meetings. Perhaps knowing how much Caleb appreciates the same when he got off one of his long shifts at the firehouse could be tacked onto your list of reasons.

��You’re home early,” you finally speak after mentally composing yourself, schooling your tone to be right as rain so your voice didn’t expose itself for being on the same level of bothered that your body is on.

“Didn’t think I’d see the day where you’d be cookin’ this late.” There’s a cheeky smile behind that, you can hear it. “Smells goods.”

Being your best friend since high school, Caleb knows a lot about you. How you don’t like cauliflower, you prefer wintertime over the summer, and the most important factoid of all—how much you dislike cooking.

It’s not because you don’t have the skill. In fact, you love the food that you make.

But you hated the smell that lingered in your space and on your body even more.

You were the kind of individual who preferred to have dinner done as early as possible so you could wash the remnants off of your skin and be in a fresh change of clothes before enjoying the fruits of your labor with windows wide open.

“But yeah,” he added. “Two of the guys who originally called out decided to come in and that cut my 24 early. Chief told me I could go and I wasn’t waiting around for him to change his mind.”

You hear him walk along the carpet before stepping onto the tile of the kitchen floor as he makes his way to the fridge. A brief cracking of separating plastic sounds when he twists the cap off a water bottle, and you hear him chugging the cold liquid down soon after.

“Cooking stew when it’s 85 degrees with the sun down might be one of the craziest decisions I’ve ever seen you make, pips,” he chuckles, his sudden close proximity startling you when his playful jab is made a little too close to your ear as he looks over your shoulder to inspect.

You huff out a gentle laugh past your nose and playfully shake your head, doing your best to not be swayed by the panty-wetting presence exuding from the unit of a man with his chest nearly pressed to your back.

See, this is what you promised yourself you would not do.

When Caleb welcomed you with open arms once you made the decision to move out of your building after they stunned you and other tenants with a sudden ridiculous rent increase, you swore that your relationship would remain appropriate and platonic.

You made a promise to yourself that the crush you’ve had on him since you were teens had to be kept under control if you were going to be living with your best friend who didn’t seem to know that everything he did played over and over in your mind like a broken record.

You vowed, that no matter how many times you’ve seen his dick print through his sweats or his toned stomach that made you want to know how he’d react if you used your tongue to paint him the perfect picture, you wouldn’t risk what you had.

That was the least you could do. For your own sanity.

Refusing to move back in with your parents, regardless of your feelings, it was just natural for you to take him up on his offer after he gave you his spare bedroom.

You were an adult. You could brush off some feelings to have a roof over your head. And to share it with someone who was still your bestie at the end of the day? Certainly you’d be fine.

And you have been thus far in the past year of you cohabiting with him.

Until you weren’t.

You found that it was one thing to try and shrug away the rapid thumping of your heart when you’d see him a few times a month.

It was easier to regulate yourself when you’d hear him speak over the phone, only because you could slip your hand in between your thighs immediately after hanging up.

There was a sense of security and reassurance that the distance brought.

But since all of that happens now on such a regular and consistent basis, pushing those things down didn’t exist without it being beyond torturous. To say that your last few months here have been a test of your resolve was an understatement.

“I’m gonna shower before you get in there.” You finally breathe correctly when he pulls away, the mix of his gentle cologne and natural scent nearly making your knees buckle as they worked in tandem to cloud your already shot senses.

“You’re picking the movie tonight!” he calls out before retreating down the hallway, and you’re glad he doesn’t spark any further conversation.

You give him a thumbs up, unsure if he actually saw it, and hope that you can pull yourself all the way together before he returns to unintentionally ruin you some more.

The self control you did manage to scrounge up was crushed like a grape the moment you saw him after your own shower.

“Need to cool down before I throw on some clothes,” he told you, then plopped his large body beside you on the couch with his bowl of food in hand, sporting nothing but a pair of boxers.

Consuming your stew felt impossible each time he laughed at the film you selected and even more so when he’d spread his legs wider like he had something of great size that seemed to need all the space it could get.

And you only knew any of this because of the involuntary side-eyed glances you hoped were subtle enough to miss.

I just have to finish eating, clean up, and I can head to bed.

But of course, a man as observant as Caleb couldn’t reward you with a mission so easily accomplished.

“You haven’t looked at me since I got home.”

Your forkful of beef and rice stops at your lips.

“And you’re barely speakin’. I noticed, but didn’t say anything at first when I came in. We cool, pips?”

You clear your throat, your appetite definitely nonexistent now.

“Oh…no, w-we’re cool,” you stutter.

“Yeah?” The porcelain bowl clatters when he places the empty dish on the coffee table. “Then look at me.”

You don’t think he’s serious until he grabs the remote and pauses the media on the television. Anxiety courses through you when you feel him shift, and you’re certain that his gaze is now burning a hole into the side of your head as he waits for you to prove to him that you’re telling the truth.

You release an incomplete breath that doesn’t want to reach the bottom of your lungs when you shakily exhale. Ripping the bandaid off, you—hesitantly—give his eyes your own.

The lamps on either side of the couch on their respective end tables is the only reason why you can see the doubt and hint of concern swirling in his irises.

He crosses his arms and you have to catch yourself before you watch the way his pecs press together and biceps bulge with zero effort.

All the years he’s spent building and maintaining the artwork that is him should be inspiring, even motivational, but all it does is make you ravenous.

It’s something you frequently experience when he wears those tight shirts that accentuates his physique with the suspenders dangling on the sides when he’s in uniform, or even after he nonchalantly shows off the scars littered across his skin from the emergencies he’s bravely ran into and training he’s done.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” you squeak, and he tilts his head with a knowing smirk.

“You gonna tell me what has you so stuck up or do I need to resort to somethin’ else to figure it out?”

“Caleb, you’re overthinking things. And I’m eating. You can’t do—” He snatches your bowl and places it beside his.

“Nothing but you is in the way now. Fess up.”

He places a hand on your thigh in reassurance, but it just makes your insides scream.

“C’monnn, if I did something, I want you to tell me. Did I leave dirty clothes on the floor? Got soot on the carpet? Haven’t been responding to your messages quick enough? I know I’m not behind on the rent.”

You smile at how he tries to make light of an honestly ridiculous situation.

Try telling yourself it’s ridiculous when you’re fantasizing about his strong thighs and happy trail that you struggle behaving about.

But the last thing you anticipated to come from this interrogation and your continued silence is Caleb moving like he’s a lightweight assassin, tackling you down onto the large sectional couch with ease as if you’re made of feathers.

Your legs spread for him without it being a question that needed to be asked.

“Caleb!” you yelp, your wrists twisting in his firm yet seemingly tender grip that he holds down beside your head.

The determined firefighter leans down and blows ticklish relentless raspberries into your neck, your back arching off the soft surface in your failed attempts to escape and from uncontrollable laughter.

“Gonna tell me now?” he teases breathlessly before repeating the process when all you do is giggle in response.

“I did! I did!” you exclaim, tears forming in your eyes from how hysterical he’s made you.

But the playfulness is immediately replaced with something different when his hard cock presses into you, the thickness seemingly trying to fit right in between your clothed pussy lips.

When he groans and you whimper, you realize that all of your attempts to not be in this position has just been tossed out every window available. To make it worse, you can’t stop squirming and he won’t stop pushing his hips forward.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes lowly, but makes no attempt to move away.

“You don’t need to be. It’s a natural response…”

“Is it?”

This time there’s no mistaking his intentions, the length of his dick brushing right up against your clit. Your mouth falls open and your eyes screw shut from the blissful spark, but Caleb doesn’t go easy on you.

“Look at me, roomie. What I tell you?”

Your chest rises and falls with uncertainty before you listen.

“We’re close to crossing a line we can’t come back from, aren’t we?” he titters before hissing when the movement it causes makes him rub against you. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s never been…about anything but you…” you confess, trying to focus on the friction you’re aching for him to give you and not the admission you’ve just put the fate of in his hands.

“Me? I don’t think I understand what you mean. You have to give me more than that, pipsqueak.”

“I can’t do this.” You try to move your hands and cover your embarrassed face.

“What are you so afraid of?”

“We’re friends, Caleb…Best friends. That’s all we’ve ever been.”

“Friends take care of each other, last time I checked. But just because that’s what we are now, it doesn’t mean it’s all we’re supposed to be.”

Studying you with a newfound passion, it's almost as if Caleb's been bestowed with 20/20 vision from how clearly he’s able to see through you, more than before.

“You want me to get off?”

You shake your head side to side shyly, a profound need building in your gut.

“So tell me what you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t want to ruin anything…”

“Pips, the only thing you’re capable of ruining is me. Have I told you that? I’m sure I have. But you always thought it was insignificant. Always thought I meant nothin’ by it.”

A calloused hand releases your wrist to lift your shirt so that he can get a clear view of where he sits between your plush thighs, his throbbing cock restricted beneath black underwear a perfect contrast to your pink panties.

If he could take a picture of the way you’re nestling against each other like you should be, like you should’ve always been, he would.

“That’s my fault. Maybe now’s the time for me to show you how much I need you to,” he continues, his hooded stare mesmerized by how well you fit.

He surges upwards once more, never giving pause this time when he starts to grind into you with a mind numbing momentum. When he sees how easily you succumb to him, going faster was the only viable option.

“That f-feels—” Your tits slightly jump beneath your oversized top with every push of his rigid body into your softer one.

“So fucking good…” he finishes for you, rutting against your cunt like a man starved. The precum that seeps from his tip to make a mess on himself only urges him on along with your mewls and the wet patch he sees forming when your panties dig in between your pussy to be suffocated like he soon aims to be.

Both of his hands move to grip into the cushions beneath you to keep steady, the sensation building in his base already becoming too difficult to hold back. But he refuses to come until you do.

You drag your palms over his shoulders, moving your body wantonly to meet him for each shadowed thrust as if you could feel him inside of where you’ve never had him before.

“You’re so pretty…” Caleb murmurs as he peers down to watch your plump sex strain against the simple fabric that hides you from him, appreciating what he can get until the day comes where you give him more.

He moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever felt, taking hold of your hips like they’re a lifeline to keep himself rooted in your sweet spot after you sheepishly begged him to stay right there. The erotic melody of the creaking couch and your shared ragged breaths become a crucial part in both of you understanding that there has always been something underlying beneath the guise of friendship.

“Both of us have wasted too much time,” he pants, his muscles tensing with every amount of pressure applied the more confident he grows as he skillfully moves in a way that makes you see stars. His cheeks are blotchy with red patches and hair tussled from exertion, but he’s never looked more enchanting.

More…yours.

“I’m not letting us make that mistake a-again..”

“Caleb…” Calling for him is the only coherent thing you find yourself capable of doing. He spreads you wider, using every inch of himself to bring you both over the edge.

Your taut bundle of nerves being stimulated by the weight of his heavy cock and the friction applied from your surely ruined panties makes you feel lightheaded in the most intoxicating way imaginable.

“I’m…I think—”

“Me too, pips. Hmph..Fuck, me too…”

Caleb nearly collapsed on top of you when you wailed with pleasure, nails digging into his skin as your orgasm washed through you at the same time that he spilled into his once clean boxers like he had no self control. He keeps grinding against you tiredly with his face buried in your neck and kisses placed below your ear, the sticky load pulsing out of his dick making him wish it was buried inside you instead.

Once he completely stops and you lay languidly, he slowly sits up, licks his lips, and looks down at you with a smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you blush.

“I guess we’re due for a conversation, right?”

You nod. “A lot of ground to cover.”

“So long as we cover it together, we’ll be just fine.”

“I hope so.” You brush his hair away from his brows, a habit you’ve never shaken.

“I know so, ‘cause you’ve always had a fire in me that could never be put out.”

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes jokingly. “Did you just make a firefighter joke?”

“…That depends. Did it work? Make your heart flutter?”

“It…Maybe let’s just talk?” you grin.

“It didn’t work,” he confirms, laughing right along with you.

“Yeah, pips. Let’s talk.”

🍎 Tags: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @meadowinthesky @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc @hilliserose @ur-l0cal-crypt1d

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat @inutrasha94 @jadestone2 @lamogliedizayne

Creds to @firefly-graphics for the dividers!

[honeekyuu]

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

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

or

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

series status: [ongoing]

taglist: [open]

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

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

previous. || masterlist. || next.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I made it, I made it.”

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

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

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

“Cup, please, Y/n – I’m dying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Akaashi chokes on pop-tart crumbs.

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

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

“I didn’t!”

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

“It was… fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, then I’ll get a sweater.”

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

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

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

“Order?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good luck,” he mumbles.

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

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

“O…kay. And then?”

He shrugs. “Bed? Sex?”

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

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

“It registered while you were talking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you staring at my ass?”

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow. “... ‘Kay.” 

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

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

You like men like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, right.

Right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m- I’m gonna-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And does he feel the same?

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

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

“Okay, I see what you mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not what you think-”

“So, you’re not an exhibitionist?”

“Not a big one!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips. “Green.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need to set up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You callin’ me smart, baby?”

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

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

“How’s this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops, just hovering over you silently.

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

“I told you to look at me.”

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

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

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

‘Is it alright if I’m a little mean?’

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

If he wants you to cry, you’ll cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” he whispers. “That was-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you should eat the pop-tart.”

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

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

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

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

“No. I just don’t like them.”

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

“You’re stupid-”

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

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

He grimaces. “Boring.”

“Get out of my house, Akaashi-”

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

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

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

“We’ll make it back soon enough.”

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shockingly, I still managed it.”

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

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

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

The compliment is magically negated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should go.”

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

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

“Okay.” You nod. “See you then.”

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

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

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

[1:24 PM]

Akaashi: dont forget to cover your hickies tonight

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

You: youre such a dick.

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what Kuroo has left, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

God bless Kuroo Tetsurou.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to make you nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he thinks he’s turned on, too.

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

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

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

He’s starting to understand why, tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullshit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes him want to do terrible things to you.

“Careful, Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

“Akaashi! Y/n!” 

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

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

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

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

He swears loudly on the entire walk home.

–

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

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

Akaashi.

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

[11:16 PM]

You: whewred yiu go>?!?!

You: are yoim okai???

[11:59 PM]

You: akaaaaaashiiiii

You: whyaw didn yoo leave so sunddnly?

[12:39 AM]

You: at lest tellme if tju got ahaome safew

[9:19 AM]

Akaashi: im fine thanks

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

Whatever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at the subject lines, your head swimming.

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

That’s rent.

That’s rent.

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

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

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

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

You have money to make.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n!” 

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

“Hi, Kou – How was your Sunday?”

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

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

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

“Hi, Yachi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

It happens again, only twenty minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

Your phone buzzes on the desk.

[1:45 PM]

Akaashi: what is it?

Your heart jumps, and you type quickly.

You: nothing

Akaashi: you were going to knock

You: it’s fine

Akaashi: just tell me.

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

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

You: and my other stuff is making money now too

You: my rent for november is covered

You: so.. thanks ig

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

Akaashi: …

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

Akaashi: out loud? here?

Akaashi: really, y/n?

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

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

You type an angry response.

You: well i didnt DO it, did i?

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

Akaashi: excuse me?

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

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

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

Akaashi: yet you just LOVE to keep your windows open

Akaashi: dont you, y/n

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

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

You: not the privacy of someone else’s 

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

Akaashi: oh go to hell

You: see you there, freak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorr-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then why is he so adamant about keeping you?

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” he hisses. “Shut up, Y/n-”

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

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

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

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

[2:36 PM]

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

You type back a quick response.

[2:41 PM]

You: yes omg sorry im omw now

Kou: PLEASE DONT BE FIGHTING WITH AKAASHIIIIII

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

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

“Walk fast and eat faster, then.”

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

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

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

–

Tuesday morning doesn’t go much better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have data-”

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

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

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

And Akaashi knows that, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Inapplicable-”

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

“Inapplicable?” he hisses again, eyes glinting.

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

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

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

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

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

You watch in real time as his demeanor changes.

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

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

Your brows furrow, offended. “What-”

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

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

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

“Are you a genius, too, Y/n?”

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

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

It’s excitement.

It excites him to fight with you like this.

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

Especially the bad. 

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

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

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

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

“Do you think you can do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod in agreement. “Me, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s terrifying.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s mutual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe this time, things would be different.

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

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

[12:17 PM]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He supposes he can go, too.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Akaashi!” 

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

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

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

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

Tsukishima reaches the table, and the six of you pile into the rounded booth that’s certainly not meant for six. Keiji’s chest presses against your shoulder, and you’re kind enough to angle your body with his so that you’re not digging into his chest painfully. Bokuto calls out across the table.

“I’ll get drinks!” He disappears back into the crowd, and Keiji wonders for a moment if Bokuto can carry enough drinks for six people. Kuroo seems to have the same thought, the man smacking Tsukishima on the arm and pointing out into the ocean of bodies.

“Go with him!”

The blond shakes his head forcefully. “No fucking way – you go!”

Kuroo groans but pushes Tsukishima out of the booth so he can stumble back into the crowd. Keiji relaxes with a sigh as the four of you left fill the booth more comfortably. Yachi starts rambling brightly to Tsukishima about the club, making comments about the music and the dancing. The blond just blinks back at her with empty, unseeing eyes, nodding occasionally. Keiji gets the feeling he can’t hear a word she’s saying.

You shift next to Keiji, your thigh bumping against his, and he finds himself tracing his gaze over your body while you look out at the dance floor. You feel him looking, and you glance up at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Don’t tell me you’re about to ask me to dance,” you say, your voice barely audible to him. He just tilts his head and gives you a knowing look.

“I don’t dance, Y/n.”

“Oh, you’re so cool,” you mock, cooing at him. He narrows his eyes at you, excitement spilling into his body when he sees how you tense at the glare. It makes him feeler bold – bold, like he’d been in your office, even though he’d sworn to himself only moments after that he wouldn’t do that again.

He swears you’ve cast some sort of curse on him.

He brushes two fingers over your thigh, tugging at the hem of the dress before letting it snap back to your skin. “Where’d you get this?”

You warm, looking up at him with practiced disinterest, but he can feel when your breath changes. “I’ve had it forever.”

“I like it.”

You purse your lips, frowning up at him. “You’re being weird.”

“Am I?” he asks, letting those two fingers trace circles into your thigh and smiling when he feels the goosebumps on your skin. Your eyes flit around his face, and he can see that, under the confusion, there’s anticipation. You’re waiting for him to do something.

“Y/n, look!” Yachi yells next to you, and Keiji pulls his hand back into his lap. He watches as you try, still flustered by him, to follow your friend’s excited pointing into crowd. He tampers a satisfied smile, only pulling his gaze away from you.

It lands on Tsukishima, who’s watching Keiji blankly.

Keiji’s heart drops to his stomach.

The blond flicks his eyes between the two of suspiciously, and then his gaze drops to Keiji’s throat, because he’s swallowing nervously. Tsukishima lifts both eyebrows and then looks away, returning to Yachi’s excited monologue about the well-planned design of the club architecture and decor.

Keiji’s skin hums with adrenaline and anxiety. What is he supposed to do if Tsukishima questions him? Or worse – tells Kuroo?

As if summoned by the devil, Bokuto and Kuroo reappear – they’re holding two trays of shot glasses each, and Keiji stares in shock as Bokuto lines up five shots in front of Keiji.

“Those are for you!” his friend exclaims, doing the same for you. Keiji stares at the shots.

“This’ll put me in the hospital, Bokuto-”

“I have to teach tomorrow,” you add, giving a laugh of exasperation. Bokuto waves it off.

“A problem for tomorrow!” he yells, already picking up one of his own shot glasses. He holds it out toward the middle of the table. “To new experiences!”

Keiji sighs, lifting one of his up, too, to clink against Bokuto’s, and the rest of the table follows.

“To new experiences,” he mumbles, knocking the shot back.

–

Well, Bokuto hadn’t been lying about new experiences, Keiji thinks drunkenly.

His head swims as he stares down at the five empty shot glasses in front of him, wondering where his drinks had gone. You sway beside him, holding a cocktail in both hands as you sip at it – your shot glasses are equally empty, and Keiji’s not exactly sure where you’d pulled an extra drink from.

He watches through blurry vision as Yachi and Bokuto wriggle wildly on the dance floor together, far away enough that he can only tell it’s them by their ridiculous height difference. Kuroo and Tsukishima sit huddled on the other end of the booth, heads bent together as they whisper likely obscene things to each other.

Keiji had worried for about thirty minutes that Tsukishima would tell Kuroo what he’d seen, but the blond seems to have decided that it’s none of his business what happens in this club tonight. Keiji’s grateful for it, especially now that he can see Tsukishima slipping out of the booth, his hand tight in Kuroo’s and both their faces flushed from whatever they’d just talked about. They disappear in the direction of the bathroom, and Keiji snorts to himself.

“‘s one way to do it,” he mumbles, and you lean toward him heavily.

“Hah?” you say, your body pressed against his. “What’dya say?”

“Nothin’,” he slurs, shaking his head. And then he looks down at you, taking you in. Taking in the fact that the two of you have been left alone here in the dark, still visible but not noticeable. He shifts his body toward yours, pressing your sides together while he reaches to pluck your drink from your hands. “What’s this?”

“Hey,” you pout, reaching for it, but he just holds it behind him, forcing you to lean up into his face. Your eyes go wide when you realize how close his are, and he grins down at you, open and unfiltered.

“What is it, Y/n? Can I try?”

“No!” you complain, pressing your body against his as you stretch for the drink. Keiji slips his free arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Just one sip?”

Your outstretched hand drops to his shoulder, and you say nothing about the arm he has around you. “You’re annoying,” you mumble, glaring hazily up at him. “Get yer own drink.”

He tilts his head toward you, the tequila in his breath mixing with the vodka in yours. “But I wanna taste yours,” he whispers, and your cheeks warm – he hadn’t meant anything sexual by it, but he’s not complaining if you’re taking it that way.

He lifts your drink to his lips, keeping his eyes on you and reveling in the way yours drop to his mouth, and takes a sip. It’s just a Vodka Cranberry, which he’d already guessed by the scent of your breath. He puts it back down on the table, letting you have it again. “Thank you,” he jokes.

“Whatever,” you mutter, cradling the drink again. “Why’ve you been so mean to me this week?”

“Aw,” he coos. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yeah,” you say plainly, pouting. “You made me mad. Made me wanna do bad things.”

Desire spikes in Keiji’s body. “What kinda bad things?”

“Made me wanna be mean to you, too,” you say, oblivious to the way Keiji’s looking at you now. “Made me wanna hurt your feelings, too.”

“You did do that,” he says, laughing at you. “You were so mean.”

“Not mean enough!” you argue, leaning comfortably against him as he holds you. His hand gravitates from his lap to yours, the fingers he’d just had on your drink now cold and damp against your heated skin. You shiver at his touch, and he feels his jeans start to tighten. He draws small circles into your thigh with the pad of his middle finger, his intentions plausibly deniable even though his knuckles brush up against the hem of your dress every time.

“You don’t think calling my work ‘isolated and inapplicable’ is mean enough?” he coos down at you, watching with satisfaction as your lips part and you let out a shaky breath, because his middle finger is slipping once under the hem of your dress before completing the circle. He feels a shock of excitement fly down his spine and spread out across his skin, that live wire sparking in his chest.

He glances out briefly at the dance floor, confirming that Bokuto and Yachi are still jumping around and that Kuroo and Tsukishima have completely disappeared. He’s glad to know that he has more time with you. More time to slide his cold fingers across your flushed skin, more time to feel your body press tight to his. The thought of getting caught like this – with his arm wrapped around you and his fingers hidden under your dress – passes through his mind, and he can’t help that the live wire crackles dangerously, or that his jeans are uncomfortably tight on him now. But, still, he’s glad that no one’s seeing what’s going on over here.

He doesn’t want to share this with anyone else quite yet.

“Hey,” you grumble in his ear, low and whiny enough to make his cock twitch painfully. You grip his face with one hand, turning him back to you. Keiji stares down at you with wide eyes, his breath caught in his chest when you glare up at him and mumble, “You’re not payin’ attention t’me.”

He lets out a weak laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry – were you saying somethin’ important?”

Your pout deepens, and Keiji feels himself leaning toward you, his eyes fixated on your mouth.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I was talkin’ about how you deserve to be bullied.”

He huffs in amused disbelief, just staring down at you. “Y/n.”

“Hm?”

“I have a question.”

“Mm?” You tilt your head, attention his. He starts running his fingers over your skin again, watching when you shiver.

“Are we still meeting tomorrow? Or was I too mean this week?” He swallows hard, hoping you’ll understand what he’s asking. If things are too tense between you – if the arrangement can’t be recovered, after all of his screw-ups this week. 

Your eyes widen, flitting between his, and he grows a little nervous. But then your face warms, and you shift under his fingers, and your eyes drop quickly to his mouth before lifting again.

“I thought we were…” you breathe. “Are we not?”

His skin hums with the need to feel you underneath him again, the possibility of having that tomorrow night no longer hanging in the balance. But still, he has to check. “Not gonna find someone else to fuck ‘n throw me away?”

You giggle at his quote of your own words, and you shake your head. “Unfortunately for me, there’s no one else who meets all my requirements.” You grin up at him, your eyes full of humor, as though what you say next is stupidly obvious.

“‘s gotta be you, 'Kaashi.”

Keiji really regrets sleeping with you.

–

On Wednesday at 7:30pm, you find yourself slapping your hand around on the bedside table for the alarm that’s going off. You find your phone, shutting it off and tossing it down on the bed next to you. 

You’d woken up at 7am this morning, dreadfully hungover, and dragged yourself to campus to teach. You’d stayed in the department until the very first moment that you were no longer needed, and then you’d Uber’d home, throwing your stuff on the floor in your foyer and climbing back into bed.

You repeat the process now, but you feel significantly better after the extra sleep. Instead of the hangover, however, your brain is burdened by the knowledge that Akaashi will be showing up at your door in thirty minutes. You groan, not for the first time today, at the memory of the humiliating things you’d said and done last night. At the way you’d draped yourself all over him and pouted up at him like an idiot, admitting that he’d gotten to you with his behavior this week.

At the way you’d admitted that there can be no one but him in this stupid arrangement.

You grumble the entire time you wait, stomping around the apartment until you hear his knock at your door.

When you wrench the door open, he looks mildly unsettled, and you know that means he’s as nervous as you.

“Hi.” He shifts his weight awkwardly, hoisting his duffel bag high on his shoulder. He flits his eyes around your face and then down to your pajamas, brows lifting. “Did you just wake up?”

“I took a five-hour nap,” you sigh, letting him in.

“Did you not eat dinner?” he asks, setting his bag down in the spot by the couch that’s slowly becoming his.

“No,” you mumble, wandering into the kitchen and digging through the pantry. “Not super hungry, anyway – just hungover.”

“Oh.” His voice sounds a bit tense, and you realize belatedly that he might have been asking if you wanted to eat dinner with him. You purse your lips, groaning to yourself. Things are still uncomfortable with him – how could they not be? You’ve spent the week bouncing back and forth between being insatiably furious with him and completely folding whenever he gets too close. Even if he seems to have reciprocated some of the confusing feelings wracking your brain lately, it can’t be easy to be dragged back and forth by your mood swings.

You emerge from the kitchen holding out a packet of smores pop-tarts to him, the strawberry flavor open in your other hand. He stares down at it and then takes it, eyes on yours. “Thanks.”

“Your leftovers from Saturday are still there,” you offer, nodding back to the kitchen. “If you want them.”

“Man, you really do hate kung pao chicken,” he jokes lamely, swallowing hard as he opens the silver packaging. You wander toward your room with an awkward sigh. 

“Uhm… how many videos should we film today?” You flick your lights on and move to the closet, leaving your pop-tarts on the dresser. There’s a creak in your doorway, and you glance back to find Akaashi leaning against the door frame, his fingers tapping on the crinkly wrapper while he chews slow and drags his eyes around your room.

“Dunno… Three? Four?” He flicks his eyes to you and then away again. “Same deal as last time? Foreplay first, then sex?”

You nod, digging through your drawer full of lingerie. You look him over briefly, ignoring when he tenses under your gaze. He’s wearing baggy, light blue jeans and a form-fitting black t-shirt, tucked into his belt. You hum, plucking a simple white set from the dresser and then reaching into your closet for a pair of shorts and a baby pink graphic tee, a cute strawberry drawn on the front. You brandish the clothes at him in question.

“Girl-next-door enough?”

He nods, eyes lingering on the white lace in your left hand. “Sweet and innocent.”

You shrug jokingly. “Just like me.”

“Yeah, okay,” he snorts, shaking his head. You don’t move, and he lifts his brows at you as he’s lifting the chocolate-filled pastry to his mouth. “What?”

“Uh…” You give him an expectant look. “I have to change.”

“Oh–” He lifts off the door frame and turns in place, staring out into your living room. “Is this good?”

You roll your eyes and strip from your pajamas, tossing your shirt at the back of his head. He chokes on his snack upon contact, and you laugh while you pull the lingerie on. He clears his throat quietly.

“So… you think my research is inapplicable-”

You groan, your shoulders tensing in preparation for a fight. “Please, not now, Akaashi-”

“I’m just wondering if you meant that, or…” His voice is joking, and you know he’s just talking shit in order to fill the silence, but you’re still a little rough when you brush past him, fully dressed now.

“You know I didn’t,” you admit quietly, padding over to the spare room and hearing when he follows. “You said it yourself  – I’m not stupid enough to believe that.”

“But you said it.”

“You say a lot of things, too.” You glance at him while you fluff the pillows on the bed. “What is this? Why are you picking a fight right now?”

He shakes his head simply. “Just making conversation.”

“Well, can you make conversation about anything else-”

“Like what?” he argues. “We can talk about research, or we can talk about what positions you want me to fuck you in today-”

“Okay,” you say, flushing. And then you swallow. “What… positions are we doing?”

Any heat that had been in his eyes melts away, and he lets out a breathless laugh. “Seriously?” When you shrug, a smile crosses his lips briefly before he’s smothering it. “Which one’s your favorite?”

Your eyes go wide, and you start to fluff the pillows more aggressively now, your face burning. “They’re all fine.”

“No,” he jokes, stepping close. You’d left your phone on the dresser by the door, and he brings it with him when he approaches you. “You definitely have a favorite.” He slips the device into your awaiting hand. “Tell me.”

You square your shoulders, scrolling through your apps to dim the string lights and change the color, bathing the room in a soft, pink glow. “It’s doggy,” you say without looking at him. “But they’re all fine.”

“Doggy,” he breathes back, nodding. “Understood.”

“Whatever,” you bite, gesturing to the bed in embarrassment. “Can we–?” 

He lifts his brows with a grin, waving you toward it. “By all means.”

You sigh, climbing onto the bed and pointing toward the selfie stick you keep on the desk. “I’ll just hold the phone for this first part.” Akaashi goes to get it, and you slot the phone into it with ease. “Okay. Ready.”

He props himself up next to you, both of you leaning against the headboard. You click record and fix the zoom, centering yourself in the frame.

“Okay,” you breathe, settling for looking at him in the camera, because you don’t know if you’re brave enough to meet his eye right now. “We’re good. Uhm…” You think quickly about how this should go. “Just look at something on your phone, maybe, and then come in whenever you think you should.” He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, and you joke nervously. “Not your email, though. Nerd.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a hint of a smile. “Dumbass.”

You smile, refocusing the camera until neither of your faces are visible. You mess with your hair, watching the ends of it flutter on the screen, and trail your hand down your chest, kneading your breasts slowly and letting out slightly performative sighs. Your fingers dance along your thighs and between your legs briefly, and you see in the frame that Akaashi’s thumb has stopped scrolling. You don’t turn to look at him, but you do smile to yourself, watching his wrist start to go limp as he watches you, distracted. 

When you slide your hands under your shirt, your fingers moving the fabric as you squeeze and touch, Akaashi slowly moves to put his phone on the table. He shifts closer, turning his body toward yours, and his hand slides across your thigh. The touch makes you shiver, his palm searing hot on your skin and his fingers kneading at the inside of your thigh appreciatively. You hear him breathe in sharply, and then he presses his chest to your shoulder and drops his head to your neck.

The feeling of his lips on your skin is more intense than it had been on Saturday. You have no idea how, but you’re impossibly more sensitive tonight, and even the breath that fans over your throat between kisses has you panting. He sets two fingers on the wrist that you have hidden under your shirt, tugging your arm away from your body and angling you so he can fill the space.

His hand disappears under your top, and a quiet moan falls past your lips – because he’s cupping your breast, his palm warmer and larger than yours. You start to tremble, your stomach flipping with anticipation and desire every time his fingers move against you. You don’t know why everything feels so different tonight than it had only four days ago, but it feels like Akaashi’s experiencing the same.

His breath is ragged in your ear, and his lips are shaking slightly on your skin, even though all he’s done is touch you. His hand moves over your body almost nervously, fingers exploring in a way that falsely reminds you of anxious inexperience.

You turn toward him. “What’s with you?” you whisper, looking him over with wide eyes. He lifts his head, and you see that his pupils are blown wide. His cheeks are flushed slightly, and his lips are parted and wet. 

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. And then he tugs on your shirt. “Take this off.”

You hand him the camera stick, and he makes sure to keep you in frame when you peel your shirt off and toss it to the end of the bed. You kick your shorts off, too, while you’re at it, leaving you in your matching lingerie. He hands the camera back and scoots ever closer to you, his hand sliding across your body impatiently while he presses himself to you. You let your head drop and lean your weight against the headboard, letting him explore as he pleases.

When his fingers start to dip curiously between your thighs, that nervous anticipation is firing up. You spread your legs, breathing hard as you struggle to keep everything in frame, and he wastes no time, his middle two fingers sliding over your clothed core.

“Oh-” you moan loudly, much louder than you’d expected, given that he’s barely touched you.

Akaashi notices it too, it seems, because he lifts his head to stare at you, wide-eyed. “What was that?” he breathes, and you shake your head, your lips pursed in embarrassment.

“I was faking it,” you try, despite knowing what he’d told you last time about that.

He lifts his brows, and you see that it doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t buy it. “Liar.” He touches you again, circling your clit roughly through your panties. Your eyes widen, and your lips tremble when your breath comes out. He stares down at you in wonder, watching with a growing smile as you react much more intensely than you had on Saturday. “You’re sensitive today,” he notes quietly, a little satisfied.

You don’t bother denying it, not when he can clearly see how your body is reacting to him. “So are you,” you just whisper, eyes dropping to the front of his jeans. He’s already hard. “I haven’t touched you at all.”

He shakes his head, his fingers massaging into the wet spot in your panties with purpose. “‘s not a prerequisite.”

You lift your brows at the admission. “Good to know.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not like you’re gonna do anything with that information.” He pushes your panties to the side and touches his fingers to your soaked core, and you both gasp at the feeling. He breathes hard, eyes heated as he stares down at you. “You’re not brave enough.”

���Don’t-” you hiss through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to moan when his fingers push experimentally against your entrance. “-tempt me.” You reach your free hand toward his jeans, fully intent on unzipping them and touching him, but his hand comes down on your wrist – a smack of admonishment, gentle but firm. He narrows his eyes at you when you look at him in shock.

“I’m not gonna make it that easy for you, princess.” He pulls your thigh open over his legs to free up more space for himself, and then he’s dropping his head back to your neck and nudging against your entrance more seriously.

You’re wet enough that it only takes one try for both fingers to push into you, pressed against your walls and stretching you out. 

You gasp, your head falling back and bumping against the wall. “Oh, my God-”

Akaashi’s no better, his mouth open against your throat and his breath sharp and jagged. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his voice distracted and stunned. “Fuck.” 

“I’m,” you start, swallowing hard when he starts to move. “I’m not gonna last long-”

He groans, curling his fingers inside you and pressing hard against that spongy spot that makes you nervous. “I want you to squirt for me,” he breathes into your ear.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “What?” you say, high-pitched and shaky. “It’s-That’s not easy-”

You’re lying. It is easy for you, scarily so. And with the length of Akaashi’s fingers – with the way he knows how to press up against that spot every single time – it’s going to be so embarrassingly easy that you’re worried you might never live it down.

“I want it,” he breathes, persistent. He sounds a little urgent, bordering on desperate. “I want you to make a mess on my fingers.”

You whine, squirming against him as he picks up speed. You feel it forming, that pressure that’s different from the normal coil in your navel. “Uhm-I-” Your breath picks up, and his palm slaps against your skin when he slams his fingers into you again. The sting of it, repeated twice more, shoves you closer and closer to that dangerous pressure. “Mm-I’m gonna-” you heave, your body trembling in his arms and your hands struggling to keep the camera straight.

“Give it to me,” he whispers, groaning when your walls start to tighten around his fingers. “Be good and give it to me.”

You black out.

You black out, and you have no idea what happens when you do. You can’t feel anything, your entire body numb and light, floating on nothing. You feel your muscles spasm sporadically with the aftershocks, but you have no idea what had happened to get you here. Your hands are limp on the bed, but you can’t bring yourself to care if the camera had captured the moment. You feel Akaashi’s fingers still inside you – still moving – but you can’t do much more than listen as he pants in your ear and whispers ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ against the side of your head.

When you finally come to, you realize that you’re lying in a puddle. And Akaashi is hovering over you, his face flushed and his eyes full of disbelief and a burning heat.

“‘zzat good?” you slur, your head slumping against his shoulder, and he laughs against you, shaking his head.

“Holy shit, Y/n,” he breathes, laughing harder. “That was-fuck.” He jostles you gently. “Are you… Let me get you some water,” he says, shifting you, but you groan in protest.

“Did you come?” you breathe, dazed, and peel your eyes open to look at him.

“No.” 

“Then take your pants off,” you say, plain and direct. He looks into your eyes for just another moment, gaze tracking you and analyzing your energy, but you just level a frown at him. “Do you want to come or not, Akaashi?”

His brows lift, and his eyes flick down to the soaked blanket under you. When his gaze finds yours again, that heat is back.

He stands quickly, leaving you to shake the numbness out of your bones as he strips and moves impatiently to get the tripod. He sets your phone up with practiced fingers, and you sit up, shaking your head to clear it and sliding your panties and bra off.

“God, that was intense,” you breathe with a laugh. He glances back at you, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“You sure you’re good?”

“Super good.” You nod once, and then you beckon him toward you. “Hurry up, before I start to care what you think again and get embarrassed that that just happened.”

His burst of laughter echoes off the walls, and you feel pride at having drawn it out of him.

And then he climbs over you, and everything that’s not him fades into the background.

His eyes are steady on yours, but he moves with a decided lack of control, and that – his urgency – makes you more nervous than anything else. You lie back against the pillow and spread your legs for him, watching with bated breath as he shoves his boxers off impatiently and slots himself between your thighs. He leans over you, and one of his hands clamps down over your mouth while he lines himself up at your entrance.

He takes a breath, eyes flicking to yours, and you see the anticipation in them. Like he’d been waiting for this all week.

You’d been waiting, too, you realize.

He sinks into you in one press of his hips, and your back bows off the mattress. You moan loud against his palm, your eyes rolling back, and the groan he lets out – unfiltered, desperate – embeds itself into your skin. You struggle to breathe, to find your lungs when all you can feel is Akaashi inside you.

Your eyes focus and unfocus, searching uselessly for him while he slams his other hand down on the headboard to steady himself before setting a pace that makes your vision flicker. Your hands fly up, too, pressing back against the headboard to keep you from crashing into it. 

Akaashi’s hand falls from your mouth when he realizes that you’re not making noise, and it becomes clear that you can’t. Your mouth just hangs open, breath ragged and short while you gasp. Your eyes meet his, and he grins down at you.

“How’s that, princess?” he teases, panting tightly. “Still wanna find someone else to fuck? Or am I really the only one?”

He’s taunting you, torturing you. It makes some part of you angry – the part that hates him, so distant right now – and you try to argue.

“You’re only bitching-” You gasp sharply when the head of his cock bumps against your g-spot, scarily accurate like last time. “-because you got what you wanted-”

His next breath comes in a low growl, and he angles his hips so that he can hit your weak spot more easily. Your body shakes with each slam of his hips against yours, but you hold onto a shred of your sanity.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s so needy for me-”

“Look in the mirror, asshole,” you bite, using every ounce of your energy to keep this up. But he presses two fingers against the seam of your lips, shoving them into your mouth. You choke around them, and he moans, because your walls flutter tightly around his cock at the feeling of his fingertips hitting the back of your throat.

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up and get me off,” he snaps, gritting his teeth when your tongue curls wantonly around his fingers. “Maybe if you’re good at it, I’ll let you come again.”

You whine, despite yourself, and feel that twinge of need – the one that had reared its ugly head on Saturday. The need to give him what he wants, to fold for him and do what he says.

And then it hits you–

That this is what you’d felt all week.

That the gnawing in your chest and the frustration in your bones and the disorienting need to get his attention – good or bad – is exactly this. This need to bend to Akaashi Keiji’s will, because he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

You’re filled with an overwhelming rage, and you nip your teeth against his fingers – not hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to shock his system.

Akaashi’s eyes go wide, and he hisses and draws his fingers from your mouth, wet and dripping saliva on your skin. “What the fuck?”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you snarl, one of your hands leaving the headboard to shove against his chest. He stops moving, sitting up on his knees and staring down at you in confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

You shove him again, and he catches your wrist, his eyebrows furrowing.

“You’ve been messing with me all week on purpose,” you spit, and then you sit up, startling him. You use the moment to latch onto him and roll him onto his back, swinging your leg over his waist and straddling him. He stares up at you, wide-eyed, as you try to take control of this. “You’ve been hot and cold, and rude and flirty,” you snap, lifting your hips just enough to sink down onto him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his eyes roll back briefly, a quiet moan slipping past his lips. You plant your hands on his chest, finding a rhythm in his lap that has him gripping your waist tight. You grit your teeth and talk through the waves of pleasure, the ones that start in the crown of your head and make it hard to focus.

“You teased me at the party. And then you acted like I didn’t exist at the coffee shop.” You struggle to keep your breath, your movements growing unstable. His eyes search yours, alarmed.

“What-”

“You acted like I was a burden all day on Monday, and then you fucked with my head in the stairwell.” You glare down at him, hating wide-eyed way he’s watching you. “You fought with me in my office – you liked fighting with me-” You thump your fist weakly down on his chest while you bounce in his lap, angry – but not angry enough. It’s starting to fade into something else. Frustration that he’d played you, and confusion that he looks so confused. “And then you treated me like I was the only thing you could see at that stupid fucking club last night.”

The humilation creeps in – the embarrassment that you’d let this happen. You’d let him humiliate you. It makes your eyes prickle, and you squeeze them shut angrily. Akaashi slides his fingers roughly into your hair, holding tight when you try to shove him away.

“I hate you,” you say, choked and upset and refusing to look at him.

“Listen to me-”

“I hate you-”

“Listen to me.” He fists your hair tighter, jostling your head with enough urgency that your eyes fly open to find his. He’s glaring up at you now. “I’m not doing any of this on purpose.” You’d stopped moving in his lap at some point, too overwhelmed, but he bends his knees now, angling you against his thighs. You gasp when he starts to move, thrusting his hips up and using his one-handed grip on your waist to keep you steady.

“You think I wanted this?” he barks, snapping his hips up and bouncing you roughly against him. “You think I wanted to lose face at that fucking meeting? You think I wanted to fight in the stairwell like that?” His face twists into an angry scowl, and it’s your turn to be confused. “You think I want to get drunk and be unable to keep my hands off you? Huh?”

What-

What?

Akaashi’s hand slides out of your hair, dropping to the base of your throat. His fingers wrap around your neck, and your stomach flips with desire when he squeezes tight. You sigh in relief, the feeling of his palm against your throat when you swallow heavenly. He uses his grip to pull you close, until your nose brushes his. He sets a brutal pace with his hips, fucking up into you while he stares you down angrily.

“You know better than that,” he hisses. 

You start to shake over him, your desire mounting. “I-”

“You do know better, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice dangerously even. His eyes burn with anger. “Why are you acting like that? You told me you were smart.” His voice shakes a little, and you can see him struggling to keep up – his cheeks flush and his ears burn red, and he’s starting to pant, broken in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“I am,” you whisper, a bit whiny now. “I am smart – you’re just too confusing.”

The anger in his eyes solidifies into something worse. Something cruel and wicked.

“Then stop trying so fucking hard,” he snarls, slamming his hips up into you. You dig your nails into his shoulders, his sharp inhale clear in your ears. “Stop trying to figure this out.”

You shake your head hard. “I won’t. I can’t-”

“Oh, you can’t?” He mocks, and the edge in his voice kicks and shoves you right to your orgasm. “You won’t, is that it? Even though I just told you I’m not doing this on purpose?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The idea that Akaashi’s just as affected as you are – just as much a victim to whatever this is as you are – fills you with a terrifying feeling. A feeling close to freedom, close to something that makes you want to throw everything away and give in to him. Because it’s not his fault, either, then. Because – if he’s not doing this intentionally – then there’s no one to blame.

And if there’s no one to blame, then you’re going to stop fighting the way you feel around him.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes open without your permission. Cyan stares back.

“You think I’m doing this on purpose?” He’s breathless and frustrated, searching your face. “Look at me.” His eyes are filled with emotion – that same caution you feel, not wanting to give into this if you’re not going to give in with him. His grip tightens on your throat, and he pulls you close, whispering into the breath of space between your lips.

“You know me better than that.”

When he falls, he takes you with him. And, as much as you want to fight it – kicking and screaming – you don’t. 

You just wrap yourself around him and fall.

[ghostofhyuck]

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀 ✧₊⁺

Summary: He’s Mark Lee. He’s smart, handsome, a gentleman — everyone’s ideal boyfriend. He’s everything. Oh my god, girls would die to be in your spot. And yet, you felt uneasy as he took you on a date. 

Oh right. You remember. Mark Lee is not him. 

Word count: 2.5k 

Tags: Fluff, angst. Mentions of NCT Dream Members. Mentions of sexual innuendo (just a few!)

Song Inspiration: His Car isn’t Yours by Wendy

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“How about this?” you asked over the video call. It’s almost seven in the evening and you’re still in your bathrobe, raiding your closet while showing it to your best friend. You couldn’t help it. You’re sweating and nervous. 

“Did he mention where he’ll take you?” your best friend Donghyuck said over the phone. 

“It’s a surprise he said, he just said dress pretty — what does he mean by that!?” 

You heard Donghyuck’s hum for a minute. “Okay, ditch the pants and wear a nice dress and sandals.” 

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver Hyuck,” you said to him before proceeding to find the baby blue summer dress that you rarely wear. It was adorned with white flowers, the skirt being just above your knee and hugging your figure perfectly. 

“Well of course! I couldn’t believe it!” Donghyuck squeals, you can see him jumping in his bed excitingly. “You’re going on a date with Mark, everyone wants him, you know that?”

Your smile faded when you heard your best friend’s comment. As the dress fit onto yours, you couldn’t help but to stare at the mirror. Suddenly, this idea was bad. 

“Yn, don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts,” Donghyuck asked. 

“What?” you only laughed, trying to brush off Donghyuck’s words. “No, of course not! You’re crazy.” 

“Great, because this is the perfect opportunity for you to get over that jerk.”

Right. Donghyuck’s right. It’s time for you to get over him. It’s been a few months since you two broke up. It was a disaster and you remember crying in your best friend’s arms for a few hours until you passed out because you were too dehydrated. Donghyuck cursed him and you swore that that night Donghyuck swore all the curses that he could think of because of your ex-boyfriend.

It took you a while to pick up yourselves. Slumping yourself on your academics and studies just to get over him. But no matter how much you tried, there were nights that you cried and wondered, what went wrong with the two of you? You never attempted to move on from him. You’re still holding onto that small hope that maybe. Maybe. He’ll show up in your footsteps and ask for another chance. 

But he didn’t and instead, Mark Lee somehow waited for you outside the hallways of your building, asking you if you two can go out for some coffee. Schemingly, Donghyuck agreed on your behalf, convincing you that you should just try it. 

It was the first time you smiled in months. Mark was nice. He was easy to converse with, and he’s also good-looking to start with. You two enjoyed the cup of coffee, and it ended up with you asking what was his intention. 

“I thought I was being obvious,” he laughs. A shy smile formed on his lips. “I’ve liked you ever since yn.” 

You remember being caught off-guard with his sudden confession, you don’t know why but you feel your cheeks heating up because of it. Maybe, you were flustered by his sudden confession. You watch as Mark shyly looks away, and you don’t know why but a part of you wants to know where this will end. 

That’s where you are right now. Wearing your baby blue dress, doing some finishing touches on your makeup while you’re waiting for Mark to pick you up. You agreed to have a date with him, and for once, you wanted to not mop around because of your ex-boyfriend. 

“Oh wow, you look gorgeous,” Donghyuck compliments. “Hope you get dicked tonight.”

You laughed as you sprayed your perfume on you, “I’m not planning to.”

“That’s sad of you boo,” Donghyuck sticks out his tongue and as you put on your shoes, you hear Mark’s car parking in front of your place. 

“Fuck, okay I got to go,” you said, grabbing your phone to say goodbye to your friend. 

“Goodluck on your date! Tell me the deets tomorrow!” your best friend said one last time before hanging up. You only smile as you grab some few things and place them in your bag. As you went out of your place, you saw Mark leaning against his car, scrolling through his phone. 

You stop midway, remembering that it was Mark who’s picking you up, and not him. It’s Mark, who’s hair is dyed blonde, leaning against his Honda Civic which is a different model that your ex-boyfriend drives. 

You watch as Mark glances at you and does a double take, he puts his phone on his jean’s pocket as he approaches you with a smile. 

“Wow,” he breathes. “You look so beautiful.”

Right. You remembered. That tonight isn’t about him, it’s about you and Mark and the hopes that you may find someone better than your ex.

“Thank you,” you only said. “You look handsome too.” 

Mark lets out a chuckle, “should we get going?”

You only nod as Mark guides you towards his car, opening the car door for you which makes your heart flutter. The seat was comfortable and the interiors of the car looked interesting. Your eyes scanned the inside and noticed how it’s polished clean. Even the smell is nice and not those heavy air purifiers that pierces through your nostrils. 

Mark enters the car, and his hands trail towards the seat belt, placing yours first before his. 

“I’ll just put the music on shuffle, but if you want, you can connect your phone if you want to play any songs that you want,” he said, pressing play on the car’s stereo. 

“I love this song!” you said, humming along the song. 

Mark only smiles as he watches you dance lightly to the song, he revved the engine and started driving. He taps on the steering wheel as you continue to sing. He finds you cute, enticed by the lyrics of the song and even attempting to hit the high note. 

“Oh by the way, where are we going?” you asked.

“It’s a surprise,” he teased. 

“Any hint at least?” 

Mark hums for a moment, “it's outskirts of the town.”

You became quiet, wondering what he means by outskirts. It’s either on the hills where the grassfield is clean and a perfect place for a picnic. Donghyuck gossips to you that it's supposedly a perfect hideaway for hookups and sex. 

You glanced at Mark for a second and your heart started beating. There’s no way he’s going to bring you there. It’s too early! But a part of you thinks that Mark isn’t that type of guy who wants you for sex, so maybe it’ll be a wholesome picnic. 

Hopefully. 

But as your mind starts to panic, he turns left which is the complete opposite towards the side, your eyes widen. You know where this is going. 

“We’re here!” he said, parking his car in front of the restaurant. As you step outside, you can feel the wind gently sweeping your skirt. You glanced at the sign. It was neon green, blinking due to its weariness. It’s been years since you went here and a sense of nostalgia hit on you. 

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” you said with an amused tone. “I loved this place when I was a kid! I hope they still have their karaoke here.”

“I’m sure it’s still here,” Mark said. “Should we get inside?”

The interiors are still the same as when you were kids. The smell and the vibe, it’s all there! You see the karaoke on the diner’s corner and you can see that it’s still working, just waiting for a patron to drop a coin and pick a song number. 

You and Mark chose the seat on the corner of the restaurant. It has a couch instead of the usual chairs, that’s why it’s more comfortable for both of you. The restaurant wasn’t that crowded with people, but it was still bustling with noises. 

After the waitress wrote down your orders, your eyes couldn’t stop scanning the place. It is a memorable place for you. Your parents always bring you there on your birthdays or whenever you get good grades. You weren’t able to return to the restaurant ever since your parents moved to another country for work. You long forgotten about the restaurant too, that’s why it was a surprise that Mark brought you there. 

“How did you know about this place?” you asked. 

“This has been a popular restaurant ever since I was kid,” Mark explained. “I was craving their chicken and fries that’s why I brought you here.”

You laughed at his explanation but you saw his genuine side about it, “thanks. It’s been a long time since I went here.” 

Mark only smiles. “Well, I’m happy that you loved it.”

As your order arrived, you and Mark downed on the food while at the same time continued your conversation. You two recalled the memories you two had when you were kids. Even listing down the songs you used to sing at the karaoke. Mark was convinced that at some point, when you two were kids, you two met at the restaurant. 

Halfway through the slice of strawberry shortcake that you two ordered. You decided to be bold, standing up and approaching the karaoke. 

“Are you going to sing dear? The songbook is on the side,” the waitress said with a bright smile. 

You gave her a smile, “I hope my favourite song is still here.”

As you pressed the number, you were surprised that Madonna’s Crazy for You is still listed. You placed down the coin and the familiar tune began to fill the air. Applause from the customer began as you sang the lyrics.

You swayed along the song. You watch as the customers stood up and danced along with you. You turned around and saw Mark, smiling at you and even mouthing “wow” making you smirk as you winked at him. You continued to sing, feeling the rhythm, and then a bright idea popped into your mind. 

Slowly, you approached Mark, who at first was embarrassed, but after much convincing from the crowd, he stood up and danced along with you, earning cheers from everyone. As the song ends, you let out a small bow and were about to return to your seat when Mark pulled you. 

“Hey, sing with me on this one?” Mark said. You watch as he pressed some number and as soon as he dropped the coin, your heart shrunk.

You know this song. You know damn well this song. Because this is your song with him. The upbeat song of Starship’s Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now filled the room and you watched as Mark sang the first line. Fuck. He used to sing it with you, because he likes the song so much.

It quickly grasped into your mind that it was Mark who’s you’re singing with, you plastered a smile as you sang along the lyrics. In the eyes of the crowd, you two look like a couple. Two teenagers in love and having the best moment of their life, especially when Mark grabs your hand and twirls you before singing the bridge of the song. 

You managed to finish the song, and the crowd cheered, even shouting “Kiss!” from them. Mark tried to brush it off, and you only let out a bitter chuckle because of the awkward situation. 

After that whole singing session, you and Mark have called it a night. You were in a daze as you two exited the restaurant. You only snapped out of it when Mark held your hand and intertwined his fingers around it. 

“Did I startle you? Sorry,” he was about to let go when you squeezed it lightly.

“No, it’s okay, my energy was just low because of the karaoke,” you explained, smiling at him.

“I had fun,” Mark said with a sincere tone. “I’m really glad that we went there.”

“Well, thank your chicken cravings then,” you teased, making him laugh. 

As you two drive to your place. You two fell into a peaceful silence. You only watched as you passed by around the town. You couldn’t help but to lean on to the car window. 

Tonight was fun. Being with Mark was fun. But as you sit there in silence your heart couldn’t help but to yearn for him. It’s hard. You wanted to cry and to let out all of your emotions. You wanted to blame him, because right now, he’s occupying your mind when it should be Mark who’s sitting next to you. 

And as soon as Mark parks his car in front of your place, you couldn’t help but to stare at your apartment. 

“You okay?” Mark asked. 

That made you glance at him, “me? Of course, why?”

“You seem to be in very deep thoughts earlier,” Mark explained. “Wouldn’t mind telling me what it is?”

Mark is sweet. He was a gentleman, not to mention, a really popular guy in your university. Everyone wants him. Girls are lining up for him and would die to be in your place. And yet, you couldn’t find yourself lucky that he likes you. 

Because Mark is not him. No matter how nice, sweet, and good-looking Mark Lee is. He is not the one you love. And you hoped that this night may change it, but no. He’s still occupying your heart. 

“Listen Mark,” you breathe out. “You're sweet and caring, I had fun tonight but…” 

You don’t know what to say. You don’t want to hurt him, you couldn’t bear to hurt Mark after you two just went out. It felt like a jerk move to do so. 

But a part of you wants to be frank with him too. 

“I just, I don’t think I’m not ready to be in a relationship,” you confessed. “If ever we’ll be together, I wanted to make sure that I can give myself to you but right now —”

“You haven’t moved on from Jeno, haven’t you?”

There it is. Mark mentioned his name and you can feel your heart beating nonstop. God, your ex-boyfriend had you wrapped around his fingers

“I’m sorry,” it was the only thing that you could say. 

“No, it’s okay yn,” Mark chuckles. “It’s my fault too, I pursued you too early.” 

“No, oh my god. It’s just —-” 

“It’s fine yn no worries,” Mark gives you a smile, making you feel more guilty. “But that doesn’t stop me from pursuing you, you know that? I’ll be waiting until you’re ready.” 

You could only let out a small smile, but in a split second you leaned onto him to give him a quick kiss on his cheeks. “Thank you Mark, I enjoyed our date tonight.” 

“I’m glad you did.”

You bid goodnight to Mark. you gave him a smile one last time before going inside your apartment, as soon as you close the door, you couldn’t help but to lean against the door as you hear his car’s engine slowly fade into the background. You can still feel the coldness of the ac, and the scent of the lavender purifier of Mark’s car lingered on you. 

But it felt different. Weird. Unfamiliar because you know that Mark’s car isn’t his. 

Pt. 2 Jeno’s POV see here.

[stlllle]

"For Your Eyes Only"

Pairing: Jung Hoseok (J-Hope) x Female!Reader

Genre: Smut, Masturbation (m), Video Fantasy, Long-Distance, Dirty Talk

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: Heavy NSFW content, masturbation (male), dirty talk, praise kink, finger sucking, cum play, pet names, Hoseok missing reader intensely, emotional + physical desperation, soft dom vibes, lots of moaning, edging, mention of past sex.

my main list

Masterlist bts

It started with a missed call.

Then two.

Then a third, followed by a text:

"Baby, I miss you so fucking bad. Call me when you can, please."

You smiled at your screen, heart melting and thighs unconsciously pressing together. Hoseok had only been gone for five days. Five days into a month-long leg of the tour.

You were used to the distance. Sort of.

But he wasn't. Not when it came to you.

You texted him a quick, flirty reply—something like "you miss my kisses or my pussy more?"—and tossed your phone aside, heading to the shower.

You didn’t expect what came next.

Twenty minutes later, your phone buzzed.

1 New Video from Hobi 💛

You opened it casually.

And then nearly dropped your phone.

The screen lit up with Hoseok’s flushed face, lips parted, hair messy and falling into his eyes. He was lying back on crisp hotel sheets, shirtless, his skin glowing with sweat.

"Hey baby," he murmured, breathless already. "This is for you. Only you."

The camera dipped lower. His hand wrapped tightly around his thick, leaking cock, stroking himself with slow, deliberate twists of his wrist. He moaned—a sound so raw and desperate it made your legs clench.

"I couldn’t stop thinking about you," he groaned. "I've been hard all day, fuck. You know what that dance does to me? You in my head, baby, your mouth, your hands... I need you so bad."

He sucked two fingers into his mouth with a wet, filthy pop, coating them in spit before dragging them down to his cock. The sound of his hand working himself filled the quiet room.

"Remember what you did last time? On the couch? When you rode me slow and kept kissing my nose like a tease? Fuck, that was the best shit of my life. I keep playing it in my head."

The camera shook slightly as his hips bucked up. His thighs tensed, muscles flexing, abs contracting.

He whimpered your name, eyes fluttering shut. "God, I miss your voice... your tongue... your pussy."

His hand sped up.

"You wanna hear me beg? Huh? You like that, don’t you? My needy girl. I’d do anything just to taste you right now. I'd drop to my knees and eat you like a starved man."

His voice cracked. "Look at what you do to me. Look how desperate I am."

He slowed down suddenly, panting hard, biting his lip.

"I don’t wanna cum yet... not yet... not until I imagine your voice in my ear telling me to."

He whined, body trembling, leaking all over his fingers.

"Tell me I can cum, baby. Tell me you want it. Please. Please. I’m so close."

He let out a shaky breath. Then moaned—low, deep, broken—as he tipped over the edge, cum spilling across his stomach in thick, pulsing streams.

He was shaking. Moaning your name like it was the only thing grounding him.

The camera stayed on for a while.

You could see his chest rising and falling. His hand lazily rubbing the cum into his skin. His voice soft, dreamy:

"I hope you came too. If not... watch this again. Touch yourself and think of me."

He grinned tiredly, that post-orgasm glow in full effect.

"I love you. So much it fucking hurts."

An hour later, you were still lying in bed, phone pressed to your chest, heart racing. You hadn’t replied yet—how could you? Nothing you could type would match what he sent.

Then, another message arrived.

Hobi 💛: "Couldn't sleep. Got hard again. Gonna film more. You okay with that?"

You barely finished typing "yes. please." before the next video came in.

He was already naked this time.

The camera propped somewhere steady, giving you a perfect full view of his long body stretched on the bed. His cock was red and hard again, resting against his stomach. A trail of his previous orgasm still shimmered faintly on his skin.

"Couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth," he whispered. "I know what you look like when you suck me. I know what those eyes do to me."

His hand slid along his chest slowly, teasing his nipples, then down to grip his cock again. He was slower this time. Torturously slow.

"Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend you're here. Kneeling. Stroking me. Licking the tip like you always do, that little swirl with your tongue—fuck."

He moaned, hips twitching.

"I bet you're watching this with your legs open. I bet you're wet. Are you touching yourself, baby? I hope so. I want you to. I want us to cum together."

He propped the camera higher, angling it for a perfect view of his strokes. Every little detail. His leaking slit, the veins on his shaft, the squeeze of his fingers.

"You're the only one who gets to see me like this," he whispered. "All of this is for you. You own me. My cock, my moans, all of it."

He spit into his palm, loud and wet, and spread it over himself with a filthy sound.

"I want you to ride me slow. I want you to hold my hands while you bounce on me. I wanna hear your little gasps every time you sink down. God, I can feel it."

He whined, speeding up.

"My pretty girl. My perfect, messy baby. You're mine. You hear me? Fucking mine."

His voice got louder, his body tensed.

"I'm gonna cum again. I'm gonna make a mess thinking about you. Your pussy. Your voice. Your scent. Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

With a broken cry, he came again.

His second orgasm was somehow even more desperate. His back arched, thighs trembling, cum splashing across his chest and hand.

He didn’t stop the camera. Didn’t even breathe right for a few seconds.

Finally, he looked into the lens again, hair damp with sweat, lips kiss-bitten and parted.

"Send me a voice message. Tell me what you did while watching this. Please. I wanna hear your voice. I miss it so much."

He kissed the screen.

"I’m gonna fall asleep now. Covered in you. Goodnight, baby."

Fade to black.

End.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

The Labubu Uso - Jhea

People I’d openly fight for a Labubu: @spiicii @acknowledge-reigns @minteagalaxea

Note: Finally Off today so I’m catching up on all my writing and editing! Anyways hope yall enjoy!!! ❤️😩

Jey didn’t mean to read her screen.

Okay. That was a lie. He absolutely meant to. Rhea had been giggling at her phone for like fifteen minutes straight. Giggling. Like a full-body, shoulders-shaking, kicking-her-feet giggle. He had never seen her act like this. Not even after sex.

So naturally, he leaned in.

“Whatchu laughin’ at, baby?”

Rhea instantly pulled her phone to her chest like it was a state secret. “Nothing.”

“Nah, gimme that.”

“No!”

“Is it another thirst trap of Liv’s? Is Dom sending memes again? Wait—it’s not a Miz thirst edit, right?!”

She glared at him. “First of all, I don’t need thirst edits. Second of all… it’s Labubu.”

Jey blinked. “Who’s Labubu? Is he in NXT?”

“No, dumbass,” she said, already showing him the screen. It was a pastel little gremlin thing with a big head and weird eyes. “It’s this. It’s a collectible toy. They’re monsters. I’m obsessed. They’re hard to find in person though, Popmart keeps selling out.”

Jey stared at the creature. “That thing looks like if Gizmo was on drugs.”

“I love him,” Rhea said seriously, eyes full of joy. “He’s so ugly it’s healing.”

Jey nodded slowly. “You want one?”

Rhea shrugged. “I’ve been trying. But they’re mostly in China. Popmart’s dropping some this weekend at the new store opening. Not that I’ll get one—those lines are insane.”

She didn’t mean it as a challenge. But Jey took it like one anyway.

And within five minutes, he was in the Bloodline group chat like it was DEFCON 5.

Jey: emergency

Jey: y’all busy saturday

Jimmy: depends

Solo: do i need to bring gloves

Roman: who we beating

Sami: is this about love again

Jey: yes

Jey: she likes this little gremlin toy called Labubu

Jey: it’s limited drop

Jey: i need y’all to cause a distraction at the new popmart so i can sneak in and grab one

There was a pause. A long one.

Roman: bet

—

The SUV doors swung open like a heist movie.

Roman stepped out first, sunglasses on, black hoodie pulled over his head like he was hiding from TMZ. Jimmy followed, adjusting his chains like he was about to film a rap video. Solo dragged behind them, already looking like he regretted this.

Sami jogged up from the corner with a Starbucks in his hand and a sign that read: “Labubu Exploits Capitalism—Say No to Greed”

Jey hopped out of the backseat, anxiety through the roof because he was almost certain he was about to commit a felony over a children’s toy.

“Alright,” Roman said, scanning the parking lot like a general. “Operation Little Ugly Dude is a go. Stick to the plan. Distract the freaks. Jey, you get the gremlin.”

“I got it, Uce.”

“Bring it home.”

They stepped into the store like royalty.

Immediately, all hell broke loose.

A pack of teenage girls sprinted toward Roman screaming “IT’S HIMMM!”

Roman didn’t even flinch. He just said “Acknowledge me” and started signing someone’s anime backpack.

Sami posted up by the collectible shelves, yelling into a fake megaphone:

“LABUBU IS A METAPHOR FOR CONSUMERISM! CAPITALISM KILLS JOY! THINK ABOUT YOUR CHOICES—think about your souls!!”

The manager was too busy filming for TikTok to intervene.

Jimmy stood near the entrance doing push-ups in the middle of the floor while yelling “NO YEET!” to distract the Popmart shoppers.

Solo walked over to the Funko POP display and casually shoulder-checked the whole thing to the ground like it owed him money.

Meanwhile…

Jey crept through the aisles.

Sweating. Focused. Stealthy.

He saw it.

There, in the back corner of the shelf—under a “LIMIT 1 PER CUSTOMER” sign—

“THE MONSTERS: Big Into Energy Series”

Labubu.

There was only one left.

He didn’t walk.

He ran.

Arms out. Elbows flying.

Like it was the last parachute on a crashing plane.

His hand gripped the box just as someone else reached for it.

“Back up,” Jey said, not even looking.

“You back up,” a voice growled. “Evolution is better than the Bloodline anyway.”

Jey froze.

Turned slowly.

And saw a grown man in a 2009 Randy Orton “Legend Killer” tee glaring at him with foam venom fangs around his neck.

“Don’t ever disrespect the Bloodline like that,” Jey growled.

The guy lunged.

And the fight was ON.

They knocked over a Pez display. A kid screamed.

Then—BAM!

A cane struck Jey in the back.

“DX FOR LIFE, BITCH!” one grandma shouted, dressed head to toe in neon green and zebra print.

Her friend yanked out a glowstick and snapped it threateningly. “You think y’all run the industry? Suck it!”

Now it was a full-on wrestling royal rumble in aisle 5.

Jey fought bravely, but Grandma #2 knew Krav Maga and the Randy fan kept shouting “ORTON!” while trying to RKO him.

Just when Jey thought he might lose his fingers for a stupid lil monster—

“Excuse me!”

Everyone paused.

A teenage cashier in a Popmart polo stepped into the chaos, holding her iPad like a Bible.

“Mr. Uso was here first. He had the box in his hand before y’all even got here. Back up or I call mall security.”

The Randy fan gasped. “You’d protect him?!”

“Yeah,” she said, deadpan. “He’s hot.”

Jey blinked. “Thank you?”

The grandmas grumbled and shuffled off. One of them yelled, “This ain’t over, Mullet Boy!”

Randy fan flipped him off but retreated, muttering something about 14 world titles.

Jey stumbled to the counter, dropped the Labubu box like it was a newborn, and slapped his card down.

“Swipe it. Fast.”

The cashier nodded. “Good luck, king.”

—

Jey kicked open the door like he just survived The Hunger Games. One shoe missing, hoodie ripped at the collar, glitter from one of the grandmas lip gloss still stuck to his eyebrow.

Rhea looked up from the couch, chewing Twizzlers and watching 90 Day Fiancé.

“You good?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

Jey didn’t say a word.

He just walked—limped—over to her.

Pulled a Popmart bag from behind his back like it was laced in gold.

And with the seriousness of a man proposing marriage, he held it out.

“Don’t say I don’t love you.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow, pulled out the box, and gasped.

“Labubu?” she whispered, eyes wide. “The Big Into Energy one??”

“Yeah.”

“LIMITED EDITION??”

“Yup.”

“THE LAST ONE???”

“Snatched it from the jaws of death.”

She stood, holding it like a newborn, cradling it to her chest like her heart was finally full.

Jey collapsed onto the couch dramatically.

“You don’t even know what I had to go through,” he groaned.

“Oh, please,” Rhea said, examining Labubu’s deranged little face.

“Nah, listen,” he sat up, rubbing his shoulder. “Roman caused a riot. Sami started a fake protest about capitalism. Solo destroyed a Funko POP display. Jimmy didn’t do nothing, he just flexed. I got jumped by TWO grandmas in DX shirts and a Randy Orton fan tried to RKO me over that thing.”

Rhea turned slowly. “Wait. You fought Randy fans… for me?”

He pointed at his chest. “FOR LOVE.”

She stared at him for a beat.

Then tackled him onto the couch.

Hard.

Jey yelped, legs flying in the air as Rhea straddled him with Labubu still clutched in one hand.

“You wanna know what this is?” she growled, waving the box in his face.

“What?”

“FOREPLAY.”

Jey’s eyes widened. “Say less.”

She kissed him like she was trying to win a competition. He moaned against her mouth, then yelped again.

“OW—ow—grandma bruised my ribs, babe!”

“I’ll kiss ‘em better,” she murmured, dragging her lips down his neck. “You really got me Labubu…”

“I love you and I hate myself,” he groaned as she threw the toy on the coffee table and started unzipping his hoodie. “This was twenty-one dollars and ninety-nine cents worth of trauma—”

“You’ll live.”

Labubu watched from the table.

Smiling.

Judging.

Feeding off the horny.

—

48 Minutes Later

Jey barely had time to catch his breath.

Rhea was half-asleep against his chest, one leg thrown over his, her fingers idly tracing his tattoo. On the coffee table, Labubu sat upright next to an empty box of condoms and a crushed Popmart bag like he had seen things.

Jey’s phone buzzed beside him.

He ignored it.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“Babe,” he groaned. “My phone.”

Rhea didn’t open her eyes. “Check it. Could be another drop.”

With a grunt, Jey reached and grabbed his phone, and blinked at the screen.

BLOODLINE ☝🏼🩸1️⃣ – 87 Unread Messages

Jimmy: bro i think that grandma wanted a piece of the Uso..

Solo: i may have concussed a child

Sami: just want it on record that i opposed violence and only emotionally destabilized capitalism

Roman: where’s my cut

Jimmy: FOR REAL

Roman: that gremlin was for all of us

Sami: i didn’t even get a sticker

Solo: i saw jey run like his life depended on it

Roman: don’t ever say we never did shit for you

Jimmy: was it worth it

Sami: yeah jey

Sami: was it worth traumatizing a child, humiliating Orton Nation, and initiating blood feud with two elderly DX fans for a 3-inch goblin

Jey took a photo.

Rhea asleep beside him.

Labubu staring into the void.

His bare chest covered in black lipstick smudges.

Popmart bag crumpled like a war flag.

Jey: yes.

Jey: i’d do it again.

Then he locked the phone, placed it face down, kissed Rhea’s head, and whispered to Labubu: “You better be worth it, you little freak.”

Labubu said nothing.

But if he could speak?

He would’ve said:

“Suck it.”

[whiskeymeaway92]

Every Day Dangers

Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason prepares for a lot of uncommon dangers but what about a regular everyday building fire.

:Readmore:

Jason spent a lot of time making sure your shared apartment was safe for you while he was away on patrol, and he triple checked it all before he left for a mission. He had security cameras at all the entry points, he had an alarm system that would alert him and stream that video footage right to his helmet if anyone dared break in. He had a gun stashed in the apartment for you and he made sure you know how to use it properly. He had knives taped in inconspicuous places all over the apartment. There was no place in that apartment that you wouldn’t have something to defend yourself with until he could get to you. What Jason had not considered was you needing to fight to escape the building itself.

You had gone to bed early that night without anything to do and with Jason being away on a mission this week. Your Friday night was spent curled up with a book in bed, cocooned in blankets and pillows and reading until you passed out with the book still open. You were sleeping hard, completely oblivious to the smoke filling your apartment and the temperature rising. The smoke detector began to go off in the kitchen and you stirred but you didn’t think it was anything more than your alarm clock and you were not coherent enough to realize it was actually a warning. You kicked the covers off you as you got overheated and rolled over still mostly asleep. Eventually you started coughing and that finally woke you up fully. The air was thick and smoky and you couldn’t catch your breath. You reached for your bedside lamp and found it wasn’t very useful in providing visibility through the thick smoke. You were coughing and gasping for air, fire, the apartment is on fire you realized through the disorientation of just waking up and not being able to breath or see clearly. You needed to move, you needed to get out, you stayed low and used the wall to guide you toward the living room. You hurried to the front door of your apartment but jumped back with a hiss as you grabbed the doorknob, it was so hot it burned the palm of your hand. Your adrenaline was keeping the pain bearable as you began to feel frantic, trapped. The fire was in the hallway, you bumped into a piece of furniture and you began to hyperventilate, you were panicking. Smoke stung your eyes making it more difficult to see as they teared up. You wanted Jason, you needed to hear his voice…your phone. He would lose his mind if he knew you went back into your bedroom to look for a phone while the building was burning. Problem was you weren’t thinking logically right now, you were freaking the fuck out. You got on the floor and crawled back to your room and quickly shook the blankets nearly crying out with joy when your phone quickly tumbled to the floor. You grabbed it and hit his contact putting it on speaker as you crawled back towards the living room noticing the bottom of your front door now had flames licking at it. Sweat beaded your brow as the temperature went up a notch further.

“Hey baby I was just about to call you”

“Jason!!!” You gasp out “The buildings on fire, I can’t go out the front door, I’m scared” you frantically told him coughing between every few words.

“Fuck! Baby you gotta use the fire escape, I know it’s scary but just don’t look down okay, you gotta get out of there NOW!” Jason didn’t hesitate, he knew exactly what you needed to do and this is why you had to get your phone, you needed him, he is great in a crisis and you are learning first hand right now that you, are not.

“Jay” you whimpered

“Now, y/n!”

“Okay, okay I’m going, I’m putting you in my pocket please don’t hang up”

“Never baby I’m right here, you gotta do this but I’m right here with you you’re going to be okay, open the window and tell me when you’re outside”.

You slid your phone into your pocket of your shorts and hoped it wouldn’t fall, hoped you wouldn’t fall too. You were terrified of heights, you never understood how Jason did it every night leaping from rooftops and grappling across buildings, and that was the easy part of his job. You pushed the window with your good hand, cradling your burned one close to your chest. You crawled out of the window onto the fire escape feeling a wave of nausea hit you. You began to mentally chant to yourself “you have to do this, you have no choice, suck it up y/n”

“O-okay Jay, I’m on the fire escape” your voice wobbled and you knew Jason could tell how terrified you were.

“Good, take a deep breath for me sweets, I’m out there every night I’m going to tell you exactly what to do to get down safe, trust me”.

“I trust you, I just hate this so much”.

“I know baby, I’m sorry Im not there with you. Listen okay, the first bit is easy just hold onto the railing and walk down the metal stairs, don’t rush but I’d like you on the ground as quick as you can be.”

“Okay, can you just…can you keep talking to me? About anything, how are you? Do you know when you’ll be home?”

“Yeah baby I can keep talking to you, if you think I’m not already working on getting back to you after this you have lost your mind. Fuck the job, you’re more important. I hope you know that.”

“I do Jay, I love you and I just really want to see you. I needed to hear your voice, it’s why…why I went back for my phone”. There was a heavy silence and you rushed to fill it. “I know I shouldn’t have but I was panicking and I couldn’t think, I needed to call you.”

“You can bet your sweet ass we will be doing evacuation drills from now on baby. I get it but yeah I don’t love hearing you went back into danger for a phone. We can talk about it later though. Are you hurt at all?”

“I burned my hand, I ran for the front door first and the doorknob was scalding hot, otherwise I’m fine. I was asleep, I didn’t wake up until I was choking on smoke”.

“The alarm didn’t go off?!”

“The smoke detector did, yeah but I must have slept through it, I didn’t notice it until I was already awake”.

“Shit, okay. I’m sending Alfred to come and get you, he will patch up that hand and check your lungs. Where are you now?”

“Going down the last flight of stairs, Jay idk if I can jump the last bit, it’s too high.”

“You don’t have to baby there is a ladder that you should be able to push down, be careful with your hand, can you rip some of your shirt to wrap it?”

“Um, I think so, this is your shirt though Jay..”

“I don’t give a fuck about the shirt, rip it and wrap your hand”

“Right, okay I’m pausing to do that, I’m at the ladder thing now”

You found a weak spot in the seam of the sleeve and ripped it off wrapping the fabric around your palm wincing at the feeling. You used your teeth to help you hold the fabric and managed to tie it off with one hand. Then you began working on shoving the ladder down and with a few solid pushes it dropped with a clang into place.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, that was just the ladder falling into place.”

“Okay, good, your almost done baby, next step is the ground and Alfred is already on his way. Just climb down this last little bit, easy work, you got this”.

His reassurance was exactly what you needed to hear, you took a second to steady your nerves and then worked your way down the ladder. “Jason, it doesn’t reach all the way”

“I know, you’re going to climb it all the way down, let yourself dangle off the end of it and your feet will only be a few feet above the ground. You can do this”

“I hate this so much”. You muttered as you did what he said climbing down until your feet were on the last rung, you used all your upper body strength to work your way down the last few rungs with your hands, made increasingly difficult by your burned palm but you were happy for the fabric barrier that was there. You looked down and could see you weren’t far off the ground but you still didn’t like the idea of dropping to the ground below. You closed your eyes braced your self and let go. Letting out a shriek of fear as you did.”

“Y/n?!, what happened? Answer me”.

“I’m okay, just got scared when I let myself drop. I’m on the ground now. Where do I go?”

“Cross the street love, get away from the burning building please, Alfred should be there any minute.”

You took your phone off speaker now that you were safely on the ground and brought it back up to your ear. You made your way across the street as fire trucks started to arrive and you saw many of your neighbors, most of whom you had never met, also lining the sidewalk staring up at their homes burning.

“Oh god Jay, this is bad, the whole building….all our stuff”

“It’s just stuff, the only thing in that apartment I can’t replace is you, fuck I’m so glad you’re okay. This isn’t the kind of emergency I expected, break ins, enemy attacks, that’s the shit I planned for. I’m so sorry baby, I should have had a plan for the basic emergencies, should have gotten you more comfortable using the fire escape, fuck”.

You could hear him spiraling now that he knew you were out of harms way. His voice now shook as he likely was thinking worst case scenario and of coarse he found a way to blame himself. Jason is a protective man, he takes responsibility for the safety of others.

“Jason this is not your fault, stop that train of thought right now. You can’t see the future, you can’t stop everything from happening. I know you want to, but it’s not possible. What you did just do was help me. You talked me through a terrifying moment, you kept me calm and you kept me safe. I was panicking before I called you, I think I would have froze up if it weren’t for you Jay. This isn’t something to blame yourself for so please, please don’t”.

Jason let out a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, there was a pause and then he said “yeah, okay I’ll try. I love you y/n I’m so relieved you’re okay. I’m on my way I’ll be back at the manor in a few hours. Alfred should be pulling up now do you see him?”

You saw the familiar looking car pulling up right in front of you and watched Alfred climb out. He put a reassuring hand on your shoulder and guided you to the car where he held the door open for you as you climbed in.

“Yeah, just got in the car. I love you too Jay, drive safe okay no speeding”.

“No promises sweets, I’ll see you soon. Let Alfred patch you up, no complaining, I need to know you’re ok”.

“No promises”. You quipped back with a smile on your face even though you knew you would do as he asked.

“See you in a bit baby, be good, I love you”

“I love you too Jay, see you when you get here”. You hung up the phone and say hi to Alfred as you settle in for the drive to the manor.

[daengtokki]

Seungmin being far away and horny and alone in his hotel room while he talks to you and starts getting hard and touching himself and she slowly figures it out??

can’t be blind date au or anything else!

Kim Seungmin/female reader

wc: ~1.4k

rating: fluff(little bit of smut)fluff ಇ

thank you anon! Hope you enjoy~ (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡

⋆⁺ ☾ ⋆⁺

It’s so late.

Seungmin is tired, but he can’t sleep no matter what he does, and no matter how much he tries to relax. He’s still hyped up from the previous day, and that’s understandable. A lot has been happening lately, and he’s been traveling almost nonstop.

But he misses his bed and he misses sleeping next to you in the silk sheets he loves so much—he really misses getting comfortable in your arms, and dozing off as you rub all of his tense spots.

He breaks his attempt at relaxation and looks at his phone, checks the time (3:30am), turns off sleep mode. It’s likely you’re asleep, but whether or not you have to get up early for work…he’s not sure. You’ve been working far less lately because you don’t need to work so much anymore. But he knows you get bored, and you’re always doing something.

Seungmin decides to take a chance, and he sends you a text…

“hi hi my love, are you up? Sorry if I wake you 🐶♥️”

…then opens YouTube to help pass the time, and hopefully help make him sleepy.

But you are up.

“hi pup, why are you still awake? It’s so late”

“can’t sleep, why are you up?”

A video call comes through. He clicks on the lamp as he answers and waves to you.

“You all alone baby?”

“Yeah, I’m all alooone,” he sings, and rolls onto his stomach, “are you alone?” He laughs when he sees the shadow of a smile on your lips.

“unfortunately…how was your day, Min?”

“It was long and it was so warm today. And my room is warm even with the air conditioner on”

“Do you have a fan?”

“No…turn your little lamp on, I can’t see you very well”

Seungmin hears the soft ruffle of blankets, and then a slap on the bedside table. The little puppy shaped nightlight he gave you casts a warm glow on your face.

“Much better…I don’t have a fan, no”

“It’s hard to fall asleep when it’s so warm”

“How was your day? Did you work?”

“Not today, no. I cleaned and rearranged the kitchen and made room for your new coffee maker”

“Oh it came! Thank you for setting it up”

He watches as your phone drops, everything goes dark, and the sound of blankets or pillows or both being moved around muffles everything. And then it’s quiet.

“Where did you go?”

No answer. Seungmin waits a few more seconds, then puts his mouth right up to his phone…

“Are you there, love?”

The screen lights up again as you lift it. He catches more of you now, because you turned on another lamp, and he sees where you went—there’s a phone charger in your hand.

“Sorry, my phone is almost dead…I’m good now”

“What are you wearing?”

“Hm? What am I…what am I wearing? That’s cute, pup. The same thing I always wear to bed, I think.”

“Yes but I haven’t seen you iiiiinn…” he cocks his head to the side and pokes his tongue out as he thinks, “nine days.”

“That is a very long time to be away from you”

He holds the phone carefully as he fluffs up his pillow and turns onto his back again, “let me see you…hold the phone over your shoulder so…yes like that,” he smiles.

“Satisfied?”

“Mhm, much more than I was five minutes ago”

You watch as he relaxes into his pillows, and now the way the light hits him bounces off the sweat on his forehead. His hand appears, and he rakes his hair up and away from it, and some of it stays neatly pushed back.

“Am I keeping you up?”

Now it’s just a perfectly framed image of his shoulders and tired face.

“No…I’ll fall asleep if I want to. You should try to relax, though”

“I am trying, I promise,” he bites down on his bottom lip and closes his eyes for a moment. And then he sighs so deeply, “hey, look at me”

You focus on him. A smirk tugs at his lips, and he sighs again.

“Where else would I wanna look?”

His laugh is lazy and sweet—the phone shakes a little, but it stays firmly in his hand, pointed at his face. And then a soft moan floats out of him, and you can’t believe you even catch it.

“Seungmin?” You turn and lay on your side, face half hidden in the pillow. It’s easier to keep the camera on you like this. “What are you doin, pup?”

“Hmm?” His eyes are heavy, and his lips part just a bit.

“What are you doin?”

“Relaxing”

“Good”

“Yeah, I’m glad you called”

“Let me see”

“Hm, what you want to see?”

“Let me see you relaxing”

A blush spreads across his face, because this is a first for both of you. You’ve thought about it before, and he’s thought about it, too, but you’ve never gone as far as doing it.

The phone moves slowly down his body. Now you can see his t-shirt is pulled up and his stomach is out, shorts are pulled down just enough for you to see his cock, already so hard in his hand. His fingers are curled below his head, and he moves his hand down. Then up.

You can hear him moaning with every slow, hard stroke.

“Maybe we should both be relaxing,” he points the camera at himself and smiles innocently. And he keeps it there so he can watch you.

“I’ve needed to all day”

“Have you been thinking about me all day?”

“All day…every day”

“What are we doing in all your thoughts?”

Now you notice the slow, subtle movements of his shoulder as his hand moves up and down. His moans become a little more audible.

“You finally get home, and you come in with your hands full, like always, and I start undressing you before you can put anything down….”

He mhmmm’s and sinks even further into the pillows.

“And you drop everything and stand there while I get you…almost naked, and you grab me and kiss me and…”

“Start undressing you, I hope”

“Mhm, and we make it to the couch and I get between your legs and take out your dick. Get you even harder. Choke on you…”

The movement of his shoulder is much more obvious now. He licks his lips.

“Suck you and lick you…that spot you like so much”

“Yeah, yeah…you know what I like.”

“I do know what you like…I know exactly what you like. Then I crawl on top of you and fuck you…”

Seungmin smiles and moans as his strokes speed up even more.

“…take my time on your cock, so I can enjoy every second of you stretching me open”

His mouth hangs open and his eyes close slowly. You can feel how close he’s getting—you know that look on his face.

“grind into you…” you whimper as you talk—the thought alone is making you wet, “bounce on you, touch you so softly, just how you like it…make you feel good, pup”

“You feel so good,” he whines, and the phone shakes as he tries to keep it on him. His hips buck up against his touch—you can hear his desperate strokes as he gets closer.

“You gonna come for me? I want you to come, pup”

He cries out a little when he does, whines your name quietly.

“Good boy, you’re so pretty when you come”

The phone drops, and now all you can see is the ceiling of the hotel room, and the phone shakes a little with his movements. You can hear his heavy breaths for a few moments until, finally, he grabs the phone again and looks at you.

Face pink and sweaty—his hair is down against his forehead again, and sticking together at the ends. He shakes it out of his eyes.

“Hey”

It takes a few more seconds until he composes himself again.

“Mm, that was…I feel much better”

“good, you look a little sleepier”

He pulls the phone even closer, and now all you see is the corner of his face—his eye, the top of his ear, “thank you for staying up with me.”

“Any time”

The phone drops again, and when Seungmin returns, his shirt is off. “Sorry, cleaning up my mess.”

“Do you want to talk until you fall asleep?”

“Yes please”

He turns on his side and fluffs his pillow until he’s comfortable. Now you can only see half of his face, but you do see his mouth turn up in a smile.

[delfiore]

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (4/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: your start at barcelona is rockier than expected. luckily, you have ona there to support you through it.

word count: 4.3k

a/n: we're almost at the end guys final stretch!! this series is ending at part 5

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART V

“I forgot how fucking dreadful press days are.”

You had just returned home from an entire day of cameras shoved in your face and smiling until your cheeks hurt. It didn’t help that you were nervous as hell at a new club and country. To say your battery was spent was an understatement.

“Well then don’t get used to it, 'cause I’d be happy not to do any of the work that got you here,” Toni answered on the video call.

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “I wanna stay here for a while. So, no need to worry.”

“Good. You deserve it, Y/N. You’ll do great.”

“Thank you for all that you do, Tones. I don’t thank you enough for putting up with me and my bullshit.”

“You can thank me by becoming top scorer this season?”

You grinned, “We’ll see.”

There was a different expectation of being a Barcelona player. You were presumed to integrate yourself into a team of champions and help prolong the club’s success.

These were high expectations, and with them came intensive physical and technical training. You had to adapt to a new style of play, new players with different sets of skills, not to mention having to settle into a whole new footballing culture. But you were where you are because you never backed down from a challenge, and this one was no exception.

It certainly helped that there were people you have played with at the club—Lucy, Keira, and, of course, Ona.

You felt her eyes on you as you finished a sprint on the training ground, slightly self-conscious as you were already sloppy and perspiring just from the warmup.

“Need some water, Y/L/N? You’re not already sweating, are you?” Lucy teased as she jogged past with a ball at her feet.

You pointed at the glaring sun. “Just gotta get used to the weather.”

“Well, ya better get used to it fast ‘cause I’m not gonna wait for you to catch up,” the English defender said before nutmegging you with a cackle.

“Oh, you’re fucking on!”

The laughter caught Ona’s attention. She looked over and saw you and Lucy fighting the ball off each other, your giggles rolling like a child’s yet your movements were fluid and expertly as if you were on the pitch. She couldn’t help but smile as her eyes followed your form, energized and youthful, your skin glistening under the sun.

The ball rolled to her, and she stopped it when the sole of her feet, before passing it back to you. Your giggles died down as you took the ball in your hands and tossed it over to Lucy.

“Hey,” you said with a lingering beam.

“Hi,” she returned your smile.

She lingered, watching the smile never leave your face as you jogged—practically bounced—over to Coach. You were much happier here, it was apparent. How could you not, when there is sunshine all year round in Barcelona? She could only hope she wasn’t the one to rain on your parade.

During a physical training drill involving two people, you were paired with her. Something about similar height and body weight, but she could only think about the way you were panting from the heat, and how you chugged your water like a parched man in the middle of the desert.

“Ready?” She smirked, handing the elastic band to you.

You huffed with a grin and put the band around your waist. “Don’t hold back.”

“Not planning on it.”

Somewhere along the session, Ona had forgotten all about her worries. Something had changed in you, or maybe she had never known the real you at all; the playful and charismatic part of you that you weren’t using to charm her, but it was just the way you were with people. It made her rue not cherishing you as you were before, and letting you slip through her fingers.

You were sprawled out on the grass like a starfish, heaving from the strenuous session. Several of your teammates were also on the ground, some sitting, some lying down as you were, so you didn’t feel too bad about being absolutely destroyed.

“You getting up anytime soon, partner?” A figure blocked the beaming rays of the sun, a short relief from the heat.

“Keep gloating,” you groaned and stood up, pulling your shirt up to wipe the sweat from your face. You knew your plan was working when you spotted her looking at your abdomen, your skin glowing and contoured in the light.

Hardly hiding your smirk, you grabbed a bottle of water, feeling a strange tightness in your thigh just as the session was brought to an end.

“Everyone, gather around,” Mapi waved her hands. “We’re hosting a little party to celebrate a new season at ours. Saturday night, 7 o’clock, BYOB, and a potluck vibe. Whatever you can bring, okay?”

“As long as there won’t be another fire like last time, we’re all good,” said Rolfö with a smirk.

“That was one time, okay? And it wasn’t even that bad,” Mapi protested.

“It almost burned your pretty little face off,” Pina teased.

“Hey, you alright?” You heard Ona whisper next to you. She must have noticed the way you were grimacing and grabbing at the back of your leg.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just feeling a little tight right here.” It was the spot in which your hamstring was injured a couple of years ago.

“Okay, let’s go to the physio,” Ona offered you her arm.

“Oh, it’s okay. I can find my way there.”

Ona hesitated. She suddenly realized how this must have looked for her; either an overly concerned and attentive teammate or an appropriately concerned and attentive lover.

“Do you . . . not want me to come with you?” She asked, her voice quiet and almost inaudible over Mapi frantically defending herself.

“Well, I . . . I don’t want to bother you.”

“It won’t be a bother,” she was astonished to know you thought you could ever bother her. “Promise.”

You nodded and walked with her to the physio quarters. All the while, Ona was walking a step behind you just in case you needed her assistance. When you arrived, a couple of the physios greeted you heartily in Catalan, and Ona was quick to jump in and translate when you looked at her for help.

“We’ve got a feeling this might happen, given her history with that hamstring injury. Tell her to lie down, I’ll have a look.”

You grimaced as the physio felt your thigh, digging his fingers into your flesh, your soft groans stirring a hidden part in Ona. There was a time when she was the one to dig her digits into your thighs. She knew you liked it when did because you would always make your pleasure known.

“He said you’ll be okay, Y/N. Just have to remember to stretch thoroughly before and after physical exercise.”

You sighed and pouted, as you rested your chin on your folded arms.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just came to a new club, I don’t want this to slow me down,” you blew air out of your mouth. “I just don’t wanna let anyone down.”

“You won’t, Y/N,” Ona took a stool and sat in front of you. “I know any club would be happy to have you at 70%, much less at your full capacity.”

You smiled and shook your head. “Is this your attempt at making me feel better after everything?”

Ona stuttered, gawking at your comment. Your grin never faltered, and you tilted your head, taunting her.

“I guess I deserved that,” she chuckled quietly, feeling warmth creep up her cheeks.

“I’m just kidding, Ona. I wanna get past it, really,” your eyes softened. “It was causing unnecessary stress and . . . I don’t wanna feel like that anymore.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry—”

“No, please. Don’t apologize anymore. I know you’re sorry.”

“Okay, sorry,” she cringed as soon as it came out. “Okay.”

“I want us to start over. As friends.” You said, extending a hand towards her, dangling it in front of her face. “After all, I feel like we should at least be friendly if we’re playing on the same team now, right?”

She wanted nothing more than to scream in your face and tell her how much she wanted you, how much she wanted to wake up in the morning and find you in the bed next to her, to make you coffee and hold you and kiss you and tell everyone on the team about it because she would be so proud to be yours, to tell you that there hasn’t been a day since she left Manchester that she didn’t wish she could go back and tell you how she really felt.

Instead, she nodded and took your hand. “Yeah, okay.”

It wasn’t just her decision anymore, it never was. And yet, she decided anyway and had to live with it.

As the season rolled on, you found yourself slipping sometimes. You would think about Ona and the time you spent together, but you also cherished what you had now. You were teammates, but you were also friends. You supported and helped each other during training and matches, just as good teammates should. Maybe it was easier that way, but you yearned to be close to her again.

Keira insisted that the best thing you could do was to go on dates and go on dates you did. You went on so many dates in the span of a month that all the faces seemed to have blurred together. A couple of them became one-night stands, but none turned out to be anything meaningful, not when you only had one person in the back of your mind, hard as you tried not to act on them.

They reminded you of Leena, how shitty you handled the situation by basically fleeing the country. You had called her a few times, and left a few messages, wanting to talk and apologize, but none of them were answered. You tried her Instagram, but she had blocked you on there too. You didn’t blame her, and maybe reaching out now was only giving you the closure you needed to move on, but you wanted to do it because you believed Leena deserved an apology for everything she’s done for you.

So you texted Gio, letting him know what happened. He wasn’t pleased when you told him, not exactly liking that you had disrespected his friend, but agreed to pass a message along.

“Hello, Coach. Tough loss today. What do you think was the main factor in Barça’s defeat today?” “Well, it’s never fun to go through a loss, and we all have a lot of work to do. I can’t comment as to why we’ve lost—I’d have to watch it back—but we simply were not the better team today.” “What do you think of Y/N Y/L/N’s performance? There were several chances that she’s missed today, and she hasn’t made an impression at the club quite yet. Have you had any reassessments about this signing at all?” “To evaluate a player’s performance this early is simply unfair. Some players hit the ground running right away, but some don’t. It doesn’t mean they are doomed. Y/N has shown time and time again that she is a world-class player, and I have full faith that she will become an integral part of our squad.”

Barcelona hadn’t won in five games. It was starting to worry the board. You knew it was a team sport, and that if you lost, it meant multiple people were doing something wrong. But you started all five of those games, and you missed a lot of chances and passes. It made you think it was your fault somehow.

You turned off the press conference you were watching of Jonatan’s. Even though he didn’t show it, you knew he was stressed, trying to find a fault in the system. You wished you knew the answer, but you didn’t, because you were trying your best and it still didn’t seem to be good enough.

“Alright, girls.” Alexia clapped her hands together as she stood in the middle of the dressing room. “We lost. Big deal. Feel the sting, and let it pass over you. If you don’t, we might as well just give up on the title now. We can’t do that. We’re champions. The reason why we are is that we are strong enough to get back up, time and time again. That’s what makes us champions.”

Your eyes darted toward Ona sitting across the dressing room with her head in her hands. There were two goals out of the four the team conceded that came from the right flank, where Ona was covering. The moment those goals hit the net, you had the urge to yell, but seeing the way her shoulders sagged as she dejectedly looked away absolved you of any anger you felt.

You remembered the nights you spent consoling her over losses that could have gone either way. She blamed herself for every defeat she had suffered, finding every fault that she had contributed to, and today was no different.

“Hey,” you knelt in front of her.

She looked up at you, and you knew she had been crying from how red her face was.

You offered her a sad smile. “Look around you. There’s something worse than being sad, and that’s being alone and sad. You’re not alone.”

Placing a firm hand on her knee, you rubbed her skin softly. She laughed quietly, and you remembered how it was to kiss her. It was so long ago, but the traces of it still haunted you before you closed your eyes at night. It wouldn’t be good for either of you now. Plus, everyone was here.

“Did you just quote Ted Lasso at me?”

“Yeah, but he ain’t wrong.”

Looking around the room at the sullen faces of your teammates, you couldn’t help but feel grateful that they were all here, united by the same emotions. But you still couldn’t shake that gnawing feeling in your stomach that you might have been the problem. The moment you came to the club, Barcelona went on its worst streak in years? Was it the inevitability of a club’s success running its course, or that you had come in and fucked it all up? You knew the answer, of course, and you hated the anxiety that followed.

But you were Y/N Y/L/N, and you never backed down from a challenge, and it wouldn’t be fun if there were none.

It felt like everything you were doing, it was all wrong. Jonatan had sent you in to utilize your dribbling, but you felt like every time you tried, the opposition would mercilessly cut you off. You felt helpless, seeing the way your teammates attempted to hide how annoyed they were you had lost possession again, this time from a quick pass to the flank from Aitana. You were subbed off halfway through the second half to make way for Salma, who managed to salvage a point with an equalizer later in the game.

You sat on the bench, watching your teammates fight on, feeling dejected and trying not to cry before you could get to the dressing room. Patri, who had also been subbed off, put her arm on your shoulder and rubbed it soothingly.

Whilst you were coming off, you heard boos coming from the stands, from Barça fans, calling you names, telling you to go back where you came from. You bit your lip, and kept your head down, so people wouldn’t see your tears and make fun of them too.

You excused yourself at the final whistle to find a bathroom you could hide in. Why was it so hard for you to receive those passes? You had never had trouble with passing before.

Looking in the mirror, you saw a face looking back with pity. But it wasn’t you, not really. It was the insecure child you were years ago, the one whose ambitions were driven by fear of abandonment. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her bottom lip jutting out and quivering, her chest rose and fell like she awaited the world to close in on her and swallow her whole.

Your breathing picked up, and you started pacing back and forth, breathing heavily out of your mouth. Your hands shook as you mumbled to yourself to get your shit together. The breaths you drew grew faster and shallower until you sunk to your knees on the cold tiles and wept. You didn’t know how long you were there. It could have been minutes, or hours until two arms wrapped around you tightly.

You looked up, panicked, but it was just Ona. Still, you stood up and walked away from her attempting to hide your tear-stained face, but she insisted, pulling you into her.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” She said, over and over. “Look at me.”

So you looked. You were so tired of fighting, you just wanted to go home. Her eyes darted back and forth between yours, hard at first trying to get you to stop being stubborn, but then they softened, seeing you fall apart like this.

“This feels oddly familiar, doesn’t it?” She said.

You sniffled, and let out a tearful laugh before launching yourself into her arms. She stood there holding you while you cried until you were too tired to continue.

Winter could have come and gone in Barcelona and you would have never noticed. Still, the Catalans were big on Christmas, at least the ones you knew were. Everyone had been talking about their holiday plans, much of it involved big dinners surrounded by family and/or drinking until you passed out, but you thought about the vacation you would be taking somewhere warm. Mexico perhaps, the Maldives, or back to good ol’ Ibiza.

So when Ona invited you to come back to Vilassar de Mar to spend Christmas with her and her family, you had an important decision to make. You knew how it looked, but things were far from how they appeared between you. After that game away, you had found it easier to confide in Ona about things; little things, big things, it didn’t matter, Ona was always there to listen. In return, you lent her your ears and maybe a shoulder to lean on. You had almost become something like friends.

Ona’s childhood home was no grand castle, but it was warm and loving. Her parents and brother greeted you like you were family right from the moment you stepped through the door, taking your suitcase and jacket from you. Her father, claiming to be a big fan of yours, asked for your autograph and you could only happily indulge him.

“Please, our home is yours,” her mother said, leading you inside.

“Told you they could be a lot,” Ona murmured with a grin.

“What do you mean? I’m being treated like royalty! I’m not complaining,” you smirked and she rolled her eyes.

Her mother led you and Ona to her childhood bedroom, a small room littered with posters and trophies sitting on a shelf at the foot of her bed.

Just then, her mother gasped quietly as if remembering something, and spoke to Ona in Spanish. She stuttered for a few seconds, then turned to you. “My mom’s saying you could take this room and I’ll sleep in Joan’s. He’ll take the couch if that’s—”

“Oh, no, no, please. I feel bad enough that you guys are hosting me, I can’t just kick your brother out of his room.” You shook your head quickly. “I could sleep here if that’s okay.”

Ona nodded gingerly and relayed the message to her mother, who was fully understanding and left you both to unpack.

The door clicked shut, and you looked over to Ona, who had lifted the corner of her mouth looking back at you.

Aitana came to visit on the 23rd, claiming it was always a treat to hang at the Batlles because she always leaves well-fed. You could attest to that, as the dinners they served you were mouth-watering, and you found yourself thinking about the next one the moment you opened your eyes in the morning.

You had helped Ona’s mom with juicing some lemonade to bring out to everyone relaxing in the backyard or—in Ona and Aitana’s case—passing a football around. Quickly setting the lemonade down on the table—much to Mrs. Batlle’s dismay—you sprinted towards the girls and took the ball from Ona’s feet.

She stuck her tongue out at you and walked towards the table, taking a glass of lemonade for herself.

“Would it be so hard to admit to what you’re both denying yourself?”

You chuckled quietly at Aitana’s words. “It feels more like deprivation than denial.”

“Ona loves you, Y/N.” She said, watching Ona on the other side of the yard conversing with her brother.

“Did she tell you that?”

“I’ve known the girl ever since we were 15,” she shrugged. “And yes, she cried to me last year about you.”

You chuckled. “Well, the feeling is definitely mutual.”

“But . . . ?”

You glanced at her and sent a wordless smile, plopping your sunglasses back on before joining the Batlles for their daily lemonade. Aitana watched you to the table, picking up on Ona quickly handing you a glass, and brushing hair out of your eyes as you drank. Idiots, she thought, the both of them.

Looking back, there was not a single moment during your time in Vilassar de Mar that you weren’t holding your breath every time you were in the same room as Ona. It made you seek out her mom, and hang with her more than you did with Ona. You were also able to pick up some more Spanish, as it was the only way you could effectively communicate with her. You didn’t want to toot your own horn, but her mom did call you an aprendiz rápida, a fast learner.

“Your parents have outdone themselves once again,” you said, leaning against the window. “I wish I grew up with the stuff you guys eat here. Christmas would be so much more fun.”

“Did you like the caga tío too?” Ona grinned and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Best thing ever. It poops nougat!” You said excitedly and shook your head.

As your laughter died down, you could hear slurred singing and laughing outside the window somewhere down the street.

“I can’t remember the last time I was this happy,” you said, a ghost of a smile remaining on your lips.

Ona looked out the window, smiling too. “It’s why I always go home whenever I feel down. If I can’t go home, I’ll bring my family to me.” She was sitting next to you now, her arms folded and propped on her thighs. “You’re always welcome to visit. I’m sure they love you more than they love me now.”

“Well, I’d be surprised if they could resist my charm,” you grinned and pushed her shoulder. “I envy you, Ona. Your family’s fantastic.”

“You’ve never told me about your family before,” she said.

“Because there’s nothing to tell,” you shrugged. “Mom and Dad never really cared about me anyway. The only good thing they did for me was sign me up for football and let me leave home to go to my youth club.

They used to go to my games because they were obligated to. The moment I turned 18, they never felt the need. Sometimes I just want to win a game, then look into the stands and see them wearing my shirt, cheering me on, be proud of me.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Ona offered, bumping her knee against your own.

“Don’t be. If they’re not, you shouldn’t be,” you smiled sadly.

Your gaze shifted to her face, seeing the way she studied you, just like that day in the tunnel. Ona was an observer, and it was apparent whenever she was. It was why she was so good at the game; she absorbed like a sponge and repeated what she learned like it was nothing.

Her eyes darted back and forth between your own, and you smiled, watching her nuzzle into her arm, yet leaning in ever so gently.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

“Is this wise?” You raised an eyebrow at her, grinning.

“No,” her voice came out as barely a whisper, “but I know it’s not wrong.”

She was right. It shouldn’t be wrong to feel the way you did. From the beginning, it’s always been her.

You were depriving yourself of the one missing piece in your life, but you were afraid of getting hurt again. But you wanted to be loved so badly, and you didn’t want anyone else.

[sleepy-hyperfixations]

https://www.tumblr.com/sleepy-hyperfixations/787714968397234176/jersey-bet-but-instead-of-the-bet-being-to-wear

It Started off as a joke - well, Will thought it was a joke

“Hey, hey, if BC wins, you gotta wear my tarp.” Will had muttered, half drunk while they watched the game at the Marleau’s.

“Okay?” Mack trailed off as if he was expecting something more.

“While fingering yourself.” Mack spat out his water, and Will laughed like it was the funniest thing ever, as if he didn’t just say it so casually.

“W-what?”

“You heard me.”

“Umm…” Mack looked to the wall, in hopes for him to wake up and this was some sick dream.

“Hey, I’ll do the same. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“I-“ Mack paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Sure. Whatever. YOLO, right?”

“Damn straight.“

Will went back to the game as quickly as he had brought the idea up, letting out a loud “OH!” as someone got checked into the boards. Half of Mack was hoping that Will would forget about the agreement, and just drop it, but the other half was already imagining how it would go.

The game went smoothly for BC, not so much for BU, and before the players could even gather on the ice for a big group celly, Will was already on his feet, pattering down to his room. When he came back down, he threw the jersey at Mack, landing square over his face.

“I expect video proof, by the way.”

Mack flushed so crimson he could blend it with a strawberry flower, only managing to come up with a small “Thanks,” as he felt himself become half hard.

Mack left about an hour after the game ended - it was late, and he was still nursing his boner from earlier.

Will didn’t expect Mack to actually do it, just expected him to wear it to their next game - like they had originally planned at the start of the year.

So when Mack sent through a 33.45 minute long video that night, accompanied by the text “don’t show this to anyone or i’m kicking your ass” Will’s brain short circuited. He was completely sober now, the effects of the alcohol having worn off with time, and if the cold shower he just had wasn’t a wake up call, this definitely was.

Will immediately turned off auto-rotate, pressed play on the video, and laid down on his bed like he was about to watch some crappy YouTube video.

It starts simple; Mack setting up the camera over his bed and making sure it doesn’t fall. The end of the jersey pooled at the top of his thighs, and that sight was enough to get Will rock hard in his pants. There’s a half-used bottle of line next to Mack’s thigh, and a towel over his comforter. Then Mack turns around, face down in the pillows, and his ass up in the camera frame. He’s already a little stretched out. It’s a sight - Mack, hole clenching around nothing, begging for friction, with SMITH 6 across his back in the Eagle’s colours.

Video Mack reached for the bottle of lube, clicked it open, and squeezed out just enough, like it was muscle memory. He slicked up three fingers, and brought his hand behind him, bringing two up to the rim of his hole. He pressed in with practiced ease, and moaned - like an actual, pornstar moan. He hoped the Thornton’s weren’t home.

Will reached down and started palming his dick through his sweats, his heart racing as he watched the ungodly scene unfold in front of him.

“Fuck,” Mack cursed over the video, inching his fingers in further so they reach his second knuckle.

He pushed his fingers in again, his hole fully engulfing what was left of his fingers, and he moaned again. He slowly started to move them in and out at a snail pace as his socked toes scrunched. “Will, fuck.” He kept at that for the next few minutes, and somewhere along the way he started to scissor his fingers, really stretching himself open.

That’s when he added the third finger, and that’s also when Will realised that Mack was a motormouth in bed, mumbling out the dirtiest things that came to his mind while he was three fingers deep in himself.

Will finally pushed down his waistband, letting his hard dick finally spring free from the captive of his boxers. Will wrapped a hand around the base, slowly stroking it.

Mack started rolling his hips, desperate for some extra friction, even though it was obvious he was holding out on Will.

At some point in the next three minutes, Mack pulled out his slicked fingers with a sickening pop, and rolled onto his back. He spread his legs open, a full view of his hole and dick on display, as well as his flushed face.

Mack slid his fingers back in. “Fuck, fuck, I’m your slut, Will, yours to use, holy shit.” Mack’s hand came up under the jersey, making it ride up, and he started playing with his nipples. Mack bit his lip before spitting on the hand working at his nipple, giving it some lubrication to keep toying with it. A few moments later, Mack lets out a moan so loud it could only be described as a scream, and Will’s strokes only got faster.

“Fuck, your big dick finds my prostate so well, Will,” Mack moaned as he curled his fingers inside of him. “Please, please suck my tits, Will.”

Will spreads the bead of precome over the head of his dick, and bites down on the hem of his shirt.

Mack repeated the same motions for the next nearly 10 minutes, backing off every time he was close, just to make the moment last longer.

Eventually, Mack finally said “Please, I wanna come so bad, Will, please let me come. Please, I’m begging you.” And right as the last word landed, ropes of come sprayed from Mack’s dick. His body trembled, legs shaking, eyes rolled back, head slamming into the pillows as the loudest moan Will’s ever heard was ripped from him.

Will’s hand faltered, and he came, too, it painted his hand and lower stomach white.

There was come all over Will’s jersey, but he couldn’t care less, and Mack reached a hand down, lapping up what he could on his fingers. Mack stuck his come-slicked fingers in his mouth and stared at the camera, licking off all the coke he could, before he reached up and turned off the recording.

Will replied in 8 short words, “fuck, that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.”

-jersey anon

goddamn jersey anon 😵‍💫

[btsficsandsuch]

hello, could you please write an imagine with jungkook where his s/o does something really cute and thoughtful for him, and he ends up crying about it/getting emotional? thank you :)))

Hope you like it!

I Really Needed This

“Okay sounds perfect. Thank you Namjoon.”, you said before hanging up the phone. The two of you were finalizing your plan. You wanted to set up a relaxing evening for your boyfriend Jungkook. Even though he tried to hide it, you knew he was overwhelmed and stressed and you wanted to make him feel better. Tomorrow Namjoon was going to distract him for a few hours with the suggestion to work on some music so that you could get things in place. You got ready for bed and placed a kiss on Jungkook’s cheek before sliding in under the covers.

The next morning you were sitting in the kitchen when Jungkook came in looking like something was definitely on his mind. “Something wrong babe?”, you asked even though you already knew. He sighed, “Umm well Namjoon just asked me to come to the studio for a few hours. I know today is supposed to be our day Y/N. I feel terrible. I can just tell him no.” You smiled, “I understand Kookie. It’s really okay. It’ll just be a few hours and then we can spend the rest of the day together.” He still looked unsure but nodded and gave you a kiss before heading towards the door. “Don’t work too hard.”, you said trying to hide a smile behind your coffee mug.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve been really distracted.”, Namjoon asked Jungkook. Running his hands over his face Jungkook replied, “I’ve just been so stressed. I feel like I’m ignoring Y/N and I’m starting to wonder if maybe we’re drifting apart.” Namjoon knowing what you’re currently planning at home is a little taken back. “Why would you think that? Y/N loves you so much.”, he asks. “I’m not home a lot and when I am I’m so tired and stressed so I know I’ve been short with her. The last couple weeks she keeps making phone calls that she ends as soon as I walk into the room and we we’re supposed to hang out today so I thought she’d be upset when I said I had to come here but she didn’t care at all. I’m starting to wonder if there’s someone else.” Namjoon almost chokes on the water he was taking a sip from. “Trust me. She’s not cheating on you.”, he says patting Jungkook’s shoulder.

While the two of them are finishing up at the studio you are at home putting the finishing touches on the perfect evening. Jungkook’s favorite meal is finishing up on the stove. You got the recipe directly from his mom. You have a big container of chocolate ice cream and all the toppings for dessert. Candles are lit throughout the apartment. Jungkook’s video game system is set up and ready so he can finally get some time to play and you’ve set up your own little nook next to him so you can still be together. All that’s left is to set up a hot bath for him and to get yourself ready.

Walking into your bedroom you straighten out the clothes you set out for him on the bed, his comfiest pair of sweats and his favorite hoodie. You get yourself changed into one of Jungkook’s favorite dresses. A black skater dress with a red bow on the waist. As you’re getting the bathtub ready you hear the front door open and close signaling that he was home.

Running downstairs you jump into his arms and wrap him in a hug. “You look very pretty Y/N.”, he says before giving you a kiss. “Thank you. I just wanted to dress up a little for you.”, you say while pulling him to the kitchen. He sits down and you place a plate of food in front of him encouraging him to eat. You smile up at him in adoration. He looks so happy and content. Once he’s done eating his dinner you make him the chocolate sundae of his dreams. When you set it in front of him he looks like a kid on Christmas. The two of you converse about your day while he playfully slaps your hand away when you try to get a bite of his sundae before he begins feeding you with his spoon.

After dinner you pull him to the living room, “Come on Kookie. I have a surprise for you.” Once there he sees the set up. His gaming system ready. All his favorite snacks and drinks are on the table. Big comfy pillows surround it. It looks like a great time. “I thought you deserved a night to relax and have fun. You can play and I have my own little set up next to you so I can keep myself occupied.”, you said squeezing his hand.

“Come on there’s more too.”, you said pulling him towards the bedroom. You show him his comfy clothes on the bed and then you pull him into the bathroom and show him the little set up in there. You start the water so it’s filling up the tub at the perfect temperature. “Go ahead and get in. Take your time and relax as long as you want. When you’re done I’ll be in the other room.”, you say starting to walk out but Jungkook grabs your wrist. “Y/N please stay with me.”, he says barely above a whisper.

You look up up at him and see that his eyes are glassy with tears threatening to fall. “Omg Jungkook what happened? Do you not like this?”, you ask concerned. He shakes his head the tears now freely falling, “No I love it Y/N. I just wasn’t expecting all of this and you have no idea how much this means to me.” You stand there and hug him for awhile trying to soothe him. Slowly you help him remove his clothes and he does the same with you. The two of you get in the warm tub instantly relaxing. You can still hear Jungkook sniffling behind you. You turn to face him, “Kookie why are you still so upset? I just wanted to do something nice and help you relax.” He nods his head and chuckles, “I know. I’ve just been so stressed out and I know we haven’t been spending a lot of time together. I was worried you had found someone else. Especially after this morning when you didn’t stop me from going to the studio.”

Giving him a kiss you wipe the few tears still sitting on his cheeks, “Aww babe there will never be anyone else. I promise. I didn’t stop you because I had asked Namjoon to distract you for a few hours. I knew he was going to ask you to do that.” He leaned into your embrace taking in the comfort from you.

The two of you soak in the warmth for a little while longer before deciding to get dressed. You help Jungkook into his comfy clothes and you throw on some pajamas yourself. Grabbing his hand you go to pull him to the living room but he stops you. Instead of following he picks you up bridal style and walks over to the bed gently laying you down before climbing in next to you pulling the blanket over you both. “Kookie what about playing video games?”, you ask.

Jungkook nuzzles his face in closer to your neck while wrapping himself around you,“Maybe later. I’d rather be doing this right now.” You smile at the little koala currently clinging to you. The two of you just lay there basking in each others comfort when you slowly start to drift off. Just before you finally fall asleep you hear Jungkook whisper, “I really needed this. I love you Y/N.” You smile before kissing his forehead, “I love you too Jungkook.”

[futterurl]

hi! I'm coming with an idea for a josh futturman x reader smut fic, so... I was thinking of a scenario where the reader is Josh's friend, and one day, they come to his house to give back a game they borrowed from him. without hesitation and knocking, they enter his room, but... he's pleasing himself. It's a bit awkward, but eventually, the reader asks if he can help him with it and then gives him blowjob or smth 🫢 I'd love to see this in a fic!

RHIS ID SO REAL ANON I LOVE THE WAY U THINK!!!!!!! hes in my head all day might as well givd him some🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

WARNINGS: gn!reader, blowjob, cumming in mouth

- - - - - - -

it was a nice day out, you walking over to your friend josh’s house. you had borrowed a video game from him awhile back that he recommended you play. finally, after a few weeks, you beat the entire thing. god, you were such a loser.

you let yourself in to his house with a key you had. you both had keys to each other’s houses. you both had been best friends for so long, it became normal to waltz in to the others house to get stuff, pick up packages, or just a place to crash for a little while.

you didn’t see his parents home, or him, for that matter. you closed the door behind you, shoving your keys in your picket. you walked to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water. you shouldn’t have walked over while it was so hot out.

while you got yourself a bit of water, you started to think about josh. your mind would wander every now and then about him. so what if he was a loser boy who gamed for a living? he was funny, shy, and cute. what’s not to like?

for starters, he had a pretty jawline. it was very sharp. you also loved his hair. his hair was one of your favorite things about him. whenever the both of you were together, you’d find yourself playing with his hair every now and then.

oh, how you wished you could pull on his hair as he sucked on your-

you shook your head, trying to swipe the thought away. you couldn’t think about your best friend like that. you weren’t even here for that! you just had to return the video game.

you walked up to his room, video game in hand, ready to call or tell him about it and how much fun it was. you didn’t think he was home, as the house was practically dead silent. you’d just leave the game on his desk and leave. simple as that.

you opened his door and it wasn’t that simple at all.

staring back at you was josh, panting on his bed with his hard erection in his hand. the video game slipped out of your grasp, falling onto the floor.

after a few seconds of the most awkward silence you had ever had to sit through, you opened your mouth. “what the fuck, josh.”

“what do you mean what the fuck??? this is my house!!” he panicked, pulling his boxers up to conceal his throbbing cock. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“i’m returning the fucking game you let me borrow! that’s all! i didn’t know anyone was home!” you yelled back.

“shit, um..i’m sorry you…uh..if you saw…uh..yeah…” his words started to turn into mutters.

“dude, it’s fine. it’s normal. i’m not grossed out. promise. we all do it from time to time.” you started to slowly walk into his room, hoping he would calm down.

“i look like a fucking weirdo. i promise i’m not.” he held his head in his hands. this was the most embarrassing moment of his entire life.

“josh. really, don’t sweat it. we all masturbate. i shouldn’t have walked in like that. it’s my fault, if anything.” you wanted to hug him. he was typically the insecure type, and this wasn’t helping. at all.

an idea popped into your head. an awful, genius idea. an idea that would maybe calm his nerves. everything was on the table now. you couldn’t make things worse.

“i could…i could help you with that. if you want.” you said barely loud enough so he could hear.

he perked up, looking at you. had he heard you correctly? there’s no way…

“what?” he asked, voice wavering.

you looked down to his concealed erection. “i could help you with it, if you’d like. i don’t want you to feel like this is something you should be embarrassed about.” you sat on the bed next to him.

“are…are you sure?” he asked. he almost pinched himself, not believing this was real.

“yes’ i’m sure, josh.” you tried to play it cool, like your heart wasn’t pounding out of your chest. were you being too bold?

“o-only if you want to, of course! sorry, i didn’t mean to make you feel forced or anything. just ignore what i said. i..i was just kidding! the last thing i wanna do is make you even more uncomfortable-” you were rambling at this point.

josh stopped you. “no, please. i want you to do this so bad.” his eyes looked down at his cock, throbbing through his boxers, pleading for a release. your eyes also looked down, then met his.

you got up and wedged yourself in between his thighs, getting close up to his tent in his boxers. you traced the outline of it with your finger, making him jolt with pleasure.

“gonna have to take these off for me, josh, okay?” you asked, tenderness in your voice. you knew how careful you had to be around intimacy.

he nodded his head, spurting okays and tugging his boxers off. only then did you really get a good look at his hardened cock. you saw every detail of it: the pink tip, the way it curved, its length.

“d-don’t stare, ‘s weird.” he tried to avert your eyes to anything else, starting to get a bit nervous.

“alright, i won’t stare. i’ll get to it.” you said, testing the waters as you kissed the tip. he jolted, you knew that felt really good.

“shit…” he breathed heavily. he couldn’t believe what he was seeing: his best friend, on their knees, kissing and looking at his cock. it felt unreal, like he was gonna wake up any second.

he was reminded that this was real, however, when you swirled your tongue around his tip. his head fell back with a groan. you hadn’t even put it in your mouth but it already felt so fucking good.

he started to get restless, wanting more yet being so overstimulated at the same time, pulling at your hair lightly. “please, more.” he pleaded, not caring how desperate he seemed to be.

you obliged as your mouth sunk down on him, taking the tip and a bit of his length, attempting to run your tongue all over it. he tugged at your hair even more, feeling so good. he didn’t want this to ever end.

your head bobbed down even more, until finally taking all his length, mouth connecting with the base. he let out a loud moan.

“please. move. fuck, feels too damn good.” he was begging at this point, and who were you to deny a man his wishes?

your head moved up and down in tiny thrusts, testing the waters of how much you could take without having breathing issues. it was all worth it to bring your eyes up to him, seeing his scrunched up eyes, mouth open, moaning and whimpering, and head thrown back. it was mesmerizing.

you started to bob your head up and down on him faster, tongue running down his cock with every move. every second of movement brought him closer and closer to his release. one of your hands ran circles around his thigh, partially holding him steady.

“shit, shit, starting t’ get close. fuck.” his hips threatening to jolt up into your mouth. he knew he wouldn’t last long, him already being hard, but with him in your mouth, watching his best friend’s head bob up and down on his length? he’d be done in seconds.

your tongue swirled around the tip, giving yourself a second to breathe. “please, josh, cum in my mouth. know you can do it, give it to me.” you got back to work, head moving furiously on his cock, trying to bring him to his sweet release he had been trying to chase by himself earlier.

“gonna come, fuck, feels so good, please, please…” he started to whimper incoherent babbles as you ran your tongue sloppily up and down his pretty cock.

after one last bob of your head, his hips started jolting, and you started to feel spurts of cum shooting into the back of your throat in ropes. you kept moving, trying to help him ride through his orgasm as he kept moaning and rambling as he came.

once he stopped moaning so hard and regulated his breath, you slowly took him out of your mouth, disconnecting with his tip with a pop. you took a gulp, swallowing all his seed. he would hate to admit how hot he thought that was.

“do you feel better now?” you asked getting up and sitting beside him as he lay down on his bed.

“that…holy shit that was fantastic.” he breathed, chest heaving. “you have the mouth of a fucking god. thank you so much.”

“hey, ‘s just helping a friend out, right?” you replied, rubbing one of his arms. “hope that did help.”

“yeah, that was so great. holy shit.” he sat up, thinking.

‘helping a friend out.’ he thought to himself. next time, he was gonna help you out, and make sure you guys weren’t just friends anymore. what you just did was one of the best things he ever experienced, and he wanted to make sure you’d know that and get repayment someday.

that could wait, though. he had to take it slow.

“so, which game did you wanna bring back to me that started all this?”

[honeyjars-sims]

3.26 Past in Your Present

“Johnny!” Lexie exclaims in surprise.

“Wait, you’re the PA?” Izzy asks.

“Yep,” I reply, more curtly than I intended. “Well, I guess I’ll give you the tour.”

They follow me through the lobby doors. Our footsteps are the only sound filling the hallway. Beads of sweat form on my hairline and I quickly wipe them away. 

“So are you like our boss?” Chase finally asks.

“Kind of,” I lie. 

We make it to the studio door and I swipe my badge. “I don’t know if you’ll get one of these,” I tell them. "They don’t give them out to just anyone.”

Pretty much everyone here has one, but my insecurity has put me on a bit of a power trip. A familiar feeling lately.

Once we’re on set, the group starts chatting about how cool it is. It wasn’t that long ago that I was in their spot, looking around this room in awe. Now it was just another room in the building. I guess that's progress.

Lacey and Lilly are rehearsing on one of the sets. They spot us and head over.

“Hey, Johnny!” They call.

“Hey! These are my friends Lacey and Lilly,” I tell the students.

“Oh, the students!” Lilly says excitedly. “I love when we get new staff members.”

“You’re gonna love it here!” Lacey tells them.

“I can’t believe we’re actually meeting you two!” Lexie gushes. Our eyes meet for a second and I look away abruptly. The image of her tear-stained face as she told me she couldn't be my girlfriend anymore replays in my mind every time I look at her.

“Yeah, we watch your videos all the time!” Kelsey adds. “Johnny can tell you.” Chase nudges them with his elbow.

Lacey raises her eyebrows. “Johnny, you know them?”

Everyone quiets down really quickly. “Yeah,” I say. “I was at DSV with them for a bit.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were a student!”

“Uh, well, I’m not anymore. College wasn’t really for me.”

It starts to fall silent again, but Izzy quickly intervenes.

“Well, we loved the Voidcritters video you just put out,” he tells Lacey and Lilly. “The costumes were amazing!”

They start discussing the video and I zone out, hoping that Lucy will appear so I can go somewhere and gather my thoughts. Luckily she walks in the studio while Lilly is still explaining the symbolism behind her costume.

“Oh, here you are!” Lucy says as she walks towards us. “I see Johnny is giving you guys the grand tour.”

“Yeah, I was. But I just remembered something I need to do for Damien. Are you able to take over?”

“Sure, no problem!” Lucy agrees. “It’s probably for the best, there’s no telling what this guy will tell you!”

Everyone laughs politely, like they don't already know exactly what I'm capable of. 

I exit the studio and go into the nearest bathroom. I splash my face with water, taking deep breaths as I do.

As I pat my face dry, I think to myself, It’s going to be okay. You can get through this. 

I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Khadija asking if my next appointment can be moved up. Luckily, she has an appointment available for this afternoon.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[filth-burps-writing]

Dating as a secret man

Lily got home from their date. An ever immaculate queen always in heavy makeup and heels. Their newest boyfriend Evan was an absolute gentleman. As they closed their bedroom door and his car left the driveway they thought about their magical night. But amongst the feelings of being in love and pampered were feelings of shame, disgust, fatigue and fear. Because Lily wasn’t real. The guy who pretended to be them, was starting become frustrated.

The first thing Will did was fart. Evan fed him like a prize pig and his dress was incredibly tight. He pulled off said dress and pointed up his head as he replaced the lacy bra with a binder. Wills sweatiest hoodie and shorts combo was calling his name. Three things always helped him take his mind off things; getting drunk, getting high and playing video games. He popped a gummy and cracked open a beer as he logged in. Apparently they adding a new player to the team named Ev07. The team was mostly queer people so he hoped that this wasn’t just another meathead who looked at their stats. As he settled into his stained gaming chair Will belched repeatedly.

The team all warmly greeted each other and talked strategy until Ev07 logged on. He had a pretty average avatar with no visible mods and his stats weren’t great. As he introduced himself to the team he let out a loud belch making the whole team laugh. “ Hey maybe you should have a burping contest with Will later that was almost as gnarly as one of his” “Hey Will dude, if you can even match my burping volume I buy you a health pack ok”. Will felt his competitive side bubble up but he also got Deja vu. Where had he heard that voice before?

Evan woke up in a cold sweat. It was admittedly a little stressful dating a woman while having a crush on a guy. He’d been playing on the team for two months and playing solo with WhereTheresAWill for six weeks. He sat through stiff dinners with Lily, who was classy and beautiful then sped home to run through game scenarios and have burping contests with Will who … wasn’t. The day Will sent a blurry pic in a hoodie and shorts was his best in a while. He looked at his phone and saw his notifications.

Gamehub WhereTheresAWill sent you 500 credits!

Daterz Evan your so sweet

Daterz It’s Lily! Let’s talk on chatline

Chatline Lily sent you a video request

Chatline Lily sent you a message

Chatline Lily sent you a message

He felt guilty but he was a gentleman and knew the right thing to do. He put on a clean t-shirt and sat up in bed then accepted Lily’s video request.

“Hi Lily sorry I look a bit scruffy I was sleeping. Why are you up it’s the middle of the night?”

“ I was at work and I got kept late to keep a guy company on his birthday.”

Lily was a home health aid and super passionate about her work.

“ Anyway I know you usually wake up at this time with your night stuff and I’m gonna be sleeping all day so I figured we could talk now instead of going on that date.”

“Aww that’s kinda sweet. I didn’t make a reservation this time so it should be alright.”

“You know me. Anyway.”

They engaged in stiff formal chatting for hours. Evan had just never clicked with Lily but he didn’t break up with her because it kinda felt … wrong. She was conventionally attractive, sweet, kind even fun sometimes. But he never really felt anything for her. The whole time he was thinking about Will and the 500 credits. Will and his easy laughter filling the audio chat. Will who got him to upgrade his avatar. Will and how gross habits mysteriously stirred him in the crotch. But he was straight and being attracted to burping was just too weird.

Later that day he was talking to Will of all people while practicing his triple shots.

“Hey Evan you all there?”

“ Can I ask you for some dating advice?”

“Dude I’m a massive *burp* nerd. The only hookups I get are at comic con.”

“Will no. I don’t have the patience for your self deprecation today.”

“Alright try me.”

“I’m dating this girl but I don’t … like her. She’s everything I want in a girl but I feel nothing when we’re around each other. What should I do.”

“ Wait is this the girl you bought a Persephone necklace for?”

“ I like spoiling women. Even if I don’t nessesarily have super strong feelings for them.”

“ You gotta cut her off before she gets the wrong idea. She might think that your generosity means you wanna go long term. She might be expecting commitment while you’re stringing her along.”

“Woah that’s really wise. Thanks bro. Why did you send me 500 credits?”

“I was returning the credits you sent me I’m not one of your girlfriends.”

“That was for your birthday!”

“And?”

“You’re a dick.”

“Aww are you not gonna come to my sleepover party.”

“ No i’m having one at your dad’s.”

They continued like that all day. With Will it was easy. They joked around constantly and went with each other’s bits.

Will breathed a huge sigh of relief. Keeping his cover as a lady was difficult. His pink collar job was doing a lot of heavy lifting. But resisting the urge to belch after the meals Evan gave him or sass him on a date the way he did in chat was get harder and harder. It seemed like Evan was purposely testing him. He knew it wasn’t true because of the Persephone necklace glittering in the tub of femme items he kept in the bottom of his closet. Fuck he was generous. And handsome. even his new avatar in the game was hot. Will thought about what it would be like if he could date Evan as himself, as Will. He thought about trips to the arcade, cuddling together in his unmade bed, Evan kissing him…

Now Will was even crustier than usual. He’d been masturbating for hours just thinking up scenarios about Evan. He got up to look at himself. He had been wearing the same black hoodie and shorts without washing them for a month. His hair was an ocean of grease with messily dyed waves cascading across his forehead. His now fat belly stuck out the bottom of his hoodie after weeks of Evan’s clueless ministrations. The weight gain kinda made him look… manlier. He reached up and uncovered his belly. He squished the hair covered flesh between his fingers. It certainly added something to his appearance. He farted and felt himself squirming. He was attracted to himself! He stared into mirror enraptured. This was the first time he’d actually felt sexy. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice yell out “babe I let myself in we need to talk I’m coming upstairs”. He didn’t have time to change. He was gonna have to tell him.

They stared at each other. And stared at each other. Then Will broke the silence. “ *sigh* look I’m a trans dude it’s super hard to date, plus I don’t exactly look traditionally sexy as myself. So I go on dates as my old self, as Lily. I lied to you and you can get as mad you want just don’t leave the team. We really need your averages for the competition next week.” Evan was just sat there with a furrowed brow. “ If it helps I do have feelings for you. You’re a genuinely sweet person and very handsome.” Evan looked at Will like he was trying to assess him. “ I’m sorry I lied.” Evan stood up and looked at his face. Will thought for a second he was about to get punched. But then Evan kissed him. He leaned into the kiss. Evan pushed him against the bed. “ oh fuck Will! I had a crush on you for months while I was dating … you. I was so scared but now” Evan let out a huge belch in Will’s face “ I don’t have to worry about it”. He pressed a kiss on Wills forehead. Will grinned and burped himself which turned to the boys pressing burps against each other’s necks.

[yutasbimil]

Ride With You

beomgyu x fem!reader | txt ff. [one-shot] !!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here } tags: fluff cw: frenemies vibe, friends to lovers, lots of bantering, teasing, much used 'person a got sick in bed, now person b takes care of 'em', falling in love, domestic fluff, playing video games, fluff! note: needed to take a break and cleanse from writing nasty things, need fluff in the meantime. needless to say, this is inspired by a post, and how reoccurring it is w/ beomgyu’s role in txt mvs and the beef(?) bikes have with him lmao. and im dumb af as well in riding one, this is the result ig lmao Surprisingly, I have a song in mind about this writing I did?! :0 (Shocking for me at least haha) ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ | ‘Bodybag’ by chloe moriondo ! also, not that comfy w/ 2nd POV, tho hope 3rd POV is good for y'all ♡ word count: 4.6k

do not repost © yutasbimil (2024)

“Pabo-yah! We’re already late, Gyu!” Y/n huffed, stepping on the bike pedal harder. 

“Step on it, Y/n!” He further pressed his tone along with his grip on her waist. Her smirk is anything but mirth at the male’s hot touch.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

Y/n resisted to roll her eyes and keep her eyes on the road. Heck, she can’t even shut her eyes for a moment but she’s very much annoyed already.

And I know what you’re thinking, you’d usually expect the guy pressing on the bike to lead, with the girl riding behind them. Not that she's thinking of rom-com tropes with this dweeb. Ew. 

If anything, Y/n thinks the same as well, but the exhausted cranks ticked her off. All of this whilst on how much Beomgyu is berating her while he’s the one sitting behind her. The nerves!

“Yeonjun keeps calling me! Our call time was ages ago—”

“Yes, I know, Captain Obvious!” Another huff, aligned as another tramp as a steep path meets them. And the ringing and vibrating noise in the background is pressuring her. “How about you be the one to take the wheel? Not me having to carry your ass up this hill!”

Man, why did they even think of taking a bike ride to go to the meetup?!

His dumbness is so contagious, that she might have to rethink her life choices hanging out with him too much. The single brain cell the two people have to share is oozing.

“Sorry if I have such a big ass—”

“For all things you have to apologize for,” Y/n grunts. “Why don’t you start with your stupidity? Pabo Beomgyu—”

The bike ride all the way to the hangout was rough, coarse as the words the two spit out to each other.

It was opposite to how soft her tone was at Taehyun, whom they just catch on with his magic tricks as if it’s an intermission number before their arrival.

Beomgyu rolls his eyes at how amused Y/n reacted, pulling two seats for both of them. He grabs her bag with a huff, putting it on a vacant seat.

“I know it’s impressive, but you seem overly fascinated by it, Y/n.”

“I don’t need your opinion, shut it, Gyu.”

“Hey, hey, how about you two chill?” Kai gestures to them to lower it down. 

Soobin bats an eye at Kai. Of course that will calm these two feisty beans. 

It earned another huff from Beomgyu as Yeonjun butts in, rubbing his hands in anticipation, he smirks at the two new arrivals. “And you two already know the deal right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Beomgyu throws a towel near Y/n, sliding his card with his other hand. “I’m on it—”

Barely having enough reaction time on the thrown towel, she wipes her sweat in confusion, furrowing her eyebrows at Beomgyu. “I also have to contrib—”

“I said I’m on it,” he pressed. “Don’t make me change my mind, Y/n.”

“Geez, Choi Beomgyu,” she says in defeat. “Suit yourself, Sweet Cheeks.”

Before another banter ensues with his sharp daggers at her, Soobin intervenes.

“Thank you, Choi Beomgyu!” He beams, wrapping both Beomgyu’s arms to grab his attention. 

‘I’m also late, why does he have to take all of the credit?’ Y/n pouts at the thought, and it remains a thought as Beomgyu looks like he's already settled it. She just stayed eased in her seat, having to emphasize at least to herself. ‘I need to pay for the food too since I’m also late.’ But she doesn't want to ruin Beomgyu’s already good mood.

In Beomgyu’s defense, they wouldn’t be late if it weren’t for him, and Y/n’s effort in taking them there, he had to make up for it. Of course, he won’t say that directly. 

“Beomgyu, you dummy,” she says inaudibly, more on pouting seeing him this energetic with them.

She just goes on and joins them but alas, her social battery is bound to be quickly depleted with a group dominated by extroverts.

“I'm sure Y/n missed us so much she's this speechless huh?” Yeonjun says, making Y/n smile wide at how he's even laughing along with the others. Hyuka’s laugh, in particular, is hilariously contagious, oh lord— “It's just been so long with the semester piling up uni work, y’kno? This is a nice break.”

“Look at how this cutie is gracing us with her charm.” He goes on and pinches her cheek but Beomgyu is quick to swat his hand away from her, earning a smirk from Yeonjun.

This sly fox.

Beomgyu quickly catches on and he gets caught in his clutches, turning to what Yeonjun wanted.

“Aigooo…” Yeonjun turns his attention to him. He just goes on to aggressively wipe Beomgyu's lips as he's pretty much slobbered with gochujang sauce to be even bothered.

“Hyung! You almost wiped his lips off!” Kai points out how Yeonjun is holding down Beomgyu's head a bit too firmly.

Soobin just laughs hysterically. “That better shut him up, he's hella noisy!”

Yeonjun continues with his agenda at hand, further throwing Beomgyu off with his question. “Don't you agree Y/n is such a cutie, Beomgyu? Good enough to be someone's girlfriend, hmmm?”

Yeonjun kinda hitting on Y/n earns an eye roll from the other. “Ya! Stop that.”

“I ought to start than being a slowpoke!” Yeonjun was clearly taking Beomgyu's annoyance with his comment rather than Yeonjun touching him.

“What are you on about?”

Y/n is just ignoring them. Not catching on as it's pretty much the same thing with their bantering. Right? She just shakes her head, it can't be even bothered. Hyuka is mostly the only one who got the hang of being nice to a girl, and Taehyun… Soobin as well. Maybe because they have a sister. Or who knows?

Y/n sighs.

It's not just being nice and giving compliments being the lack or being the problem.

“You guys need to talk to girls more.” her tone is a bit prim. The jerk of the guys’ brow set a different mood. It just left Y/n tilting their head on them.

Or whatever they’re trying to achieve here for the matter.

Is this Yeonjun’s way of making up for all the teasing? But how is it that Beomgyu is against this whole 'being nice' thing? And towards me?

Yeonjun was simply complimenting me, right? How is it that Beomgyu is so provoked?

Her thoughts just left her spinning like a cyclone.

Given that it's Beomgyu that talks the most with Y/n. They're pretty close. And his company fills the warmth and hole that she needs to be entertained.

As much as she despises his guts, might as well put his existence to use, right?

But is bantering all there's to it? 

Because outside the claw ripping and hissing, there isn’t much room given for them to talk heart-to-heart. The others give them a chance but it’s often thrown out the window quickly, as bantering seems to be the top priority and the most natural and most sane option for the two.

What even begins to draw and intrigue me with such a guy?

Y/n had her chin propped up in her palm, lazily glancing over Beomgyu and others going about their day. 

What's stopping them from being close?

Not that she wants to be close with him of course. 

It’s not like she really looks at her obnoxious friend in a certain light right? Y/n doesn’t treat Beomgyu any differently, if anything she’s mostly focused on him just because he’s an attention-grabbing loudmouth of a friend. She’s even sure that given Y/n had four more other guys to validate this, they’ll say the same tops how they just appear as frenemies at most give or take.

She’s left quiet the whole time just observing the group, particularly the loud megaphone they acquired of a friend. There was a clear distinction between who is introverted and extroverted. With how Soobin and Y/n are just munching their way into the bread they ordered in peace. 

Can there ever be a day for me and Beomgyu to be this solemn as well?

Aish, what am I even saying? The redness on her face is easily prompted up her skin as she fixes herself in her seat. Y/n kept her demeanor stoic and expressionless. Not that she was even trying to give effort on this.

Having gotten used to their silence and behavior, Taehyun picked up something else from the lady that he had to tap into her shoulder.

“You good?” Taehyun says, gesturing with a thumbs up. She mirrors his bright expression, though it came off bleaker than expected. “Fine, Taehyunnie, just tired.”

She didn't know that that would be the first surge of her fatigue.

“Where’s Y/n?” 

You wouldn't really expect it to be coming out of Beomgyu's mouth as 1. They are almost always the two stuck to the hip, it's mostly the gang asking either of them where each other is. and 2. Don't they hate each other's guts to be this concerned about the other's absence?— But that dismisses the first point— Soobin shook his head and finally answered Beomgyu's query, though with the same worry. 

“Didn't she message you that she's staying sick at home?”

A crease appeared on Beomgyu's forehead. “Wasn't she just fine the other day?”

Soobin shrugs. “I thought so too, we're thinking of visiting her later but she refused. Her cold is contagious, she said.”

“Aish, I don't care. You know how that girl is.” 

With a sprint, Soobin wasn't able to stop Beomgyu in his tracks. But he knows as well how his friend means well, and Beomgyu knows Y/n the best. Even if they appear they would slit each other's throats.

-

“Fudgesticks, my throat is killing me.” 

It’s as if a slit down her neck appeared, along with piles of tissues by her bedside consuming her space.

Y/n also forgot due to her raging headache to buy some necessities to at least ease her pain. She can't talk well to let her Mom know so she's mostly stuck in bed.

“My vision is too blurry for this.” 

Even tapping on her phone is strenuous. Y/n gets into another coughing fit before she hears a knock on the door. 

She didn't order anything, or know someone coming over. But the familiar footsteps and patterned knock even pushed through her muffled hearing.

Her ears turned red at the sight of her friend, a bag on hand with some fever-cooling patches. Even with a mask on, he still looks cool. Huh?

What was that about, Y/n?

Moreover… What the hell is he here for?!

“Beomg—” She was quickly shut silent as he peeled off the seal on the cooling patch, placing it on her forehead. It at least soothes her, relaxing her in her bed. Maybe because of the elevated temperature that she softens for Beomgyu. 

He pulls down his mask as he leans close, checking her neck with the back of his hand. Y/n didn’t know but this was the most quiet she had seen Beomgyu. His face painted with worry and seriousness even throws her off. Is her fever turning her delirious? How is it that every bit of his movement is caught by her vision? As if played in slow motion? Heol. 

Y/n from her is sure she’s stone-cold sober and off her fever already. So this might be caused by something else… Okay, breathe.

But it's not usual for him to be this way. 

He even fixes the placement of the cooling patch before speaking again. “Damn, it barely fits with your forehead so big.”

There we go.

“Be glad I'm not in the energy to argue right now.” She barely responds as another cough kicks in, Y/n quickly covers her mouth as Beomgyu hands her a tissue.

“I'll make the most out of it, no worries “ He beams a shit-eating grin.

“What are you doing here?” she finally asks. Most probably to annoy me, she figures. That’s practically the reason he was born to do so. But what added another crease on her forehead was her realization hitting her, glancing back at her door. “And how…?”

“Your mom is going out, so she told me to take care of you.”

“Heol.”

“Hey, don't be like that,” Beomgyu shakes his head, but no dismay can be traced in his wide smile. “What I'm doing is already charity, showering you with my presence.”

“That goes more to Mom.” she snarks. “She likes you so much.”

“Hmmm? I'm so handsome and nice that she wants me as a son huh?”

She probably shouldn't have said that. It's obvious how it pumps his ego with his head already so massive.

“Since I'm done acknowledging your presence, how ‘bout you go home.” she huffs, pulling the blanket over her face.

Beomgyu just sits beside her in her bed, shrugging as he keeps his lips pursed. “I know you'll reject me coming here if I don't barge in, so I had my way.”

“Right…” she coughs again, limiting her words and pulling further away from Beomgyu. “I suppose…ha- the others… told you not to visit?”

“Yeah, you were quite persistent on it, knowing Soobin he'll comply. But remember I'm more persistent than you, Y/n.”

“Making it a competition still, huh?” She barely rolls her eyes at him, in a mix of amusement and annoyance. But the cooling feeling on her forehead and the paper bag beside her puts her at ease. She can't help but stare at him but it feels quite strange seeing him like this, and the two of them not bantering for a hot minute. 

The sickness buff I guess, he's being nice.

“Plus, your mom makes delicious soup, I ought to have it all by myself without the gang.”

His true colors show through. Y/n snickers. “FYI, that's for me, Beomgyu.”

“For us.”

He’s still as cheeky, she digressed.

Usually, it's no fun being sick in bed, boring at most with nothing to do. But Beomgyu's visit at least lessened that boredom. 

After a warm meal together, he still stayed in and revealed to bring some of his DVDs for them to share. Besides the more calmer version of Beomgyu, their conversation is to the least minimal with bantering, even having to adjust to her not screaming or straining her throat too much over video games. Fighting games and cooking games are surprisingly a good match for the two of them despite being cat and dog most of the time.

He had been incredibly mindful and detailed in being patient with her despite being a fanatic gamer on things. His tone and deep voice are soothing to the ears he's even helping her in the process.

Is it really just the heat of the slight fever or is the warmth of her cheeks different from anything?

“Ya! Pabo-yah! The rice is burning, Y/n!” It snaps Y/n back to her place, they're playing Overcooked, and Beomgyu is their supposed Head Chef. 

He had a stern look on his face that made her flustered.

“Sorry!” She didn’t even bump his arm that harshly but having to hear him wince at her closeness, she had to follow-up another apology. I didn’t notice the band-aids and bandages earlier. “What happened to your arm?”

“That’s nothing, come on, let’s go over this stage again.” Beomgyu quickly brushes off any means of asking about it. It draws her attention away further when he’s back with his immersed stare and explanation to her throughout the game.

She can't help but enjoy this moment but has he been this warm leaning close to her and less annoying?

Wasn’t this what tickled her curiosity about what it would look like if they were anything but down each other’s throats?

And this is surprisingly… to her liking. Being with Choi Beomgyu like this.

This was different from the other day. Much different from their usual time around each other. Or has his smile always been like this and I just refused to see it this way because my pride is in the way? 

Nah, being prideful and spouting the word ‘pabo’ runs smoothly and is easier.

This is easier to maintain.

But his smiling at her as they got 3 Stars in the game struck her as well.

“We work so well, Beomgyu.” I can at least give him the same warmth for now.

Y/n needs to get out of this fever-like dream.

Y/n is still not quite out of it even with her fever and health recuperated. It added more confusion to her seeing Beomgyu up and early before heading to school, near an alley practicing riding a bike.

He almost topples over along his bike seeing her presence— is he embarrassed or?

Y/n jerked her body in a mix of running towards him to check up on him and a sense of withdrawal. She might’ve looked stupid, glitching in place.

She's supposed to hide as she's still not ready to face him, but there's nothing wrong right? How is it that she's this ditzy? Why did she even think of hiding in the first place?

But she cannot stand looking at his stupid face, ridiculous how it's all for another reason other than annoyance—

“Y/n~!” Beomgyu chimes as he comes rushing to her.

He invites her to go to school together, mostly it's incoherently received on Y/n’s end as she's washed with disbelief.

Blinking a few more times, she just stands there motionless. More on how, he… Choi Beomgyu… wants to go together with me to school?

“Okay… uhm, are we taking the bus or?” The words finally reach Y/n’s tongue but her vision still cannot process much looking at Beomgyu's face.

“We can take a bike ride on the way?” Beomgyu suggests. 

Okay, coming off with an odd but usual start for them. 

Huh?

“Are you asking me to drive for you, or—” She starts slowly, trying to conceal her tone. Y/n is a bit pissed knowing she just came off from a fever but was dumbfounded at his answer.

“I’ll be the one…” Beomgyu says.

She perked a brow at him, skeptical of his answer. “You sure about that?”

Beomgyu promptly nods.

Being too caught up to think of even bringing up what she saw earlier, by the looks of it… was he learning how to ride a bike these past few days? She can’t even begin to look at his obvious bandages… Choi Beomgyu, you… sighs… Don’t tell me it’s because of him practicing too much? But why so suddenly? And for what…?

“Come on, Y/n, we're gonna catch up to Christmas if you still don't plan on budging.”

Y/n barely even had a chance to refuse with Beomgyu already pulling her close.

The bike ride was a little bit bumpy, but more or less smoother than expected not till they encountered some humps along the road. 

“Beomgyu, slow down!” she yelps. It made Y/n cling to his torso, the vibrations of his laughter didn't help as they scurried on their way to university. 

He's having too much fun with this.

-

“Why are you suddenly being nice to me?” She finally mustered up. 

“Haven't I always been nice to you?”

“Are you kidding me?” For once she was not amused by his teasing, her knowledge of the bandages on Beomgyu’s arm added to her withdrawal from banter.

“I'm the nicest out of the crew, what do you mean?” Beomgyu appealed.

“Yeah, yeah. You're a saint compared to Kai.”

She was trying her best not to fidget in place, but her fingers landed at the edge of his polo shirt. Her pleading eyes made Beomgyu give in. And this isn’t the first time this happened to him.

“I feel bad, okay?” Beomgyu slips, but the context is still not out there for the other end to comprehend, making the girl look up at him. 

“Hmmm?”

He tried his best to keep the light atmosphere, but maybe the sting on his arms urged him to reach out to her? Here goes nothing.

“You've been doing much for me, Y/n.” Beomgyu voiced out. “I didn't even realize you were tired. Last week when you still pushed through to ride a bike with you. I mean I've always seen you as a strong person, but I often forget how you hide your problems. And I at least want to give back to you.”

“Huh?” Is he for real now? But he had done so much for her in taking care of her when she was sick, and in some other instances—

“I know you don't like hearing this or me taking the blame but I know it's partly because of me you got sick. You got fatigued over carrying my big ass. And yeah, I've been a big ass for quite some time now towards you so I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, your big ass is at fault here. Definitely.” It slipped off Y/n’s lips out of disbelief that he even apologized for that, she sneers. “You're heavy up that hill when you’ve got mountains,” Y/n added, pointing at his bottoms.

“Y/n, what the heck? You're talking to me about my ass like that?” Beomgyu goes on and hides his bum with both his hands.

“Yeah, you're my ass.”

“What?”

“What?”

Y/n is shocked at herself as well, did she just claim him-oh sh—

“You're an ass,” she retaliated. “A-and, you started it!”

“Nuh-uh, I heard something else.”

Is he sure he wants to guarantee what I just said?!

“It's probably because you fell from that bike from that curb.” Y/n turned her back to him quickly and fastened her pace. “Now come on, chop-chop! We're gonna be late, remember?”

Beomgyu blushed to himself, didn't know she'd catch him that way but he'd act nonchalant and turn the tides back at her.

Just as she’s secured in his back, he stepped on the pedal and took her by surprise. “So you want me as your ass?”

The emphasis on ‘your’— It took all her self-control to convert her urge to push him off into huffing out CO2. “Can we stop talking about asses?”

“Aye, sorry you don't have one—”

“Choi Beomgyu!”

“No worries, I'll let you carry mine anytime.” The obvious wink in his tone made her writhe in embarrassment. Y/n just holds onto him even though she’s going to turn this smooth ride unstable with the amount of teasing he’s doing.

“I'd rather not.”

“Okay, I'll ride along with you in whatever you prefer. But don't you want to ask me what I prefer?”

“What?” She lightly tapped him on the shoulder, even by the leg to signal him to side the road first. Without going down the bike, they just stayed there, the atmosphere between the two not as still as the raving wind. The two are slightly in regret for being too close to each other. But they’re also too stubborn to budge to hide away the obvious pumping heartbeats deafening them.

“How about you take the whole package, can I be yours?” Still not turning to Y/n, Beomgyu shakes like the leaf on the tree.

Y/n furrowed her brows, mouth agape as it’s been robbed with words. She did her best not to touch his bandages to make him twirl and turn to face him properly. 

Y/n leaned in close to him but the words still not quite reconnected with her brain.

Beomgyu blushes at their distance, much the same and quite different from when she was sick. There's a hint of rose pink in her cheeks that he is quite distracted to not notice her flick his forehead. “Aish!”

“Are you sick in the head?!” Y/n fumes. “What nonsense are you spurting, do you even take responsibility for that?!”

“Yes!”

“Pabo. Let's go.” Turns her back blushing, but he easily catches on to get the bike from her. “Let's go, Pabo-yah.”

Moment of silence enveloping them, the thumping of their hearts still quite not simmering down their caged bodies. The only thing distancing them are the bike handles they’re walking in by other ends.

“Are you serious?” She almost blurted way too loudly to her liking, it came off breathless. “Be mine?”

“Be yours, be my baby. Whatever suits you.” Beomgyu directly stares at her but he’s also on the verge of melting in his scarlet cheeks. But he had to stand his ground and make this clear. “And okay, I know Yeonjun and I get on each other's nerves a lot but the last time just pushed me to admit it, okay? 

“The randomly brought up comments about ‘cutie’ and ‘GF’ thingy with me?”

“So you were listening to that time— but that’s beside the point, you’re more than that, Y/n.” He heaves in a breathe. "Okay… it’s just that he did push me to admit that I like you. I like you, Y/n. Not to sound like a high school kid but I like- like you, Y/n. To be clear. And I'm sorry for being an ass most of the time but you know that it wasn't meant to hurt you like harm you."

“I know, Beomgyu,” she admits, finally without that mask of pride of wanting to one-up him, as there is no means of doing that at the moment. As of right now, she’s also seeing Beomgyu as he is, without their childish attempts to get into each other’s skin. 

And why did they even begin to do that, and since when?

That is not for this agenda to go through, Y/n just laughs in disbelief, but it’s now about her whole belief system being rearranged about this man standing so close to her.

Without any ounce of fake-built grudge, she warmly smiles at Beomgyu.

“Same here. I like you.”

It really showed through more in her vulnerable state, and that time he took care of her when she was sick in bed resurfaced a lot of things in the past as proof he had been looking out for her all this time. Even though it is mostly swept under the rug forcibly by the guy himself by the amount of teasing and bantering. He was hiding it under the guise of being a prick when he’s actually soft on the inside.

But it’s all no longer for naught.

Aish, Choi Beomgyu. We really went all through that as it’s more fun that way huh?

“I bet Soobin will say ‘Took you guys long enough!’” The thought brushed past Y/n, making her shake her head in all this absurdity. 

“I’ll add another 5,000 won if Taehyun says ‘I almost got sick of your bantering!’”

Calculating the closeness and blurting out her summation, she marveled at the near future expectation. “Now they have to deal with us being lovey-dovey, huh?”

“Heol.” 

The duo, as if in full sync, made fake barf noises, then burst out laughing. Y/n and Beomgyu unconsciously intertwined their fingers until fully wrapped around each other, giddily holding hands on the way to the university.

So the feelings were hindering them, and they concealed it underneath all that cat and dog masquerade.

But what’s sure for her is that she’ll certainly ride along these feelings and where this would take them, together.

※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※

[strawbxrryanime]

Yandere Kel Doesn’t Want You To Leave - yandere!kel (omori) x reader

This is my first Omori-based post. Hope you enjoy!

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING!” Kel asks, eagerly. “We can have some more orange juice if you want… y’know, some orange joe perhaps?” You didn’t really want some orange joe, in fact. You really needed to go, it was getting late and the mixture of Orange Juice and Coffee wouldn’t stir up the night. You had to go. You had to leave.

You apologized and tried to say your goodbyes. Accompanied by Kel’s whining of course. “I’ll show you anything!” Kel said, he kept pointing to pictures, trying to entice you into things you like. Playing video games? None of these work for you, and you just turn him down. This makes Kel panic, extremely. He slowly fidgets with a nearby basketball as he thinks of something right as you walk out of the door.

“Is there any reason on why you’re going?” Kel whines. You keep explaining that it’s late, but it wasn’t a proper excuse to make him budge. “Then how about some orange juice then?” Kel said, “No joe.. just OJ.”

You were skeptical about his offer. Surely Orange Joes were, admit it, kind of bad, but nothing can go wrong with a glass of orange juice right? After all, you and Kel are best friends. A glass of orange juice, and you’d be right out of the door and heading to bed. Greatest sleep ever.

Kel almost stumbled bringing the two glasses of orange juices over, he gave one glass to you and one glass for himself. He fanned out his orange shirt as he smiled and chuckled. “Man, we’ve talked through so much… wonder why you can’t always come over that much?” Kel wondered as he sipped his glass.

You and Kel have been talking like wildfire, from calls to coming over to his home and watching the pigsty of a house he has. Somehow, you never even thought to sleepover or at least come over too often, rather the days you’d only visit his house were a few, 5 a year and just one now. Kel was wondering what’s the delay in all of your visits?

You took a sip of the orange juice and set it aside. You explain on why you couldn’t come over as much, plans, other things, moving on with life. It was so hard to focus upon one person when you’ve got so much to do. All Kel could do is give you a side eye while sipping his orange juice, kind of pissed off by your reasoning but understood pretty well. Or so you thought.

“So, you never wanted to come here because of plans?” Kel said, skeptical. “Wait, how could yo-“ Kel sighs and wonders if he’s overreacting or not. You kept on apologizing, but you’ve had plans. Kel knows that you’ve had plans. “It’s okay… I’m just glad you agreed to sleepover.” Kel muttered.

Wait, a sleepover?! You thought you perfectly diminished your rules to Kel. How could this be a sleepover? You try to explain.

“Wait, I’m not sleeping over Kel, I already told yo-“

“You’re sleeping over.” Kel said, bluntly. “In fact you’re sleeping over for a little while…”

You look at your glass of almost finished orange juice, you suddenly gasp and start feeling a bit drowsy. Kel wiped the sweat off his forehead as he smiled at the sight of you being drowsy.

“You look drunk again Y/N…” Kel sighs, smiling. “I hope the dosage wasn’t too high.”

Thud. You fell on the ground, suddenly crawling to find Kel’s feet in front of you, Kel is now towering over you as you looked up at him.

“I don’t want you to leave Y/N…” Kel said, in a soothing voice. Almost enough to make you sleep. “I just want to keep you safe…”

After falling asleep due to the high dosage inside that Orange Juice. Kel smirked just a little bit, surely he can get used to this, tying you up and making you his forever. Poor Kel doesn’t want you to leave, and he doesn’t want you to go off again. He just can’t admit that he hates it whenever he talks with you on call, sure your voice sounds amazing enough for him but, he just needs to be skin-to-skin with you.

You start to wake up, after feeling the effects of the high dosage inside of your OJ. Kel smiles and looks at you. “Wake up..” Kel whispered as he giggles and admires you. You were tied down to his bed. “It’s time for our forever sleepover to commence!” Kel chuckled as you tried to get out of the ropes tied down to you.

“Shhh.. it’ll hurt, stop struggling Y/N” Kel chuckled again. His chuckles were always thought to be contagious, but right now.. his chuckled were pure obsession, evil taken over. “Y/N, my perfect Y/N…” Kel put a hand on your cheek, his hand is warm. You try your best to fight it and scream through the gag on your mouth.

“It’s raining hard Y/N…” Kel smiled again. “I doubt anyone could hear you.” Kel was right, these windows are protected anyways, and worse enough the rain was loud enough to commode thunder in the skies. “I love you Y/N… I know I haven’t told you in a long time but I love you! I love you I love you!” Kel cried out.

You kept struggling as Kel held your cheek. You immediately stopped to look at him. “I love you so much… I’ve always been embarrassed to say my feelings towards you but, ever since we met, ever since we touched, even looked each other in the eye. I’ve always loved you…” Kel said as he chuckled again. “Ever since I been with you no matter what… you were always insecure and ashamed… but you don’t have to…” Kel said.

“Because I love you in every aspect of you, every ratio, every part of you…” Kel cried out, as he kissed you on the cheek. You still kept trying to struggle, trying your best but you were tightly tied down. “SHUT UP!” Kel yelled out as you stopped struggling. “SHUT UP! SHUT UPPP!” Kel yelled out. “STOP TRYING TO LEAVE ME!” Kel kept crying out.

Minute by minute you watched Kel unravel into a complete obsessed mess. “I LOVE YOU WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED?!” Kel yelled out as tears came out his eyes. “I’m going to make sure you stay here with me forever. Six feet under. No matter what. Nobody can separate our bond. NOBODY!” Kel yelled in an obsessed tone. “I-I can teach you all about basketball..” Kel said shakily, his hands are shaking, his whole body is shaking. He’s so obsessed and in love with you.

“Y-Y/N…” Kel said shakily as he glared at you. “I’m going to make sure you stay here for every minute of your life..” Kel was shaking even more as he caressed your cheek again and again. Pulling you into a real tight embrace. “I’m going to make sure to keep you safe, where nobody can find you, where you belong to me and only me…” Kel cried out, his breath had always smelled like orange juice, he’d probably been practicing enticing you with this.

“Y/N…” Kel kept saying and muttering to your ear. “Your name… saying your name…” Kel chuckles more and more. “Saying your name makes me go crazy Y/N…” Kel kept smirking as he wraps his legs around your waist, tightening his cuddle into you more.

“You’re never going anywhere anymore. Wherever you go I go. There’s no escaping my love for you Y/N. Even if it means I have to make you scream to show my heart throbbing over the sight of you.”

And there you went, nothing but a mystery to what happened to Y/N? You’ve been gone for a long time now, and your case is getting cold. Technically, your neighbors cared about you, some of your friends did, but everybody concluded to the same thing. You were gone forever and couldn’t be seen anywhere. Your disappearance was nothing but a cold mystery, where people would discuss it everywhere. The only thing they’d find in your house however, a mysterious glass of orange juice.. that glass was scanned for fingerprints and everything but sadly no search or findings. You just simply vanished, simply gone out of thin air.. well, actually.. after draining all the orange juice out of the glass, there was a sticky note.

“Y/N is mine and mine alone. I love Y/N so so much.. I think it’s best for you investigators to work on something else hm? Y/N is perfectly safe under my arms and my arms only. So fuck off.”