warnings: mild sexual content, teasing, fluff, stubborn arguments, strong language
synopsis: you forgot the laundry. again. and now aki’s punishing you in the most infuriatingly effective way possible.
you forgot the laundry.
again.
and maybe that wouldn't be a huge deal if it hadn’t started pouring ten minutes after aki texted you asking if you remembered to bring it in, and you said, “oh crap. no. my bad. it’s probably fine tho lol.”
it wasn’t fine.
your underwear was soaked. his favorite black button-down was dripping like a lifeless rag over the railing. and the towel you used for your morning showers was now clinging to the porch like a dead jellyfish.
by the time you got home, aki had already brought everything in. the apartment smelled like wet fabric and eucalyptus detergent. there were towels laid out across the floor. the fan was pointed directly at the mess. and aki was standing there with his hair tied up, sleeves rolled, and a distinct look on his face.
not mad. not yelling. just deeply, soulfully done.
“hey,” you tried. “didn’t think it’d rain that hard.”
he didn’t say anything for a second.
just kept hanging the clothes up on the drying rack like he was counting down the seconds until he had the emotional strength to speak to you without snapping.
you sat on the arm of the couch, watching him. “you okay?”
“no,” he said flatly. “i’m really not.”
you blinked. “…okay. do you wanna talk about it or—?”
“you left the laundry out. again.”
“i forgot. i’ve had a crazy day—”
“you always forget,” he said, still not looking at you. “and then you act like it’s no big deal.”
“because it’s just clothes!”
he paused.
then he looked at you.
“you shrunk my last clean towel.”
you tried not to smile. “it’s not that small.”
“it’s the size of a dinner napkin.”
“…okay, that’s kind of funny—”
“no. it’s not.”
he said it with that deadly calm tone that meant this wasn’t just about laundry anymore.
you stood and walked over to him slowly, putting a hand on his arm. “i’m sorry. really. i’ll buy you a new towel.”
“i don’t want a new towel,” he said, gently pulling his arm away. “i want you to listen when i ask you to do things the first time.”
you frowned, because he never talked like this.
not seriously. not in that firm, no-joke, “you’ve crossed a line” tone.
you crossed your arms. “okay, well now you’re being dramatic.”
he raised an eyebrow. “am i?”
“it’s laundry, aki.”
he stared at you. said nothing. just stared like he was calculating something quietly in his mind.
then, as calm and casual as ever, he said:
“sex ban. two weeks.”
you blinked. “what?”
“two weeks,” he repeated, walking past you. “starting now.”
“are you kidding?”
“no.”
you whirled around to follow him into the kitchen. “because of laundry?”
he opened the fridge. “because of everything.”
“you can’t just ban me from sex.”
he looked over his shoulder, cool and blank and infuriatingly in control. “watch me.”
you stared at him, jaw slack, unable to decide if you were offended or turned on.
he grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge like he was closing the case. “you clearly don’t respect consequences, so maybe this’ll help.”
“this is not how consequences work!”
he didn’t reply. he was already walking to the bathroom to hang the last damp towel—well, the shrunken napkin—from the shower rod.
you fumed for the rest of the night.
•
at first, it didn’t bother you.
you were stubborn. hotheaded. dramatic.
two weeks? whatever.
you could wait.
you were stronger than this.
…except you weren’t.
by day four, you were restless. snappy. distracted. aki was still treating you with quiet distance — polite, but pointed. like a parent letting a toddler wear themselves out.
and somehow, he looked better than ever.
hair tied up messily. sleeves rolled like he was in a drama. tight black top. cigarette hanging loosely between his lips while he did dishes like he didn’t just threaten to ruin you emotionally and physically.
by day six, you were desperate.
you sat on the edge of the bed while he changed, eyes locked on the sliver of his waist as he slid a shirt over his head.
he didn’t look at you.
“i’m sorry,” you tried again.
“mm.”
“it was dumb. i should’ve brought the laundry in. or at least told you.”
he just nodded, brushing his hair back and tying it neatly.
you crawled over the bed slowly. “you know, i’ve been really good all week.”
“have you?”
“yes.”
he raised an eyebrow. “you used my razor without asking.”
“…okay, but not in a bad way—”
“you also used the last of the ice and put the tray back empty.”
you frowned. “are you keeping score now?”
“i’m being observant,” he said flatly. “something you could try.”
you gaped. “aki.”
he leaned over and kissed your forehead.
“one week to go.”
and just like that, he was gone again.
•
by day nine, you were feral.
he walked into the kitchen in a towel after his shower, and you physically had to sit on your hands to keep from lunging.
you were clingy. constantly touching him. sitting in his lap. making him tea and then drinking it yourself.
“what’s your plan here,” he asked once, as you clung to his back like a backpack.
“breaking you down with affection.”
he smirked faintly. “bold of you to assume i’m the one being punished.”
you groaned and rolled off him.
•
by day thirteen, you were dying.
you sat on the couch in shorts and a tank top, hoping he’d break first.
he sat across from you, reading a book, entirely unbothered.
you whined. “you’re torturing me.”
“good.”
“aki.”
“hmm?”
“please.”
he flipped a page. “what happened to ‘it’s just laundry’?”
“i was wrong!”
“mm. say it again.”
“i was wrong!”
he glanced up at you over the top of his book. “you gonna remember the towels next time?”
“i’ll fold the towels. i’ll iron the towels.”
he raised an eyebrow. “you don’t iron anything.”
“i will.”
he set the book down.
walked over.
stood in front of you, quiet and unreadable.
“and what have we learned?” he asked.
“that i should never question your wrath.”
he leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep.
you sighed into it, melting like you’d been waiting centuries.
he pulled back just enough to whisper, “the ban technically ends tomorrow.”
you blinked, dazed. “so what does that mean?”
he brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers. “means you can start apologizing now.”
