#in other words.... i started ch 11 today

[amoripomoea]

the beginning of ch 1 vs the beginning of ch 11....................

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i’m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore. 

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside. 

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets. 

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to. 

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head. 

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.” 

“So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life. 

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true? 

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything. 

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced? 

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field. 

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time. 

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again. 

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.” 

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.” 

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater. 

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.” 

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern. 

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable. 

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd. 

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle. 

And then the kickoff starts. 

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net. 

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit. 

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU. 

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play. 

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead. 

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts. 

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him. 

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you. 

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet. 

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net. 

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines. 

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state. 

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff. 

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line. 

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball. 

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post. 

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him. 

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with. 

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully. 

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in. 

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field. 

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime. 

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing. 

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet. 

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you. 

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet. 

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side. 

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound. 

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.” 

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field. 

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together. 

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.” 

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long. 

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he���s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you. 

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security. 

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space. 

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he’s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus. 

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius. 

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does. 

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo. 

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team. 

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk. 

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play. 

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net. 

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock. 

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum. 

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field. 

The referee chirps his whistle. 

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd’s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion. 

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over. 

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath. 

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!” 

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed. 

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0 

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

taglist:

@megumisdivinedogs @witchbybirth @avatarl0v3r @mwtsxri @asherheed

@wynney @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

@phoenix-eclipses @who-can-touch-my-boob @mo0nforme @reagan707 @lost-resonance

@foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @beabadobeee @thexmistress

@tsukikourito @pickuptruck01 @gabriiiiiiii @4y3sh4 @tiredflame132

@cliosunshine @btszn @izayas-rings @semra4 @ethereally-lyann

@drthymby @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010

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@ri-sa20 @thexmistress @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @sashisuslover

@chwesuh-imnida @megumisthirdog @imjustaweirdnerd @angelicscribe

[taglist is closed]

[honeekyuu]

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

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

or

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

series status: [ongoing]

masterlist. || next.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[11:16 AM]

You: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Kou: OMG SAME

You: ?? whats wrong on your end

Kou: nothing why?

Kou: IS SOMETHING WRONG???

You snort, rolling your eyes.

You: late to my 11am

Kou: OH THE READING GROUP

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

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

Kou: :))))) 

You: it’s LEM

Kou: LINGUISTICS AND EXPERIMENTAL METHODS

Kou: RIGHT

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

You: thats why im fucked

Kou: oh im sure he wont say anything

Kou: SAY HI FOR ME

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

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

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

Akaashi Keiji’s eyes find yours.

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

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

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

“It might be helpful if I start over-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bank Account Balance (Oct. 10); $562.95

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of the group.

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

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

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

Just the grilling of a lifetime incoming .

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry?”

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

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

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

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

“And what about case?”

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

“What analysis are you adopting?”

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

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

“I’m not interested in them-”

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

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

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

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

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

“Then do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really hate Akaashi Keiji.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare down at your lukewarm coffee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Bokuto.”

Here comes the weight, right back on your shoulders.

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

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

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

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

You’re instantly defensive. “Yeah.”

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

“Forgot it at home.”

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

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

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

“What’d I miss?”

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

“ No, ” Bokuto whines. “No fighting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[2:47 PM] New Comment on Your Video

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ Y/n .”

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

“I’ve been calling your name.”

You blink. “Sorry. What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do I really have to find a partner?  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of them work.

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

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

[9:48 PM]

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

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

Akaashi: youll print the exams next week, right?

You stare at the messages as they come in.

Akaashi . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can see his name even from here. 

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

“H-Hello?”

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

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

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

“You stayed there until 10 on a Saturday?”

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

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

“ And you’ll-”

“Yep. I got the exams.”

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

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

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

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

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

The only issue is that you hate each other.

Great.

–

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

God, you can’t do this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And it was your only option?”

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

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

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

Silence, and then-

“Define ‘ not going well ’.”

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

“Y/n-”

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

“You need a partner.”

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

“Why me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, well – thanks for your time-”

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

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

“Y/n- Y/n- ” 

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

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

[2:26 PM]

Kou: LUNCH? TEN MINUTES?

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

Kou: IM JUST CHECKING, FUCK

Hitoka: i like that he reminds us, hehe

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

Hitoka: hey now.

Kou: oops-

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

Akaashi: y/n i wont say anything

Akaashi: i swear

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

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

–

Keiji has never known what to make of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You piss him off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Double?!

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

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

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

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

Well, there’s one option.

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

Akaashi texts you that night.

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

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

[7:59 PM]

Akaashi: i’ll do it.

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

He’ll do it? He’ll-

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

“ Hello? ”

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

“ Yeah. I’ll do it. ”

“Why?”

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

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

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

“What about the other stuff?”

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

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

“ Are you in or not? ”

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

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

“ Alright. Tomorrow afternoon? ”

“I’m free after 2.”

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

“O…kay. Okay.”

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

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

“Okay,” you say to no one.

The conversation had lasted 55 seconds.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that that new roommate would ever appear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod slowly. “You did your homework.”

“Did you forget who I am?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Sorry. I had to check.”

“Surprisingly, I’m above blackmail.”

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

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

“How’d you decide on 20%?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart jumps. “No one, preferably.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You went to the doctor today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-Sure. That’s all fine with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, be curious in bed, not now.”

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

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“But you reacted when I said it-”

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

“How’d I say it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understood.”

You wonder how much longer this torture will last.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get you your rent money.”

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

–

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

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

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

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

[10:16 PM]

Akaashi: i need your account name + site

[10:18 PM]

Akaashi: please

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

[10:19 PM]

You: no fucking way

Akaashi: ???????

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He texts back this time.

[10:23 PM]

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

Akaashi: are you hearing yourself???

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

[10:26 PM]

You: xxxvids .com

You: username tokyolovely

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

Akaashi: … no comment.

You want to smack him.

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

Akaashi: onlyfans?? pornhub even???

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

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

You definitely want to smack him.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You agreed to this, you idiot.

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

Oh.

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

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

[Oct. 19] Shy Girl Fingers Herself to Orgasm

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

[Oct. 18] Virgin Sends Masturbation Video to Boyfriend

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

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

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

You can squirt ?

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

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

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

TOKYOLOVELY IS ACTIVE NOW – SAY HI!

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

[10:35 PM]

tokyohandsome: stop anxiously scrolling through your own videos

tokyolovely: YOU FUCK, YOU CHOSE THAT NAME ON PURPOSE

tokyohandsome: get offline, tokyolovely

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

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

tokyohandsome: go to bed, youre driving me nuts

tokyohandsome: wait-

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

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

tokyohandsome: ill take that as a no.

tokyolovely: YOU HAVE TO TELL ME WHICH ONE YOU WATCH

tokyohandsome: goodnight, lovely <3 

tokyolovely: i hate you.

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

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

tokyolovely: yes.

tokyohandsome: do i decide how much they give you?

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

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

tokyolovely: ….. goodnight, handsome.

tokyohandsome: :((

tokyolovely: …. <3

tokyohandsome: :))

TOKYOLOVELY HAS LOGGED OFF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He presses record.

–

At 11pm, you get a text.

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

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

You’re horribly underground, now.

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

[10:59 PM] 

Akaashi : [Video Attached]

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

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

Akaashi: making it a little less unfair.

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

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

You know that pale green sheet.

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

And you realize immediately what’s happening.

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

Your jaw drops. He’s-

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

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

So that’s what he’s into.

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

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

This is Akaashi Keiji.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

[kiwikisses]

𝕃𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕖𝕪 ℕ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Fem!reader x Idol!Bangchan

Summary: Chan has been coming home late every night for the past month but suddenly comes home early and catches you doing something…

Warnings: Bondage, Cum control, Oral (M receiving), He calls himself a good boy, Cock Ring, Restraint, Ropes/Tying up, Sub!Chan, Dom!reader, lmk if I missed any!

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This one kinda sucks but I was trying to find a ff like this with Chan tied up and i fricking couldn’t so I wrote one myself. I hope yall like it😣. Also i would love more recs! If you have something you want to write about just ask!!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Recently Chan has been spending a lot of time at work. You've tried to convince him to take some days off, but he won't listen. He’s been coming home really late every night since the beginning of the month. It makes you overthink, but you also know that he would never do anything like that to you.

It was just like every other night, staying up, and waiting for Chan impatiently. It was only 9:00 PM. And he usually gets home at around 11-12 at night.

Today was a particularly hard day, all you could think about was Chan. Neither of you haven't done anything with each other for almost a month now. You’re starting to think about his touch, the way his hands glide across your body. His voice in the back of your head, "C'mon Y/N, please".

All day at work you sat at your desk, thinking about everything you have done with him. The two of you have always been open with the kinds of things you like doing in bed. There was always one thing you wanted to try, but you figured Chan wouldn't like it because he tends to be the dominant one.

You sit on the couch and turn on the TV to pass time and get your mind off of your sick thoughts. It’s been a cycle of him coming home then going straight to bed after saying hi to you, so you haven't really gotten the chance to ask him about it.

9:30PM

Fuck this is gonna be a long night without you Chan...

It feels wrong watching videos with bondage and cum control on other men, but you wanted to be able to give Chan the best experience you could if he would ever allow you to do it to him.

You move over to the counter and grab your laptop, pulling up the usual website you use and watch a video of a man, tied in a chair, his hands behind his back, and a cock ring on his dick.

The man's face wasn't in frame, and he was built pretty similarly to chan. Your face was getting hot thinking about it, you wanted to ask Chan about it. Desperately. But, he was always home late and tired, so you didn’t want to disturb him.

9:45PM

It's only been 15 minutes?

Time felt so slow when you had nights like these, fantasizing about Chans reactions as you took control over him.

Suddenly, you hear the clicks in the door, Click Click. The door opens and Chan walks in, you were in shock that he was already home. So much so that you forgot to close your tabs.

You went over to the door to greet Chan with a hug, joy overcoming you seeing him this early. “I finally had some time left over to come home early, love” he said with a warm smile.

Chan walks over to the counter to set down his bag and sees your computer that was left open. The paused video on the screen was still open, revealing to him what you do while he’s not home.

“Oh? What’s this hm?” His gaze shifting from the computer to you. Realizing you’ve messed up you quickly close the laptop.

You look at Chan innocently, “Uh, that wasn’t me I-I-“ Chan cut you off by meeting his lips into yours, giving you gentle kisses to let you know he’s not angry.

Chan breaks the kiss and looks at your face, his expression changed from soft to lustful, “What is this love? Is it something you want?” You look away out of embarrassment , it’s not that you didn’t what him to know but this wasn’t the way you wanted him to find out you were into this kind of thing.

“Chan, I-I really wanted to tell you..but you’ve been so busy lately I just haven’t had the chance…”

He walks over to the kitchen table and grabs one of the chairs and brings it to the center of the living room. He proceeds to sit down, “Well?” You sheepishly smile and head towards the bedroom, grabbing lube, red rope, and a cock ring. When you walk out with the materials chan is a little surprised, not by the lube or the rope, rather the cock ring. Chan has never used one with you nor has he ever owned one.

“Where did you get that?” you had spontaneously bought the cock ring one night while you were having one of those nights, and hoped you’d be able to use it with him one day. “well… I was bored without you one night and I kinda thought… about you wearing one…” You lowered your tone as you said the last bit. You didn’t want him to see into your mind of fantasies. He smiles at you as you put the things on the floor beside him.

He takes off his pants and boxers in one swift motion, then moving on to his shirt, his body always got you. The way he just looks so effortlessly good gets you every time.

He sits back down and puts his hands behind his back, ready to be tied. Chan looks so hot when he’s submissive, his eyes just have a certain look in them as if he’s asking for more.

After you finish tying him up you put the cock ring on his shaft, his semi-hard cock twitches from the feeling of your fingers working around him. “Ready Chan? I wont do this if you don’t want me to.”

“please Y/N, don’t let me leave this chair until I have tears rolling down my cheeks.” You give him a smile as you head over to grab a second chair from the table so you’re comfortable.

You place the chair so facing him, giving you enough space to touch him and see his expression. Chan has the best expressions when he’s is in pleasure.

You take his hard nipple into your mouth, your tongue going back and forth on his bud. He lets his head fall back, little mmm’s coming from him. His body is overly sensitive. Your hand roams around his body, going to his V-line to tease his now hard cock. “Fuck Y/N, why are you such a tease.”

“I’m the tease? What about all these nights you’ve been leaving me alone to please myself without you?” He has a look of need on his face, his eyes watching your hand getting closer to his dick. His abdomen twitching every time you rubbed down to his shaft.

Your eyes meet his as you take his dick into your hand. Moans are slipping from his lips, he hasn’t touched himself or been touched in a while. He’s missed the way you touch him. “Mmm, Y/N..” His eyes are focused in your hand, you tease around his tip, rubbing your finger along his slit, forcing moans out of him. “Tell me when you’re about to cum okay?”

He closes his eyes and throws his head back, you lean forward and kiss his adam’s apple, the sound of his little whimpers filling the room. “I-I’m close..” His body squirms round, his hips bucking as you remove your hand. His hips keep fucking into the air hoping for a release. After he calms down and relaxes you go back to stroking him.

Your hand moves slowly up and down his cock, the rope around his wrists holding him down from trying to give himself release, “Patients Chan, you need to wait. You need a little punishment for leaving me alone for so long.” He whimpers in frustration as you slow your pace down even more. Your hands lifts from his cock, his hips chasing after your hand. His head falls back, his moans growing louder.

“Please Y/N, I-I’m s-sorry, please let me cum..” Looking into your eyes he begs for release, you want to give it to him but the way his body is moving from your touch, his body twitching, his hips moving with your strokes. You just couldn’t help yourself from wanting to see him like that forever. His submissive side was always your favorite thing. Chan has the best facial expressions when he’s being lost in his own pleasure.

“You need to be good Chan, earn it.” He groans, tears starting to form in the outer corners of his eyes. “Please I-I’ll be a good boy, I didnt mean to..” You smile at his response, your speed picking up again, using your other hand to place your palm on the tip of his cock. The feeling of your palm on his tip along with how fast you’re stroking him makes him cry out your name.

“Ngh I-I’m closed Y/N..” You stop touching him completely, he tries to chase his high again but fails. “Fuck Y/N I cant take it anymore.” You reach for his tip and tease his slit, his dick twitching here and there. His breathing starts getting heavier, his chest rising and falling at a fast pace.

Chans eyes are watering from being edged three times, the tears close to falling. You watch his expression, making sure that he is okay with everything still.

Finally a tear falls from his eye and rolls down his cheek. You had already decided in your mind that when he was crying for release, like he said earlier, then you’d let him cum.

“Since you’ve been so good for me chan, you can cum. But you have to promise you wont leave me to touch myself all alone again okay? Can you do that?” He shakes his head yes, the tears falling down to his jaw. He watches your hand go up to his cock, you make sure to keep your pace steady this time.

The ropes restrain his body as he tries to reach for his dick to finally let go. His hips are in rhythm with every stroke you make, “I-I’m gonna cum Y/N…C-Can I cum?” You nod yes and start stroking his cock faster, his moans becoming rapid, his body tenses and his breathing becoming louder and faster.

You put your mouth up to his cock head, you’ve been needing to taste him.

With a final stroke he cums in your mouth. White strings shooting into your throat, the warm white fluid filling your mouth. You kiss his tip, making sure to get every drop of him.

“It’s all out mm~…” He hisses with every stroke, his body pulling him forward every time you moan on his dick.

You bring yourself off of his cock and stroke him a few more times before getting face to face with chan. “You did so good, Chan.” He leans forward and kisses you, the taste of his cum on your tongue transfers to his.

You reach behind him and untie his wrists. The rope falls off his body, little red marks appearing where the rope was sitting. “I’m sorry Chan…Did it hurt where the ropes were? You should’ve told me.” You frown at the marks as you run your finger over them.

“It didnt love, I kinda liked the way it felt to be restrained.” He smiled and took you into his arms. You both always cared about after care, especially Chan, he really valued giving you aftercare.

You escape his grasp to take off the cock ring, trying to get him more comfortable. “Would you like to go take a shower together and clean up?” You say as you gather the ropes that were discarded on the floor.

You both share a smile and head toward the shared bedroom and get ready to shower, “Just wait love, I’ll get you back.”

You scoff as you take off the last of your clothes, “I’ll have you crying my name.” Chan had a more serious tone, his dominant side makes you a little nervous sometimes but you low key love how rough he is when hes frustrated about something. “I can’t wait for it then.”

[persevereforahappyending]

Maybe in Another Life |16|

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Hunter of Artemis!Reader

Summary: You are a Hunter of Artemis, but you start to question what you truly want when you meet Clarisse and get to know her.

Warnings: Slight The Last Olympian Spoilers, Stab Wound, Dying, Talks of Dying

Word Count: 3k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7 | ch. 8 | ch. 9 | ch. 10 | ch. 11 | ch. 12 | ch. 13 | ch. 14 | ch. 15 | ch. 16 | ch. 17

You tried to open your eyes, but your eyelids were just so heavy. You couldn’t remember a time you felt so exhausted, your body felt like it was filled with lead. It felt like all your energy was focused on breathing. You slowly tried to open your eyes again, as they finally cracked open you were met with a bright white light.

Everything was blurry, you could only make out shadows as they passed across the light. You closed your eyes, intending to try and clear the blurriness. You weren’t sure how long it took but every time you closed your eyes even though you were just trying to blink it took forever to open them again. When your vision was finally clear you saw you were in some building, a few other demigods shuffling about, it sounded like there was screaming coming from outside, though it sounded far away.

“Wh-” you tried speaking, your voice sounding drier and raspier than it ever had before.

“Easy,” a soft voice came.

You looked around trying to find the voice which turned out to be a mistake because instantly your world started spinning. You needed to close your eyes again, you didn’t open them until it felt like everything had stopped moving. You slowly opened them again, expecting to be thrown back into a spinning world but instead you were met with the sight of Clarisse.

“Easy,” she said again. Her voice sounded so soft; you didn’t like when her voice was that soft, it usually meant something bad had happened.

Your mind was still fuzzy, but everything was slowly coming back to you. You had been fighting, there was a demigod on Luke’s side, he was about to stab Thalia in the back. You winced at the reminder of a dagger going through you, you glanced down, seeing your shirt ripped and bloodied.

“Thalia?” You rasped out.

“She’s okay,” Clarisse whispered, lightly running her fingers through your hair. “She had to go back out there, the fights still going.”

“Why are you here?” It was truly exhausting trying to keep your eyes open, you never knew how heavy your eyelids were until now. You closed your eyes, taking short breaths as you tried not to wince in pain every time. “What?” You asked, slowly opening your eyes when you realized Clarisse hadn’t answered you.

“You were stabbed,” she said, shaking her head like she couldn’t even believe you asked her that.

“But you’re needed out there.” You weren’t sure how long you were out but if the fight was still going on then Clarisse needed to be out there, any other time she would be out there.

“I’m not leaving your side.”

“I’m not really sure I’m getting better.”

You didn’t miss the way Clarisse’s eyes shined with tears once again, maybe you were becoming delirious from the blood loss. “Don’t say that,” she shook her head.

“I’m on borrowed time,” you gave her a sad smile. There were only so many healers, there was only so much they could do, if one hadn’t already seen you then there was no way one would. You were okay with that, there were other demigods that needed attention, ones who hadn’t lived a thousand years already. “I’ve lived enough lifetimes.”

“I don’t care,” Clarisse’s voice cracked. “You’re not dying today. I refuse.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, not even caring about the pain. “Sadly, power over the dead isn’t something Ares can control.”

You’re entire body shook, shivering more than you ever had in the middle of winter. You knew you weren’t actually cold though, there wasn’t a reason to be. You were in New York in the middle of summer, you were also dripping with sweat. Despite the fact that your entire body was shivering you occasionally felt Clarisse dabbing a cloth on your forehead.

“You’re not allowed to die on me,” Clarisse whispered. “First Silena,” she choked back a sob. You could see her trying to keep it together, Clarisse was doing everything in her power to not completely breakdown right now. “Now, you,” she shook her head, “I don’t think I could take it.”

You looked up at her through tired eyes. “I’m sorry,” you rasped out.

You didn’t know what else to say, you couldn’t change what happened to Silena, you couldn’t bring her back. There was also no way you’d take back what you did. You knew the risks when you put yourself between Thalia and that demigod. You would make the same decision again and again; Thalia was alive and that’s what mattered. You hated that Clarisse had to go through this though, you hated seeing someone you cared for be in so much pain.

“I thought you always won,” Clarisse said. “Daughter of Nike, you’re meant to win, that’s your thing.”

You let out a silent chuckle, which required much more energy than it ever should have. “I did win,” you let out in a tired breath. “I protected my lieutenant, that’s my job.”

Clarisse frowned. Artemis chose a lieutenant, someone who was her second and then you were their second, you were always meant to protect them. Even if it wasn’t your job to protect your lieutenant, you would still do it, you would always protect your lieutenant, or your goddess, or any of your sisters. Clarisse knew this, she knew it when she met you, you had talked about it, you guessed that didn’t make it any easier when something actually happened.

“Well, this is a fight you need to win. You need to fight for your life, I need you to fight for it.” she said. “That’s an order.”

“Sorry, boss,” you joked. “I don’t think I get a say in this one.”

Clarisse clenched her jaw. Ares was the god of war; his kids loved a fight. Ares nor his kids ever cared about winning or losing at the end of the day as long as the fight was good. However, this was a fight Clarisse couldn’t do, it was one you had to do all on your own and you knew the outcome was already decided for you, this was always going to be your fate one day.

Clarisse’s eyes snapped up, looking at something across the room. You started to turn your head to see what she was looking at but stopped when the simple movement exhausted you. You opened your mouth to just ask Clarisse what it was when she shot out of her seat and disappeared from your view. You cleared your throat, letting out a pained cough, your throat was so dry.

“Fix it!” came an angry voice. A second later Clarisse came back into view, though this time she was dragging some kid with her. She pointed down at you and shoved him forward.

“Clarisse-” the boy tried, somehow remaining calm despite Clarisse literally dragging him away from whatever he had been doing.

“Now, Solace!” she stepped forward, towering over him, intimidating him as best as she could.

The kid raised his hands and kneeled down next to you. “Hi,” he whispered. “My names Will.” Clarisse tapped her foot impatiently, arms crossed, and jaw clenched, as she glared at Will but remained otherwise silent. “Mind if I?” he pointed to your wound.

You nodded, that seemed to be all that you could actually manage at the moment. You felt Will lift up your shirt then peel back the bandage. He sucked in a breath; you hadn’t seen your injury yet but clearly it wasn’t good. You kept your eyes on him, watching as he flicked a glance up to Clarisse, clearly wanting to say something but opting not to. If he wanted to tell her your injury was too severe then you would say he made the right decision, Clarisse didn’t want to hear there was nothing he could do.

Will flicked his eyes from your wound to your face, meeting your gaze. His eyes widened for a split second, probably realizing you had been watching him, before he recovered, offering you a kind smile. He placed his hands just above your wound and quietly began singing a song in ancient Greek. You held your breath, watching as Will’s eyes never left your wound, his brow furrowed despite the soft song he was singing.

When the song ended, and Will took his hands away, you saw his face fall. You didn’t need him to look at you, you didn’t need him to say anything, you already knew, you could feel it, it hadn’t worked. Will finally looked up at you, his eyes soft. “I’m sorry,” he whispered with all the sympathy.

You nodded, returning the kind smile. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “Thank you.” You didn’t want him to feel guilty, he had tried his best. Even a child of Apollo couldn’t heal all injuries.

“Sorry?” Clarisse asked. “What do you mean sorry? Heal her!” she grabbed Will by his shirt, aggressively pulling him closer to her. “You have to heal her.” Though you knew she was still intimidating and would strike fear in most demigod’s eyes you didn’t see fear in Will’s, you only saw sadness.

“I can’t,” he said. He reached up, gently placing a hand on Clarisse’s and slowly eased her hands off of him. “I’m sorry,” he looked back down at you then back at Clarisse. “It’s not just a normal stab wound.” You furrowed your brow; the dagger had looked like a normal celestial bronze dagger, and you knew that was definitely what you were stabbed with. “I think there was some sort of poison on it.” You sucked in a breath, that would explain why your entire body ached, you weren’t just suffering from blood loss, but some sort of poison was slowly killing you as well. “A poison I can’t heal.”

Clarisse released her hold on Will, giving him a little shove. Will stumbled but he still didn’t seem angry. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. Your eyes didn’t leave Clarisse, you saw her arms fall to her side, when she turned to face you again, you saw it, the realization that this was the end, she was going to lose you.

Clarisse got down so she could kneel next to you again. She rested a hand on your head and gently began running her hands through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp in the process. Your head snapped to the side when you felt someone grab your hand, your brow furrowing when you saw Will back at your side.

Will closed his eyes and a second later you let out a gasp, instant relief flooding through you. Clarisse looked from you then at Will questioningly. “I can’t heal you,” Will whispered. “But I can take some of your pain.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. You watched Will, seeing how he closed his eyes, his face contorted in pain. You knew a child of Apollo could take the pain from someone, but in doing so they took the pain for themselves. You wanted to send Will away, you were sure there were other people he could actually help but Will seemed committed on staying, you weren’t sure why, you didn’t even know the kid, maybe he was just friends with Clarisse or maybe he was just empathetic like most kids of Apollo.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the relaxing feeling of Clarisse running her fingers through your hair. As far as deaths went this definitely wasn’t the worst way to go. You would have preferred a more instant death, it would have been less painful, but at least you were being given the opportunity to say goodbye. Far too many demigods didn’t get that chance, most went off on a quest and just never returned, no one knowing what happened to them or how they died. A lot of demigods didn’t even make it to Camp Half-Blood, the majority of them were snatched up by monsters on their way there.

You weren’t sure how long it had been since you got stabbed but the war had been won. You didn’t know exactly what happened, but you could hear the cheers from the other demigods, the fighting and the sound of monsters had slowly died down, only to be filled with screams of joy. Wherever you were, remained quiet though, the Apollo kids quietly moving around to finish healing the injured, and demigods comforting each other on all the friends and siblings lost. You heard quick whispers about Percy and Annabeth beating Luke. Throughout it all though Clarisse remained by your side, she didn’t fight at the end of the war because she chose to stay by your side.

“It was supposed to be me,” Clarisse whispered. You furrowed your brow, looking up at her, it had been a while since she had last spoken. “I was supposed to die first.” You felt Wills fingers twitch in your hand but when you spared him a glance you saw his eyes were still closed, focusing solely on taking your pain. You knew he could hear both of you, but it was clear he was trying not to eavesdrop.

“Guess fate had other plans,” you rasped out. “Don’t worry,” you gave her the best smile you could manage. “I’ll be waiting for you in Elysium.”

Clarisse gave you a sad smile. “I’ll be there.” She hesitantly intertwined her hand in yours before slowly bringing your clasped hands to her mouth, giving your fingers a soft kiss.

“Better not show up too soon.” You narrowed your eyes at her. “Otherwise, I’ll be pissed.”

Clarisse let out a chuckle, but it quickly turned into a sob. She leaned down, resting her forehead against yours. You closed your eyes, just enjoying her presence. The two of you were broken out of your little bubble when you heard someone approaching.

When Clarisse pulled away you saw Thalia in front of you, limping slightly. Behind Thalia though was Artemis. You couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh. You knew it had been a long shot, you weren’t sure how long the war would last, you weren’t sure how long it would take for the poison to kill you, but you were hoping you would have long enough to say goodbye to both of them but especially your goddess.

“Do you want me to give you a minute?” Will asked, breaking the silence.

You hesitated but eventually nodded. “Thank you,” you told Will again. You closed your eyes preparing yourself as Will released your hand. Despite knowing it was coming you couldn’t help but hiss, gasping as a wave of pain overtook you again.

Clarisse gave your hand a final squeeze before leaving your side for the first time. Clarisse was giving you your privacy with Artemis and Thalia, but she had just moved right outside the doorway, so you could still see her. As soon as Clarisse vacated your side Artemis filled the space, kneeling right next to you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Artemis rested a hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting rub, as she shook her head. “You did good,” she said, nodding. “You fought bravely, you protected your sister,” she glanced over at Thalia. You nodded; tears began to fill your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “Just as you always have.” She glanced down at your wound, her face falling. “Your death will be handled with honor; I will make sure of it, or Hades will feel my wrath.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Hades was powerful, he didn’t take many of the gods seriously, even his brothers at times. You knew your goddess though and she would raise hell to get what she wanted, especially when she set her mind to something, she was truly a force to be reckoned with.

“Now, none of that will be necessary,” a cocky voice came.

“What are you doing here?” Artemis said, clearly annoyed. You followed her gaze to see Apollo leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and his usual smirk on his face.

“I heard my favorite Hunter was trying to die on me.” He pushed off the doorframe and made his way to your side. “And I just won’t allow that.”

You furrowed your brow as Apollo got down on his knees. “Love, if you wanted to hear my gorgeous voice all you had to do was ask,” he said, giving you his classic smirk.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but you didn’t have time to question him before he raised his hands over your wound and began to sing. You hated to admit it, you truly did, but Apollo had a decent voice. Seconds after Apollo’s song ended you let out a gasp, your eyes wide as you looked around, the pain was gone.

You looked down at your wound seeing your bloody shirt but no wound. “Thank you,” you said, looking up at Apollo.

“No need to thank me gorgeous,” Apollo said with a smirk. “Though you can repay me, with a date?”

“No.” Apollo’s mouth dropped open in offense.

“As much as I appreciate this brother,” Artemis spoke, glaring at her brother. “Leave my Hunters alone.”

Apollo stood up, raising his hands in surrender. “I have business to attend to anyway,” he said before disappearing in a glow of light.

You groaned as you propped yourself up, groaning as you did so. Though you were fully healed now it seemed you were still physically exhausted. You glanced over at the doorway where you saw Clarisse, her foot shifted forward but she didn’t enter the room.

You caught Artemis glancing at Clarisse out of the side of her eye, but she didn’t say anything. “I have business to attend to on Olympus,” Artemis said. “Help with the injured, with cleanup, anything you can, then make your way to camp.” You and Thalia both nodded at her orders. “I will meet you when it’s time.” You and Thalia gave a confirmed nod and then Artemis also disappeared from in front of you.

As soon as Artemis was gone, someone crashed into you. You were glad to still be sitting down because the impact from Clarisse would have surely sent you to the floor. You groaned as you felt her arms wrap tightly around you and bury her face in your neck. You were pretty sure she mumbled an apology, but you didn’t care, you were happy to return the hug just as tightly.

Taglist: @cxcilla @danonered @touchmyfracturedomens @luclue @manu-007s-world @death-in-love @nenas19 @mynameiskaci @fictionalwhor3

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 5.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 3,7K

tag: #what was that

summary: *sighs* Viktor feels things and again - he doesn't like it. This chapter is a few snippets of how they start recognizing each other. And it has a. lot. of. tension.

author’s note: Beta reader: @rennethen

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Their disagreement from last week remained unaddressed. Both Viktor and Renly returned to work the following day, the tension between them noticeable enough for Jayce to take note. He asked questions, but they dismissed him.

“All good, just tired,” Renly offered with a faint smile, which failed to convince him. He decided not to pry but couldn't shake the sense that something was off. Viktor and Renly exchanged only the smallest of polite gestures, avoiding each other at all costs. It had been three business days plus the weekend, making today the fifth day. Renly made a mental note of that.

“As you wish,” Jayce huffed, clearly disappointed. “I’m done for today—off to see Mel. You two—please, resolve this. It’s unbearable,” he whined theatrically, waving them goodbye.

Renly couldn’t help herself. “Give our regards to the beautiful Mel Medarda!” she shouted after him as he fled the lab. Viktor flinched at her raised voice.

After Jayce’s departure, the lab fell quiet again. Renly worked at her station, but her focus wavered when she heard Viktor let out a sharp breath that dissolved into a barely contained cough. She glanced over, her brow furrowing. Viktor had been avoiding her all week, throwing himself into his work even more than usual. But today, something felt off.

His posture was rigid, his movements jerky as he adjusted the papers on his desk. His pale face, already drained from long hours in the lab, looked even more drawn than usual. A bead of sweat formed at his temple, and he paused to rub his chest, grimacing slightly. It wasn’t like him to appear so physically vulnerable—he was usually the picture of quiet resilience.

“Viktor,” she called softly, concern lacing her tone. “Are you alright?”

He glanced up, momentarily startled before composing himself. “I’m fine, Renly,” he replied, his voice carrying an air of forced normalcy. “Just a small issue.”

Renly didn’t believe him for a second. She stood up and approached his desk, her gaze studying him as he straightened. She noticed the subtle shifts in his posture, the way his hand lingered near his chest, and the sharp intakes of breath he was trying to mask.

“Viktor,” she said, her voice gentler now, “let me help.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, though his tone wavered, betraying his words.

Renly stepped closer, her expression firm but kind. “Let me help,” she insisted, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “You’re not fine. You’re struggling to breathe.”

He stiffened under her touch, his pride warring with his discomfort. Viktor loathed appearing weak, hated the thought of anyone having to step in. But this morning, he’d made a mistake—he hadn’t secured the brace properly, and now the tightness in his chest had grown unbearable. He didn’t want to admit it, but he realized, as her hand remained on his arm, that he didn’t have the strength to argue.

“Please,” Renly said softly, her voice steady but imploring. “Let me help. You’re clearly in pain.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s nothing, really,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just... a small mistake.”

But Renly wasn’t backing down. Her eyes softened with understanding as she replied firmly, “It’s not nothing. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. Let me make sure you’re comfortable.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, the space between them charged with silent tension. Viktor hated this—hated needing help. But Renly wasn’t asking out of pity; her tone held only care, a care he didn’t know how to process.

With a slow exhale, Viktor relented. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “But make it quick.”

Renly nodded, her heart racing as she moved closer. She had never been this close to him before, not like this. His usual guarded distance was something she had always respected, especially after their exchange the previous week. But today, his vulnerability was impossible to ignore.

She reached for the edge of his vest, carefully undoing the clasp before sliding her hands under his jacket. Her fingers brushed lightly against his shirt.

Viktor stiffened. His breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to look away. This wasn’t just about his brace—it was about her touch, the closeness that now felt impossible to ignore. Every movement she made felt too deliberate, too careful. Her fingers grazed his chest, and Viktor fought to steady his breathing.

Renly glanced up at him, pausing when she caught the look in his eyes. He was flushed, his usual composure slipping just enough for her to notice. Raising an eyebrow, she gave him a questioning glance. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

“Y-yes,” Viktor stammered, immediately scolding himself for sounding so flustered. His mind raced, tangled in a mess of confusion and embarrassment. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, betraying him. Get a grip, Viktor. It’s just Renly. She’s just helping. She’s not thinking about you like that. Stop imagining things.

But silencing that voice was impossible, especially when her hands moved so gently over him. Her fingers carefully undid the buttons of his shirt with a precision that felt intentional, though he knew it wasn’t.

When she reached the last button and shifted the fabric aside, Viktor was painfully aware of the way her breath caught as her fingertips brushed against his skin. The heat of her touch burned through the thin fabric of his shirt, and his pulse spiked.

From Renly’s perspective, her fingers hesitated slightly on the last button of Viktor’s shirt. It wasn’t intentional—just a brief pause as the intimacy of the moment dawned on her. She was helping. That’s all this was.

But in that fleeting second, her gaze flicked to Viktor’s face. His expression was still guarded, though the faint flush creeping up his neck was unmistakable.

He looked… vulnerable. And that was the last thing Viktor ever allowed anyone to see.

What is wrong with me? Viktor thought desperately. Why does this feel… this shouldn’t feel like this.

Renly hadn’t meant to notice how close they were—how every small shift in his body seemed to ripple through her. His breathing, sharp and uneven, was a reminder that something had changed. Something had shifted between them.

And when his chest was fully exposed, Renly’s breath caught, completely unintentionally.

She’d wondered, for weeks now, what lay beneath the layers of clothing. Viktor always covered himself so completely, avoiding physical vulnerability at all costs. What had he hidden? What stories lay beneath the surface of this seemingly simple man?

Now, as she stood before him, her hands hovering above his skin, she finally had the answer.

Viktor’s chest was… nothing like what she had imagined. It wasn’t the flat, clinical thing she’d expected—no, it was far more intricate. His skin was pale, almost porcelain-like, dotted with a constellation of freckles and faint beauty marks she hadn’t seen before.

For weeks, she had idly speculated about the pattern they formed. What would it look like? What stories did they tell? Now, as her gaze lingered on the scattered markings, she realized they were as much a part of him as his mind—as much as the cool, calculating mask he wore every day.

The freckles stretched across his chest in delicate patterns, tracing the curve of his collarbone like stars scattered across a pale sky. A few darker spots near his ribs caught her attention, their irregular placement drawing her eyes. Most striking of all was a small mole near the base of his sternum, previously hidden under his layers of clothing. Renly found herself memorizing its outline, as though committing it to memory would unlock some secret part of him.

She caught herself staring. She wasn’t supposed to be looking at him like this. Her hands paused midair, a faint flush creeping onto her cheeks as she realized how intimate this moment had become. She had seen Viktor at his worst—angry, exhausted, distant. But never like this. Never so vulnerable. Even the infamous massage wasn’t this bad.

Quickly, she averted her gaze to his eyes, but the warmth of the moment lingered, thick and unshakable. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. “Sorry,” she said softly, her voice breaking through the silence. The word felt awkward and out of place. She wasn’t sorry. Not really. But she had to say something to break the tension, to bring a sense of normalcy back to the room.

Viktor didn’t reply, but his jaw tightened, and his chest rose and fell sharply with each breath.

Her fingers brushed against his skin again, this time more intentionally, and she couldn’t ignore the shudder that passed through him. She was acutely aware of his discomfort—he didn’t want to be seen like this.

“Sorry,” she muttered again, her words more an attempt to soothe his unease than her own. He needed help, and she needed to focus.

“It’s not too tight, is it?” she asked, her voice quieter now, a soft edge of concern weaving through it.

Viktor shook his head quickly, his movements almost curt. “No, it’s fine. I just…” He hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. “I didn’t put it on properly this morning,” he admitted begrudgingly.

Of course, you didn’t, Renly thought, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Let me fix it,” she said gently, her tone leaving no room for argument. Her fingers steadied as she worked to loosen the brace. Viktor’s chest gradually relaxed, but the tension between them remained—his discomfort shifting into something else entirely. Something that neither of them could quite name.

As she adjusted the brace, Viktor remained still, though every part of him screamed for space. Her fingers moved slower than necessary, as though drawn out by some unspoken hesitation, caught between the task at hand and the intimacy of the moment.

She’s just helping. Just… just helping, Viktor told himself, but the words didn’t stop the heat creeping up his neck or the way his body tensed under her touch. He wanted to pull away, to put some distance between them—but he couldn’t. The way she helped—so careful, so deliberate—stirred something nameless inside him, something that lodged itself in his chest and refused to move.

When Renly finally finished, she stepped back, offering a soft smile. “There. That should feel better.” Her voice was meant to sound casual, but the uneven rhythm of her pulse betrayed her.

Viktor didn’t respond at first, his gaze shifting away from her as though retreating into himself. Renly could see the tension in his shoulders as he pulled his shirt back into place.

“Thank you,” he said eventually, his voice hoarse, as if speaking required an effort he wasn’t ready to give.

Renly nodded and turned back to the table. Her own pulse thundered in her ears, the weight of the moment still pressing down on her chest. The silence stretched between them, thick and palpable, until Viktor finally moved.

He stayed rooted to the spot a moment longer, his mind a storm of scolding thoughts. I should never have let her do that. His chest tightened again, though for an entirely different reason. I need to get control of myself.

***

Renly counted the brace mishap as just another incident—one that hadn’t eased their discomfort, only shifted it into a different shape. If anything, it had deepened the tension, left her hyperaware of how fragile their equilibrium was. She tried to act normal around Viktor, which settled Jayce down, but Viktor still brooded. That wasn’t new, but she couldn’t shake the way his reaction lingered in her thoughts.

For Viktor, the memory of her hands on him, her careful adjustments, lingered far longer than he wanted it to. He had replayed the moment too many times: her deliberate focus, the way her touch burned through layers of fabric and reason. It unsettled him in ways he couldn’t articulate, leaving him on edge every time she entered the lab.

It was better to work alone, he decided. When he was alone, nothing disrupted his focus—except, perhaps, the ghost of her fingers brushing against his skin, or the soft sound of her footsteps.

He didn’t look up when she entered the lab again. Her presence had become so familiar it felt woven into the air around him. She hummed softly as she sifted through the scattered papers on the table. He tried to focus on his work, but her presence clung to the edge of his awareness, a distraction he couldn’t shake.

She moved closer. Too close.

The warmth of her body brushed against his side as she leaned over him, and for a split second, Viktor stiffened. The prickling awareness returned, sharper now, a sensory echo of the brace incident that left him fighting for composure.

Her breath, warm and steady, skimmed his ear, sending a sharp pang through his chest. He stared at the notes, unseeing. The scent of her—faint, barely noticeable—still managed to take root in his thoughts.

When her fingers grazed his hand, reaching for a nearby tool, it was too much. He flinched.

Renly paused, glancing at him with that familiar curiosity. “Did I do something?” she asked lightly, though her tone carried an undercurrent of amusement.

Viktor cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away. “No. It’s fine,” he said, the words too quick, too clipped.

She lingered, studying him. “You’re sure? You seem—”

“I said it’s fine.” His voice sharpened, a little harsher than he intended, but it only betrayed the frustration simmering beneath his surface.

Renly tilted her head, her gaze softening with something Viktor couldn’t quite place. “I’m just getting the thing you asked for,” she said, her tone quieter now. “Is there a problem with… me being close?”

The question, so direct yet absurd, hung in the air. Viktor’s first instinct was to deny it outright, to push the entire notion aside, but his mind betrayed him with flashes of her hands adjusting the brace. Her proximity had been an issue then, and it was still an issue now. His hands trembled faintly, and he hated himself for it.

“No,” he said finally, though his voice wavered. “It’s just... unexpected.”

Her brows lifted slightly, her amusement fading, replaced by a flicker of concern. “Unexpected? Viktor, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended. He turned to face her, his jaw tight, every muscle wound too tightly to relax. “It’s nothing. I just… work better with space.”

She didn’t step back immediately, instead watching him with that same quiet intensity that made him feel as though she saw through him. It left him exposed, the memory of her hands on him replaying once more, unbidden and too vivid.

After a moment, Renly took a small step back—not far enough to erase the tension, but enough to give him room to breathe. “Alright,” she said, her voice softer now. “I’ll try not to crowd you.”

The subtle shift in her tone only tightened Viktor’s chest further. She wasn’t offended, but her words carried something else, something that left him feeling raw and unsteady. He returned to his task, his fingers moving mechanically around the tools, but his thoughts were anywhere but his work.

Even now, with her at a distance, the phantom weight of her touch lingered. The moment she’d adjusted his brace had planted something in him he couldn’t explain, something that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

“Just… keep your distance,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost a quiet plea for normalcy. But deep down, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted normalcy anymore.

Renly didn’t respond right away, but he could feel her eyes on him, studying him like a puzzle she was determined to solve.

When she finally moved again, her hand brushed against his as she adjusted the settings on the machine beside him. And Viktor realized, with a sinking certainty, that there was no escaping the way she’d already begun to change everything.

***

The lab was silent except for the occasional hum of machinery and the scratch of pencil on paper. Viktor stood at his workstation, immersed in refining a circuit diagram, when Renly’s voice broke the stillness.

“Can you hand me the—actually, never mind, I’ll grab it,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the highest shelf above the central table.

Without waiting for a response, she rolled her sleeves up and climbed onto a low stool. Viktor glanced up briefly, prepared to make some quip about safety regulations, but the words caught in his throat.

As she stretched upward, the fabric of her shirt lifted slightly, exposing a sliver of bare skin at her waist. The faint curve of her hip, the dip of her lower back—it was unremarkable and yet, in this moment, utterly mesmerizing. A thin, black line trailed along her side, curving just beneath the edge of her shirt. A tattoo? The thought hit him unexpectedly, his mind already imagining where the line might lead, what shape it might take.

He quickly averted his gaze, his heart beating faster than it had any right to. What is wrong with you? he chastised himself. This was hardly the time for such distractions, and yet his thoughts refused to align themselves back into their usual, orderly formation.

“Got it,” Renly said triumphantly, stepping down with a vial of some volatile substance in hand. She turned toward him, oblivious to his predicament.

“Viktor? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she asked, tilting her head.

“Yes, fine,” he said too quickly, his voice betraying a faint edge of strain. He cleared his throat and forced himself to look her in the eye. “Perhaps next time... consider asking for help?”

Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t think you’d mind. I’ve seen you manage worse in here,” she replied with a playful shrug, her shirt shifting just enough to reveal the edge of that line again.

He quickly looked back down at his work, feigning intense focus on a set of calculations. “It is not a matter of minding. Merely... practicality.”

“If you say so,” she said, her tone light. Then, without warning: “Do I have ink on me or something?”

“What?” The question struck him like a hammer, his composure wavering for a fraction of a second.

“You keep glancing,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Viktor replied, far too quickly. “I was... inspecting your form. Your method. Reaching for objects, you could easily strain a muscle without proper—”

“Ah, safety lecture. Got it,” Renly interrupted, rolling her eyes but smiling. “You’re impossible.”

He let out a soft sigh, relieved she hadn’t pressed further. But even as she turned back to her workstation, Viktor couldn’t stop himself from imagining what the rest of that tattoo might look like, tracing shapes and stories across her skin.

The thought left him feeling both exhilarated and deeply foolish. He was not a man prone to flights of fancy—such indulgences were for those with time to waste. Yet, in the quiet hum of the lab, with her standing just a few feet away, Viktor couldn’t shake the image from his mind.

***

The hours stretched unbearably long in recent weeks. Renly had taken on extra work grading student’s papers for the academy. Jayce, meanwhile, had been relegated to fundraising duties, his charm making him the more suitable candidate of the two—himself and Viktor. And Viktor... Well, he had been so distracted lately that his workload had only grown, leaving him buried in a mountain of tasks.

His eyes drifted toward the sofa, where Renly had fallen asleep, a book loosely cradled in her hands. A faint smile tugged at his lips as her voice echoed in his mind: Ugh, these are supposed to be our finest and brightest? Those exams are nonsense!

She looked peaceful, her features softened in repose, completely unaware of his gaze. He had only meant to pass through the room, to check on a few things, but now he found himself lingering, studying her in silence.

The book in her hands caught his attention—a romance novel, its pages slightly bent and worn. It wasn’t the kind of reading material he would have expected her to enjoy. Renly, with her sharp wit and practical demeanour, didn’t seem like the type to indulge in frivolities like romance. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. She was full of contradictions: serious, but capable of unexpected lightness when no one was looking.

His gaze wandered to the tattoo peeking out from beneath the hem of her shirt. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed it, but this was the first time he allowed himself to really look. The design was intricate—delicate in a way that seemed at odds with her strength. The lines of ink formed a shape he couldn’t quite discern, and it struck him again how little he truly knew about her, despite everything they had shared.

The fact that she’d let him see it at all... let him see her in ways others hadn’t...

Viktor’s pulse quickened, his hand tightening on the edge of the workbench. He swallowed hard, an unspoken admonition running through his mind: Focus. He couldn’t afford distractions—not now, not when they were so close to a breakthrough. Not when there was so much left to do.

And yet, here she was. A soft, quiet distraction curled on the sofa, her tattoo barely visible beneath her clothes, her peaceful breathing filling the room like a gentle rhythm he couldn’t ignore.

Viktor couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to dwell on something so trivial. But with Renly, nothing ever felt trivial. Every glance felt weighted, every motion imbued with meaning he couldn’t quite untangle.

His eyes lingered on her face; her features framed by the tousled strands of her dark hair. Loose waves fell across her brow, some brushing her cheek. Her skin, smooth and pale, seemed to catch the dim light, casting a faint glow that made her seem almost ethereal. Her lips, slightly parted in sleep, drew his attention despite himself.

There were details he hadn’t noticed before: the faint curve of her jaw, the smattering of freckles like constellations across her nose, and a faint scar on her chin—small, but distinct. He wondered how she had gotten it, though he’d never dared to ask.

Something about her in this unguarded moment struck him with unfamiliar weight. She seemed so... real. So human, in a way he wasn’t used to confronting.

A soft sigh escaped him before he could suppress it.

“Focus,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his gaze away. The guilt gnawed at him for indulging, for allowing his thoughts to linger where they didn’t belong. What would she think if she knew? If she understood just how often he found himself watching her, studying her, wondering about her in ways he could hardly admit to himself? He grabbed a piece of chalk and turned to the equations on the board, desperate to lose himself in their cold certainty. But no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, the image of her lingered. Her soft skin, the glimpse of the tattoo, the peaceful way she curled into the couch, the worn pages of her book—they clung to his thoughts like shadows he couldn’t escape.

[bladekindeyewear]

Beyond Canon 2024 October and November Artist/Writer Commentary

So the new Artist and Writer commentary for this month's latest upd8 popped up on Patreon, and even though I've been working (pathetically slowly) on a draft post that goes back through the commentary in order from the past where I left off, I feel like the last two updates have been HAMMER BLOWS in terms of the seriousness, hopelessness, et cetera and I feel like everyone wants answers as badly as I do, and the teaser we got at the end of the last upd8 to whet my excitement can offset the bad news only SO much on its own. So even though I'm kind of too sick to be doing this today, I want to help myself and others cope by liveblogging the last two months' posts of Artist and Writer commentary each so we get some more... words from the word of God on why they're subjecting us to this.

As much of this is Patreon exclusive content I won't be quoting everything, I'll be making just a couple out of context quotes and summarizing or paraphrasing things that I find important to point out about what I'm reading.

I'll put a TL;DR here above the cut once I'm done-- ahem: "Oh yeah Rose was even more doomed to feel fucked in that sort of situation than I realized, and also there's a hiatus because an animation is coming to kick off the End of Act 1 / Start of Act 2, holy shit. Maybe I’d have known that already if I’d read the news posts, oh well".

10-24 Artist Commentary

This is the artist commentary for the update I liveblogged starting here.

They mention how it contains a lot of standout moments, "things are coming to a head in the story"-- there was indeed a climax between this update and the one that followed it, I certainly agree. Since this is the artist commentary, they talk about their appreciation for proposed pacing, the jaw-dropped yelling of some on reading the proposed script... there's a shot of the story board, of course.

They go into some interesting detail on how they went about devising how they wanted Jade's "Space force fields" to look.

Everyone loves Jade's paw-print gloves, as they should.

Haven: this panel showing “how rose ‘sees’ things now” was added late into this update's production and floral didn't have a description other than “haven go wild” 

Yes I can certainly believe that. Nice touch in retrospect thematically coloring Rose's blood with her color instead of the literal red it'd be.

"generic troll soldier bumps into a god"-- nice how they're lumping Kanaya in with the god-tiers when referring to the Gods of this world.

Oh I never actually noticed the rebellion's "massive crab tanks" in the background of all these other shots, no wonder they surprised me the following update.

The full hemospectrum of Blood around them grasping hands:

Haven: sometimes very blatant symbolism is the way to go.

exactly, noted, noted...

Some notes on how they did up Jane's office and her bridge, and the storyboard for that BRUTAL scene with Jane and Jake, ow.

Practice the different artists had at drawing Jane and Jake in "Guardian Mode", which is the new clearly adult sorta-hero-moded silhouette term that I probably would have gotten from reading the other artist commentary in order.

Nice thoughts on how even the framed photo of Tavvy next to the blaster button is a distant shot-in-passing photo that doesn't communicate a close family.

The shot, the heal, the turnaround and beatdown.

I got storyboarder brain and I love the excruciating anticipation of making people hold their breath between panels... When you know something’s coming but you can’t help but clasp your hand over your mouth like, “OH NO…”

Yeah, no kidding...

Nothing too concrete to note in this artist commentary, the writer commentary's probably going to be richer. So to save my sanity I'm going to do the next Artist Commentary first:

11-2024 Artist Commentary

This is the artist commentary surrounding the most recent upd8 i liveblogged.

Oh holy shit, this one has some big news I wasn't aware of!

Chumi, hoping you guys had a Happy Thanksgiving: Welcome welcome! 🎉🎉 We’re really getting into the holiday season with this one! Unfortunately, this is our last update until the Flash Production break. Look forward to the Flash guys, we’re working really hard!

I didn't expect them to start off our new session with a big flash, but if they're going to bust out some Animation to really emphasize any new stepping stone in Beyond Canon, the introduction or pre-introduction to The New Session™ is probably the time to do it. I'm pretty busy and/or sick lately (the annoying sort of sick not the dangerous kind) so I'll be glad if it takes a little longer before the next upd8 than it did this one.

They talk about how they carefully gradiated the sky over past updates to reflect the danger closing in, much appreciated.

Tavvy writes with something called "Magic Link" handwriting apparently; they go more into it here.

An Andrew-embossed-seal reference, huh? I'm not gonna elaborate on that but it is funny.

Rose covering the kids' eyes before the shot:

I thought I was so clever putting a bit of shadow underneath her hands… Because her aspect is Light… She’s blocking the Light / knowledge from reaching the kids…That’s why she’s a silhouette too… Heh…

Yep.

Kim: This particular bit gets me every time I think about it… Jade loves her child!!! The way it completely throws Jade off her game when the most precious thing in her life right now is suddenly in the middle of a freaking battlefield of a WAR. These kids just can’t stand still for one minute can they!!

Gahhh, it just tears my heart out. Rose could have stopped this with a word, earlier, but didn't... why not?! What does she KNOW where she sees this path being the better path forward than others?!

Jade getting shot...

Floral: I can feel how much this hurts, it’s so good.

Guhh my heart. Owwwwuch. Can bad things just stop happening to Jade Harley for once? Can some good things start happening where she gets to be cool and not shoved out of the way unceremoniously by the narrative? :C

Okay there's something interesting here.

Floral: I did a single panel for this update too, featuring Dirk’s bell tower and the rest of the human city that stands between it and the meteor site. So much to parse. Wonder what the significance of it all could be.

Implying this has some significance... does it have something to do with what's brought into the game session? With how much IS and how much isn't? Or are dramatic things happening at "Dirk's bell tower" repeatedly being themed to be brought home by something else happening there later? Hmm.

Oh:

The impact is also knocking over whole tanks and the trees around the area, so the Rebellion guys near the meteor are totally vaporized. Sorry fellas. The two peeps in front are just some random soldiers to fill the empty space HEHE.

This explains my confusion around the explosion. The crab tanks I hadn't noticed earlier that they helped point out above, and these indeed being two random soldiers and PROBABLY not a stealth inexplicable Aradia appearance. PROBABLY.

So the "End of Act 1" bit:

Chumi: We are not done with Act 1 just yet…

I was wondering how much the "psyche" meant, if it meant psyche regarding our place within the story, how much was left to go, whether this was a real act ending et cetera... apparently the end of Act 1 is coming somewhat soon from the sound of it, and that gives us an idea of what exactly is planned for this lovable clusterfuck that is Beyond Canon. Is this a three-act tale we're planning, or effectively one, sort of like our three most major build-ups and climaxes across the six acts in the main story (Descend, Cascade, Collide)?

A slight preview sketch of the computer exploding in GC's face you can see if you opt for the Patreon commentary, and that closes out that. Now we'll have a look at the really, REALLY juicy stuff for the last two updates, the WRITER commentary. I'm dreading seeing them drill down into the dread these last two updates gave us before the hope of a new session with our favorite new kid-kids in it, and I'm desperately hoping that as they explain their choices they sprinkle in some EXTRA hope they hadn't given us with Rose's twisted hopeless perspective, because I could use the positive reinforcement.

10-2024 Writer Commentary

Been so excited/apprehensive for this update to drop!! It’s been months and the entire time we’ve been going back and tweaking and playing with things to perfect it and it was worth it. Super satisfied with the response.

Any writers getting ready to write such meaningful dialogue and traumatize their audiences are going to be chomping at the bit to, I've had the taste of that in my mouth before as someone on the writing end and the twists you're ready to unleash can have you salivating even when you know they're going to cause suffering. ESPECIALLY when you know that. It's the entire author's curse that is essentially THE ENEMY in the form of Dirk Strider in this narrative.

And I was inspired to handle it in a way true to a Seer or Light, heavy in lore and reminiscent to Rose’s GameFAQs Walkthrough of the SBURB Beta.

That's a very good inspiration for putting most of Rose's predictions in her narrations below her walking away from that conversation.

They go a lot into the idea of her creating a Spatial shield, whether it would fall into the confines of her powerset. I like a lot of the keywords used here:

A stray missile comes towards them and the shield won’t bounce it off but manipulate and control the space around it.

Note the keywords 'manipulate and control', the change/control/manipulate keywords we've always held so central to the theorized Witch role and possibly the Heir role by extension.

And ultimately:

I think in general, a lot of aspected powers are limited only by the user’s imagination!  But even putting that aside, it makes a lot of sense to me that she’d have the tight control necessary of a spatial perimeter necessary to do something as basic as maintain a shield.  We’ve seen her do way crazier shit before.

--who could disagree?

FLORAL: There was a lot to explore with this conversation between Rose and Jade, the first one they’ve had privately since fucking… ACT 5, 2011?

Yeah, they barely got STARTED with the unpacking. And Rose refused to continue it because she foresaw that it'd be ultimately pointless.

Many thoughts of how their dynamic could be and how their dynamic would evolve under current conditions went into it and it was so fun!! Writing two people that obviously understand one another so well while feeling completely misunderstood and frustrated because they’re not being empathized with is complicated! But exactly how you show a character's specific perspective the best in my opinion. Rose and Jade share a lot of experiences, especially considering their Aspect switcheroo fake out, and have taken such completely different lessons from them. I love their friction! 

What's also unsaid here is how their Aspect switcharoo fake out was also secretly potentially paired with a REAL class switcharoo in the form of role inversion that they BOTH underwent, Jade getting a distrust of Seeing and Rose gaining a distrust of Witchcraft in making any ultimate difference as this wasn't the way they were best meant to operate as themselves, but can't help but project onto each other when stressed.

We know from Meat that even without all of Candy’s baggage they aren’t close. So why? There are very probable, passive answers and then there are equally probable drama answers, that actively communicate parts of these characters we never got to see clash.

Really interesting. And yeah, we DID get to see that from this update.

MILES: I think, and this is something that we’re going to touch on later in this commentary/update, part of that is that they really aren’t that compatible in terms of their interpersonal problem solving styles. 

We talked about this in a great deal of detail surrounding the update in question, and I'm glad they were intentionally provoking us to think about these things!

Okay there's a section here that I'm going to quote in FULL from the Patreon commentary, and it also outlines a divide, a HUGE rift between Candy Jade and Candy Rose that Meat Jade/Rose wouldn't have experienced, and the tragedy of its basic inevitability because of how events turned out:

MILES: And speaking of dear, sweet Yiffy, and the way Rose and Jade’s attitudes differ, there really isn’t a better example of their incompatibility than the two entirely polarized attitudes they take towards Yiffy’s existence: Rose’s detached view of Yiffy as amounting to nothing more than an inconvenient favor she did for a friend, as part of a cosmic obligation she barely even understands (more on this later), spits directly in the face of Jade’s knowledge that Yiffy is, without question, the most important thing in her life.  It’s arguably “right” that Rose chose to completely sterilize any feelings she might possibly have had (but probably barely even ever did) for Yiffy in terms of maintaining some modicum of emotional fidelity to her Actual Wife and her Actual Daughter, but obviously that’s going to chafe Jade.  Jade’s a lonely person!  Yiffy was a way to fill that void, and although having a daughter has absolutely brought some purpose, companionship, and stability to her life, the complications that came along with it have absolutely served to isolate her even more in other ways. 

:'(

With all the setups being given to us like Dave's stuffed corpse falling out of Jade's pocket, or the idea of Kanaya finding "new love" before Rose is saved that she refused to Foresee (I'm still banking on that Light Between Space OT3, you can't stop me), I'm really hoping that Candy Jade can both live through this and come to a MUCH LESS LONELY peace than she's come to in other timelines we've been forced to witness. I don't want Meat Jade to be the only Jade that comes out of this healthier and happier than she went in.

The commentary gets into Jade and Rose's debate on what Truth means, from a Light perspective or a Space perspective almost...

That’s why it was felt important to comment on Rose’s estranged relationship to Roxy too, in her ramble. Really cementing questions that were hinted at before, can you find closure in another, younger version of your dead parent? How does that evolve over the years?

I really hope that we get a version of Rose and Roxy out of at LEAST one of the two ongoing timelines that end up MUCH closer than this update implied Rose's parental relationship had forced them to stay estranged rather than get closer like they could have, possibly should have. I want them to come to terms with each other because they could be SUCH good sisters to each other. And maybe in the Meat timeline when they're put into direct conflict, when Roxy achieves some sort of victory over Rose, Void over the gaps in Ultimate Light, that it finally punches through her emotional barriers and lets that version of Rose accept her essentially-sister the way her Candy Self never let happen.

And now we get to that horrifying future-sight screed of Rose into the narrative text zone...

FLORAL: Everything Rose talks about in her monologue was so, so nerve wracking to write, to take so many points of what makes this character who they are laid out for the reader.

Yeah, it made so little sense why she'd say such callous things to Kanaya earlier unless she had been DELIBERATELY trying to push her away... which as it turned out in this monologue, she absolutely had been, having foreseen her own coma.--

Which is hard for serialized media because you guys don’t get those answers the way you would if you were watching a movie or a book, there’s real time waiting completely out of your control. It’s anxiety inducing! I’ve had a good deal of Homestuck induced anxiety myself lol.

Hell to the fucking yes. We're all feeling that incredible anxiety and only the writer knows, for sure, that it's all going to turn out okay, but we the readers have to wait in limbo with our anxieties gnawing at us all the while.

MILES: I totally get where you’re coming from, on that.  This bit felt like a part we really did need to write, partially for that exact reason; taking the readers on an exciting voyage to the twisted shores of Rose’s nihilisthmus is a peek behind the curtains that hopefully DOES serve to contextualize just how checked out she is and provide some more clarification on why it is she’s acting the way she does.

Instead of taking individual text blocks, Miles is going to give us the whole shebang summary, so I'll pull it straight out of the patreon commentary wholesale since anyone suffering like me probably ought to hear it with me:

Overall, as a Light player trapped in a universe/timeline/whatever-you-want-to-call-Candy devoid of “real” narrative consequence (and thusly, devoid of any “real” fortune that might seek to inform her Light-aspected guidance), she’s been sort of adrift!  Imagine having access to a cosmic intuition that points you towards what’s “best” and then, one day, you notice it’s broken.  Still trying, but broken nonetheless.  Rose is already predisposed towards existential malaise; she’s always needed action to fill that void, and when the little voice in your head suddenly starts telling you that you live in a world where action is fundamentally meaningless, coping with that reality probably... fucking sucks!  She has nonetheless done an admirable job of trying to keep herself anchored with a wife she DOES care for and a daughter she DOES love, but fighting the creeping thought that none of it means anything at all?  Having what you believe is objective cosmic confirmation of nihilism woven into the foundation of the reality you inhabit?  That’s scary shit.  Honestly, it’s kind of a wonder she’s even as sane as she is, but Rose, for better or worse, is quite the badass. Not great for the people around her, though.

I'm starting to see, that's useful additional information. Rose's Seer of Light powers aren't just telling her that this timeline doesn't matter, they're also almost broken to the point of uselessness by the fact that so little 'matters' in the entire world. And those malfunctioning powers have been reinforcing her nihilism just as much as the message that this is a Doesn't Matter Timeline is. Gosh that's depressing... and I hope what Vriska, the Plot Point, and the New Session pulling in their children does manages to eventually shake her out of it, even if she needs to get miraculously saved from a coma first.

Moving on...

Karkat and Kanaya clasping hands being awesome, yeah.

Jake and Jane's confrontation. As much as they wanted in their hearts to give Jake a win, they had to make him lose here because Jane is just too wildly powerful to fall to him when he'd only just turned around, and had to make it sentimental and personal instead of doing something cold and unloading enough lead into her to kill a God of Healing, which wasn't something he'd prepared himself to do, doing something more Jake and "cinematic" instead.

Then we cut back to the kids, and the next update:

11-2024 Writer Commentary

Okay, here we go. What are you going to give us from that last update that was such an emotional whiplash of impacts?

FLORAL, loving some bacon: THE HOMEWRECKER IS DEAD!!!!!!

God damnit XD You fucking jokesters.

Some comments they have about Jake's letter here, which seems unintentionally tailor made to provoke Vrissy into a frenzy:

We’ve been trying to give him a little shade of passive aggression, just a hint of spice, and I think this letter was a fun place for that.  “Sorry but you guys are kind of weak as fuck, can’t do a single backflip, and so you need to sit here and eat these considerately provided packages of snacks while a real gymnast handles shit.”  It’s a flex, but I think it also demonstrates his caretaker tendencies.

I'm trying to dissect what they're saying about him and more could mean about, like, his potential Class and Aspect, but I'm coming up with bupkis aside from all our previous scattershot analyses. Gymnasts can be Breath, Breath can be Provokers, and plenty of classes can be Caretakers, but... I'm still not entirely sure where Tavvy is going to land on the hero spectrum.

MILES: Unfortunately, he probably should have accounted for the fact that these two aren’t really inclined to listen to him.  When Tavvy flips the script on their established relationship dynamic, as he has quite a bit these days, it rubs at least Vrissy the wrong way. 

Yeah it didn't seem like Tavvy was TRYING to provoke Vrissy to run out in rage and try to do something heroic to keep her kismesis from showing her up, but he definitely had that effect unintentionally as hard as it possibly could have been, and any variety of Breath player could have unintentionally managed that, even a Bard. The Caretaker thing is being reinforced by the soda and snacks though, and this writer commentary... is it pointing to a specific caretaker class like a Maid of Breath? Hmm.

On Jade dying right in front of them:

Clearly shit is popping off a bit more flagrantly than the kids imagined.

To put it mildly, yeah.

Tensions have been building for a while, but blood’s been definitively drawn now.  It’s been a lot of setup to get to this point, but it’s super satisfying to see it all reach a boiling point here, even if it comes at the cost of poor sweet Jade’s cranial structural integrity. 

Everything this entire-- well, "Act", now that we KNOW it's an Act, has been building towards THIS climax in particular. A moment where so much shit goes down that we can officially say in every way that Shit Has Gone Down, and they had to herald it in with SOMETHING shocking I guess... especially if they want to neutralize the lingering macguffin that is Candy Calliope's spare Ring of Life if I had to guess from the hints they've been dropping.

The act curtain drop, the psyche, and...

MILES: You’ll notice that, with this little gag (which felt so fun to do, by the way), we’ve returned to the ACT structure, abandoning the CHAPTER format HS^2 utilized before the production change.  This was a point of a lot of thought, for us, but ultimately we think that the Act structure makes more sense for the story it is that we’re trying to tell, for a variety of reasons that I’m not gonna get TOO into here.

With a new session on the cusp of starting, I can really imagine why.

That said, we’re coming up to the climax of what we consider... I don’t know, the “setup” period of the plot?  It’s been a long, long road, and it’s tough to say what final percentage of HS:BC this whole saga is going to represent, but capping it off all under the purview of one Act feels appropriate.  Everything, from the beginning of HS^2 to now, has been dedicated to fully selling the transition from the Epilogues to what has become Homestuck: Beyond Canon.  It’s been just over a year of updates on our end, and it’s so crazy to see this arc getting ready to finish!

That confirms a feeling I was getting but wasn't sure whether to confirm. That the entire time we've been experiencing HS^2, interrupted by that long hiatus in between, was meant to be a setup for THIS moment where we realize a new session is starting, and we're dumped fuck deep into the Game Session format with all the establishing situations and incoming vectors and player collisions to come laid out like bullets streaming in converging on a single point of impact.

And to finish it out, they analyze our new Dark Purple Text Friend!

HAVEN: “Negging” this is new! And again with this 108 number pattern, how curious.

I genuinely forgot they did that 108 earlier in Vriska's plot point. Read back on my Homestuck Liveblog tag for people pointing out the significance of that as HS:BC's act number.

This person seems to drag on each sentence... Before snapping back to finality.

A trait I hadn't noticed besides the bombs, but a trait one bomb-and-fuse oriented could be reasonably said to have without indicating to us which Doom class this obviously-Doom-player is.

HAVEN: A lot of information here! TC and AA, who are curious characters and what could their roles be? (well I suppose you could guess their upcoming roles.)

There probably ARE hints to TC and AA's literal hero roles, their classes and aspects (such as Oracle being listed there), but we don't have enough of them on hand to tell the wheat from the chaff just yet beyond that. I'm sure we're going to be getting piles of hints in the coming pages both up through and after and possibly within whatever flash-like animation they're taking extra time to cook up for us to celebrate the miracle of this new beginning.

They point out GC's "and we did spend a lot of time on it..." meaning they're the ones that must have coded this new incarnation of The Game out of the Ruins codebase.

HAVEN: Here I think there was going to be a line specifying they had “47 friends lined up” but it got switched out.  JAMES: I wonder if that's important. I guess we still need to be sort of coy about it.Which is horseshit. HAVEN: Yeah, that IS horseshit! Anyway our coyness continues.

I like how they wanted to make at least a JOKING reference to a 48-player Squiddle session that isn't going to happen, because I'm still betting that somewhere between 8 and 16 people is the most we can comfortably fit in a new plot like this, not to mention the Gene pattern that seems to be being followed so far, but we'll have to see.

Alright, that's the end of four posts of commentary. I've gained a LITTLE bit of meaningful information and some expectations on the upcoming timeline, and I hope you have too, and I also hope I didn't pull so much out of the Patreon exclusive info that y'all don't feel discouraged to chip into Homestuck Beyond Canon too like I'm doing if you have extra dosh to spare (but only to spare, don't impact your livelihood if you need the money for important/life things, that's advice they and anyone else would give you).

I'm feeling slightly less sick by luck now that I've rammed all this typing out of my fingers, and hopefully y'all feel a little less of the ominousness that can't help but hang around recent in-canon events. Phew.

I see in the Patreon comments some commenters are extrapolating from that cut "48" that Dirk wants to create the session that made the TROLL session (with the trolls' 48 star signs) to complete a solid loop, which I concede is possible, but I doubt his goals are really all that pedestrian, that wouldn't make him the most important the way he's aiming-- you already have my counter-speculation in hand that Dirk intends to create the session that gave birth to the chess game ITSELF, that gave birth to the Prospit/Derse system and the very seed session for the propagation of Paradox Space. Alt!Calliope seems like they're practically in alignment with him on the goal, wanting to tie Beyond Canon back down into a neat self-causing loop excepting that Alt!Callie's intending to ensure he doesn't get to make himself the Author Of All That Exists, no matter who it hurts when she forces the issue, which makes Alt!Calliope not much different from him. And between these dueling forces, we have the ever-underestimated plans of Calliope and Roxy across both timelines, the Muse of Space and the Rogue of Void, who seem to have SUCCEEDED in collaborating knowingly or unknowingly across the timelines to use Vriska as a shunt to SOMEHOW get the Candy Kids to be important friends and players in this new Game, bringing things all full circle in a way not even Alt!Calliope thought would save their home timeline but quite possibly can. How exciting!

It hurts, sometimes, but gosh do I still love Homestuck. See y'all whenever that next hiatusy bombastic probably Flash-animation-like update goes up in a month or two or however long it takes them, bless their diligent crazy hearts.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 11

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy's been having nightmares and shutting Jake out but she should know by now that Jake's always going to be there | hehehehehe smut. oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (don't do that), dirty talk, lmk if I need to add anything else in this note.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

I woke up with a start, fumbling for the table lamp, gasping for air. This was the seventh night in a row I had woken up from a nightmare in the middle of the night. I reached for the other side of the bed only to find it cold, my heart dropping to my stomach. It was also the sixth night in a row I’d kept Jake out of the apartment. 

Talking to Rudolph Lance, and hearing him confess to the murder of my parents, was supposed to make things better but instead, all it had done was make my life a living hell. My agent had found out about the prison visit and had signed me up to do a dozen interviews for different news outlets and because of all of the press, my publisher was moving up the release date of my next book. Harvey was understandably pissed after I had explained the whole thing to him the morning after speaking with Lance and he was no longer taking my calls. His wife had texted me saying that he was fine, he just needed to cool down. 

Under the pressure of it all, I found myself pushing everyone away. I had snapped at Natasha more than once, ignored Jake’s calls, and wouldn’t text any of the Daggers back, not even Bob. I knew I was lashing out like a cornered animal and I hated myself for hurting everyone around me, but I couldn’t stop myself from spiraling. 

After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, I disarmed the alarm and went on the porch for a cigarette to clear my mind before calling Jake. It was two in the morning, so it wasn’t a surprise when the call went to voicemail. I almost hung up but instead I listened to the automated message, lighting up another cigarette.

“Hey, Jake.” I sounded like crap, even to my own ears. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I know you’re probably mad at me and I don’t blame you, I’m mad at me too because I’ve been the biggest bitch.” I sighed, flicking ash. “But I miss you and waking up alone hurts like hell. I’m so, so, so sorry, and if you’re willing to hear me out for a full apology, come over today, okay? I’ll be here.” I hung up and smoked another cigarette, the nicotine rushing to my head, making it spin.

It was like Groundhog Day. I woke up with a start, gasping and fumbling for the light, except this time when I reached out my hand didn’t hit cold sheets. My hand connected with the warm skin of Jake’s firm chest. He was shirtless in bed beside me, eyes blinking open against the sunrise.

“Jake?” I sobbed, throwing myself on top of him as he groggily tried to get his bearings. 

“I’ve got you, Wildflower.” His voice was rough from sleep just like it always was when he woke up and I kicked myself for voluntarily missing out on hearing it for the past week. “I’m right here.” 

“I’m with you,” I cried into his shoulder, three words standing in for another three words. “I’m here with you.” 

“I know you are, baby. Catch your breath, breathe with me, baby.” Jake exaggerated his breathing, praising me as I copied him. “That’s my girl, you’re doing such a good job.” 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I kept repeating those words as my breathing slowed, whispering them into his shoulder, pressing kisses to his warm skin. “I’m really sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing and look at me,” Jake’s rough hands slid to my waist as I sat up, straddling him. His face was stern, green eyes staring into my soul. I flushed in shame, my head dipping. Jake slid two fingers under my chin, forcing my head up. “Don’t ever pull that shit again, do you hear me?” I nodded and then yelped, more surprised than hurt by the swat to my butt. “Say you understand, Daisy, I need to hear it.” 

“I understand,” He rubbed my ass with his palm, soothing away the slight sting. “I missed you.” I rested my hands on his shoulders, hesitant. Jake leaned his cheek against my right hand, smiling softly at me.

“I miss you too, Wildflower.” I leaned in slowly, kissing his forehead. “You owe a lot of people apologies,” Jake’s voice was tired, quiet, and had a serious edge to it. 

“I know,” I whispered, resting my forehead against his. “I’ll cook dinner, invite them all over, and give out lots of hugs,” He hummed in approval, his thumb tracing patterns on my hip. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that, any of you.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” My heart sank but I understood. Apologies couldn’t take away the pain I’d caused but they could help us move past it. “But you had some pretty valid reasons.” Jake kissed me softly, easing the guilty feeling in my chest.

“Still feel like shit though,” I mumbled into the kiss, toying with the hairs on the nape of his neck. Jake buried his fingers in my hair, massaging my scalp. A tension I hadn’t even known was stored there began to relieve itself under his touch, and my eyes fluttered shut. “I don’t deserve you.” His ministrations paused,

“Baby, look at me,” He was giving me those soft eyes again, cradling my head. “You deserve a man who treats you with care, compassion, and unconditional love. Even when you feel like you don’t deserve it, I promise that you do.” For the first time in a long time, the weight that settled in my chest wasn’t cold and harsh, but warm and full of comfort. 

“Someone like you?” 

“No, Wildflower. Not someone like me, me.” Jake pulled me close, brushing his lips against mine. “Are you with me?” 

“For as long as you’ll have me, pretty boy.” I’m not sure who kissed who first but it didn’t matter when Jake flipped me onto my back, deepening the kiss like a man starved. I keened against him, digging my nails into his back, spurred on by the noise it drew from him.

“We should do this right, baby,” Jake said between kisses, kissing his way across my cheek and down my neck. “I should take you on a real date with candles and white tablecloths.” He sunk his teeth into the crook of my neck and I cried out, scratching at his back. Jake lapped at the spot, soothing it, and sucking to deepen the mark.

“We can’t do this wrong,” I promised. There was a soft pressure on my thigh from his hand, working its way towards my center. I gasped, hips rolling. His hand stopped just short of where I needed it most. “Jake.” 

“Impatient much, Wildflower?” I pinched his side, feeling a little violent at being denied. “Okay, okay,” He laughed, kissing me quick, my lips chasing his as he pulled away. “What about a breakfast date instead?” I pushed his chest, schooling my face into a blank expression that was hard to maintain.

“Get off of me,” His face fell and I couldn’t take it, breaking into a grin. “I need pants for breakfast.” 

“You drive me crazy, woman,” Jake kissed me again. “Just a few more minutes in bed first,” He begged wistfully and who was I to argue? 

Jake glared at me when I snatched the check, quickly passing my card to the waitress.

“Now why did you have to do a thing like that? I was going to pay,” He chided and I rolled my eyes.

“Because I have been horrible for a week and this is one of the many ways I plan on making it up to you both.”

“Cheers to that,” Natasha, who had happily crashed our breakfast date, chimed in from the booth behind us. Jake’s foot brushed against my calf beneath the table, making me giggle. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it, it's gross.” We were all laughing when the waitress came back. I tucked the receipt in my pocket before Jake could grab it and figure out how to pay me back. “Okay, lovebirds. You should leave before I puke,” Natasha announced.

“You’re not coming back with us?” I asked, we had driven together in Jake’s truck and Natasha hated taking Ubers.

“Nah, Rooster is going to pick me up for putt putt.” I turned in my seat, hugging her tightly around the neck. “Condoms are in my nightstand,” She whispered, “I know you don’t have any.” 

“You’re the best best friend any girl could ask for,” I kissed her cheek and then let Jake walk me out of the diner with our fingers intertwined. 

X

The missed call notification when I woke up had scared the shit out of me. Phoenix had assured me that Daisy was asleep in bed, perfectly fine, but had let me in the house anyway when I showed up two hours after the call.

“What are we going to do with her?” She asked, not for the first time that week, while we hugged in the living room. I gave the same answer as always, be patient.

Then I stripped down to my boxers and slipped into my side of her queen-sized bed. I fell asleep in seconds with Daisy so close for the first time in a week. When Daisy woke up in a panic, reaching out for me without knowing I was there, that was the moment I knew she loved me back. 

“Don’t even think about opening that door,” Daisy blushed, releasing the handle. It had taken every ounce of my concentration and willpower not to crash the truck when she had reacted to my laying a hand on her thigh while driving by spreading her legs for me. My girl was running hot for me and it was going to take more self-restraint than I had to do this right.

I turned off the truck and jogged to the passenger side, opening the door and holding a hand out for her. She leaned back in her seat, giving me a long once over, teeth sunk into her bottom lip. “What, one second you’re trying to jump out of the truck and the next you don’t want to get down?” 

“Started thinking about having sex in your truck,” Jesus Christ. Was she trying to kill me? “Kinda liked the idea.” She was definitely trying to kill me.

“Wildflower, we’re not having sex for the first time in my truck.” Maybe tomorrow, I thought with a grin. “Now come here, baby.” Daisy hopped out of the truck with her hand in mine, blushing and shy like she hadn’t just proposed having sex in my truck in broad daylight. I led her inside, intending to take it slow, maybe sitting down for a movie first but the second the door closed Daisy was leaning against it and pulling me against her. 

Kissing Daisy would never get old, the way she switched between brazen and nervous, responding to even the most innocent of my touches. I tapped her thigh and she understood, jumping enough for me to wrap her legs around my waist. Daisy kissed her way down my neck as I carried her up the stairs, focusing on my collarbone. I moaned, trying not to run us into the walls as I stumbled down the hallway. 

“You’re killing me, baby,” I moaned, shoving her against the wall outside of her room. Daisy sunk her teeth into me and God, I thought I was going to pass out from the lack of blood going to my brain.

“Fuck me, Jake,” She whispered into my neck. “Please?” I kissed her softly, sweetly, trying to convey the feelings I couldn’t say aloud. I would give her anything she wanted, anything, all she ever had to do was ask. 

“Yes, ma’am,” I kissed her gently again and then carried her into the bedroom. When I put Daisy down she pulled off her oversized shirt and her bralette quickly followed, I stood back watching the show. Daisy was gorgeous, showstopping, taking my breath away, even in her cartoon pajama pants. 

“Jake,” She looked up at me with wide eyes. I snapped out of my haze, pulling off my shirt and joining her on the bed. I trailed kisses from her hip, up her stomach, between her breasts, all the way to her lips, savoring the needy way she buried her fingers in my hair.

“Are you sure about this, baby?” Daisy tensed, pushing at my shoulders. The lust I had been seeing on her face all morning was gone, replaced by insecurity.

“Do you not want to do this?” Propping myself up on my elbow, I rubbed away her scrunched brow with my thumb, then I traced her lips. How could she not know how crazy I was about her? I loved everything about Daisy, from the way she got lost in the worlds she created while writing, her collection of sleep pants that she’d wear to their wedding if Phoenix let her, hell, he even loved the way she drooled a little in her sleep. 

“Daisy, baby, I want to do this.” She studied me for a moment before relaxing back into the pillows with a smile, looking as perfect as ever. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Yeah, pretty boy,” She giggled, cheeks burning. “You can keep kissing me.” 

“Thank God.” I kissed her until my lungs burned for air, loving the hint of maple syrup from breakfast lingering on her tongue. Daisy moaned and cried as I lavished her neck with kisses, marking her delicate skin with bruises and bites that I hoped would never fade away. She shook with anticipation as my fingers slipped between her legs, teasing her slick folds. 

“Oh my God,” Daisy moaned. I nipped at her collarbone, knowing exactly what I wanted to do next.

“Has anyone ever had their mouth on your pretty pussy before, Wildflower?” She shook her head, whining my name as I slid a finger inside of her. Daisy was soaking wet and tight for me, rolling her hips for more. “Words, baby. Use them.” She shook her head again, pinching my side. I chuckled, kissing my way to her beasts, taking one of the pebbled peaks into my mouth. 

Her moans were music to my ears, getting louder with every move I made. I switched to her other breast, slowing the movements of my fingers to rile her up and she pinched me again, harder this time. I chuckled, kissing my way down her stomach. I hoped I was the only one who knew how violent and impatient Daisy got when she was wound tight like this. I worked a second finger into her, watching how her face scrunched in pleasure. 

“You going to answer my question, Wildflower?” I slowed my fingers again, teasing her. She looked at me, dazed and I repeated my question, slowing my movements to the point of almost stopping. 

“No one,” Daisy whined, rocking her hips against my hand, making up for the slowed movement. She groaned when I removed them, weakly kicking at me as I slid off the bed. “Stop being mean to me.”

“Patience, baby. I’ll give you what you need,” I dragged her down the bed, throwing her knees over my shoulders. “You’re perfect, Wildflower.” 

“Jake!” Daisy was delicious and it didn’t take long for her to lock my head between her thighs. With every lick her legs trembled more, my name leaving her lips like a chant the closer she got. I was running out of air but God it would be a good way to go. “I’m close,” She announced and I doubled down my efforts, focusing attention on her clit. Daisy came with a scream and I lapped up every drop she gave me, not wanting to miss a single drop of her. I was so hard it hurt, my dick straining against my jeans, begging to be released.

“Fuck, darlin, you taste amazing.” 

“Jesus, Jake,” She sat up on her elbows, panting. I sat back on my heels and just took in the view. “Get up here, pretty boy. I think it’s my turn to take care of you.” I shook my head, stripping off my jeans and boxers in one go.

“Not today, baby. All I want is to feel you come on my cock like a good girl,” Her eyes went wide at my words, She bit her lip, rolling it between her teeth. So she wanted to be my good girl, I stored that information away where I kept all the details I knew about Daisy. Like the way she took her coffee, her favorite pizza toppings, the brand of perfume she wore, how she preferred cotton hip hugger underwear even though she had half a drawer of satin thongs. “Now move up the bed.” Just like the night in my truck, I didn’t have to tell her twice. 

“Fuck, Jake. I need you,” 

“I need you too, baby.” I notched myself at her entrance, “Are you going to pinch me again if I do this slowly?” 

“Yes,” She gasped as I buried myself in her with one, quick motion. God, she felt like heaven. Stars clouded my vision and I had to bite my tongue to keep from coming right away, which would have been mortifying. “Please, please, please, don’t go slow.” I gave her a moment to adjust, kissing her sweetly. “Move, please.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” I pulled all the way out until just the tip remained inside and snapped my hips forward, setting a steady pace that had us both moaning. Our kisses became sloppy, her nails digging into my back, leaving scratch marks there that I’m sure the guys would tease me about later. “Harder,” She begged, crying out my name as I obliged, shifting her leg to get a better angle. I found her clit, rubbing fast circles to hurry her over the edge again, dying to feel her come around me.

“Come for me, baby. Come on my cock,” Daisy’s eyes screwed shut, “Eyes on me while I fuck you, baby.” Her eyes blinked open, locking with mine, and she came. She squeezed me like a vice, pushing me towards my own climax. I wasn’t going to last long. I adjust, pumping into her harder, fucking her through her orgasm and into what felt like another one.

“Fuck, Jake, fuck,” She pulled me in for a kiss, biting my bottom lip. “Oh shit, we forgot a condom.” Oh shit was right, I slowed my pace, I had never forgotten a condom. It was a rule of mine, hell, there was one in my wallet right now, sitting in the pocket of my abandoned jeans.

“Do you want me to stop? I’ll stop,” She shook her head. “I’m clean.”

“Me too, IUD,” Her words were a jumbled mess as she rocked her hips up to meet mine, “Keep going.” 

“Are you sure?” Daisy pinched me hard, sending the message loud and clear. “Think you can give me one more, baby?”

“No,” She had that blissed out look on her face. “Jake,”

“One more, baby,” I started on her clit again, “You can give me one more.” It didn’t take long to push her over the edge again and this time I came with her.

“Holy shit,” Daisy kissed me softly, running her fingers through my hair. I loved this woman, if it hadn’t been official before, it was now. “I don’t think I can move,” She giggled, breaking the kiss.

“Good, means you can’t run away from me again.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes,

“I didn’t run.” I gently flicked her nose and she stuck her tongue out at me, all of the weight that we had both been carrying this morning gone as she smiled up at me.

“Whatever, baby. Point is, I’m never letting you kick me out of this bed again.” Daisy smiled, cupping my face with both her hands.

“I don’t plan on it, like I said, I’m right here.” 

“And I’m here with you.” I love you. 

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose

[nightlyrequiem]

The Other Side of Paradise

5) To Budding Friendships. (And More.)

Cross posted from AO3

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10, Ch.11

You try to make the best of your life working at a small bakery in a city with rising cartel violence. One slower day, a man starts harassing your coworker. Despite the obvious threat, you stand up to him anyway. Unbeknownst to you, Valeria just so happened to be there to witness it.

A/N- All chapters containing smut will be labeled mature. The fic is fully written with the whole thing on AO3 but chapters on Tumblr will be posted one a day.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Dual POV, Happy Ending, Plot with Porn, Graphic Violence, Inappropriate Use of a Knife, Masturbation, WLW

You stare up at the two disemboweled corpses crucified against a building. They're both wearing cheap looking cowboy hats. Memento Mori is spray painted above them. You turn away from the gruesome sight, at risk of puking. You stand on the sidewalk for a few more minutes. Trying to process what you saw before you head into work. El Sin Nombre made a habit of displaying bodies, but all the other ones were kept on street corners wrapped under sheets. You force yourself to move on. There's nothing you can do for them now.

You enter the bakery and greet your coworker. Your thoughts are caught up on the vile display and you mess up four orders. Your coworker can tell something is wrong, but he doesn't bother asking. People are buzzing with conversation. You weren't the only one who saw it. They're smart enough to talk quietly but a few words are still loud enough to reach your ears. You slip off to the back, so you don't have to listen. You live in a cartel run town and you've lived long enough to see your fair share of gore but for whatever reason this is what's really sticking with you.

You should be working, or at least trying to but all you can do is stare at the soapy sink. You really wish you kept Valeria's number. You could really use someone to talk to. You should really keep your thoughts to yourself but you're sure you can talk to Valeria. She told you she liked how honest you were after all. You force yourself to start washing the dishes. The warm water burns a hidden cut you didn't notice. You gasp in surprise when someone puts a hand on your shoulder. You whip your head to the side and see Mateo. His thick brows are furrowed.

He says your name and looks at you.

"You've been washing the same plate for five minutes." You stare at him blankly. Have you? You're really out of it today. The corpses must be throwing you off.

"I'm sorry." You say haltingly. For once the look Mateo is giving you isn't one of thinly veiled irritation. He looks a little concerned.

"Do you need to take this shift off? Are you feeling sick?" You do in fact, feel a little sick. You don't really want to go home yet though.

"I'm fine," You're always fine. "I just had a bit of trouble getting to sleep last night, the AC is broken again." Mateo looks at you like he doesn't believe you but chooses not to press you on the matter.

"Okay...well...if you do just let me know." He says awkwardly, like he's not used to showing basic kindness. He walks off and leaves you to your work.

Valeria doesn't come to visit you during your shift, and you feel a little disappointed. You go home and keep your eyes averted when you have to pass by that building. You get back to your apartment and go inside. The chill from the AC makes gooseflesh rise on your bare arms. Your apartment is relatively small and empty. Maybe you should get a pet or something. Even a fish would make things look less lonely. You set down the treat basket and head off into the bathroom to wash the day away.

You exit the bathroom freshly clean and check your phone. You rarely get important notifications, but you still always check after being away for more than ten minutes. Just in case. To your surprise you have a few texts from an unsaved number. You know who it is without checking.

"It's Valeria. I was wondering if you were busy tonight?" You are not busy tonight. You're never busy after your shifts. You Sit on the couch and curl your feet up under you.

"No, I'm not busy." You set your phone down and wait for a response. You turn on the tv and watch impatiently. Dulce Obsesión is playing but you aren't really paying attention. The only thing that catches your attention is that one of the main characters looks a little like Valeria.

Twenty minutes later your phone dings and you check it immediately.

"Good. I want to take you out for drinks." She wants to go drinking with you. Aren't you special. You have work tomorrow and you're quite tired, but you won't turn down an opportunity. You try to wait a bit before replying immediately lest you come off as desperate. You are desperate though and decide that mindset is too juvenile at your big age.

"Sure, what bar were you thinking?"

Valeria replies quickly, easing your worries.

"Greenrose." Greenrose? You pick through your memories to see if you know the place. You aren't too familiar with bars. You gave up years ago because you felt lonely sitting in a crowded place where no one wanted to approach you. You don't have very much time to try and work out where it is before Valeria sends you another text.

"I'll pick you up, what's your address?" This almost feels like a date. You send her your address and rush back into the bathroom. You fix yourself up a little bit. You need to buy some new concealer though; you're running dangerously low.

You put on a cute outfit and wait on the couch. Despite the AC you still find yourself sweating and feeling a little too warm. Finally, a knock on your door ushers you to your feet. You wait a few seconds before opening the door. Valeria's eyes dart over you and her lips lift in a friendly smile.

"You look nice, let's go." She says. Turning and walking down the narrow stairs. you follow behind her. Valeria leads you to a clean looking car. She even opens the door for you. You feel a little excited. Your unpleasant feelings over the distressing sight from earlier are long forgotten.

You usually aren't out this late. There's no reason to be and it's generally not very safe. You feel safe with Valeria though.

"You have a nice car." You say. Admiring the clean interior. It looks new but smells used. There's a rosary tied to the rearview mirror. Valeria shoots you a smile before pulling away from the curb.

"Thank you." She sounds proud. You'd be proud too if you could afford a car like this. It looks like a high-end SUV. "It's pretty expensive but it's definingly worth the investment."

"Wow, what do you do for work?" You ask. Genuinely curious. Valeria pauses.

"Something in the pharmaceutical field." She replies vaguely. You tilt your head at her.

"You own a business?"

"Something like that, although I'm more of a... distributer."

You arrive at an admittedly nice-looking bar. The surrounding area looks a little sketchy though.

"I haven't been over here before." You say nervously. Valeria turns off the ignition and looks at you. Her eyes glinting in the low-level light.

"We'll be fine. I come here often." She says calmly. getting out. You do the same and shut the door. Following her into the bar. She confidently weaves her way through the small crowd. There aren't that many people inside but most of them match the area. There's a corner of boisterous men playing cards. A flock of women surrounding them. A few stragglers sit alone drinking. You try not to judge them too harshly. That was you at one point.

You look back to Valeria as she takes a seat at an empty booth. You sit down across from her. You aren't drinking alone this time.

"What do you want?" Valeria asks. "My treat." And she's buying you a drink? You're struggling to tell if this platonic or if she has ulterior motives. You hope it's the latter.

"Vodka lime." You say. Your go-to affordable drink. Valeria nods and gets up.

"I'll be right back."

While she's gone you take the chance to look around again. The men in the corner are still in the middle of their game, the loners are still alone. That makes you think of Valeria. You wonder why she picked you of all people to spend tonight with. Not that you're complaining. Having drinks with a pretty woman is more ideal than wasting your time watching telenovels.

Valeria comes back and sets down a tray of five shots and your Vodka lime. she wastes no time in downing one of them.

"Today was long, it feels nice to just unwind with good company." She says lowly. Locking her fingers together and resting her chin on them. "I haven't had the time to just be."

"Tonight's a good night to simply exist and relax." You remark. Taking a sip of your drink.

'I agree, I'm glad I could find the time to take a break." She hums. "It's nice to spend some time around another woman." She pauses. "Around you. outside the bakery I mean."

You smile and take another sip. You should slow down a little bit. It would be a shame if you got yourself too drunk and embarrassed yourself.

"Speaking of the bakery, I was a little disappointed to not see you today." You reply. Leaning back in your seat.

"Oh, well, my apologies I hate to disappoint," she says with faux seriousness. "I hope this little night out makes up for my transgression."

You forget to take it slow. You finish your Vodka lime and three shots. Valeria goes from a clear outline to slightly blurry. Sometime during the night, you moved from across her to beside her. Your shoulders and thighs brushing against hers. The topics of your conversations shift from work to hobbies to memories.

"I was dating this guy," Valeria murmurs. Your heads close together. "It was a long time ago, just after we graduated and-" She takes a sip from the whiskey she ordered a few minutes ago. "-And we were making out, and he threw up in my mouth." You gape at her then erupt into a flurry of quiet laughter.

"Was he at least a good kisser?"

Valeria snorts in amusement and shakes her head. You grin like a fool, having the most fun you've had in a while. Valeria leans in close enough for her breath to ghost over your face.

"No, he wasn't a very good kisser." She murmurs. The proximity is enough to cause your heart to go into a frenzy. You don't pull away though.

"No?" You reply quietly. "What about you? Are you a good kisser?" Valeria stares you in the eyes intently.

"I'm not sure, perhaps some feedback would help." She whispers.

Valeria begins to lean in when the phone in her back pocket starts to buzz. She pulls away, looking absolutely murderous. She pulls out the little flip phone and sighs. She gets up and runs a hand through her hair.

"I have to take this, it's work related." She walks off towards the exit and steps outside, leaving you by yourself. You wish she would've ignored it but what do you know? You don't run a pharmaceutical business. Or distribution. Or whatever else it was that she does for a living that you can't recall.

[blueesnow]

(6/6) Mikado Nagi's Private Story [Utapri Live Emotion]

Ch 1: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 6 with Nagi)

-Hotel Lobby- Haruka: (Looks like there's still some time left before the new program's production presentation begin…guess I'll just wait here and look at the materials) Haruka: (Its content is educational variety and one of the main MC is--) Nagi: …Wah!! Haruka: Eh, Nagi-kun? …Kya! Nagi: Hey! If you keep that up, you'll fall…! - Nagi: ….Sigh, that was dangerous. Geez, why are you so clumsy? - Nagi: No matter how you look at it, you acted way too surprised just because I called you from behind. Even though you were supposed to be a working adult, that was so pathetic. Nagi: And to think that I took time to call you out. If you were somehow to fall just now that would make me look like I'm the bad guy, yknow? Haruka: Fufu, I'm sorry. Thank you for helping me out. Haruka: I came here at the invitation from a producer that I know, and by chance I was just about to go and greet Nagi-kun. Nagi: Hmm~? So you were looking for Nagi. But, if you think just normal greeting works on me then you're wrong! Nagi: There has to be something more that you need to say to me, right? Can you give me words that will make Nagi happy? Haruka: Yes! To think that you were selected as one of the main MC, that's so amazing. Congratulations…! Nagi: Why of course, it's Nagi after all! Educational program fits exactly for a genius like me♪ Nagi: With an incredibly cute MC such as me, there's no doubt that I'll make everyone smile in front of the TV☆

Ch 2: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 11 with Nagi)

-Hotel Lobby- Nagi: That's the news site, and over there is the TV crew. Looks like there's a lot of media assembled here. Nagi: If it's like this then that means I can show a lot of people to a cutie Nagi. Make sure you also check me out too okay! Haruka: I'm looking forward to it! The starting time starts soon right… Nagi: Somehow people over there are quite in a hurry~? …Staff-san, is there something wrong? Nagi: Eh… The host announcer can't come? Isn't that a pretty bad situation? Haruka: That's right. Even if we managed to find a substitute, we have to at least delay the start time… Nagi: There's no need to do that. We also don't have to go search for a replacement. Who do you think is standing in front of everyone right now? Nagi: It's Mikado Nagi, the cutest and most genius in the universe! Leave the hosting to me, I'll do it in a flash. Haruka: (Certainly… Nagi-kun will be able to do it right away. But as expected, it's difficult to host without any preparations.) Haruka: (If I could somehow prepare something in this remaining time… Ah, those materials over there…) (choices) <I found the script> Haruka: I found the host's script. Here it is. Nagi: Nagi is perfectly fine even if he doesn't look at it though~? But, well, I should at least give my thanks to you. Thank you. Nagi: The MC's talk, explanation of the program content, Q&A session… looks it all went pretty much just as planned. <Sound and lighting instructions!> Haruka: Here is the sound and lighting instructions! If there's anything that needs to be changed, let me know and I'll pass that to the other staffs. Nagi: Heh~ That's very thoughtful of you. Since Nagi will be doing both the performing and hosting duties, we need to make him stand out even more. Nagi: For the BGM… can I ask you to play it during this timing? Also, put the pin spotlight on Nagi over here! (back to story) Nagi: Yup, it's all perfect! No one ever expects me to be the host, so it's going to be a fun surprise to everyone. Nagi: Make sure to pay attention on me okay, Haruka. That camera over there and this camera right here, Nagi will take them all!

Ch 3: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 21 with Nagi)

-Hotel Lobby- Nagi: Hi everyone~ Thank you for joining us! Nagi will be your special host for today☆ Nagi: Fufu, were you surprised~? Then the surprise was a huge success! I hope you can keep your eyes upon Nagi's brilliant performance, okay. Nagi: Now then without further ado, let me introduce you to the members who will be helping me here together to make this show even more exciting. Let's give them a big round of applause♪ Haruka: (Amazing… While he manages to deliver words that needs to be conveyed, he also livens up the atmosphere with Nagi-kun's usual way of speaking) Haruka: (To think that he was able to easily handle the role of a host on such a short notice, Nagi-kun, you're so amazing…!) - Nagi: And that's all for the production presentation. Please look forward to it until the broadcast date, okay! Bye-bye~☆ - Haruka: Nagi-kun, thank you for all of your hard work! I was very impressed with how amazing you handle your role as the announcer host, I even forgot that you're supposed to just be a sudden substitute…! Nagi: Geez~ You're exaggerating a lot. But well, I knew how you feel. I mean, it turned out to be more than perfect after all☆ Nagi: Getting a perfect 100 score is a given. But the one who manages to get a result of 120 score is Nagi! Haruka: All of the staff members around were also grateful to Nagi-kun, you know. Nagi: I only did it because it would be a problem for me if the time was delayed. It's a new program after all, so you have to make a good first impression. Nagi: But, thanks to Nagi's brilliant way as a host, all of the expectations have risen. There's no doubt that this program will sure be a big hit♪ Haruka: Yes! I can't wait for the broadcast date either. Nagi: If that's the case, then why don't you go and check out during our recording later? You're probably curious how Nagi being an ultra cute MC, right! Nagi: This is not all that I have in store. I'll show you more just how charming Nagi is☆

Ch 4: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 31 with Nagi)

-Photographic Studio- Haruka: …And done. After that… Eh? The one standing there, isn't that… Nagi-kun! Nagi: Hm…Haruka? What, I didn't knew you were also in this studio too. Nagi: Looking at you now… It looks like you've just finished saying goodbye to all of the people involved, and was on your way going home…I guess? Haruka: Eh… Wow, you're amazing! How did you knew all that? Nagi: Looking at the jacket that you were about to put on, plus the pass that you're holding in your hands. It was all obvious☆ Nagi: Hey, if you're free after this then come with me. There's a cafe nearby that I want to check out. Haruka: Wow, that looks fun. But, are you really okay going with me? I don't know whether Nagi will enjoy it or not… Nagi: Geez~ Nagi's the one who's inviting you, so of course it's perfectly okay☆ Nagi: Stop worrying about unnecessary things. As long as you're with me, that's more than enough. Nagi: Come on, stop hesitating. Let's go! - Haruka: This… isn't this a cafe that's currently trending on social media right now. Nagi: That's right! I heard that they also served cute foods and drinks too. So I wanted to come here for at least once. The menu is… Nagi: What will you order? With so many options here, it's hard to choose right! Nagi: Whoa… this, isn't this very lovely? This one is colorful. Oh, they also have one with Nagi's color too! Nagi: Hmmm, each one of them is cute but… Maybe I'll order the pancake. Ah, this one…!

Ch 5: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 41 with Nagi)

-Cafe- Nagi: Look, there's a musical note imprinted on the pancake! Haruka: All of them are so cute it'd be such a shame to eat them…! Nagi: Aren't you glad that you came here♪ Let's take a photo right away. While holding the plate of the pancake…the angle should be around this much. Nagi: For the pose… That's right, I'm going to listen to your special request for today. Which kind of Nagi would you want to see? (choices) <The usual cute Nagi-kun, please!> Haruka: As I thought, the cute Nagi-kun is the perfect choice! Your smile would fits perfectly with the wonderful sweets, what do you think? Nagi: I'm already cute enough as it is, but you're asking for more? Can't be helped then~ How about this? Nagi: It's a special menu just for you. I'll give you a smile as sweet as a-whipped-cream♪ <Maybe a cool Nagi-kun…?> Haruka: While we're here, maybe a cool Nagi-kun…? Nagi: Are you trying to say that I'm only just cute most of the time? Don't you underestimate Nagi. Let's get started. Nagi: …Hey, Haruka. Look over here. Rather than sweets, you should just focus and be obsessed over me. (back to story) Nagi: …Yep, the picture turned out great! As expected of Nagi☆ Here, look. Haruka: Wow, what a wonderful picture…! It's full of Nagi-kun's charm! Nagi: Right☆ Hehe, thanks! I'll send it to everyone in HE★VENS later♪ Nagi: Now then, it's time to eat. Bon Appetit♪ …Mmm―! It's so sweet and fluffy! Haruka: …Fufu. Nagi: …Hey. Just now, you probably thought that Nagi was acting just like a kid, don't you. Nagi: Your face says it all. But you can't speak for others either, can you? …Look, you have a cream on the side of your lips. Nagi: Here, I got it. …Fufu, your face is all red. It's 100 years too early for you to treat me like a kid.

Ch 6: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 51 with Nagi)

-Downtown- Haruka: Nagi-kun, thank you so much for today! I had a lot of fun! Nagi: You spent time with Nagi after all, so it's a given☆ That cafe had a nice atmosphere to it, right? Haruka: Yes, as expected of Nagi-kun! Please let me know if you found a nice place again. Nagi: Sheesh, don't just rely on Nagi all the time, you should also try to look for one too. But well, maybe I might let you know if I ever feel like it. Nagi: Oh and when you go home, make sure to keep your eyes on the road while you walk, okay. You're a klutz after all. Haruka: Yes, I'll be careful. See you later. - Nagi: …Now then, I guess I'll head home too. Oh, but before that, time for me to send the photos to everyone in HE★VENS♪ Nagi: We took a lot of pictures. Nagi is also a genius with his photography skill! The cuteness of the sweets is also doubled as well. Nagi: Oh, this one is her picture. *giggles* She had a cream near her lips again! Nagi: Her cheeks are so puffed up too. Talk about a weird face! Seriously, she's so funny. Nagi: Now on to Nagi's pictures… Yep, it all turned out really well! Was it because of the natural lighting? Somehow my expression looked much more better than the usual… Nagi: I seem to look like I had a lot of fun. …Was it because I was with that girl? Nagi: …Pshh, nu-uh. There's just no way. Besides, I'm the one leading her around all day too… Nagi: Everyone in HE★VENS is quite handful and troublesome people, so I guess that just means I'm starting to get used to taking care of the adults around me. Nagi: Yep, that's totally it! Geez, I ended up thinking of something weird. Let's go home quickly and make preparations for my next job~

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Chapter 14

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/151115194

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8 / Ch 9 / Ch 10 / Ch 11 / Ch 12 / Ch 13

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Master Felix whips around and slaps Alfie's face. Hard. Alfie had been carrying a tray of glass vials, and he holds onto it with all his strength to make sure none of them fall to the shiny white floor. His small hands shake. It hurts. It hurts so very much. Master Felix likes to slap him when Alfie makes a mistake. Likes to see the tears in his eyes and the welts his rings leave behind when he hits him just right.

"I'm sorry, Master Felix," Alfie mumbles on instinct.

"Do you know what you did wrong, Number Eight?" Felix asks, towering over him in his white lab coat. His black eyes look like the vats of tarry goo in the basement rooms, his white teeth gleaming like a shark's in the pulsing blue lights of the lab around them.

"I wasn't quick enough, Master Felix. I'm sorry. Please don't punish me." Alfie doesn't really know what he did wrong. He had made a mistake, of course. But, what was it? He had to figure it out so Master Felix wouldn't be angry anymore. He brought the vials just like the Master asked for. Maybe he didn't run fast enough. And the guards had stopped him, too. They liked stopping Alfie. Liked it when Master Felix punished him.

"Useless freak." With a sneer, the man licks his fingertips and smooths them over his gray stubble. He turns away from Alfie and back to his writing desk, sitting down in his black chair and sliding close to the desk on its wheels. "Get those vials processed. That's twice you've made a mistake today."

Oh no. One more time and Master Felix will put Alfie in the tank. He hated being in the tank. It's so cold and the frozen sleeping man floating inside likes to whisper things in Alfie's head. Master Felix calls him the Progenitor, but he's more like a monster. He says things and makes Alfie see things while he feeds off of his Evol until everything goes dark and his heart feels like it will stop. It's worse than Master Felix's slaps. A lot worse.

Trying to overcome his dread and fear, Alfie rushes over to the big red spinning machine and starts putting the vials inside their matching colored slots. It's up so high that he has to pull up a step stool. He's careful not to make any more mistakes. He's careful not to break any vials or to spill any of the clear liquid. It's precious, Master Felix says. There isn't much of it, so every drop is important. If Alfie spills even a little, the Master will put him in the tank until the Monster drains every bit of his Evol.

That's how the other kids died. Now the cages are empty, but not for long. Every once in a while, the guards bring more of them to the prison in the basement. They come from all over. Sometimes, they speak words nobody can understand. But, Alfie stopped trying to talk to them a long time ago. It's sad when he makes a friend and they get put in the tank. Nobody else has ever come out of there alive. Nobody except Alfie. Maybe that's why the Master made him his assistant. Maybe Alfie is special.

Once he finishes putting away the vials, Alfie begins cleaning the laboratory. Luckily there isn't any blood to clean today. Seeing blood makes Alfie nauseous. He mops and sweeps, dusting the counters and wiping away anything that could leave a stain. That's what Master Felix likes him to do when he isn't running errands. The lab has to be clean and tidy. Leaving even a spot on the floor or the counters will be a mistake. The Master will be angry, and Alfie will get slapped. Or put in the tank. Or left without dinner. None of that sounds good.

While Alfie is cleaning, Master Felix takes out his blue recorder and begins talking to it. He does that a lot. Usually, he talks about all the things he learned and did that day. Kind of like a diary. He really likes talking to himself, and Alfie likes to listen. He pretends that Master Felix is telling a story, and it helps calm Alfie's fear. Today, he talks about how Malakai came to the lab to ask about the Progenitor. Alfie remembers that. Everyone always acts so different when the man with violet eyes comes to the lab. They say he's the strongest ever and that's why he's the leader of Noxis. But, if he's the strongest, why is he trying to become even stronger by using the Progenitor? 

"The recent failure is a setback, but at least a partial transference was achieved. If only Malakai hadn't been so wounded, perhaps..."

While he talks, Master Felix licks his fingertips a few more times and brushes them against his stubble. He does that a lot, too.

When Alfie is done cleaning, he puts everything away and sits in his place in the corner of the lab between the spinning machine and the computers. It's warm here. He curls into a ball, hoping Master Felix will not notice him for a while. Interrupting his stories would be a mistake. Alfie's attention shifts to one of the screens on the table in front of him. It's a big monitor showing cameras in different rooms. He sees something moving in the basement. In the room with the cages. They're empty now, so why would anybody be there? Nervous, he squints at the screen. More movement. Like shifting shadows. He glances at Master Felix. He can't interrupt him, but he's supposed to tell someone when he sees something strange. Alfie trembles, confused.

"Number Eight," Master Felix calls. Alfie holds his breath as he rushes over to the big black chair. Alfie hates that everybody calls him by his number here. In his mind, he holds onto his name. It's the only thing he can remember before he was brought here with the other kids and put in the cages. 

"Y-Yes, Master?"

"Go to the basement and leave this list with Orla." He hands Alfie a laminated piece of paper with handwritten names on it. "After that, you are free to go to the kitchens and take a meal. If you are not back in one hour, it will be a mistake. Do you understand?"

Alfie nods. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. I won't make a mistake, Master."

"Get out of my sight."

Alfie runs out of the lab, tucking the piece of paper against his chest. Orla is the Floor Warden for the basement. Maybe he can tell her about the moving shadows on the camera. Maybe she'll be nicer to him if he tells her something that will make her look good in front of the Master. If he could just talk to her. But, she's so scary. She hates the kids, and she likes to hit Alfie with her cane. She knows how to hit without leaving bruises. Master Felix doesn't like Alfie to have bruises from anything except his slaps.

He makes it to the elevator and presses his thumb to the fingerprint reader. With a green flash and a ping, the double doors hiss open to let him inside. He chooses the basement floor and scans his thumb again. The screen flickers with some letters and a message, but Alfie can't read anyway so he ignores it. In seconds, the elevator takes him four floors down to the lowest place in the compound. When the doors open, Alfie steps out.

It's really dark and cold here. A lot colder than anywhere else in the lab. They have to keep it cold so the bodies don't rot, Master Felix says. Alfie smells the bittersweet stuff the other scientists use to keep dead things fresh longer. He can never remember the name for it; the word is too long. The smell is stronger than usual, which means the scientists must be doing something with the bodies. Maybe they're making more tarry stuff. Or maybe it has something to do with the "failure" Master Felix was talking about in his stories today.

Orla gives Alfie a glare when he walks timidly up to her office. She's an older woman with streaks of grey in her hair and ugly wrinkles. She's wearing the grey and indigo Noxis uniform. Her pants are creased at the backs of her knees from sitting all day and watching her monitors. He holds out the paper as he walks up to her, hoping she'll understand that he's here to run an errand.

"It's from Master Felix," he says. "I just have to give you this list and then I have to run."

Orla stands up and marches the rest of the way up to him; he can hear her heavy breathing. When she's close enough, she takes the paper then steps around and closes the door behind Alfie. He tries to stay calm. She likes it when he's scared, and she really likes it when he cries. If he can just avoid doing what she likes, she'll get bored and maybe let him go with just a few smacks on the backs of his knees with her cane. He hopes he can get this over with fast. Master Felix only gave him an hour, and Alfie didn't have dinner yesterday.

"Looks like Felix wants me to take you to the cages," Orla smiles after reading the paper, reminding him of a picture of a shark he saw once on one of the monitors on the TV in the kitchen. Alfie doesn't believe her, but he can't fight her if that's what she wants to do. She's a lot stronger, especially because Master Felix just put him in the tank last week. He still doesn't have all of his strength back.

"That's not what the Master said," Alfie frowns. "The Master said to give you the list and go to the kitchen."

"You talkin' back to me, kid?" Her cane comes down hard on his back. Alfie doesn't expect it and falls down. She hits him again, on the head this time. He raises his hands to shield himself, confused now and on the verge of tears. This isn't how this normally goes. She's never hit him this hard. Curling into a ball, he screams when she keeps hitting him. She's shouting something, yelling. The more she hits him, the sweatier she gets and the louder her breathing becomes.

And suddenly, the pain stops.

Her voice stops.

Still terrified, Alfie squints open his eyes and looks up above him. Orla has a weird look on her face, like a robot disconnected from its plug. Her face is kind of limp. Her mouth hangs open and her eyes are rolled back into her head. She wavers for a second before a fountain of blood spurts from her neck. Alfie screams as her head falls off her shoulders and onto the floor, bouncing and rolling towards him. Horrified, he scrambles backwards on all fours. When he opens his mouth to scream again, a hand wraps around his face.

"Shh. Don't shout, unless you want to end up like that hag."

"I'm s-sorry," Alfie whispers. "I made a mistake. Please don't hit me. Please don't put me in the tank. Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Calm down," another voice says.

Alfie realizes that he covered his face with his hands instinctively.

"Look at me," the same voice demands. The hand leaves his mouth. Someone shifts around him. Alfie moves his hands away, peeking up towards the voice. Two figures are standing above him dressed in all black. Their faces are covered with crow masks. The tips of the beaks are red like they've been dipped in blood. One of their hoods says "06" and the other says "07". Otherwise, he can't tell them apart.

"P-Please don't h-hurt me," Alfie whispers again.

"If you do what we ask, we won't," Six says.

"W-Who are you?" Alfie asks.

Six sits down next to him. "Tell me your name first."

"A-Alfie...I think. I can't remember because..." he stops there. Suddenly, he's wondering if this is another test from Master Felix. The Master is always testing him. They killed Orla, but she liked to disobey the Master and the rules. She liked to hit Alfie and make him cry. He's glad she's dead. He just wishes there wasn't so much blood. He really hates seeing blood.

"Everybody calls me Number Eight. That's who I am. I won't tell you anything," Alfie says, his bottom lip quivering. "I won't say anything. I have to go to the kitchen. Master said to go after I was done here. Please let me go."

Six looks at the headless corpse on the floor then at Alfie again. "We just killed your friend. Aren't you upset?"

"Orla wasn't my friend," Alfie insists. "She hit me and beat me. She was a bad worker. She broke the rules, and she deserved it."

Nobody ever listened to him when he complained anyway. They all just liked to hit him. If he complains to these people right now, it might be a mistake. He might end up in the tank. He has to show Master Felix that he's loyal. That he's special.

"What do you do around here, Alfie?" Six asks him. Seven stays silent, occasionally glancing towards the closed door. Six had said his name. Not Number Eight. His name. Maybe this means Alfie is doing well. Maybe this is a reward.

"I'm Master Felix's assistant. I help him."

"I see. And, do you like helping him?"

"Yes," Alfie answers without hesitation. "Master Felix is amazing. He's smart. He's merciful. He gave me a place. Made me special. A nobody like me can be helpful if I serve him."

"I see," Six sounds impressed. "You must be really important here. Are you the youngest?"

Alfie puffs up his chest. Nobody had ever told him he was important.

"I was before, but not now. The other kids that came with me and after me were put in the tank, so they're dead. They were weak. They weren't worthy of serving the Master."

Six nods. "The tank sounds like a scary place."

"It is," Alfie shivers. Six was really easy to talk to, and he didn't look like he was going to hit him. He liked this. Maybe he could talk to him just a little more. "It's really really scary. It's cold and there's the Progemator. I don't like him."

"Progenitor?" Six asks, correcting Alfie's pronunciation. "What's so scary about him? He's just a floating dead guy, isn't he?"

"No!" Alfie insists. Nobody's ever been this interested in Alfie before, and he doesn't want Six to think he's scared. "The Progemator isn't dead. He's alive, and he gets stronger when he takes our Evol."

"Oh, really?" Six sounds surprised. "Have you been in the tank with him?"

"Yes. Master Felix puts me there when I make a mistake. When I do something wrong. I deserve it, of course. It's all my fault. I deserve to be punished and have my Evol taken."

Seven comes over and sits next to Alfie, too. He crosses his arms over his chest, listening intently. Alfie can't help but feel proud. He's said only good things about Master Felix and the Monster. Only good things. That means he's passing the test, right?

"You sound like a brave young man," Seven says. "After all, you're such an important assistant and you've survived going into the tank."

Alfie's eyes sting with tears. This is the first time anybody's ever given him so many compliments. He hopes this test will go on just a little longer.

"Does that mean your Master trusts you to go anywhere here in the lab?"

"Yes, anywhere he needs me to go."

Seven reaches for Alfie's wrist. "Can I look at something?" he asks.

Alfie hates being touched, but if its for the test, he can be patient. He nods, and Seven gingerly takes hold of his forearm and pulls up his ratty sleeve. His mark is tattooed into his skin; the black ink looks as fresh as though it only happened yesterday. It's the number Eight.

Six and Seven look at each other. They don't say a word, but Alfie feels like they're talking to each other. After a minute, they shift to sit closer together and hold out their forearms to him.

"Wanna see something neat?" Six asks.

"I think you'll be surprised," Seven says.

Alfie hesitates. Is this the next part of the test? He nods, clasping his hands together nervously. In perfect unison, Six and Seven pull up their sleeves to show their wrists. Alfie gasps when he sees the same tattoos on their skin in the exact same place as his: the numbers six and seven.

"Alfie," Seven says, "how would you feel about a trade?"

"T-trade?"

"Yes. In return for taking us to see your Master, we'll take you home with us."

"Take me...to another lab?" Alfie holds his breath, not daring to hope.

"Take you home," Six says, his tone suddenly different than before. "No more labs."

"Away...from here?" Alfie whispers, his eyes going wide.

Seven nods. "Yes, that's right."

This is a test. This is Master Felix's test. Alfie has to stay strong. This is all a trick. The second he says 'yes' someone will come out and hit him. Master Felix will laugh and slap him then put him in the tank. Maybe forever.

"No," Alfie shakes his head. "No, I won't. I'm happy here. I belong here. Master Felix made me special."

A tear runs down Alfie's cheek despite his best efforts to hold it in. It's lies. It's all lies. If he could, he would run away from here. If only these people were real. If only this wasn't a test.

"You don't trust us?" Six asks him. "What reason do we have to lie to you?" He sounds sincere. He sounds real. Alfie takes a step towards him, digging his nails into his palms. 

"If..." Alfie swallows past his fear. "If this isn't a test. If you're not with Master Felix. Then...you killed Orla...and you could kill me too."

"Believe me," Seven says to Alfie's left. "If we wanted to, you'd already be dead."

"But, you won't." Alfie frowns. This is how everybody is. They all want to use him or hit him or hurt him. "Until you're done with me." 

Six chuckles. "Smart and special. I definitely want to keep him now, Kieran."

"He's not a puppy, Luke. Boss won't like it."

Luke and Kieran. Were those their names?

"Boss?" Alfie asks, suddenly curious. Did they have a Master, too? They had tattoos like him and a Master like him. But, they were so strong. And they weren't in a cage. Was their Master nice? Did he hit them, too?

Luke looks over to Alfie. "Yeah, our Boss. Strongest guy you'll ever meet."

"But I thought Malakai was the strongest. He's our leader."

Kieran snorts. "That chump is going to be fish food soon."

"Fish food?" Alfie doesn't understand.

"Yeah," Luke says. "Like getting thrown into a tank but in pieces."

"Your Boss is that strong?" Alfie asks, amazed. He can't imagine anybody stronger than Malakai. "Is he...nice? Does he hit you?"

Luke shakes his head. "Never. We get to play as much as we want as long as we do our work."

"Does he let you go to the kitchen?"

"As much as you want," Kieran says, his arms still crossed over his chest.

"But, what about the numbers? Aren't you his prisoners?"

"He took us from our prison," Luke says. "And gave us the strength to kill all those who hurt us."

Alfie takes a slow shaky breath. All who hurt him. Kill them? Kill Master Felix? Kill the guards that always stopped him and got him in trouble? Killing others was for the strong, and Alfie was weak. He'd imagined so many times what it might be like to hit Master Felix back. To hit the guards that abused him. To take Orla's cane and hit her over and over until she stopped moving. But, he'd always been too weak.

"I can't do that," Alfie mumbles.

"What, kill? You don't look like a softie to me, kid," Kieran says.

"I'm not strong enough."

"You don't have to be strong to fight for your life," Luke explains. "You don't have to be strong to give back an eye for an eye." He reaches out and puts a hand on Alfie's shoulder. "You just have to have one thing. The instinct to survive. Like any beast, really." 

"That's all any of us are," Kieran concludes. 

Alfie wrings his hands together. "Can you...or your Boss...can you teach me that?" 

"We can," Luke assures him.

It was too good to be true. Too good. But, Alfie wanted to believe it so much.

"Then...then..." 

"Do you want to trade now?" Kieran asks, sounding impatient.

"Yes," Alfie breathes, scared and excited all at once. "I want to leave here. I want to kill Master Felix. He hurts me. He treats me like dirt. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." The last part comes out as a growl, and the walls around him shake with Alfie's anger.

Luke rubs his hands together. "Alright then, it's a deal."

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Felix Blaze is a man of logic and action. His lab ebbs and flows in perfect order. Not a hair out of place. One might say he runs a tight ship. His direct reports don't dare to step a toe out of line. There are no terminations here. At least, not in the traditional sense. Young bloods come to work here to prove themselves to the organization, and one word from Felix is enough to either earn a promotion or earn a place among his cages of test subjects. It's a risk a surprising many are willing to take.

Felix has earned quite a reputation of success in his endeavors and assigned projects. He grew quickly in rank, and in just a few short years, he's taken A.R.C.A.N.E and Noxis to a whole new level. An accident -- something involving an introverted young bookworm working too hard for her own good and a tenth story ledge calling her name -- led Felix to a method of mass producing LUMINIS. With her notebook and knowledge in hand, he was a rising star among his toxic and quite envious collective. A figure of envy.

But, after flying so high, the brilliant scientist's fall is all the more painful. Malakai's failed operation just hours ago is a new stain on his record. While most of his colleagues had gone home for the night, Felix remains alone in his frigid, dark, lab. He sits at a desk, the only light a pulsing blue glow coming from the eight foot tank beside him. His hands move at blinding speed as he scribbles notes and observations in impeccable penmanship. Only Number Eight remains by his side, bringing him hot cups of coffee and carrying out menial tasks.

Foolish naïve little child. An unexpected bonus brought to Felix among a cartload of worthless bodies. He possesses an interesting Evol, one full of the potential to either destroy or to elevate the RE-Birth project. For that reason, Felix keeps him on a tight leash. A prisoner given the illusion of limited freedom. First, Felix had made sure to crush his mind and his spirit. Then, he ensured that he continued doing so. The child must never know his true worth or purpose.

Now if only the other factors of the project could line up as well. Lost in his own anger and frustration, Felix laments that no one is here to witness his heroic actions. If only Malakai could see him now, picking up the pieces after their recent set-back and planning for the next attempt. See how alone he is; how he's clearly the only worthwhile worker in this lab. Damn the other scientists. So what if they'd been working without rest for over 48 hours? They're on the verge of a breakthrough. Doesn't that mean anything to them? Unworthy rats. Not even fit to lick Malakai's boots. They would need to be dealt with soon; their incompetence cannot be tolerated. Every failed attempt puts Malakai's life at risk, puts the Progenitor at risk.

Intolerable.

Disgusting.

So furious his hands shake, Felix reaches up to lick his fingers and smooths them over his growing stubble.

The Master must be informed. There must be another purge of the staff. They can start over; build again. Bodies are plenty to push buttons and fill beakers. After all, it is he - Felix - that is the true mastermind and the brains behind it all. Only men of his caliber are fit to work at A.R.C.A.N.E. Men with ambition, fortitude, and a strong understanding of their role in the great machine that is Noxis.

Hands trembling, he writes up the last of his report. Compiling data for this last attempt isn't easy. Something had gone disastrously wrong. No. Disaster isn't a good word. A glitch. Yes, that's it. Just a glitch. They'd needed more bodies than usual. More of the Blood, too. And still -- still -- Malakai couldn't couple with the Progenitor. His leader had left frustrated and weakened, his Evol unchanged, his memories only partially transferred. If only Malakai hadn't been injured, they could have tried again. But, the wounds needed a Proto-bath treatment to heal.

Again, Felix reaches up, licks his fingers, and smooths them over his stubble.

If only the Specimen hadn't escaped over a year ago. The search for him had borne no fruit, and there were no more Lemurians readily available to pull from to replenish the Blood. At this rate, LUMINIS production would be compromised and the RE-Birth project will need to be put on hold. Unless, of course, Malakai made progress in obtaining a new resource.

The girl.

The Core.

With her, none of these things would be obstacles at all.

So, why did their leader hesitate? Why did he not capture her in this last encounter? A.R.C.A.N.E needed her so badly. No tissue, no cell, would be wasted. Every piece of her body would be put to good use. The Core to power the Progenitor. Her blood for LUMINIS. Skin and bones and organs for research and analysis. She would be reborn; they'd find her, capture her, and use her again. She was perfect. A timeless resource that would never run dry.

Setting aside his notebook, Felix picks up a clipboard and walks closer to the Progenitor's tank. A man floats within, his long black hair waving with the current, his violet eyes closed in repose. One of these days, Felix would see them open. Malakai will succeed in transferring his Evol and his memories to this new body, achieving true rebirth and reincarnation in a form that will be unstoppable. Noxis will rise like a phoenix from the ashes, and the vermin of Onychinus would fade into the shadows, never to be heard from again.

Of course, these are only Felix's ambitions. Malakai has much grander plans, including the slow and methodical elimination of his greatest rival - Sylus. Felix wants to see this, too. Wants the man with the red eyes to kneel before them all and beg for his life. Once, Felix had been a part of Onychinus. Once, he had been the greatest among the ranks of their scientists. Until Sylus had swept in and destroyed his research. All of his life's work pertaining to the Aether Core, gone in a single vicious night of flame and smoke.

Felix reaches up and smooths his moistened fingers across his stubble.

Revenge would be sweet.

And, what could be better than claiming Sylus's body for research and experimentation? A power like his had never been known or seen anywhere. A monster, some called him. Or, perhaps, a result of some machination by an unknown hand. Many feared the unknown, but Felix welcomed it. All mysteries could be solved, and monsters made for fruitful study.

A ringing. Felix's phone. Blinking at the flashing screen, he frowns when the caller ID looks glitched and fragmented. The metal in the walls tends to interfere with calls here. Concerned that it's a summons from Malakai, he picks up.

"Downstairs," a familiar voice says.

"Right away, Sir."

Felix grows worried. Had Malakai's wounds been worse than they'd thought? Was the Proto-bath not sufficient? Were more Protocores required? His breathing quickens as he gathers his things and makes his way outside with his briefcase in hand. Number Eight follows him like the obedient dog he is. On the way, Felix throws on his thick winter jacket. He exits the building with a swipe of his badge, stepping out into a flurry of falling snow. A pair of headlights nearly blind him, and he rushes around the car's front. Someone opens the door for him, and he slides inside. Number Eight follows suit.

"Sir, I --"

He stops. Two men sit before them dressed in all black identical clothes and armor. Their faces are hidden behind crow masks, but somehow even without seeing their expressions, Felix can tell they are smiling. They're wearing hoods with the numbers "06" and "07" printed on them. Recognition flares. His jaw clenches. He swallows past a lump of terror in his throat, for he's heard rumors of these men and what they do at Sylus's side. One of them takes a phone out of his pocket and taps the screen.

"Downstairs," the recording of Malakai's voice plays. "Downstairs...downstairs...downstairs..."

"For a smart guy, you sure fell for this trap way too easily," Seven says.

Felix lunges for the door handle, but he doesn't even make it an inch before one of the men seems to teleport to his side. A gloved hand wraps around Felix's wrist hard enough to break bone. He shouts in pain, but this only seems to amuse his captor.

"Now, now," Seven chides from above him. "You're our guest of honor. Just stay put, would you?"

The man across from him -- Six -- chimes in, "we're not in the mood to play right now."

Felix's eyes snap to Number Eight. Six is holding a glowing dagger to his throat. The boy's bright silver eyes are dead as always, devoid of any kind of human emotion. He doesn't look scared or concerned. In fact, he looks almost angry, an expression Felix has never seen on his face.

"Let me go," Felix demands. "I don't have anything you want. You can keep the kid." He gestures with his head towards Number Eight. "He knows more than I do."

Seven shakes his head, "Speak again without permission, and we'll start removing fingers."

Felix gasps at the threat, but doesn't dare to say anything else.

"Now, if you're a good boy and you answer our questions, we might be merciful and kill you quicker."

"That's not much fun, though, is it?" Six sighs. "And who's this extra?" He shakes Number Eight, but the boy doesn't say a word. Strange. For as long as Felix has known him, the boy was terrified of his own shadow. He'd capitalized on that; had made sure to make his fears much worse. He should be shivering and shaking now, especially with a knife at his throat. 

"Looks like a cute little assistant," Six snickers. "I guess he's a freebie, so I can do whatever I want, right?"

"Boss said we could do whatever as long as the scientist squawked." Seven shrugs. "No mention of the kid, so he's bonus loot."

"Let's take them to the cell," Six whines. "I wanna try out my new kit."

"He needs his tongue to talk," Seven counters.

Felix's body starts to shake in terror.

"Oh, look, he's scared," Seven chuckles, leaning forward until the sharp beak of his mask is nearly touching Felix's face. His voice drops to a low thundering threat. "Is the big bad scientist going to pee his pants?"

"You better not. These are leather seats," Six says.

Felix bites his lip, tasting blood. "W-What...do you want with me?"

The second man's mask tilts down. "Well, those documents in your bag are a good start. But, mostly, we need you to tell us where Malakai is and everything you know about that half frozen clone of his that you've been growing in your lab."

Felix starts to say something when an armored fist flies out of nowhere and punches him in the face. He goes down like a bag of rocks, coughing and sputtering as his vision spins.

"Rule one," Seven says, "no lying."

"Didn't...lie..." Felix coughs.

"You were about to. I can sense that a mile away, you know."

Number Eight whispers something. Felix balks when Six moves the dagger away from his neck and leans down towards him.

"What was that, Alfie?"

"Slap him," the child answers. His silver eyes gleam in the low light. "He made a mistake. Slap him."

"You're right," Seven says then turns and slaps Felix's face. The impact is so severe that Felix thinks he might have broken his jaw. He coughs and sputters past the pain and dizziness, spitting out a mouthful of blood along with a tooth.

"You...little freak..." Felix hisses, glaring at the child. "It was you that led them here?"

How? How was this possible? Betrayal from the child? Felix had done everything by the book. He'd been certain that he'd broken this boy long ago. Yet the silver eyes looking back at him now weren't the same ones he was used to seeing. Had these two men done something to him? Had they influenced him somehow? If so, when? This wasn't something that could have just happened on a whim. 

"Careful, Master Felix," Number Eight says, his face and eyes still dead as rotting pond water. "Don't speak without permission."

Felix flinches back. Six knocks on the pane of glass separating the passengers and driver. The car takes off, and Felix struggles to get his emotions and fears under control. No matter what happens to him here, he cannot give them any information about Malakai and his plans. He glares at the twins, then at Number Eight.

"I think we've got a true loyal pawn here," Seven says. "He looks determined."

"Loyal till we really get started," Six shrugs.

Seven grabs Felix by his collar and pulls him forward. "Hey, just so you know, I want you to fight me. I've been bored lately, and I could use some human dissection to get my mind right again."

A phone rings somewhere behind Felix. Six reaches across the seat and picks up the phone.

"Yeah, Boss, we got him. We're on our way now."

A deep voice says something Felix can't make out.

"Understood, Boss."

When he hangs up, Seven speaks up. "So? What's the Boss-man want?"

"We can't kill him 'till the Boss gets a turn with him," Six practically pouts.

"So as long as we leave his eyeballs in tact, we can do whatever?"

"That was my understanding."

Both men turn to look at Felix, and he comes close to soiling himself despite the earlier warning. All of his earlier bravado vanishes, shrinking and withering like a slug in saltwater. They're taking him to Sylus, and they're planning on torturing him. No amount of fortitude or sanity will be enough to survive that. 

"P-Please...I take it back...I'll tell you anything you want."

The twins both laugh in unison. "Oh, you will," they say simultaneously. "But we'll have some fun first."

[amaretigris]

Knock-down, Drag-out

Taglist: @luna2034 @notagreekgal28 @mylittlemermaid221 @justagirlthatlovedtoread @daydreamerwithnohobbies @hopeisrising @freyagallileaevans

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Ch. 9 | 2k words | Fluff & smut suggestions

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The next morning, you slowly woke to sunshine, sloppy kisses, and lazy cuddles. Jonah made you eggs, bacon, and toast for breakfast. Setting a cup of coffee down in front of you, Jonah kissed your forehead before sitting down at the kitchen table with his own plate.

"So you slept well?"

You nodded with a mouthful of eggs.

"Yeah, I was pretty tired. Your mattress is like a giant pillow," you smiled.

Jonah smiled back at you, dipping his fork into his eggs.

"What'll you do today?"

"I should go see my mom again before work. I need to find out what time she's being discharged today. I don't have to be at the fitness center until nine."

You gulped down a couple sips of coffee.

"That's good. What if she asks you what you did last night?"

You grimaced for dramatic effect.

Jonah chuckled.

"I told her you were coming over, love."

You dropped your fork onto the table.

"What?"

Jonah gave you a lopsided grin before biting into his bacon.

"We're both adults. My mom has no illusions about dating. Besides, she thinks you're great."

Picking your fork back up, you looked down, picking at your food.

"So, are we dating?"

You held your breath while waiting for a response. Jonah set down his silverware, and grabbed your hand.

"I'd say so, yes. You're magnificent, (Y/N). The reason it's taken this long is because of me, not you. I want to be clear about that. I'm still not sure I deserve you, but I can try."

Your heart skipped in your chest at his words.

"I think you're more deserving than most people. Thank you for letting me in," you fluttered your eyelashes at Jonah.

The two of you finished breakfast, saying your reluctant goodbyes.

"I'll see you tonight," Jonah whispered, kissing you softly.

You hugged him tight.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Back at the hospital for the day, you walked to Eleanor's room. You lightly knocked on the panel wall, and opened the curtain.

"Good morning. How are you feeling today?"

You walked to the side of the bed. Eleanor smiled at you, and sat up. She had glasses on as she had been reading a magazine.

"I'm ready to go home," she huffed.

"But other than that, I'm fine deary. How was your night?"

You gulped.

"It was nice. I caught up on some much-needed rest," you smiled awkwardly.

"Good. I hope the two of you had a nice time," she grabbed your hand, and patted it.

"Do you work all day today?"

You nodded, grateful for the subject change.

"Yes, and then I head to the arena tonight."

Eleanor nodded.

"It puts me at ease knowing that someone who actually cares about my son is there to watch out for him," she squeezed your hand.

You sucked in a breath. Why did that statement tug at your heart? You get the feeling that Jonah's been so focused on taking care of his mother, and she's obviously going through some health issues. Who's taking care of Jonah? Who's checking in on him? You determined that it would be you from now on.

"I'll always take care of him, Eleanor," you brought your other hand on top of hers.

You saw Eleanor's eyes light up at your words. She seemed genuinely happy.

"I know he's been ready for you to come home. What time do you get discharged?"

"They said I'll get discharge papers at 11 a.m.," Eleanor beamed.

"Wonderful. I'll text Jonah and let him know," you patted her hand before pulling away, heading for the exit.

"I'll see you again soon, dear," Eleanor chimed.

You turned to her with a smile.

"I'll see you soon."

Leaving her room, you pulled out your phone to text Jonah.

Your mom is doing great this morning. She will be discharged at 11 a.m. ❤️

Hitting send and sliding your phone back into your pocket, you waited for the rush of the day to start.

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That night at the arena, your muscles tensed every time Jonah took a hit. You shouldn't let it affect you so much, and you shouldn't be so terrible at hiding it. You hadn't exactly told people you were dating. You were a fairly private person who didn't enjoy advertising every new development in your life. You prefer to keep things to yourself and your small circle- relationships included. By the end of Jonah's fight, however, you were sure that anyone who was actually paying attention to you would've seen you flinching.

Waiting at the front desk for Jonah as you always did, a warm smile slid onto your face at the sight of him. With damp hair and his gym bag thrown over his leather jacket, you wondered how you'd ever caught the attention of someone so beautiful. Jonah walked you to the parking lot, stopping at your car. You saw that he made no move to climb into the passenger seat this time. Perhaps you were past the car hook-up phase of your relationship now. You threw your medical bag in and turned back to Jonah.

"Are you headed home to go check on your mom?"

Jonah nodded.

"Yeah, I brought her home, and cooked her food this afternoon; made sure she had everything she needed."

You let your arms come out to brush Jonah's sides.

"That's good. I'm sure she appreciates it."

Jonah wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He kissed you delicately.

"If you're off tomorrow, you could come by the house," he mentioned as he pulled away.

You bit your lip with a nod.

"Okay."

"Okay," Jonah echoed.

He flashed his adorable dimples at you, giving you one last kiss before he left.

"Good night, baby. Text me when you're home."

"You do the same," you called after him.

He replied with a cheeky grin. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you got into your car. You didn't know what the hell you'd actually do with Jonah and Eleanor tomorrow, but you were excited nonetheless.

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The next day, you drove to the house in the early afternoon. Knocking on the door, you smiled when Jonah answered and you heard him gasp at the sight of you. You were wearing your cutest summer dress, and you'd actually taken the time to style your hair and do a little makeup.

"Good morning, beautiful," Jonah motioned for you to come in.

He grabbed you for a quick kiss as you passed him. He closed the door behind you.

"You look amazing," he whispered, catching a whiff of your perfume.

"Thank you. It's nice to feel pretty sometimes," you shrugged.

"You know I always think you're pretty, but I like you in that dress. I could hike it up, and take you right now," Jonah spoke in a low voice.

His insinuation spiked your adrenaline.

"Is (Y/N) here?"

You heard Eleanor call, snapping both of you out of your bubble.

You cleared your throat, and looked in the direction of her voice.

"Yes, she is. I was just telling her how pretty she is," Jonah replied.

Pressing another kiss to your lips, Jonah grabbed your hand, and led you to the kitchen where Eleanor sat at the table.

"Oh my! You do look very pretty today," Eleanor chimed.

She moved to stand, but you quickly stepped over to hug her, keeping her in her chair.

"No need to get up for me," you smiled.

"Are you doing well today?"

You pulled the chair beside her out, tucking your skirt under your bottom to sit down.

"Yes, I'm doing well. This one won't let me move without checking on me," she pointed to Jonah.

He stood at the counter making sandwiches from the looks of it.

"I only want you to be careful, is all. You need to rest, and not push yourself," Jonah remarked.

You looked at Eleanor and nodded. Jonah turned from the counter.

"How would you like to go on a picnic with us today, darling?"

"A picnic? That sounds wonderful," you clasped your hands together.

Eleanor chuckled beside you.

"Well, aren't you adorable. I'm running to the restroom and to change before we leave," she looked pointedly at Jonah as she stood from her seat.

Jonah held his hands up innocently, watching his mother retreat to her room. Eleanor patted your shoulder as she walked past your chair. You stood up, walking over to Jonah at the counter. You looped your arms around his neck while his hands came to rest on your hips.

"I love picnics. Whose idea was it?"

Jonah smiled, brushing his fingers across your cheek.

"My mum used to take me on picnics growing up when she could afford the extra snacks. We still try to do it from time to time."

You leaned your cheek into Jonah's hand.

"That's really sweet. Thank you for inviting me."

"Of course, my love."

Jonah leaned down to kiss you again, settling his forehead against yours. You two stood like that for a moment, simply breathing in each other's air. You felt such a calm sensation with Jonah.

"Alright," Eleanor clapped her hands as she reentered the kitchen.

The sound made you jump in Jonah's arms, while he lazily looked over.

"Ah, you two lovebirds. Come on, it's a beautiful day," Eleanor smiled.

You smiled back. Jonah's arms pulled away from your waist. He turned back around to finish packing the picnic basket that you hadn't seen behind him on the counter. You helped him finish filling it while happily chatting with Eleanor. The three of you loaded up in Jonah's car, and he drove to a nearby park. Once there, you helped Eleanor climb out of the passenger seat. You grabbed the picnic basket from the back, and you and Jonah walked on either side of her, all joined by the arms.

The three of you sat at a picnic table. Jonah pulled out the paper plates and food. He settled down to eat across from you and his mom. You felt the sunshine soaking into your skin. It really was the perfect day for a picnic. After you all finished eating, you spent the next couple of hours walking a trail at a leisurely pace. Eleanor stopped to admire many flowers, and you pulled out your phone to take photos of her with some. She picked a bright, pink flower, and put it behind your ear.

"There. A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady," she explained.

"Okay, I have to get a picture of you two like this in front of the wildflower field. Say cheese," Jonah instructed.

Pulling up the photo on his phone while you and Eleanor looked at more flowers, Jonah smiled to himself. You looked beautiful with the flower in your hair, and his mom looked giddy beside you. He set it as his lock screen image, and slid his phone back in his pocket.

The three of you slowly made your way back to Jonah's car. Eleanor was becoming short of breath, and it was time to leave. Jonah handed her a pill to take in the car, along with her water bottle. The drive back to their house, you listened as Eleanor chatted about the flowers she'd seen today. It was relaxing.

Unloading everything into the house, you stuck around for a couple more hours before taking your leave. You hugged Eleanor goodbye, and Jonah walked you to the door. He adjusted the flower still behind your ear. It was wilting, but he thought it still looked just as beautiful on you. You pulled him in for a kiss.

"Thank you for today. I had a great time."

Jonah squeezed you to his chest.

"It's no problem. I almost don't want you to leave."

He hooked his chin over your shoulder and sulked. You giggled, gently rubbing his back.

"I know. Don't worry, I'll come over again soon."

"Or I could come to your place," Jonah stood back with hopeful eyes.

"If you want to come tour my tiny apartment, be my guest," you laughed.

"It's a date."

[armpirate]

The Only One || JJK || Ch. 40

Pairings: mafia!jk x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, mafia, contract relationship

Warnings: Prostitution, torture, blood, use of drugs and weapons

Summary: You've always wished for a better life. Every single day at work, you were hoping something would change. Although you didn't think that change would come in the form of one mysterious man and a contract.

His controlling and selfish behaviour only wanted to keep you away from any other man that wasn't him, and you only had to wait for him.

Too bad you really thought you'd be smarter than Jeon Jungkook.

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

Aprox. time of reading: 11 minutes

Y/n could tell Jungkook was tense, it was perfectly seen on the way his jaw was clenched and his spine completely straight as he sat on the chair of the safe house. It wasn't like he usually had a bad posture, but he tended to sit more comfortably whenever they were at home. His eyes were also lost somewhere in the room, while the reverse of his index and middle fingers were caressing his own chin back and forth.

Seeing Yejun woke all the suspicions he could ever have on him. He was like his second son, protected under the big feathers of Jungho when his father died when trying to escape the cops during an operation in Busan.

Before his father died, Jungkook thought Yejun was the one who'd take his father's position in the family. Mainly because, unlike him, he'd blindly follow every order and would take every advice as if it was some holy word he couldn't omit. That boy was everything his father had ever expected of him. And the fact that he was in Spain, when neither of the Bangtan members claimed his presence there, smelled awfully bad. It also meant that the plan they all were getting ready for needed to be rushed.

Yejun was there to kill him and take his place.

—What are you thinking? —Y/n interrupted his thoughts, hugging him from behind.

—I'm just wondering what we should do today —he sighed.

—There are many things I could do with one spoon, so don't test my patience —she squeezed him tight, making him scoff weakly—. Tell me what's up.

—I'm worried —he admitted.

—Is it because of me?

Jungkook's silence was deafening for her. Going back and forth to that conversation made her feel like a burden. Sometimes she felt like she was one problem added to the long list he had to deal with.

—I told you I'll be okay —she assured him—. And it's not like you won't be here to make sure I am indeed okay —her head patted his—. Let's enjoy today. I want to forget about everything going on around us.

When she was about to stand back normally while she let go of him, Jungkook rushed to hold her wrists tight, making sure her arms wouldn't leave his neck -at least, not yet.

—I want to stay like this a bit more —Jungkook whispered.

He had never been needy, he had never pushed for contact with her, but that day he craved it like he'd go long without touching her. And while he knew it wasn't supposed to end that way, he was scared something would go the wrong way at some point. The other side rushing their moves forward, or even something about their plan missing could have a poor ending for them.

Y/n did move despite his petition to stay like that, surrounding the chair he was sat on to lie on his lap instead. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed when she was finally able to look at his face, and the glimpses of concern going through his eyes with every blink was breaking her heart.

—Don't look at me that way —she asked him, moving her fingers up his neck.

—Like what?

—Like this is the last time you're looking at me —trying to relax him, her fingers started playing with the locks on his nape.

He'd have loved to drop one bad joke, or a lame pick up line that could make her giggle, but his brain wasn't able to think of something else.

Again, his silence and the way his look intensified made a knot tie tight on her throat, making her aware that there was no way she could soften that day. There wasn't a word or action that she could make to ease his mind, and her worries were also breaking through all her barriers when she was aware there was no way to stop her thoughts.

Jungkook saw the way her chin trembled as she pressed her lips tight to hold back from crying. And as soon as she looked away, she saw something shiny falling from her face to her thigh. Holding her chin so she wouldn't hide her tears from him, he slowly moved her face back to him. She didn't need to hide her weakness or her pain, he knew the trouble she had been going through ever since she was told about the plan. She didn't need to build that thick rough facade for him either. She was still stronger than him, even if she broke out in worry in front of him like she was doing.

—I know I told you it was going to take a while until we got to the next step.

Y/n was only thinking how he shouldn't have reminded her, because it only made her chest burn even harder. She was calm thinking they would have more time, and that she could get to the idea of seeing him risking his life the way he was going to. But when he told her the previous night it had to happen earlier than expected, she didn't know how to feel and decided to save those thoughts for when the moment came, because she just wanted to spend time with him.

—And I know I've been so selfish to you already that I have no right to ask you for anything else —his thumb softly caressed the skin under her lower lip—, but have faith in me. I'll make it all work to be right next to you.

She didn't know if it was the soft tone in his voice, the hidden guilt behind his words, or the way his eyes were shining through the pain, but more tears piled in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks uncontrollably when she tried to say a word.

—If you die today, I'll die with you —she sobbed, hiding her face in his neck.

His arms wrapped tight around her body, holding her tight when her words threw some realization onto him. She was genuinely scared, to the point of not even making the effort of joking back like she had done other times, assuring him she'd kill him herself.

—I promise it'll be alright —he assured her—. And when this is over, I'll give you the life you deserve.

—Stop thinking about the life you think I deserve —she shook her head—, just promise me you won't be risking your ass again.

He scoffed at that comment, squeezing her body in his, trying to replace those sobs and snorts with some cracked giggles. It didn't have to be as sad as they were making it. He was certain he'd get back to her either way, he could tell she trusted him enough to know he wouldn't let a single thing get on his way when it came to being with her.

Everything would turn out well for the two of them. They needed to think that way.

✸ ✸ ✸

They both spent the day outside, like it was planned. His hand held tight on hers as they walked, followed by two of his guards from afar. From outside, it seemed like a normal couple on an average day, but they both knew it was far from average. There was nothing relaxing about it, there was nothing to enjoy that day.

His phone buzzed in his pocket with a message that warned him Yejun had been spotted in the area where they were, and it was like he had been waiting to feel the vibration the whole morning -or since the plan started to work. It was the last warning he needed to get the chain of events to start off.

His lips gave her the most tender kiss, almost as if he was really thinking he'd never kiss her again. It was one last taste of what happiness felt like, before he had to give up on it -even if it was only for a few weeks. There were many ways the plan could go wrong, and he just needed one last motivation to step out and put an end to everything that had been hurting the two of them.

—I'll see you in Seoul in three weeks —he caressed her cheek.

—Don't do anything stupid until I get there.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, hinting at what he was about to do.

—I mean aside from this.

Jungkook kissed her forehead for one last time, before he patted his head. His expression changed as he started making his way to the car, the same one where Yejun was caught moving away from and the same one where one of his bodyguards was trying to keep him next to. There was only one place for traitors, and Jungkook was willing to show him a burning taste of it.

—Is there a problem? —he asked, once he reached the two men.

—I was telling Yejun that you wanted him to go in the same car as you.

Jungkook nodded, poking his hands inside his pockets before his eyes landed on the young boy in front of him. While he tried to show himself calm, his eyes were radiating a panic he wasn't able to control.

He wasn't supposed to know he was there. Jungho assured him no one would know, and no eyes would be on him. He only needed to do one last thing to get Bangtan to be the family he knew before Jungkook took over it, but what he was aiming to do turned upside down when he was told to join the boss in the car.

—It's better if I go in a different car —he stuttered.

—I told you to get in the fucking car —Jungkook stepped ahead, standing just centimeters away from him—. Is there any reason why you can't?

Yejun gulped thickly, taking a quick look at the black Audi next to him. Giving one look to the tall man standing at their left, he gave one last order without having to speak up.

It was the beginning of the end for all the games and twisted acts everyone around him had pulled.

The young boy held onto his jeans tight when Jungkook sat next to him. He was caught, and he was trapped in the same coffin he had prepared for him, and there was no way out.

—For how long?

—What?

Jungkook sighed, twisting his head before he turned to look at Yejun. He understood the question perfectly, and the intention behind it , there was no point in repeating it, yet he did.

—For how long have you known my father was alive? Or, better, for how long have you been in contact with him?

There was a heavy silence, where the only thing that was heard were the drowned voices from the people in the street.

—Since the beginning —he sighed—. He knew you wouldn't be able to keep up with the leadership.

—So he faked his death to put me on a test? —his pierced eyebrow raised with his question.

The attack never made sense for him. Because, even after looking into it, there was no reason for the other families to put that type of attack on Bangtan. The idea of him being so twisted to put him through all of that, at such a young age, only because he wanted to test him like a rat in a lab just reinforced the kind of man Jungkook knew his father was.

—I told you having Y/n around wasn't a good idea.

He scoffed at that comment, not allowing him to react before he grabbed some of his locks by the scalp and smacked his head against the panel of the door.

—I'll tell you what's not a good idea —he sneered, picking him up by the hair, to see the trail of blood falling from his forehead—: thinking I'd allow any of you two to do any harm to her. You seriously thought you could set a bomb in my car and I wouldn't notice? Don't worry though, you'll comply with your mission. I'll die today, but you're dying with me.

—Jungkook, please...

But he didn't listen. Giving two knocks on his window, he ordered the man outside to take the driver's spot.

From afar, Y/n's calmness was suddenly interrupted by a huge explosion and several screams from the people that came from the area. The ground trembled for four seconds, but she lost touch with reality when she saw the smoke rising from behind one of the buildings. She was urged to run to the place, to check whether Jungkook was okay or not, but her movements were stopped by one of the bodyguards that had been looking after them during their morning. She tried to fight against him, but ended up giving up and falling to the ground when she knew it was of no help. Life stopped having any sound, she wasn't even able to hear her own voice when she screamed, still fighting the man that was just trying to make sure she'd be alright.

She expected anything to happen. When Jungkook told her he'd try to play with Yejun's attempt to kill him in his favor, she expected a fight, gunfire... anything.

—Please —she begged in between sobs—. Please, tell me he's alright. Please —her voice cracked with desperation.

She was wondering how he'd be able to escape the trap he settled himself in.

✸ ✸ ✸

3 weeks later

She heard the sound of her heels cracking the wooden floor she walked over, stopping in front of a grayish door that led to the basement.

—Is it here? —she asked, turning her serious expression to the Asian man next to her.

After that long trip she took to Seoul, after all the headaches she went through with the police during his funeral, there was only one thing she needed to fully recharge and gain strength to go on. She was sure she wouldn't be able to make it that way any longer.

—Yeah —Namjoon nodded, patting her back—. Good luck there. He's been here for three weeks, almost. He's probably a bit deranged at this point.

—I'll handle him —she assured him.

Raising his arms up in the air, he left it all in her hands. She just smiled, suddenly feeling nervous when her hand reached the knob. She was struggling to control her emotions just by the idea of seeing him, she knew she'd turn into a complete mess the second she stepped inside the room he was in.

She filled her lungs after a deep breath when the door clicked ahead of her, pushing it further to step inside the small room. The lightning was poor, barely illuminating anything inside of it despite there being plenty of daylight outside -and it made sense for her when she was aware there were no windows there.

—Hey, boss —she called him.

Her voice, along with that playful tone, worked like a siren voice on a pirate, making his head turn to her with a smile slowly forming on his face. 

Taglist: @kaiparkerwifes @sheylamc @amy2006jones @allamericanuniverse @00frenchfries00 @massivelyfullenthusiast

[jungkookjeon0007]

Nights in Vegas | CH. 11 (JJK FF)

☆ summary: When Olivia flies to Las Vegas for her first ever BTS concert w/ her best friend, she was expecting to make lots of unforgettable memories... What she wasn't expecting was to end up with the lead singer, Jeon Jungkook, knocking on her hotel room door only to find her in nothing but a towel. What will happen when the golden maknae wants to see her again? Will it lead to heartbreak, or a promising future for them both?

☆ pairing(s): jungkook x olivia.

☆ ratings: (18+) for detailed sex scenes + harsh language.

☆ genre: smut, angst, fluff.

☆ word count: 4.26k.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Morning of the Concert.

The members have all been working double time to get ready for tonight's first show, however, two of them in particular were also making sure to spend long nights with both Olivia and Lacie. The boys had been up since 5 am and since today was so important, everyone is busy with preparations. There were last minute wardrobe checks to be done, run throughs of the choreography for each of the songs being performed, and a soundcheck 2 hours before the concert would begin. The members were exhausted, but love what they do so they are pushing through regardless of exhaustion.

. . .

[Olivia's POV]

I stayed the night with Jungkook in his room as Lacie had Hobi in ours per usual. I was sleeping soundly when all of a sudden, the alarm began to sound throughout the room. I grunted as I rolled over to shut it off and as I looked at the alarm, it read 9:45 am.

Shit! We slept in!

I quickly ran down to my room because I knew Lacie was still asleep and used my key card to get in, "LACIE WAKE UP!" I threw a pillow at her face as she started to move around and grunt.

"IT IS 9:45 am! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE FOR OUR APPOINTMENTS!!!" I yelled as her eyes popped up and she sat straight up in the bed.

I immediately went into the bathroom and after taking the fastest shower of my life, went to my suitcase to pull out the first outfit I could find which was a white t-shirt and black leggings. I needed to at least make this look like I tried, so I tied a knot in my shirt and paired it with my brand new blue Jean jacket and silver slip on Vans.

Next, I needed to do something with my wild and crazy hair, so as Lacie was picking out her outfit, I went back to the bathroom and put my hair in a simple but cute pony tail then started on my makeup. I was aiming for all things quick and easy and went with a natural look.

Once I was all finished, I took a quick look in the mirror and was impressed at how good I did in the short amount of time I had. Walking back into the bedroom, Lacie was finishing up with her outfit and coincidentally, it was similar to mine. Black leather leggings, converses, and a comfy shirt all paired with a jean jacket.

Great minds must think alike.

. . .

[Author POV]

The two friends made it to their first appointment with only 2 minutes to spare. They walked in and the employees grabbed each of them to take over to the massage chairs that had jets for pedicures. As they sat down and got comfortable, Olivia and Lacie's phones received text messages simultaneously.

Shooting each other a confused look, they checked their phones:

Jhope 😎: Hey hey, is everyone here?

Lacie 💗: Yep. I'm here!

Olivia 🌼: Yes sir. I am here also! 👋🏼

Jhope 😎: Ok, perfect. But, we're missing one more person. 🤔

Jk 🐰🖤: Oh, yes hyung I'm here. I just thought you were referring to the girls, sorry. lol

Jhope 😎: I wanted to make this group chat so JK and I could ask you both something together.

Lacie 💗: Okay, what is it?

Jk 🐰🖤: Well, hyung and I were talking..... after the show we want to take you both out for some dinner. We wanted to see if you would like to go on another double date with us. We really enjoyed that when we did it the first time because it was so much fun.

Olivia 🌼: If Lace is okay with it, I am perfectly okay with another double date. It was a lot of fun the first time and we all haven't been on another for a few days so I think it will be great. 😊

Jhope 😎: Yay, that's one! How about it Lace, wanna go to dinner with us?

Lacie 💗: Well of course I'd love to come on a double date! Sorry I didn't respond right away, I got lost in this massage chair. 🙌🏼😩

Jk 🐰🖤: Umm, massage chair? What the heck are you two doing at 10:30 am in massage chairs? 😂😂

Olivia 🌼: 😂😂 we are at the nail salon getting mani pedis before the concert. We have a few appointments today actually. 😊

Jhope 😎: Ahhh, ok. Well go have fun and relax, we will see you both later. One of the security guards will come and find you 10 minutes or so before the show ends and bring you backstage.

Lacie 💗: Okay! Sounds like a plan. We will see you guys in a bit. Have a good day Hobi!! 😘

Jhope 😎: You have a good day too sunshine. ♥️

Jk 🐰🖤: Eww, get a room. 🤪 Since they can be sappy, we will too.. I hope you have such a great day baby and I cannot wait to see you tonight. ♥️

Olivia 🌼: Aww you're the sweetest. 🥺 I cannot wait to see you either Kookie. I wish you the best of luck on your concert! All 7 of you will do amazing! 💗

Lacie put her phone down and turned to find Olivia who was already looking at her.

"What is it?" Lacie asked as she laid her head back on the chair.

"Nothing, I just think we are so lucky to have them."

"But?" Lacie asked, knowing she wasn't telling her everything.

Olivia continued, "I just hate that this will end in the next week or so. I don't want this to be over."

Olivia's smile slowly faded as she glanced down at her hands in her lap.

"You honestly never know what could happen between now and then, Liv. Just don't think too much about it right now and enjoy the present moments. Okay?" Lacie gave her a warm smile as she smiled back nodding. "Okay, I will."

By the time they were finished with conversing, it was time for them to move over to the other side of the salon to get their manicures.

. . .

[Olivia's POV]

We got back to the hotel around 1:30 pm with our fresh sets of mani pedis, hair done, and the cutest outfits to wear for the concert.

We both sleepy and decided that since the concert did not start until 6pm, we wanted to lie down and take a nap for about an hour or so. We crawled into our beds and as soon as my head hit the pillow and my eyes shut, my phone vibrated with an incoming call from Jungkook.

"Hello?" I asked in my sleepy voice.

"Hey, what are you doing right now?" He asked in a hurried voice.

"I am just getting back to my room and was going to take a nap for a bit, what are you doing and why do you sound out of breath?"

The other end of the phone went silent for a second, then he spoke again. "I am coming to your room, I'm so sleepy and want your cuddles."

I sat up confused. "I thought that you had rehearsals and a busy schedule today?"

"We did, but they sent us back to our rooms to get some rest before tonight and I wanted to spend that time with you."

His voice brought me from my thoughts. "Liv? Liv, are you there?"

"Oh shit, yes I'm sorry. You can absolutely come to my room I would love to cuddle while we take a nap."

I could hear him smiling through the phone, "Ok, I will be there in 5 minutes."

The call disconnected and I sighed heavily, lying in my bed staring at the ceiling as I listened to Lacie snore.

»» 5 minutes later.

There was a soft knock on my door and when I got up to open it, I was met with the most beautiful smiling boy standing in front of me.

"Hi beautiful." He said as he smirked at me.

"Hello Kookie, come on in." I smiled, stepping aside as he walked into my room.

As I shut the door and locked it, he turned to me, wrapping his arms around my waist with our foreheads touching. He closed his eyes, sighing in contentment, "I have missed you so fucking much. It feels so good to have you in my arms."

He kissed my nose and I smiled, loving every second as I ran my hands through his hair like always. "I have missed you too, so much. Would you like to get in the bed and cuddle, we are both so exhausted and definitely need sleep."

He lifted his head and looked at me with a smile on his face, then whispered. "How did I get so lucky to find you?" I smiled at him and look down at the floor while biting my lip.

He continued in his soft voice careful not to wake Lacie, "Of course I want to cuddle and fall asleep with you. But..." He grabbed my chin softly, making me look at him. "If you keep biting your lip like that, I won't be able to hold myself back from doing more than just sleeping."

Silence.

I've never heard him talk like that, but shit was it not the hottest thing I've ever heard. I could tell my face was crimson red because of how he was smiling so mischievously. I cleared my throat, immediately changing the subject, "Ahem right, let's go take a nap then shall we?"

He chuckled turning around to follow me, "Whatever you want baby. Your wish is my command."

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 11

You’re a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.

3.6K Word Count

Ch 11: Army Green Was No Safe Bet

It was now just after 5pm, and you were just leaving Scarletts house after having a VERY long, probing discussion of everything that has been happening to the woman since this ‘mystery man’ has shown up- and quite honestly you couldn’t say you were shocked. You knew Steve well enough, you knew his tactics, and he was going to mentally wear someone down till they made a mistake, and that’s when he’ll capitalize. He was like a goddamn shark in bloody water.

You were sitting in your truck at the base of Scarletts driveway, finishing up a text to Kris to let her know you were coming back to the office, and then a text to Jim about your discussion with Scar today. You were still surprised at how Steve would expose himself enough to be seen at any event that fans are allowed. But then again, he is sick and twisted enough to let you know he is there. Just as you were readying yourself to leave, buckling your seatbelt and starting the truck, you heard a click to the passenger side. Your gaze shifted to the door, taking note of a silhouette on the other side. You unholster the gun underneath your seat, and reach for your door handle. 

You can tell the figure isn’t Scarlett, its too tall. You look back, noting the lights still on in the house at the end of the driveway. “Fuck.” You think to yourself. You open the drivers door, pistol at the ready and you lock the truck, never breaking eye contact with where the silhouette had been standing. A deep chuckle caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. 

“Oh, Y/L/N, save us whatever this is,” Steve waved his hand in your direction, then leaned against the truck, lighting a cigarette, promptly blowing the smoke in your direction. “Let’s just save the catch-up chit chat, and the not-so pleasantries. You can probably imagine why I’m standing in front of you, again, talking to you.” He punctuated the fact that this wasn’t the first time, reminding you of your run in at the store back in Idaho. The mans appearance was a stark contrast to the almost nerdy appearance he had the last time you saw him. 

You lower your gun as you wrapped around the rear of the truck, leaning up against the back of it. You wanted to keep distance between the foul being in front of you.

“I always knew you were doltish, Waters, but this? This is a new low, even for a slop sucker like you.” His smile faltered as he took in your words, turning towards you, his cold, dark eyes locking onto yours. 

“That’s rich, coming from a true sucker like you. Pretty pot-kettle, if you ask me. Last time I saw you, you were pretty handily taking me in full.” He smirked, looking at the last of the stick in between his fingers, before refocusing on you. The sheer thought that this memory of you came up so freely for the man, as the feeling of your skin crawling and the ghost of his hand on the back of your head made you want to throw up. “We wouldn’t want that to come up, now would we? I suppose it would be fairly easy for me to paint you as the bad guy, make up some victim-card story, like how you ruined my promising military career, made me loose all my benefits, and tarnished my family name to fuck your way to the top.”

“Well, the last time you saw me, you were fake drooling over my credit card and my car. But I do seem to remember J.A.G. and the MP’s doing their bit. No one asked for you to try your own conversion therapy, Waters.” You spat. 

He approached you getting close enough to where you could smell the lingering smoke on his breath. “A little slut like you? You were practically begging for attention, and no one was willing to give you what you wanted. I gave you what you needed. And then you had to run and cry to your little friends. You probably turned them too, the little heathen you are.”

“Maybe I could have, had they been around long enough.” You respond, pulling the dog tags out of your shirt, one tag was your fathers, one was your grandfathers. The other two? Those were Nikki and Cams. They had been sent out on a tour of duty shortly after you were found that night in the showers, and coincidentally, were sent out with Steve as one of the commanding officers. The last you had heard, he made their lives hell- which was no small feat when you get shipped to the middle of nowhere, tasked with protecting some local villagers who knew the whereabouts of a high ranking terrorist group, but he made it his secondary mission to ensure your closest confidants were miserable. In doing so, their judgement and focus faltered, and Nix was killed in an ambush, and Cam couldn’t cope with the guilt.  You helped to have a funeral for the pair, as both of their families couldn’t, and in turn, their families gifted you the dog tags of their fallen loved ones. 

“Maybe you should have taken the punishment for what it was, then. Maybe they’d still be here.” He sneered, and it took all of you to not throw this man down onto the ground. 

“What. Do. You. Want.” You punctuate every word, having already been over his antics the moment you saw him by your truck. 

“Well, sweetheart. I was supposed to work on ridding the world of the little vermin that your client has proved to be, amongst others- but now you’re in the picture too. So this is…kismet, as they say.” He narrowed his eyes at you, and it immediately sent you back to your last day in his office. “Now, I can make your life hell too, and maybe I will get rid of one of MY problems…” he continued, but all he said slowly faded to black as your mind wandered to all the times you were in the unfortunate presence of this man. Eventually, you had collapsed during the memory lapse, at the foot of Scarletts driveway. The man laughed, leaning over your body and grabbing hold of your chin, whispering a “pathetic” before he kicked your unconscious body, and spit on you, stomping on your injured hand and crushing it into the pavement before stalking away. 

You were awoken by a few quick slaps to your face, and three concerned faces above you. Kris, Jim and Paul were huddled around the sofa in your office, where you now were laying. Jim was leaning directly above you, and had been the one trying to snap you out of what trance you had been in. 

“How did I get here?” You question, trying to sit up, only to be pushed back down to the sofa by Kris. 

“Well, we knew you were having a meeting with Scarlett, and decided to do a security sweep anyways.” Jim answered, settling himself next to your legs. “I noticed that damn car sitting a few blocks away, so I knew he was somewhere. I came up the driveway and saw your truck, and didn’t think too much of it at first. I was about to turn around, thinking you were still inside, but then I saw the outline of an arm, and realized a body was against your truck. I got out of my car, and ran up to where I found you, slumped against the back tire of the truck.”

You groaned, placing your hand on your forehead. “No one else noticed?” You asked, not directly stating that you were concerned if Scarlett had seen you. 

“Not that we’re aware of. We haven’t had any reports come in, at least.” Kris answered, kneeling down next to you. There was a deep look of concern in her eyes. “What happened, Y/N?”

“Paul, can I speak to you-alone?” You ask, turning your face away from Kris. She huffed, and both her and Jim stood from their respective places, Jim moving to stand next to her. 

“Come on, Kris, let’s let her discuss. Give her some space.” Jim placed his hand on the small of her back, turning her away towards the office door. He turned back to you briefly, shooting you a reassuring look. You knew that he was full aware of what happened. Once you heard the click of your office door, you began to put your sentences together. 

“Well, Y/L/N, this isn’t a scenario I ever would have foreseen when I hired you. What’s going on?”

“Timmons, do you remember the redacted portion of my military file? You had asked me if I knew what it was about?”

“Yes? Why?”

“The redacted portion of my file is the reason we were hired to protect a celebrity. The man that has been following her, and harassing her, he was my C/O for a period of time. A military grade bloodhound, if you will. He’s a dishonorably discharged Ranger, turned militant.” You sit up, wincing at the pain from your hand and chest. You look down to notice deep bruising and more fresh cuts on the already damaged flesh. 

“Well, Y/N, it sounds like we have the right person to help her then. You’ll know him better than anyone.” He placed his hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know you can handle this. God knows we’ll need to before her big red carpet run.” He smiled at you, and you shot him a questioning glance. 

“Red carpet run?”

“Her group informed us this afternoon of her upcoming schedule, and there is a fair share of red carpet appearances scheduled. They’re adamant about her going, especially due to the interviews and appearances she’s had to cut short or cancel because of this guy. It’s set to start in the next few weeks.” Paul looked down at you, before sitting in the chair next to yours. 

“We’re going to have our hands full then. This guy is a pain in the ass.” You look away, staring out the window of your office to the night sky of the bustling city below. “He is going to require some extreme resources, boss.” You turn and look back at him. 

“You and Grange seem to know what you’re dealing with. Just let me know what you need. I’ll get it for you.” Timmons says, placing his hand on your knee, shaking it before standing and walking away. One the door clicked shut again, you leaned back in the chair, wincing at the pain stemming from your side. “Rotten motherfucker.” You grumble to yourself, before trying to sit back up, and groaning in pain. You hear a shuffle behind you, and a pair of hands on your upper back as Kris swung herself into your line of sight. 

“Y/N, what the hell happened?” She whispered softly as you winced in pain. She had seen you in pain after handling a situation, after fighting with someone who decidedly ignored your warnings and got frisky at a bar, but not like this. 

“Fucking Waters, that’s what happened.” You respond, wincing once more as you pushed yourself out of the chair, and walked towards the bathroom. You needed to get out of these clothes, and take care of whatever injuries you had. She followed close behind, a strong look of concern still present on her features.

“What do you mean? You know him?” She asked, wincing herself when she watched you struggle to unbutton your shirt with an injured hand. She rushed over to help, but her efforts were thwarted by you batting her hands away.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You inhaled sharply as the fabric slid off your shoulders, and you had to wiggle slightly to let it pool at your feet. Kris picked the shirt off the ground, and when she turned, she saw the bruising on your side and chest, with a perfectly visible footprint centered in the injury. 

“God, Y/N/N, what did he do to you?”

“I would guess he kicked me. And stepped on my hand.” You said, looking down at your injured hand. 

“Guess?! You don’t know what he did?” The infliction in her voice was that of disbelief. 

“No, I really don’t. I… I think I blacked out.” You rested your good hand on the edge of the sink, looking in the mirror to the reflection of the woman lingering in the corner.

“But, you haven’t blacked out since before we were together. You said you only did that when…”

“When my PTSD flares? I know, Kris.” She just stared, like she was trying to figure out what to say next.

“You’re not taking the medicine, are you?” She looked at you, stepping closer, shirt still in hand. “You need to be taking the medicine they give you. It helps.”

“Kris, I haven’t taken it in over a year.”

“Why? Is that why you blacked out?” You laugh a sardonic laugh, turning to look at her face to face. 

“No, Kris. No, it isn’t.”

“Well, how can you be so sure? If you had been on the meds…”

“The meds won’t help with this, Kris.” You cross your arms across your chest. “This goes beyond just the PTSD. This is the cause of it.” Your gaze steels, features hardening as the realization hits you that the control that he still manages to hold over you is the sole cause of your vulnerability- and you hate him more for that than anything.  Her face shifts to one of confusion, not full grasping what is being said. 

“Y/N, being obtuse right now isn’t helping. How is this…” she gestures to your bruised body, “… the cause of it?”

“Honestly, Kris. That’s for me to know.” She huffs at your response, shaking her head.

“Typical, Y/L/N.” She threw your shirt on the counter behind you, knocking some of the items off the counter into the sink. Your gaze shifts down to the floor as she steps even closer, pulling your face up to look you in the eyes. “When you quit being so goddamn self-contained, let me know. Maybe we can have a conversation about what the fuck is going on with you.” She turned on her heel, walking away briskly, and slamming your office door. 

“Not likely, Kris.”  You mutter to yourself, before stripping yourself of the pants you were wearing today, and grabbed a pair of gym shorts and a tank top to wear to the gym. You had some pent up frustrations you needed to work out before bed, even if it caused more pain. Making sure to wrap your hand carefully, you grabbed a hat, placing it backwards on your head, and walked out of the office towards the elevator. Pushing the button, you stood by waiting for the carriage to arrive, and noticed a faint light from Kris’s office, and realized she was still here, sitting at her desk staring at the darkness out the window. The ding from the elevator brought her attention to you, as you stepped in and went down to the floor where the training center and gym were housed. 

The dull thud of the punching bag echoed throughout the empty floor, the rhythmic thump of your fists striking the canvas. You had no idea how long your were down there, but your boxing glove was internally saturated with a combination of sweat and blood, and you were absolutely dripping in perspiration as you continued to beat the bag into submission. Your efforts seemed unyielding, but a calloused hand on your shoulder stopped you. 

“While I have always admired your allegiance to fitness Y/N, you need to rest. ” Jim said behind you, his voice offering you some sense of calm. 

“I can’t Jim.” You let your shoulder slump, your head hanging as you stared at your feet.

“You have to. Tomorrow is a big day. Technically, it’s actually today, in a few hours. It’s 2 am, Y/N.” You turned to face the man, your face devoid of any emotion, eyes empty after the endeavors of the previous day. 

“Why, why is it a big day Jim?” Your arms flop at your sides, emphasizing your frustration. 

“First, we have a meeting with Scarlett, but then we have to follow her to a few interviews. I have already coordinated the security.” He looks in your eyes, trying to decipher any emotion or tell as to your thoughts. 

“Cool, that sounds like something for the team, not me.” You state, maintaining the blank stare. 

“Actually, it’s not. You have been requested to be there, by Mrs. Johansson herself. We have received direct threats to her at these events, you will be following her directly.”

“Great. That’s fucking lovely.” You finally show a shred of emotion, albeit anger and frustration at the situation you found yourself in. You were more upset that there was an anticipated threat and you weren’t in the greatest of conditions to handle it. “Fine. I’ll shower and rest up. What time is the meeting?”

“0700. Paul and I will be briefing the rest of the team at 0630, so take a little bit of extra time for yourself, even if it’s only a half an hour.” With that, Jim turned and started to walk away. He suddenly stopped, turning on his heel and facing back to you. “Y/N/N, you need to take it easy on yourself. I know this isn’t easy. But this plays directly into his hands, with you not taking care of yourself. Kris called me a little bit ago, reasonably worried. I know you wouldn’t tell her what’s all going on, but you need to talk to someone. You can always talk to me.” His gaze softened, and he smiled, before circling back on his heel and walking out of the gym. You shook your head, and made your way to the showers. 

You struggled pulling off the glove, but were finally able to work it off of your hand, which was even more swollen than it had been prior to your ten round match with the heavy bag. The tape and gauze you had wrapped your hand in was tinged red and pink with blood, mixed with sweat. You hesitantly unwound the wrapping, grimacing when it got down to the portion making contact with the angered skin. “Fuck. How the fuck am I going to work with this?” You mutter to yourself. Before taking the other glove off, and then ridding yourself of your clothing and hopping into a scolding hot shower.

The familiar screech of your phone alarm alerted you to the fact that it was almost time for people to start arriving back to the building. You don’t even remember getting back to your office, let alone falling asleep. You were just glad is was a dreamless, devoid slumber that had no flashbacks or memories attached to it. You sat yourself up off the sofa, wincing in pain, realizing that you had been so tired you didn’t even bother to pull down the bed, you had just fallen asleep here.  You slowly worked yourself upright, and made your way over to the bathroom, so you could take some medicine for the inevitable pain your would become inundated with. You swallowed the pills dry, before getting an outfit out for work. You knew that it had to be somewhat professional, but if there really was a threat, then it needed to be tactical enough to move around in. 

You opted for a simple black long sleeve, some of your slightly loose black pants, and a black leather bomber, so you could easily access and dress your injuries from yesterday, and keep them reasonably hidden. You gingerly glued some of the deeper cuts to your chest shut, placing small butterfly bandages along them to hold them closed. Turning your focus to your deeply blackened hand, you thought it best to wear some cut off gloves, that way the majority of the injuries were hidden. Combing your hair, you carefully styled your hair before reaching over to spray yourself with cologne, then scooping the coat and gloves to reenter your office. You threw the gloves and coat behind your office chair, carefully sitting down in your chair, and opening your computer to complete some tasks on your laptop.

“Morning, Y/L/N.” Your head snapped up to see Jim popping his head into your office. “Did you get some rest?”

“Yeah, I did Jim. Thanks.” He smiled, turning and walking away from your office, the door latching soon after. You continued to watch the hallway as more people showed up to begin their day. Kris finally appeared out of the elevator, and you anticipated her walking into your office. She didn’t spare so much as a glance in your direction, and went straight into hers, removing her jacket and settling into her chair, presumably beginning to go through her emails. You felt a pull to go and apologize, but were pulled out of your thoughts by your phone. The familiar ringtone called to you from the table in front of your sofa, and you stood yourself up, walking over and trying to hide the shot of pain you felt as you bent over to pick up the device. At this point, you were certain you had at least a couple bruised ribs. As you went to swipe the screen to answer, the call ended. “Seriously? Fucker, fine I didn’t want to t…” you start, before receiving a text from the same number. 

6:23 AM  UNK- “I hope you’re feeling better. You’ll need your strength for today.”

Fuck.

CHAPTER 12

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 3 Tatarigoroshi pt. 2

Despite opening the way it did, we still have our pre-horror sillies.

Keiichi can't cook! OH NOOOOOOOOOooooo.

Truly the average high-school guy's experience knows no border.

Satoko and Rika save the day, and educate Keiichi on the proper ways of committing arson.

Again, playing with the mod is great because of the voice acted Meeps.

Satoko is working on her stand-up routine. Also I'm just tickled by the idea that Keiichi got completely physically overpowered by the small child. How old are Rika and Satoko anyway? I don't know if they ever bothered mentioning it before, I just assume they're ages 10 and 11 respectively. Or the same age probably. I know that when the second chapter did the summation it said Mion was 1X, and I figure she's probably around 18.

So Satoshi is going to play a much bigger role than he has in the previous chapters eh? Wonder if he'll be an alive participant or a posthumous one?

A lot of the time whenever I pronounce the word vigor I usually pronounce it vi-gor, instead of the usual pronunciation. A guy I used to work with decided to convey his annoyance with "purity culture" and start nit-picking people pronouncing words, "can't say vinegar because it sounds too close to the n-word" and on and on he went. Basically every word that ends with a grr sound. Also he latched on to "not being able to" pronounce the Guilty Gear character Nagoryuki's name correctly. Then again this is the same guy who got mad when I pointed out he seemed oddly incensed when the various companies did the least bit to pretend to care about pride month. He pulled out the usual argument of "I'm not homophobic/transphobic but" and he tried arguing that I was implying he was. I just thought it was kind of funny how bent out of shape he got over, of all things, gray Skittles.

Speaking of people who decided they can't handle today (seven years ago) "pansy-ass handling of culture" I once had a boss who sang the praises of Wolfenstein 2: The New Colossus. "They say the n-word in it!" Nothing about the gameplay or anything, just "they say the n-word!" Then he got fired because a customer called him out on the fact he routinely acted like a baby. A forty-year old baby. Please forgive these digressions.

It's only just now occurred to me, they've never really confirmed one way or the other that Satoshi is actually dead. In chapter two they mention that he disappeared after Watanagashi in 1982, but it's never explicitly said point blank that Satoshi died. Even in chapter one it's only Keiichi's mania and paranoia that says Satoshi died. With this information in hand I would like to put forward my predictions about what this could mean. One: nothing. Kind of a boring option, and the least likely in my opinion. Two: Satoshi is indeed dead. The revelation that he died will be the inciting incident that pushes Satoko over the edge and causes her to start killing. Three: Satoshi's alive, but he's a prick. Not just any prick, but a violent abusive prick that will make this chapter extremely uncomfortable to read. This will push Rika over the edge, and start killing. Of course there's also the fourth option that Satoshi will be alive and just be a swell guy. Then after several hours of Keiichi being an extremely jealous individual Satoshi will die in a Watanagashi-based murder that gets pinned on Keiichi.

Of the four theories I have put forward I think that Prediction Three: Prick Satoshi will wind up being the one that's correct.

Also, I wonder what other baggage Rika's carrying? Is it the stuff about being the last of the Furude shrine maidens? The weight of being one of the people in control of Hinamizawa? Or just the mental strain of having to be the adult at such a young age? I wonder if Satoko is going to get violently protective of Keiichi? Since Rika has suggested using Keiichi as a replacement brother for Satoshi I mean.