#they cut that shit the MOMENT I turned 16!!!

[callmeagardengnome]

✗ blood in the clouds ✗ | DELETED SCENES | original fic

HOUR 5.5 OF 7 - YOUTUBE VLOGGING

your fingers crumpled the edges of the ‘script’ that hongjoong gave you, the gun ahead of you acting as an unwelcome reminder that you could die at any moment.

you squinted at the paper, your voice cracking slightly as you read aloud. 

“‘dad, you are to provide the $150 million you owe to K.H.J., through your next meeting with mr kim. refusal means that your daughter will be cut up and scattered across the s-’”

your eyes widened. “are you serious?” 

 he lowered the camera he had been aiming at you. “..you want to find out, pretty?”

HOUR 15 OF 7 - DRESS TO IMPRESS

“are you always this picky?” wooyoung sneered as he leaned against the wall. 

you glared at him. “yes.”

the room you were brought to was slightly cleaner and brighter than what you’ve seen so far. on the bed, there were dresses stacked on top of each other, some ridiculous and some stunning. 

“why do you even have these dresses?” you asked as you held one up. 

“we don’t,” wooyoung rolled his eyes. “boss made me steal them for you.”

you dropped the dress and shot him a look. “are you serious?”

“why would we have these lying around?” he scoffed. 

you sighed, picking up a dress. something that was simple and elegant. “i’ll wear this one.”

when you realised that wooyoung ignored you, you spoke up again. “get out.”

he rolled his eyes and left the room with a dramatic huff. once he left, you put the dress on. it wasn’t the most flattering dress you’ve worn, but at least it wasn’t that horrid uniform you’ve been wearing. 

when you were done, you opened the door to see wooyoung waiting - holding a bag of what looked like makeup supplies. you sat on the bed as he loomed through them, picking out something. 

“what the hell is this?” he muttered as he held what looked like a pencil. 

you blinked. “…it’s eyeliner.”

“shit,” he grumbled as his hand wobbled and drew a squiggly line across your cheek. 

you flinched. “what the hell are you doing? i can do it myself-“

“-i’ve done this before!” wooyoung argued as he continued to draw crooked lines near your eyes. 

“is she done yet?” a new voice cut in. you turned to see a man at the doorway. “why is she not ready?”

“seonghwa, take over,” wooyoung snapped as he shoved the pencil into seonghwa’s hands. “i’m getting pissed off.”

seonghwa sighed and stepped forward to where you were sitting. his movements were calm and precise as he wiped off the makeup and reapplied it. 

once he was done, he stepped back with a nod. “you look good.”

you blinked, unsure of whether to thank him. “uh- do you guys have mirrors here?”

both men exchanged a glance before seonghwa shrugged. “no, but just take our word for it.”

before anyone else could say anything, the door swung open. 

it was hongjoong. 

his eyes swept over you slowly and his lips curled into a smirk that made your stomach twist. “let’s go pig hunting.”

HOUR 16 OF 7 - FAST AND FURIOUS

the car swerved violently, tires screeching as hongjoong gripped the steering wheel. the tunnel around you was noisy with gunshots and bullets bouncing off the walls. 

you were in the passenger seat, wearing a black dress as you held the car door for dear life. 

“i thought we were going to an event!” you yelled over the gunshots as the car jerked to the side. 

“i thought so too,” hongjoong sighed as he tilted the rearview mirror. 

before you could say anything, he reached into his blazer and pulled out a sleek black pistol.

“what are you doing?” your jaw dropped. 

he rolled his eyes. “don’t act surprised.” 

“what is wrong with you?!” you spat out, watching him check the bullets. “i’m not letting you kill anyone-“

“god- you’re such a brat,” he clicked his tongue, cocking the gun. “take the wheel.”

you’re eyes widened. “what?!”

“take. the. wheel,” he ordered, already unbuckling his seatbelt. 

hongjoong rolled down the window, letting go of the steering wheel entirely and ramming the gas pedal as he stood up. panicked, you lunged for the wheel, struggling to grip it as the car swerved dangerously to the side. “are you crazy?!”

“drive!” he yelled, raising the gun and firing several shots at the black SUV trailing close behind. 

“shit,” he muttered, ducking back inside to reload his gun. he leaned back out again. “turn right-”

you quickly listened to him as he aimed carefully, firing several more rounds. a loud bang echoed as the SUV’s tires blew out, the vehicle swerving violently before crashing into the tunnel’s wall. 

hongjoong slid back into the seat, taking the steering wheel from you as he rolled up the window. “you’re welcome.”

MONTH 3 - LET’S GO GAMBLING! (initial draft)

“get ready!” san yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

weapons were drawn and the room erupted into chaos.

you rushed forward, gripping the knife wooyoung lent you earlier. your pulse pounded in your ears as you scanned the room, overwhelmed.

“stay back, brat. you’re not ready.”

hongjoong’s voice was sharp, his hand grabbing your arm as he pushed you to the side. his eyes bore into yours, leaving no room for argument.

you hesitated. the rest of the group either fought piglets near slot machines, roulette tables or bars, their moves deadly.

you tried to follow hongjoong’s order, really. but when you saw one of the piglets break away from the main fight and headed for yeosang, who was hiding under a pool table, you couldn’t resist.

your grip on the knife tightened as you ran forward.

the piglet turned to you, snarling. “you think you can take me, girl?”

without thinking, you lunged.

the clash of steel pierced your ears as your knives collided. you were definitely not a good fighter - your strikes were clumsy and your footing was off, but you were high on adrenaline.

his blows were relentless, forcing you to backpedal. his knife caught yours at an odd angle, causing the blade to deform.

panic surged through you as he moved to strike again, but before he could reach you-

-the piglet dropped to the ground.

you looked behind to see hongjoong standing not too far away, his pistol still aimed at where the piglet was.

his eyes inspected you, narrowing as he assessed your state. blood dripped from a small gash on your lip, and your sleeves were torn - revealing small cuts on your arms.

he sighed. “go hide with yeosang,” he ordered before quickly turning to rejoin the fight.

you staggered toward the pool tables, slumping next to yeosang.

“you’re not fighting?” you panted, wiping your lip.

he shook his head. “too tired.”

you nodded, leaning back against the table’s leg as you impatiently waited for the fight to end, which didn’t take too long.

the gunfire finally ceased, the room falling quiet.

one by one, the group gathered in the corner, collapsing onto the floor in a circle as you and yeosang joined them. bottles of water were passed around as everyone caught their breaths.

for a while, no one spoke, the only sounds being an occasional groan.

“hey,” wooyoung hiccuped, breaking the silence as he turned to you. “give me my knife back.”

you looked at him awkwardly before handing him his completely deformed blade.

“what the hell!” he exclaimed. “that was one of my favourites!”

you shrugged. “you shouldn’t have given it to me then.”

“how was i supposed to know you’d get into an actual fight?” wooyoung complained. “now i don’t feel bad for your busted lip anymore.”

“you’re such a dick,” you rolled your eyes.

wooyoung grinned, leaning closer - his voice mocking sweet. “aw, don’t be mad, sweetheart. i’ll get you a better knife- one that won’t break in your delicate fucking hands.”

“ohmygod- shut up,” you groaned, shoving him lightly as the others chuckled.

hongjoong leaned against the wall, his arm crossed over his chest. his eyes shifted from wooyoung to you. 

he told himself it was relief - that he was glad you were bonding with the crew, that you were starting to feel like one of them. that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? to see you mesh with his team, to become a member?

but why did his stomach twist every time one of them smiled at you?

he didn’t realise how hard his fingers were digging into his arms until his knuckles turned sore and white.

“enough,” hongjoong cut through the conversation.

the laughter died down instantly as everyone turned to him.

“we don’t have time for this,” he continued, standing up. “grab any cash you find and meet by the van. now.”

the group complained but obeyed, sluggishly rising to their feet.

you went to pick up a discarded water bottle, hongjoong’s eyes lingering a fraction too long on the bloodied edge of your sleeve and the small cut on your lip.

he should be angry at you for disobeying him, for throwing yourself into danger when you weren’t ready. but all he could feel was the sickening churn of jealousy at how easily you laughed with the others.

as you passed by him on your way out, he caught your wrist briefly.

“next time, stay where i tell you,” he said. “now you’re hurt.”

you nodded, hesitating before you spoke, your voice soft. “...i’m sorry.”

hongjoong blinked, taken aback.

“i-” your brows furrowed. “i didn’t mean to get hurt. i just wanted to help..”

fuck- why, no- how were you so genuine?

he expected you to talk back or shrug him off, not this - sincerity shining in your eyes. now, he just looked like a shithead, guilt clawing at his chest.

hongjoong exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “whatever- it wasn’t your fault-”

you tilted your head, confused. “but you-”

“just find the cash we need,” he cut you off, walking away.

hongjoong felt his stomach twist once more. he told himself it was just concern or worry. but deep down, he knew it was something more complicated.

and he hated it.

other fics

[theliterarywolf]

I'm not going to reblog anymore responses to that theft post, but it's interesting to have someone essentially poverty-splaining to someone who was:

A child of poverty

Who regularly experienced food-insecurity

Who has experienced the trauma of having to sleep in a car

Who was the child of a single mother

Who was forced into being an undocumented immigrant due to my bastard father not wanting to help her file when they were married

A child who was forced to take a two-year hiatus from college due to said bastard father not wanting to provide information so I could apply for financial aid

And who is only, as of a few years ago, in a place where, while money still isn't ideal, am not experiencing abject poverty like I once was

AND WHO HAS STILL RELENTED AND SAID 'I CAN UNDERSTAND PEOPLE WHO NEED TO STEAL FOOD'

[pha55ed]

PR Nightmare Two || F1/F2

type :: crack

tw/cw :: pee (carlos), sexual jokes (charles, oscar), watersports (lando), small smut (lando), mpreg (lando, oscar), bear fucking (ollie), necrophilia (ollie),

contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar, max, ollie, paul

summary :: driver!reader is the driver's teammate which is awesome! except the fact that you're a fucking pr disater who can't shut your mouth. platonic or romantic !

xmas celly here! || f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist

Carlos Sainz | 55

After moving to Williams, Carlos was terrified that you and him wouldn't click. But was quickly proven wrong as you were extremely open despite just meeting him. He knew everything about you... Too much...

Yet again, you were trapped in an interview that was seemingly never-ending. This interview was live on Sky Sports, meaning you both had to be extra careful and stay on for much longer than usual. Although Carlos was tired, you weren't. Yapping would have been your full time job if it wasn't for your skills in Formula.

"What is a secret you haven't told each other?" The interviewer asks, expecting something along the lines of 'I ate your ice-cream once' or 'I hate when you wear crocs'. Carlos was going to reply with something similar to that but you quickly jumped in.

"I wanna pee in the ice bath so bad" You said with a desperate tone, as if you were grieving the pain of not being able to bathe in your own piss. Carlos looked at you in shock.

"What?!" He asked, his shock turning to laughter to help cope. "But you never did right...?"

"Of course not holy shit." You say, disgusted he would think so lowly of you. "But I wanna see how my pee would react the muscle-relaxants and ice and shit. Like what if I become the Hulk but yellow-"

Quickly the camera were cut and the live stream ended before you could say more. You ruined an entire live stream with over 20,000 live viewers. From that moment, Carlos knew you two would be perfect together on this team.

Charles Leclerc | 16

Doing small interviews didn't bother Charles that much. He didn't mind talking and his fanbase was lovely. But once you became his new teammate at Ferrari, interviews were now 10 times more fun.

"Did you guys have any embarrassing childhood crushes?" The interviewer asked, finally giving you both non-racing related questions.

"Oh yes!" Charles said, excited to talk about himself. "Definitely Kristen Stewart haha! Not very embarrassing, but I did watch Twilight just for her."

"That's so valid" You said relaxed, "I think mine was probably 9."

Both Charles and the interviewer looked extremely confused. "From what show...?" The interviewer asked, assuming it was something like the Umbrella Academy or Stranger Things.

Now you were confused as well, "Huh? There's no show." You repeated yourself. "9, as in the number... Like the circle and line."

"Oh..." The interviewer said, trying their best to find a way to segway this into the next question but they were cut off by Charles.

"No way," Charles said, "Maybe! MAYBE I could understand the number 8 but 9???" Now the interviewer was completely lost. "At least 8 has curves and a body, what does 9 have?"

"I know he's packin" You said with a grin "That little curved tail, curved UPWARDS? And the-"

Cameras off. Interviewers cutting you off. And Charles was deeply interested... This clip launches your duo name: Eight Eat Nine

Lando Norris | 04

"How are you helping (Y/N) adjust to being a new Papaya!" The interviewer asked innocently. Little did she know how much Lando has been enduring with you. Thankfully he recored it all and there would be a video posted to Youtube soon.

"Awful." Lando says before chuckling, almost more like a nervous break down chuckle. "Every day is hell with em' here."

"What???" The interviewer asked, thinking she got first-hand access to the newest gossip on the grid. "Did something happen?"

"YEAH." Lando said, simply nodding, not having the guts to say what you did. Thankfully, but not very thankfully to Lando, you walked into the interview after overhearing it.

"Yeah, what DID I do?" You ask, almost sounding threatening. "Don't make me show you again."

After weeks passed and rumors were rampant online. Rumors about you blackmailing him, overthrowing his family's business, kicking him out of Mclaren, and so so many more extreme rumors that you both were laughing at. Lando finally edited and posted his newest Youtube video: "Reading Fanfiction with (Y/N)!?"

Despite the thumbnail seeming like you two would be reading fan-fiction shipping you both together, instead, you found the most vile, borderline dark content, gay fics of Lando with a variety of drivers.

Thus, explaining the odd dynamic between you two. In reality, you both were perfectly fine and closer than ever. But you just wanted to play up the drama in order to rack up some views and tweets. It was awful for the PR team, but to you guys: it was funny.

Oscar Piastri | 81

oscarpiastri: got a tan and a new helmet: ready to destroy the next half of the 25' season! @.mclaren

→ yourusername: finish taking that shirt off. now.

→ yourusername: take off your pants too while your at it.

⎯→ user 01: OH MY GOD (Y/N)?????? UNDER A MCLAREN TAGGED POST TOO????

→ user 02: they're never ever going to beat the dating accusations

⎯→ yourusername: we're about to be dating once he comes home

→ user 03: thought i was a freak but (y/n)... u can have him

→ yourusername: my lovely wonder-bread, bend over for me.

⎯→ user 04: i thought this was a joke about his name sounding like pastry but she's just calling him white, isnt she

⎯→ user 05: that's her precious white chocolate delight

→ yourusername: gonna get ur fine ass pregnant

→ yourusername: raw. next question.

⎯→ user 06: i can't tell if she's tiktok typa horny or tumblr typa horny

⎯→ user 07: definitely tumblr...

No image. I'm not searching this shit up again.

Max Verstappen | 01

Tiktok is something Max tries to stay away from. Not that he hates the app, he'd just rather do something else with his time. But you, the newest and youngest driver on the grid, loved Tiktok. You were basically the marketing for Redbull despite your out of pocket videos at times.

And that included you coming up with the idea to have Max react to fans posts. An innocent idea that Max didn't mind filming content for, after all, he loved his fans. But you quickly were going to make him doubt that.

You were smart, showing him innocent tiktoks first. Fan art, cool edits, and even analysis on his best drives. As the video was coming to an end, you brought up the trend where drivers were compared to a food and a quote.

Often times Max was compared to a key lime pie, bell pepper, or an energy drink. But you then showed him THE strawberry slideshow. You knew what the ending was.

"Oh strawberry!" Max said, excited to finally get a sweet themed item. But as he swiped and saw the strawberries then coated with white chocolate, obviously implying something, he jumped back and gasped. "OH!!! Well, I didn't... I didn't expect that."

While you were dying, already posting it - he was traumatized.

Oliver Bearman | 87

Interviews were fun between you both, fans always loved it. Mainly because both of you can't keep your mouth shut. The only way to make your interviews even worse is to get Franco to join in with you guys.

But unlike Ollie's sassy comments, you asked stupid questions. Butt fuck stupid questions. Which Ollie always took serious. Think of Tom Holland answering the question about him "faking" being British or Theo Von's podcast vibes. It was the dumb American x understanding Brit duo.

So when you both were forced to create a "podcast" for Prema, aka a race preview, you both took full advantage of this time. You were supposed to be just folding laundry, but almost nothing got folded. It was just yapping and yapping.

"I got a question," You say, attempting to fold a shirt but doing awful at it.

"Hmm?" Ollie replied, picking up the shirt you just folded and undoing it. Only to fold it properly himself.

"Why is your name Bearman?" You ask. "Cause like, I know British people got like, My Little Pony names. Like how people named Smith's were blacksmiths and stuff."

"Oh well," Ollie paused to think, "I dunno actually. It's from my great grandpa so."

"Did he fuck a bear or something?" You ask, nonchalantly while Ollie instantly is confused. "Cause lowkey, back in the day I bet Bearman was a slur."

"No..." Ollie hesitated, "I highly doubt my grandpa fucked a bear. I think we probably just hunted bears-"

"So you're a family of necrophiles?" You shake your head, "That's just wrong man."

"I never said that-"

Paul Aron | 17

paularon_: Went for a run, in Italy, with a film camera🇮🇹🎥

→ yourusername: is it say yes to the dress or say yes to the SLUT???

→ yourusername: is this your soft launch for your only fans?

⎯→ user 01: i'd so buy it tbh

→ yourusername: pepemartiofficial kimi.antonelli olliebearman jakcrawford_ zane.maloney isackhadjar dennis_hauger

⎯→ paularon_: why are you @ ing the whole grid

⎯→ yourusername: to slut shame you

→ pepemartiofficial: did you lose your shirt over the summer?

→ olliebearman: go eat a burger (save somes baddies for the rest of us)

→ jakcrawford_: we get it, ur buff with a huge dick

⎯→ user 02:: how do u know that…

⎯→ yourusername: I can vouch for

→ isackhadjar: put a bra on slut

⎯→ yourusername: I don’t even think mines will fit him

[inkskinned]

they keep the silverware in the same place. you forget about it a little bit when you move out, but during the holidays, it comes back. the way you smooth over your life for them, a gentle reckoning.

for a while, you tried to find yourself by being wild. throwing your body at the emergency exit. finding comfort in the sharpness of a held breath. you used to write wake up on the inside of your wrist. you couldn't calculate the weight of your own sorrow, only that nobody was looking at the anchor of it. you tried maladaptive coping mechanisms like catnip. got caught half-in half-out of them. felt, weirdly, like you should be embarrassed of all of it.

but it does get better. mostly it's just that you become a priority to yourself. it turns out that lending yourself the ragged edge is just cutting open more marrow. for a while, it felt good to see a physical representation of inward agony. but who was that punishing? you learned, slowly (so slowly it was almost invisible sometimes) that you could put love into the wound instead. that the floor was comfortable because it was certain - but it was cold, and unwanting. instead there is a warm bed. you learn to treat yourself like a kid again. gentle-parent yourself into the shower and over breakfast and into laughing without effort. you do wake up.

but then you come home again, and it is like everything is a strange kaleidoscope of childhood moments. here is how you inherited your mother's anxiety. there is the same music playing, and you can't sit down without worrying you forgot to do something. your mother's clipped words and hovering hands - are you sure? are you sure? birdlike, you find yourself seeing unwell and still end up repeating.

here is your father's anger. you are 16 again. there was a moment where you remember thinking - holy shit. i am so much more emotionally mature than you. how you have to talk him down from minor inconveniences, how you parent him like an errant and spoiled toddler who can't be told no, and i mean it. you feel the warp of you. why you can't be in the same room as people having a completely normal conflict. why your skin crawls if there's ever a hint of a fight. why you live with your hands up, placating. and god forbid you get angry. you feel that little spoiled kid rage against the iron will of you. not you, not your hands. you would rather cut your own tongue out of your head, no matter how valid her argument is.

and you're so fucking far from where you were as a kid. you've done so much healing. and there's this little sad part of you that can see the shadow of your past, and your hands wrapped into each other so tightly you made your knuckles white. and how much your parents are just people, and haven't changed much, and still keep the spoons in the drawer to the right.

there is a long dark tunnel here, and it has a name, but you haven't learned how to process that kind of speech yet. close the cabinet. make a note to go get more oat milk. close your eyes.

this place was never home, was it.

[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.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Angstober (day 16)

Pairing: Tfatws!Bucky x Shield!Reader

Prompt: No one else to turn to

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, fainting

Author’s note: I'm a little behind with the fics but I'm trying my best! Hope you enjoy :)

Angstober Masterlist

This is ironic, really.

Downright absurd. Laughable.

You’re just not in the position to laugh, or even crack the semblance of a smile. Your face feels stiff, evidently held together by a fragile patchwork of cuts and bruises that might split open at the slightest twitch. Not that you’d want to smile, even if you could.

You had assured Sam that you’d be fine to drive yourself back home after landing back on base about 25 minutes before. There actually had been a genuine belief that you’d be able to make it, so you told him all you needed was a hot shower to wash away all the blood and some rest, ignoring the wary looks of Sam as he watched you drive off.

Well, turns out it was a bad idea.

A terrible idea, considering the door you find yourself standing in front of right now. You don’t even know if he’s home. For all you know, he could be drowning whatever’s left of his sanity in some bar, down some street.

And even if he is here, he has every right to slam this door right back in your face. Perhaps after giving you the I told you so speech.

But in your defense, you really thought this mission would be simple. Sam and you both had thought so. It was supposed to be one of those in-and-out deals. But of course, it’s always those easy missions that turn ugly in a matter of seconds, spiraling into a slaughter that neither of you was ready for.

But hell, you even guessed Bucky saw that coming. Maybe that’s why he was so determined to join you two, but Sam and you declined immediately, insisting on sparing him the confrontation. After all, it was supposed to be a quick cleanup. Hydra remnants scattered like dust, nothing worth dragging Bucky back into that mess for.

So, Sam and you both figured he’d be better off staying behind, working with Torres on whatever else needed doing.

You’re glad you held back the comment about him hindering you on this mission by perhaps a disturbing memory or some shit. That wouldn’t have helped your current situation at all. And you did think it would have been a little harsh. Even for the bickering kind of relationship the two of you have.

Bucky wasn’t having any of that. He was ready to suit up and follow you into the fray, whether you wanted him there or not. Though, Sam and you took off before he could even strap on his gear. Simple, clean.

Predictably, that would definitely leave him in a foul mood. But to be real, grumpy isn’t new for Bucky. Actually, you only ever saw his expression soften when he was lost in thought, so lost he didn’t even notice you watching him. Or perhaps in that moment he really didn’t care.

Still, that irritable look seems to be his default setting. And, to be honest, perhaps he doesn’t even care enough to even be mad. You aren’t friends. Hell, you wouldn’t even call him an acquaintance.

You two are more like tolerated inconveniences for each other, sparse conversations always laced with sarcasm and banter. You doubt he sees you as anything other than a nuisance - someone always getting under his skin with your remarks.

So, you are well aware you really don’t have any business standing in front of his door, blood drying on your skin, looking like death warmed over.

But that’s the problem. You don’t have a choice. Because there is no way you’re making the 20 minutes to your apartment. You also won’t make it back to the base. Not to mention that driving in this state will not only endanger you, but rather the traffic around you. You're already feeling the blackness that tries to seep into your irises, pulling at your consciousness, threatening to drag you under, making you pass out before you’d even hit the halfway mark. And you don’t have anyone to blame but your stubborn self.

Bucky is your only option and you also start running out of time, the longer you linger outside his apartment, scared to knock. Terrified to do anything. You begin to sway on your feet. The longer you hesitate, the harder it gets to stay upright, and passing out on his doorstep for him to find you is perhaps even more embarrassing than this already is.

With trembling muscles, you try to lift your hand. Knocking on a door shouldn’t take this much effort, but it feels like it’s costing you everything. You’re burning energy you don’t have, and it’s starting to show.

Your hesitation seems to have been for nothing since there’s no answer after your knock. The only thing you hear is the blood rushing through your ears and your heartbeat loudly pounding against your ribcage, almost like a warning.

Another knock. It saps what little strength you have left. Your breathing grows heavier, more ragged, each inhale feeling like a sharp stab. There is a tightness in your chest that could be an indication something inside you might have torn, making it impossible to get in enough air.

The apartment behind the door is still silent.

You lean your forehead against the rough wood, the coolness grounding you for a moment. It’s as close to a third knock as you can manage. Your eyes slip closed for just a second too long.

“Barnes?” He surely wouldn’t be able to pick that up without his enhanced hearing. “It’s me.”

You’re not even sure what to say; not sure what you can say that will get him to open the door. But your thoughts are starting to slow, each one taking longer to form than the last. The blood loss is getting to you, causing every joint to feel like it’s rusting over.

“Are you home?” you murmur, a faint laugh caught in your throat at how stupid it sounds.

For a moment you think you hear something, perhaps a faint shuffle from the other side of the door. But your brain is swimming in exhaustion and pain, and it could easily be your mind playing tricks on you, teasing you with false hope. Maybe you didn’t even give him enough time to get to the door. You have no idea how long you’ve been standing here - standing might be too strong of a term by now.

Time is slippery in moments like these, hard to grasp, impossible to track.

A heavy and burning sigh falls from your lips, dragging your chest down with it. You push yourself off the door with a struggle that tears at your skin, shaking your head at your own stupidity. You’re not sure if your head even followed through with the movement.

You shouldn’t have believed for a second that he’d be around, or that he’d care if he was.

You attempt to step away, aiming for the staircase, but it seems your body isn’t in the mood to listen to any signal from your brain at all. Your foot catches on itself, and before you know it, you stumble, crashing into the wall beside his door with a loud thud. A pained groan forces its way out of you, the impact shooting excruciating vibrations through your body, curling into every nerve like they’re planning to stay. You press a hand to your side, movements not entirely your own, but it does nothing to soothe the ache.

You curse under your breath, or at least you think you do, eyes fluttering dangerously. You’re not sure how much longer your feet will carry you. Are you even still standing at all?

Muffled curses break through the rushing sound in your ears, blending into the tumultuous pulse of your own blood pounding in your head. They don’t seem to come from you though.

“Fucking hell, Y/n.”

All you can manage in response is another weak groan.

Before you can fully process what’s happening and where that frustrated voice came from, you feel strong arms wrap around you, lifting you effortlessly into the air. Insanely enough, a surge of exhilaration bubbles in your belly and you feel weightless for a moment, like you’re floating in some strange void that’s just barely tethering you to reality but still keeping a strong grasp on you.

The sensation is short-lived and you almost let out a whine. Not at all from the pain. You’re lowered onto something softer than you guessed the floor would feel like, cushions beneath your back. You try to wrap your head around how that could have happened.

That weight returns. The hands around you, however, don’t leave you. Your thoughts are sluggish and trying to focus on anything is an effort you’re not able to keep up with. Your vision is a spinning blur, dizzy head trying to make sense of your situation, but you can feel the tender press of the back of a hand on your forehead, checking for something you can’t quite grasp.

Blue. That’s the first thing your mind manages to hang on to. A vivid, piercing shade of blue. But it’s not just color. It’s wrapped up in something deeper. Emotions, swirling and twirling, so heavy it almost hurts to look at. The sight alone drags another groan out of you, low and pained.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Just hold tight, you hear me? I got you.”

Wait.

You know that voice. Rough around the edges, always carrying a certain weight, but now laced with something you don’t recognize. Those eyes on you - the blue ones - you know those, too. Of course, you do. But there is something new, something like panic flooding them, you never thought you’d see in Bucky Barnes.

“Barnes?” The word barely falls from your lips, more of a croak than anything, but it’s enough. He was home. He heard you. He carried you inside.

There is something stirring inside of you, a warmth threading through the pain. Relief, maybe, or something close to it. You know Bucky and you have your problems sometimes but hell you never doubted him being the good man he is.

“Yes, it’s me,” he murmurs, so soft, you want to lay in it. Bathing in the gentleness of his voice, getting rid of the blood and pain your body holds. “Try not to talk, alright? There are some nasty bruises around your neck. You gotta go easy on your voice.”

You hum in response, the sound barely more than a soft but uncomfortable vibration in your throat. His words slide through your mind like shadows, half-formed and hard to grasp, but you understand enough.

There’s the sound of clattering around you, hurried shuffling of hands working beside you, perhaps on you, somewhere nearby. But instead of jarring you, it’s comforting, like white noise. It lulls you deeper into the fog.

Suddenly, his voice cuts through it all, sharp and urgent.

“Hey!”

It startles you. Your eyes snap open - you didn’t know they closed in the first place - body jerking from the force of his tone.

His face looms closer, those blue eyes boring into yours, pinning you down with an intensity you can’t ignore.

“I’m sorry, Y/n, but you have to keep your eyes open. You hear me?” His voice trembles in a way you never heard, and that - more than anything - forces your mind back to the surface, your eyes clearing just enough to make him out.

It’s disorienting, seeing Bucky like this. Surprising. He moves in a way that almost associates incoordination, a frantic energy surrounding him. There is something off about the way he handles himself, the way his hands fumble with supplies, clattering objects that should have stayed silent. It’s startling, unsettling even. Bucky Barnes is a man in control. Just not right now.

His hands return to your body, his touch firm and still tender, but there is a shakiness in them as his fingers skim over your torn-up skin.

He’s pressing gently where he can, wincing as if it’s him in pain every time you flinch. The fabric of your slightly torn suit sticks to your body, and he curses softly under his breath, grabbing a pair of scissors from somewhere beside him. With a few quick, jagged snips, he cuts away parts of the fabric of your suit to get a better view of your torso, revealing the bruises that litter your skin, darkening it in a sickening way.

He apologizes for every hiss, groan, and whimper you can’t suppress at the sharp sting that slices through the dull ache due to the antiseptic he uses on your skin.

His brow is furrowed deeply as he wipes the blood away with almost erratic strokes, trying to clean the area but moving a little too fast for his usual precision. The cloth is stained dark in no time, and he tosses it aside, reaching for gauze, fumbling with the tape as if he’s forgotten how to use it for a moment.

Every breath feels heavier as he continues to work on your wounds, pain pulsing with every fresh inhale.

Bucky’s eyes keep darting between your face and the wounds as if he’s checking not only for your injuries but for something else - for a sign that you’re still with him, still conscious, still breathing.

His hand moves back to your forehead, brushing some strands of hair aside with so much gentleness as he checks your temperature again. His face is tight, his jaw clenched.

It is odd, almost comforting in a way you haven’t expected. Bucky Barnes, always so composed, now seems to have trouble holding it together. And somehow, seeing him this unfiltered, this human, makes your earlier doubts vanish. Those persistent thoughts, that he wouldn’t care if you showed up on his doorstep battered and bleeding, that he’d turn away, turn you away, or doesn’t even open the door in the first place - they all but disappear.

He does care. More than you ever thought possible, more than you imagined he even knew how to. You can feel it in the way his hands linger on your skin, urgent yet careful, and in the way his curses are filled with so much apprehension and frustration.

The same Bucky you thought might not give a damn is now fighting some battle with himself as if his sheer will could hold you here.

And for some reason, that knowledge eases something inside you, delightfully loosening that knot of tension in your chest. Again, your body starts to feel like it’s floating, somewhere in the air but instead it’s sinking deeper into the cushions beneath you, slowly letting go. It’s not your body that’s floating this time, it’s your mind. As if it decided to detach itself from the pain, from the reality of your wounds and your situation, and simply drifted away. It’s weightless, flying through a space just beyond your reach. It’s almost surreal, like you’re suspended in air but you know, somehow, that you’re still lying on that couch.

And Bucky’s here.

His hands are on you. His voice is in your ears but none of it feels quite real anymore.

You don’t have it in you to fight it anymore. Your body is letting go, surrendering, and you can’t muster the strength to resist.

Bucky’s voice sounds closer, much more than you thought it had been, but it seems distant too. It’s rough, desperate; words coming out with a crack. He’s pleading with you, urging you to stay with him, to keep your eyes open.

But you can’t. You’re slipping. Still, you feel like smiling if your face would have allowed it.

Bucky is here. And although you stopped listening to his words, losing the sense of his presence, you know he will stay.

You’re in good hands.

🍁 October Writing Challenges Masterlist 🍁

[two-stars]

fuck it. I’m analyzing Dr Ratio’s eidolons.

I interpret eidolons as different facets of a persons character, tying back into their journey in life. (Also this shit loooong so I’m putting it under cut)

1. Pride Comes Before a Fall: this phrase originates from the Bible (proverbs 16:18), which talk of how the sin of pride will eventually lead to destruction, and telling one to practice humility*. To me, this phrase refers possibly to Ratio’s desire to be noticed by Nous. His pride originating from his previous achievements, lauded and touted as a prodigy from a young age (this is, of course, speculation because MIHOYO WONT GIVE ME RATIO LOOREEE). Through this pride, we can obviously see what happens next: he is never noticed by Nous, this is his fall. Either in the eyes of others, or himself (as it is never outright stated that Ratio sought the gaze of Nous, but I subscribe heavily to this line of thinking, due to his voiceline when you max level him: “If this day I have not gained the recognition of Nous, it stands to reason I never will at any point in the future”).

2. The Divine is In the Details: This is an idiom, although it’s more commonly said as “God is in the details”. This phrase is meant to emphasize the importance of the smaller, overlooked details which make up the whole. This is used most often in art and architecture, but can be applied to many other things. I connect this to Ratio’s meticulous nature as a scholar and researcher, but I also draw lines to his 1st eidolon. After Ratio is rejected by the higher powers, he turns instead to the “insignificant” common people, realizing their importance— we know that Ratio values all life, even one’s “marked by failure”, which others may overlook. Real divinity is not the God, but rather the beauty of humanity’s falls and successes.

3. Know Thyself: This was a proverb written upon the temple of Apollo, in Delphi, Ancient Greece. This has many meanings, from knowing your limits (either as one’s place in the universe, or your own mortality), to the broader interpretation by Plato as knowing your soul, and a a common theme of through studying the self could one know the universe. All of these relate heavily to Ratio, considering his tenets of self-improvement. He also references in his line when he finds an enemy target, “You learn to know yourself before your enemy.” (Which is ALSO a quote from Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.) I think this one is pretty self explanatory as a continuation to the previous Eidolons, after his rejection, he seeks to reevaluate (relearn) himself and his stance in life.

4. Ignorance Is Blight: This represents Ratio’s goal to eradicate ignorance and stupidity across the universe, but it is also a inverse on the popular idiom “ignorance is bliss”. This idiom is basically everything Ratio stands against, he will know and say the truth unfiltered, even if it is uncomfortable. I also see this as Ratio finally discovering his calling as a teacher.

5. Sic Itur Ad Astra*: Written in the Aeneid, meaning “thus one journeys to the stars”. It has merged over time with another phrase in the Aeneid, “opta ardua pennis astra sequi” (meaning: desire to pursue the difficult-to-reach stars) becoming the common encouragement, “Reach for the stars.” We know Ratio never settles for doing anything in halves, and as a teacher, he constantly pushes others and himself to reach for high goals. Although his methods can be harsh, it is ultimately through strife (“— it is only in moments on solitude and despair, when help is absent, that fools grasp how to pick themselves up.”), that he seeks to unlock the potential of every person. This is most obviously seen in the Trailblazer Continuance quest: Crown of Mundane and Divine where he leverages the situation to try and topple the blind worship of the Genius Society on the space station.

6. Vincit Omnia Veritas: Meaning: Truth conquers all things. Surface level, this one is pretty straightforward too, Ratio values truth highly, and to him, it is the antithesis to ignorance, and therefore knowledge. As his Ultimate voiceline goes, he says, “Knowledge is the measure of all things. It reveals truth, and falsehood.” What I want to focus on however, is his pose in the eidolon. It is the exact same pose as Michelangelo’s David statue. This depiction is of David before his famous battle with Goliath. In this eidolon, Ratio is the figure David, who was also known as a symbol of the protection of civil liberties. And in by interpretation, Goliath is the stupidity he wants to eradicate. Just as truth conquers all things, Veritas will conquer all ignorance.

*— I also think this is why he consistently downplays himself and avoids the spotlight (calling himself a supporting character).

*— fun fact, this phrase is also used as the motto of Cambridge University, very fitting.

[snowysosturn]

Speeding Car - Matt Sturniolo Part 9

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29

Pairing : y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary : After six years with your boyfriend Alex, you start to mentally check out. At a UCLA party, Alex reconnects with his childhood friend Emily, who proposes a double date with her boyfriend Matt. Your attraction to Matt grows as he pays you the first real attention you've had in years, sparking a complicated emotional journey.

Warnings : MDNI, guilt, thoughts of cheating (I dont condone), building resentment, controlling nature, jealousy, light use of pet names, mentions of injuries to wrist and ribs

Matt’s POV

The drive home from Y/n’s apartment was quiet, too quiet. The only sounds were the rev of the engine and Emily’s soft breathing as she dozed off in the passenger seat again. The street lights flickered by in a blur, and I couldn’t shake the sinking pit in my stomach. My mind kept circling back to the moment in the living room earlier. The moment we almost kissed.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to push the thought away, but it was useless. All I could think about was how close we’d been, how the world had seemed to shrink down to just the two of us. What would’ve happened if Nick hadn’t checked his phone at that time and came in? Would we have crossed that line?

The worst part was that I wasn’t sure I would’ve stopped it. In that split second, it felt right, like something inevitable. But why? I loved Emily, didn’t I? Then why did it feel like I was being pulled toward Y/n by some invisible force, something I couldn’t control.

And then there was Alex. Seeing him so affectionate with Y/n in the hospital had twisted something deep inside me. He was the one she was supposed to be with, the one who made her smile, but all I could focus on was how he had hurt her earlier that night. The way she had prepared everything, put in so much effort, only to be let down, saying she was used to it. It made me angry. Y/n deserved better than that. She deserved someone who wouldn’t take her for granted, someone who would appreciate every little thing she did. Someone who would never put anything above her.

But I wasn’t sure if that someone was Alex. Shit, I wasn’t even sure if that someone was me. But the idea of Y/n being with anyone else, especially someone who didn’t see her worth, made my stomach turn.

I glanced at Emily, who had shifted slightly in her seat, murmuring something in her sleep. She looked peaceful, innocent even, but her words from earlier were still repaying in my ears.

“Did you two come here together?”

The suspicion in her voice had been clear, and it had thrown me off balance. Why had she reacted like that? Would it have really been so strange for me to “pick up” Y/n on the way to the hospital? Or was there something more beneath the surface, something neither of us had dared to say out loud?

We pulled into the garage of my place and I cut the engine, the sudden silence in the car almost deafening. Emily suddenly woke beside me, her eyes fluttering open as she groggily took in her surroundings.

“We’re home” I said softly, unbuckling my seatbelt.

She nodded, yawning as she fumbled with her seatbelt. “Thanks for looking after everyone Matty.” she mumbled, still half asleep. When did she ever call me that?

As we made our way inside, Emily stumbled a bit, her steps unsteady. I caught her by the arm, guiding her up the stairs and into the house. Luckily, Chris was sleeping in Nick’s room, so the noise wouldn’t wake him. The familiar scent of home should have comforted me, but instead, it felt suffocating. My thoughts were too loud, too chaotic.

Emily collapsed onto the couch, her head leaning back as she let out a deep sigh. I hovered nearby, unsure of what to do with myself. Part of me wanted to escape to my room, to hide from the mess of emotions swirling inside me, but something kept me rooted in place.

“Matt.” Emily said suddenly. Bluntly. Her voice slurred with exhaustion and alcohol.

“Yeah?” I turned to face her, noticing the serious expression that had crossed her features.

“I don’t want you and Y/n hanging out alone together. At all.” she said, her words cutting through the fog in my mind.

Had she caught on?

“It’s different with me and Alex. We’re childhood best friends. But with you and Y/n..I don’t know, it just feels… off.”

I stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. “Emily, what are you talking about? We’re just friends” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, they felt hollow, unconvincing.

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t like it, Matt. I know it’s never happened before and I never want it to happen. I will leave you if you do..”

There was a tightness in her voice, a seriousness that made it clear she wasn’t just speaking out of jealousy or drunken paranoia. She genuinely didn’t want me spending time with Y/n and that realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Okay” I said quietly, my mind still reeling. “I’ll respect that.”

Emily nodded, satisfied, before closing her eyes again and drifting back to sleep on the couch, the same place that Y/n was sat only hours earlier. But I couldn’t move. I just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of everything that had happened tonight.

Why was I feeling this way? Why was it Y/n’s face that kept flashing through my mind, her voice that replayed in my mind? And why did Emily’s request, something that should’ve been simple and easy to agree to, feel like I was losing air?

It wasn’t until I heard a creaking noise come from upstairs, probably Nick going to use the bathroom, that brought me back to reality.

As I made my way to my room, I couldn’t humble the feeling that things were changing, that something had shifted in the dynamics between all of us tonight. And I wasn’t sure if any of us were ready to deal with the fallout.

Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, all I could think about was Y/n. The way she’d looked at me in the hospital, the sadness in her eyes, and the way my heart ached seeing her hurt. What was I supposed to do with that? All I could do was replay the events over and over in my mind, the demons in the dark. The tension between what I felt for Emily and what was building with Y/n pulling me in two different directions.

In the end, I wasn’t sure where I stood with either of them anymore. All I knew was that things were more complicated than they’d ever been before, and there was no easy way out.

Y/n POV

I woke up the next morning to the sound of Alex groaning beside me. His arm was in a sling, his face etched with discomfort as he tried to shift positions. The events of the previous night flooded back, hitting me like a tsunami. The hospital, the fight, the drive home with Matt. The way we almost kissed. The way Alex clung to me, a mix of drunken affection and painkiller induced haze, felt distant now, like something from a dream.

But this was my reality.

I pushed myself out of bed, forcing the thoughts of Matt to the back of my mind. I had more immediate concerns. Alex was hurt, and with a sprained wrist and bruised ribs, he was out of football training for the foreseeable future. It also meant he couldn’t do much for himself, and that I had to step up. Whether I wanted to or not, I was now his carer.

"Morning" I whispered as I leaned over to check on him, my voice thick with sleep.

"Morning" he mumbled back, his voice groggy and weak.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck" he winced as he tried to move his injured wrist.

"Try your best not to move too much. I'll get you some breakfast."

I got up, quietly changing out of my pyjamas and into something more practical. I wasn’t thinking about Matt, or the tension that had lingered between us the night before, I couldn’t afford to. My focus had to be on Alex.

My work schedule had to be changed completely. I called in to let them know the situation and that I’d need to have certain shifts for the foreseeable, making sure I could be home when Alex needed me most. It meant taking the less favorable hours, either really early mornings or really late nights, but it was what had to be done. There was no other option.

I spent the next three weeks catering to Alex’s every need. I made all of his meals, helping him dress, driving him to and from campus, and even doing his assignments. It wasn’t just exhausting, it was draining. Every time I looked at him, I remembered how he’d brushed off our plans so easily, how he’d prioritized everything else over us. But now, here I was, putting him first like always.

Emily dropped by the apartment a few times. It was strange seeing her after everything. She was bright and bubbly, the same as ever, like nothing had changed, but I couldn’t help feeling like she was being extra nice to me. The three of us hung out together in our apartment, Matt unheard of. I tried to keep things light within the trio, but there was an undertone of something else, something unspoken between us. I led on to be normal, to smile and laugh, but it was hard. My mind kept wandering, and I found myself glancing at my phone more than usual, hoping to see a message from Matt. But there was nothing. Radio silence. It confused me, the way he’d pulled away.

Did he regret what almost happened between us? Did he not like my company after all? The last time I saw him he told me he was there if I ever needed anything, but now, when I felt more alone than ever, he was nowhere to be found.

It hurt more than I wanted to admit. I thought back to the way he’d looked at me, the softness in his eyes, the way he’d listened when I talked about my struggles with Alex. It had felt like he understood, like he cared. But maybe I was wrong.

I had to realise I had more important things to focus on. Alex needed me, and that was all that mattered. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. But in the quiet moments, when it was just me and my thoughts, I couldn’t help but wonder..

Why did Matt’s silence hurt so much?

Why did it feel like I’d lost something I never really had?

a/n : two parts in less than 24 hours let’s gooooo, emily’s basically barred matt from seeing the reader :/ butttt i know what happens next and yous don’t heehee

taglist : @muwapsturniolo @anitahunt @sturnfannn @jayde510 @chrissfavhoe @babyalliah-777 @v33angel @urmom69lol @willowrites @ribread03 @2muchofaslvt @sturnsaver @sleepysturniolo @jcsturniolo11 @jessie-essie @hoeforchrizz @mynbbys @sturniolopanini @mattsturnxoxo @delicatechrry @t77te @sturnsyaper69 @hotdismylife @maggot3647 @ivysturnss @noplaceissafeanymore @mattssgf @hottiirr @maethem0nth

*also v v sorry if you tagged tagged in this 30 million times my taglist is still acting tf up (if u have a newer account or don’t post at all it’s not giving me an option to tag you :( )

[mossyeyeballs]

CLASS OF 09 REWRITES + REDESIGNS

CW: mentiones of SA, drugs, suicide, and self harm

In my rewrite, Nicole and her family were always rocky. Her mom and dad always fought over this and that, and eventually divorced when she turned 11. Wanting Nicole to grow up at least a little less miserable, they her parents decided to stay in the same house together regardless of who they were seeing. This obviously caused her mental health to worsen. Seeing her parents didn’t love eachother and often fought under the same roof, she spent a lot of time in her room making friends with people online. It would turn out One of the people she met online went to her middle school, and even shared a class with her. Nicole and this girl became really close, and even started hanging out in person. Unfortunately, at age 13, the girl she became friends with left Nicole alone with her boyfriend, and the night ended in Nicole getting sexually assaulted. Needless to say Nicole cut her off and stopped attending school, and as a result became even more disclosed from her family. So, Nicole turned to drugs and self harm to ease her mental pain. This pain unfortunately did lead to her finding it difficult to empathize with people, and as a result she became shallow with how she treated people. by the age of 15, Nicole’s mom had forced her to volunteer herself into an NA group counseling community, where Nicole meter friend Jecka. After a bit of chatting, they found out they go to the same highschool, and the two started getting closer. Due to recent events, Nicole found it a bit hard to get close to Jecka, but after she offered to pay for Nicole’s self defense classes, Nicole opened her trust circle. As of age 16, Nicole graduated her counseling group and began attending highschool like normal. While the counseling did help with her drug habits and overall manners, she still does find it a bit hard to understand emotions. But this in no way shapes her entire character, it’s simply a brush stoke of the entire picture. With the help of Jecka, and the confidence from taking self defense, Nicole found the experience a bit easier to navigate. Though, highschool, is highschool, so it’s still hard. She’s now 17, a junior. Healing is a journey filled with bumps and cracks, so of course there’s moments where Nicole finds herself slipping back into that state of needing addiction, but Jecka taught her that candy can help smooth those cravings, so Nicole carries around a shit ton of candy in her bag.

I know a few people may not like the fact that I took away the humor and edginess of the game, but in all honesty that was the point. I wanted the rewrite to feel genuine, and not like a mockery of people with mental struggles. I wanted the rewrite to feel relatable and comforting rather than a joke. So yes, Nicole is struggling, but that’s okay. Healing takes time, and my rewrite is about the time it takes to heal and how hard it can be with that PTSD. if this were to be a story, it’d be more about the aspects and difficulties that come with this trauma and the healing along with it rather than “a hot anime girl who rejects everyone cause she’s a sociopath.”

[southtopaz]

PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, mention of blood, violence, swearing, mention of death, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts.

Word count: +6k

A/n: this part will follow the events of Scream 6 but it will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4,Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16

That night, the air in Sam, Tara, and Iris's apartment was thick with tension as they settled in together. They had all agreed to stay in their apartment and spend the night together under the guise of safety in numbers, but Iris couldn't shake the feeling that it was also a way to keep tabs on one another. Trust felt fragile, and she found herself scanning the room for suspects.

In the kitchen, the atmosphere shifted to a quieter, more intimate space. Iris and Tara stood side by side, chopping vegetables and stirring pots, their movements synchronized. The silence between them was comfortable yet charged.

"Wanna try this?" Iris asked playfully, dipping a spoon into the simmering sauce and holding it out towards Tara. Their eyes locked as Tara leaned in, accepting the offering. The moment lingered, until Tara finally looked away, her cheeks flushed.

"It's good," Tara said softly. Iris smiled, that small, genuine smile that made Tara's stomach flutter.

"I think you should get out of the city," Tara suggested, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Already tired of me?" Iris teased, but her heart sank at the thought.

"I would never get tired of you," Tara muttered. "It's just... after everything that happened last time, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go."

Iris paused, the weight of Tara's words settling in. "Look, Tara, do you want me gone?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and Tara's eyes widened. "Iris..."

"Do you want me to stay away from you?" Iris stepped closer, invading the space between them.

"No, of course not! But I just want you safe," Tara replied, her voice trembling slightly.

"Well, I want you safe too and I want to be right beside you."

Tara's expression shifted, a mix of fear and urgency. "There's someone trying to kill us,"

"I don't care," Iris shook her head. "You have to be insane if you think anything could pull me away from you."

"You can't say things like that,"

"Why not?"

Tara took a step back, breaking the charged space between them. "You know why," she said, her voice trembling as she turned to face the countertop, her back to Iris.

"What...?"" Iris pressed, feeling the ache of uncertainty.

"Would you two just make out already!" Mindy shouted, exasperation evident in her voice.

"The fuck, Mindy?" Iris replied, her cheeks flushing as she glanced at Tara, who looked equally flustered.

Mindy strode into the kitchen, her energy filling the space. "Seriously, just get over it!" Tara, trying to diffuse the tension, said, "I have to talk to Sam. Be right back," before she patted Iris's arm affectionately. Iris watched Tara leave, a longing ache settling in her chest.

"What was that all about?" Mindy pressed, her eyes narrowing on Iris.

"What?" Iris asked, trying to focus on pouring the sauce into the pan, as if that could distract her from the heat in her cheeks.

"You know, that whole Romeo and Juliet shit I just witnessed," Mindy raised an eyebrow.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Iris insisted, her voice slightly higher than usual.

Mindy groaned, frustration bubbling to the surface. After ensuring they were alone, she reached over and turned off the stove, prompting Iris to protest.

"Hey! I was cooking!"

"Don't care. We need an intervention here. You're really pissing me off," Mindy shot back, her voice firm.

"I didn't do anything! What the—" Iris began, but Mindy cut her off.

"Iris, I've been holding back on this because I hoped you'd figure it out yourself, but since apparently you have absolutely no brain cells in that pretty head of yours, it's time someone tells you the truth."

"Tell me what?"

"You like her. You like Tara," Mindy stated bluntly.

"What? No, I don't!" Iris stammered, embarrassment washing over her.

"For the past two years, I've seen you look at her like she's everything you've ever wanted," Mindy continued, her tone shifting to one of sincerity. "You literally have heart eyes when you talk to her."

"I don't like her like that! Absolutely not! What the hell?"

Mindy rolled her eyes, clearly frustrated with her friend's denial. "You hate dancing, yet you danced with her the other day. You hate horror movies, but you watch one with her every Friday night just because it's Tara's favorite thing. You hold her hand whenever you get the chance, and you remember every little detail about her. You might think nobody notices, but I see how you can't tear your gaze away from her when she isn't looking."

Mindy stepped closer, her grip firm on Iris's shoulders as if to ground her in reality. "She's the only one who brings a genuine smile to your face. You get all giddy and blushy when she pays attention to you, and let's not even talk about the jealousy when someone else tries to get close to her."

"So yeah, you don't just like her; you're in love with her," Mindy concluded, her voice softening.

"What?! I'm not! I..." Iris protested, her heart racing at the accusation.

"And honestly, it's getting embarrassing at this point. We're all waiting for one of you to make a move, but you're both acting like complete idiots" Mindy added, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Wait, both of us?" Iris asked, realization dawning on her.

"Iris, you're so oblivious. That poor girl could tell you she loves you and wants to marry you, and you'd still think she means it platonically," Mindy said, shaking her head in disbelief at her friend's stupidity "Tara has literally been waiting for you to do something for years. The fact that she's still waiting just shows how much she wants you,".

"You think she likes me? There's no way," Iris said, her disbelief palpable.

"Dude, why do you think I gave you the idea to write that letter to express your feelings?" Mindy asked, her tone serious. "Because I knew it was the only way you'd actually make a move, and she was obviously going to say yes, I wasn't going to set you up for failure"

"You don't know that," Iris replied, her voice tinged with doubt.

"Then why do you think Amber took that letter away and sent that text to separate you two? She knew that if Tara had gotten that letter, you would've never dated her. It was the only way she had to make you notice her".

"And look I'm not saying you didn't love Amber because unfortunately I know you did but you never unfell for Tara and now you finally have a chance to do something". Mindy urged, her expression softening. "I know a part of you is still afraid, but this is Tara we're talking about. The girl you spent most of your childhood being in love with, and she is also the one that spent all of that time loving you back. So could you please, for the love of God, do something about it? I just want you to be happy, and, okay, I may also want to win the bet Sam and I have going on."

"You guys have a fucking bet?" Iris asked, eyes wide with surprise.

"Can't tell you," Mindy replied, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"You just did," Iris shot back, crossing her arms.

"Did I?"

"I can't believe you guys have a bet, people are dying out here," Iris said, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

"Still not an excuse for being a pussy" Mindy countered, giving Iris a light shove. "Make me proud, bestie. She's on the terrace."

With each step toward the terrace, Iris's heart raced. The conversation with Mindy echoed in her mind, pushing her forward. Iris felt a whirlwind of emotions stirring inside her, a mix of nervousness and disbelief that left her momentarily breathless. She had long acknowledged her feelings for Tara, yet the thought that Tara might share those feelings was something she never dared to entertain, but now that very possibility was all she could think about.

"Hey," she finally managed to say, her voice almost a whisper.

Tara jumped, placing a hand over her chest, her eyes wide with surprise. "Jesus, you scared me!"

Iris laughed softly. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to." She took a step closer, her pulse quickening with each moment spent in Tara's presence. "I came to let you know that food will be ready in a little bit."

Tara smiled, a hint of curiosity in her gaze. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, why?" Iris tried to sound casual, but her mouth betrayed her.

"You just look a little... weird, that's all."

"You calling me ugly?" Iris teased, the playful banter a welcome distraction.

"Never! You could never be ugly, believe me," Tara replied, patting Iris's arm affectionately. Before Iris could think better of it; she caught Tara's hand in hers, intertwining their fingers with a tenderness that sent a jolt of warmth through her.

"Your fingers are cold," Iris noted, suddenly aware of a slight tremor running through Tara's form. "Are you cold?"

"Mm, yeah," Tara whispered, her cheeks flushed with something more than just the chill in the air.

Without thinking, Iris pulled her closer, wrapping her arms around her in a warm embrace. "Is this okay?" she asked softly.

"Definitely," Tara replied, her voice muffled against Iris's shoulder. They held each other for what felt like an eternity, and Iris couldn't resist the urge to gaze at Tara. She ran her fingers through Tara's hair, tracing the gentle arch of her cheekbones, her eyes staring at the constellation of freckles that danced across her nose.

"Is there something on my face?" Tara asked suddenly, her voice teasing yet curious.

"No, why?" Iris replied, caught off guard.

"I can see you looking at me," a nervous smile blooming on her lips.

"Sorry," Iris whispered, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks. She tried to pull away, but Tara tightened her grip, refusing to let her go.

"Don't be sorry. Just... stay."

"Maybe I just like looking at you," Iris admitted, the words spilling out before she could think better of it.

Tara inhaled sharply, her expression shifting as if she were contemplating something significant. Then, she gently cupped Iris's face, drawing her attention back to her. "You like looking at me?"

"Yeah," Iris said, her heart racing. "I can't help it. You're just so..." She wrapped her arms around Tara's waist, pulling her even closer.

"So?" Tara prompted, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Beautiful." A deep blush spread across Tara's cheeks, illuminating her features in the middle of the night. Iris was mesmerized, her gaze locked onto Tara's captivating eyes, losing herself in their depths.

"Honestly? I think it's time I admitted I like looking at you too," Tara confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?" Iris breathed, a smile forming on her lips.

"I've liked looking at you ever since we were six, so... yeah." The space between them shrank to nothing; they could hear each other's breaths, feel the warmth radiating from their bodies. Iris was acutely aware of how fast her heart was pounding, wondering if maybe Tara could hear it too.

"Tara, I..."

But before Iris could finish her thought, a loud voice broke the moment. "HEY YOU TWO, FOOD IS READY!" Chad's call echoed up the stairs, shattering the delicate bubble they had created.

"You've got to be kidding me," Tara sighed, resting her forehead against Iris's, her breath mingling with Iris's in a way that felt almost sacred. Iris couldn't help but chuckle softly, feeling both amused and a little deflated.

"Come on, I'm hungry!" Tara finally disentangled herself from Iris but not before leaning in to plant a quick, lingering kiss on Iris's cheek. The gesture sent a jolt of warmth through the girl, leaving her momentarily frozen in place, her heart fluttering wildly.

"Let's go," Tara said, reaching for Iris's hand, their fingers still intertwined as they made their way downstairs.

In the kitchen, the atmosphere buzzed with the chatter of their friends, Mindy, Chad, and Sam all standing around the table. The three of them noticed their hands together but chose to let it slide without comment, a knowing smile exchanged among them. Iris stood beside Mindy leaning against the countertop, while Tara settled in beside her sister, but not before punching Chad in the arm as she passed.

"Hey, the fuck?" Chad exclaimed, feigning hurt, but Tara just rolled her eyes and ignored him.

"The others?" Iris asked, looking around.

"Quinn's in her room with some boy, and Anika's watching TV," Mindy replied, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"I already left some blankets on the sofa for

you all," Sam said, her voice filled with exhaustion as she reached for a bottle of wine. The strain of the last few days hung heavily on her shoulders, evident in the way her brow furrowed and her movements felt a bit slower.

"We don't have to stay here, you know," Mindy said, trying to keep the mood light, though a hint of worry crept into her voice.

"Well, too bad. I insist. Safety in numbers" Sam replied, her tone leaving little room for argument.

"This'll be so fun!" Chad interjected, a grin spreading across his face. "A little slumber party with the core five!"

"Core five?" Sam asked, her confusion evident as she raised an eyebrow.

"Did you just give us a nickname?" Tara teased, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed, clearly amused.

"I sure did!" Chad exclaimed, his chest puffed out with pride. "I mean, we've been through a lot together. It's a pretty cool nickname!"

"That's debatable," Sam shot back, a smirk forming as she rolled her eyes.

"Extremely debatable" Tara chimed in.

"C'mon, you bunch of haters! The nickname fucking rocks". Iris laughed, clearly enjoying the playful banter. "Give me five, bro". Chad happily did so.

"You can't just give yourself a nickname, dingus," Mindy protested, shaking her head but unable to hide her smile.

"Of course I can, dingus, because I just did!" Chad insisted, raising his hand expectantly, waiting for everyone to join in. "Core five, up top!"

"Nah," Mindy replied, playfully waving her hand away.

"Get that away from me," Tara said with mock disdain, shaking her head as if Chad had offered her something distasteful.

"Iris, Sam, don't fail me now!" Chad pleaded, eyes wide with faux desperation.

"Come on, Sam, look at his face! How can you say no?" Iris pinched Chad's cheeks, trying to emphasize his supposed cuteness.

"I would like a little more respect and support from my fellow members of the Core Five," Chad huffed dramatically, crossing his arms while pretending to sulk.

Just then, they heard Anika's voice echoing from the hallway. "Guys, what the hell?" she called out, her tone sharp and urgent. The group exchanged quick, concerned glances and without a second thought, they all turned and rushed toward the living room.

"We're hearing from sources inside the homicide division that the prime suspect is none other than Samantha Carpenter, one of the survivors of the Woodsboro killing in 2022, seen here attacking a woman on the street last night."

Sam was quick to mute the television, the noise suddenly feeling overwhelming, and rushed out of the living room, seeking refuge in the kitchen. The other four exchanged worried glances before following her, signaling to Anika to stay put. They couldn't believe that some people would even think Sam was capable of doing something so terrible. The world could be cruel, and right now, Sam was suffering under its weight.

"I know it's tough, but don't listen to those people, Sam. They know nothing". Iris said as she settled down next to her, concern etched on her face. Tara nodded in agreement, moving closer to offer support.

"I know you're not a fan of how I've been handling things, and I get that I've given you a hard time," Tara said, taking Sam's hand in hers. "But I can say that none of us can relate to what you are experiencing." Sam turned to her sister, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"And I'm really sorry that you have to do that alone," Tara continued softly.

"It's not your fault," Sam replied, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "I know I shouldn't care about what people think, but it just sucks being this hated." Her voice cracked slightly, revealing the vulnerability she was trying to hide.

Iris quickly handed her a napkin to wipe her tears, and Sam offered a grateful smile. "We will always be here for you, Sam," Iris reassured her, her tone warm and steady.

Just then, Chad and Mindy entered the room, their presence a welcome distraction. "Hey, just a reminder," Chad said, his voice firm yet comforting. "Not a single person in this room hates you, okay? We've all been through some fucked up stuff, and we're coping with it differently. But we moved here together for one very specific reason."

"We are a team," he finished, his words hanging in the air like a promise.

"Gosh, since when are you so wise?" Iris laughed through her tears, the tension in the room easing as everyone shared a soft chuckle.

Sam felt warmth spread through her as she looked at her friends, grateful for their unwavering support. "You guys really mean a lot to me,".

"We are the core five," Mindy declared dramatically, as if it were a big revelation.

"Thank you very much," Chad responded, grinning widely.

"I hate myself," Mindy joked, and without missing a beat, she high-fived Chad.

"Say it, guys, c'mon!" Iris urged, her finger pointing between Sam and Tara with an infectious enthusiasm.

"I mean, yes, we are a team, but..." Tara began, laughter bubbling up as they all joined in, the heaviness of the moment lifting, if only for a little while.

"I've been sleeping with cute boy from across the hall," Sam announced, her cheeks flushing a light pink.

"Boom!" Mindy shouted, her excitement reverberating through the small apartment.

"I fucking knew it!" Tara exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.

"Finally, a hot guy, Sam! I'm so proud of you!" Iris chimed in, her voice filled with amusement but happiness for her friend.

"I mean, I totally knew it from the day you had that hickey!" Mindy joked, her laughter contagious and filling the room. The others burst into giggles, recalling the embarrassing moment.

Chad, sitting off to the side with a playful grin, leaned forward and said, "Does somebody else want to confess something?" He cast a teasing glance at Tara, clearly remembering the hand holding his two friends did.

"Don't look at me, you weirdo! I have nothing to say," Tara replied, feigning innocence while crossing her arms defiantly.

"Nothing?" Mindy asked in despair as she stared pointedly at Iris. "Jesus, this will never end!"

Tara quickly tried to redirect the conversation. "I feel like we should high-five or something,"

"Hell yeah, Core Five motherfuckers". Iris said enthusiastically, raising her hand in the air. The others quickly followed suit, each of them joining in for the playful moment.

Just then, Sam's phone began to ring loudly, cutting through their laughter. Tara's eyes lit up as she recognized the caller ID. "Look who it is!" she exclaimed, snatching the phone away and displaying it to everyone.

With a mischievous smile, she passed the phone to Mindy. They all erupted into laughter, pretending to answer it with exaggerated voices, playfully interrogating Danny about his intentions. Sam, still blushing, finally managed to get a word in, saying she would call him back later.

The mood took a sudden turn when strange noises started coming from upstairs. It was impossible to confuse the unmistakable sounds of moans.

"Quinn and her gentleman caller are back at it again," Tara remarked, rolling her eyes in disbelief.

"I swear to God, it's like she doesn't know how to be quiet!" Iris added, shaking her head with an amused grin.

Before they could continue their

conversation, a sudden chorus of phone notifications broke the moment, startling them all into silence. Iris felt her heart race as she glanced at the screen. A chilling image flickered before her eyes: Ghostface, looming menacingly over Quinn, a knife poised dangerously close to her throat. Time seemed to freeze as the reality of the situation sank in, and a sense of dread filled the room.

"What the hell?" Iris whispered in horror. Quinn's desperate shout for help echoed in their house, and instinct took over. They all sprang into action. Tara dashed toward Quinn's room, but Iris caught her arm just in time, her grip firm and unyielding.

"Stay here," she told her urgently, her eyes wide with fear.

"Chad, get ready," Iris’s voice was low but commanding as she pushed Tara toward him. He nodded, understanding what his friend meant.

The five of them, alongside Anika, stood tense and anxious, their breaths shallow as they faced the door. The sounds of chaos poured out from within: furniture crashing, muffled shouts, and a struggle that sent chills down their spines. Then, suddenly, the screams stopped and a horrible silence enveloped them.

"Run," Mindy hissed, her voice sharp with urgency. Just as the words left her mouth, the bedroom door burst open with a violent

force.

Ghostface emerged, a terrifying silhouette against the dim light of the hallway. With a swift, brutal motion, he hurled Quinn's limp body towards them. The thud of her landing was sickening, and Anika's scream pierced the air as Quinn crumpled on top of her.

Iris reacted instinctively, yanking Quinn's bloodied body away from Anika, panic and horror coursing through her veins. "No!

Quinn!" she cried, desperation clawing at her throat.

"We need to go!" Tara yelled, urgency in her voice. Chad clutched her arm, and they bolted for the door, believing their friends were right on their heels.

Suddenly, the air thickened with tension as Ghostface fixed his gaze on them, waiting to see who would make the first move. But there was no time to strategize; he surged forward, targeting Iris with deadly intent as he swiped his knife at her. She dodged every strike as quickly as she could, but eventually he sank his knife into her arm, causing her to scream in pain.

"Fuck you" She yelled and kicked the attacker hard in the crotch, sending him reeling back for a brief second that allowed her to stand up. When he got to his feet again, he turned and punched her in the stomach. Iris pushed away from the blow in time to see Ghostface lower his knife and impale it in the wall where her head had been.

Iris grabbed the back of his head, slamming it against the wall before delivering a kick to his legs. He turned around and strongly pushed her to the floor, ready to attack her once again.

Mindy rushed at him, determined to pull him away from Iris, but as they hit the floor, he simply shoved her aside and stabbed her in the upper arm, causing blood to flow everywhere.

Anika, still on the ground, grasped his ankles, trying to trip him and free Mindy. Ghostface quickly climbed over Anika, and he started to choke her before he lifted her up and slammed her into the fireplace as he sank his knife into her abdomen, slowly dragging it upwards, causing the woman to scream in agony.

Iris quickly sprang to her feet, grabbed a lamp close to the coffee table, and smashed it into Ghostface's head. He staggered and lost his grip on Anika as a result, while Mindy hurried to her girlfriend.

Sam entered just in time, slamming an empty knife block into Ghostface's head as she angrily punched him with it a couple of times.

"Come on!" Yelled Sam.

Despite the pain in her arm, Iris went over to Anika, threw an arm around her waist, and ran towards the nearest room, which happened to be Quinn's. She could feel Sam and Mindy approaching from behind, and they hurried into the room, locking the door as fast as they could.

"Fuck" Mindy sat in the bed and groaned as she put pressure in her arm, blood pouring out of it. Anika was sitting next to her groaning in pain while she held her stomach, they all tried to ignore the amount of blood she was losing.

"Hey, look at me," Iris said urgently, grasping both of Anika's cheeks with her hands to force her to focus. Anika's eyes fluttered, the effort to stay awake written all over her face. Iris could feel a wave of panic rising within her, but she fought it down. "Everything is going to be fine. I need you to stay awake, okay? Just look at me."

Anika blinked slowly, her gaze wavering as she tried to hold on to Iris's reassuring presence. In the background, they could hear Ghostaface grunting and pushing against the door, the sound echoing in the tense silence. Then, suddenly, he stopped, and the air grew heavier with uncertainty.

"Bathroom door, hurry," Sam whispered, fear lacing her voice as she looked at Iris with wide, frantic eyes.

Without hesitating, Iris nodded and darted toward the bathroom, her heart racing. She tried to ignore all the mess, the walls were smeared with remnants of blood and the floor didn't look much better.

As she reached the bathroom, the sight that met her made her stomach drop as she saw one of Quinn's hookups lying in his own pool of blood in the tub.

"Fuck, he is dead" Iris shouted as she reached the door, just as Ghostface barreled into view. She instinctively tried to slam it shut, but he forced his body against it, pushing his way through with surprising strength.

"Sam Help!" Iris yelled, her heart racing as she struggled to keep the door closed. Ghostface managed to thrust his arm inside, swiping his knife blindly as he tried to attack her.

Sam sprang into action, rushing to Iris's side. Together, they pushed against the door, straining to keep him at bay. With a final shove, they managed to block Ghostface's arm and wrestle the door closed. They quickly turned the lock, their breaths coming fast as they heard him pounding on the other side.

"We need to barricade it," Iris said, glancing at the dresser nearby.

Without a moment's hesitation, the girls shoved the dresser in front of the door. It scraped loudly against the floor, but they didn't stop until it was firmly in place, creating a barrier between them and the frantic pounding outside.

Panting, they leaned against the dresser for a moment, the adrenaline still coursing through their veins. "What do we do now?" Sam asked, her eyes wide with fear.

Iris took a deep breath, scanning the room for anything they could use. "We need to find a way out. We can't let him get in."

"Mindy, keep Anika awake!" Iris instructed, her voice urgent as she saw the girl on the verge of passing out. Mindy nodded, quickly grabbing a shirt from the floor. She pressed it against Anika's stomach, applying gentle pressure while trying to soothe her.

"Just focus on me, okay love? Keep your eyes open," Mindy said softly, her voice steady despite the horror surrounding them.

Suddenly, Iris spotted a familiar figure outside the window. "Is that Danny?" she asked, her heart racing with a mix of relief and anxiety. She glanced at Sam, who was already nodding as she continued pushing the dresser.

"Go! We've got this!" Mindy urged, stepping away from Anika momentarily to help Iris brace the door. They pushed against it with all their strength, feeling the pressure of the pounding on the other side.

"We are going to die" Mindy whispered, her voice trembling as the weight of the situation settled in.

"Don't fucking say that! You hear me?" Iris snapped. "Anika doesn't need to hear that right now." She turned back to Anika, her heart aching at the sight of her friend's pain-stricken face.

"Ani, you okay?" Iris shouted, forcing herself to remain calm. Anika nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, though her expression was twisted in pain.

"Everything is going to be fine," Iris said, the words feeling heavy in her throat. She wasn't sure if she believed them, but she needed Anika to hold on.

Ghostface continued to bang violently on the door, each impact sending tremors through the walls as Danny handed a ladder over to Sam. She reached out to grab it, her fingers brushing against the cold metal just as another thunderous slam echoed through the room.

"Get ready!" Danny shouted, his voice strained as he positioned himself in the window to help.

Ghostface slammed into the door again, causing the dresser to shift slightly. Iris and Mindy pressed their backs against it, straining to gain better footing. Iris could feel the panic rising within her, but she refused to let it show. "Guys hurry" she yelled, her voice trembling.

"Only one of you will be able to cross at a time!" Danny shouted from the other side. "Come on!"

"C'mon, guys!" Sam urged, turning to face her friends.

"No way, you guys first!" Iris replied firmly, her resolve unshakeable as she pushed against the dresser, feeling it slide slightly under the pressure. "You go, Sam. You have to."

"Mindy!" Sam glanced at her, desperation flooding her voice.

"Go," Mindy said, determination hardening her features. "We'll hold the door. We'll be fine. We send Anika later" She exchanged a quick, reassuring glance with Iris, who nodded, feeling a surge of confidence from her friend.

Sam took a deep breath, her expression conflicted, but she knew there was no time to waste. "Okay," she finally said, her voice steadier. She carefully maneuvered her way to the window, the ladder swaying slightly beneath her.

“Cmon baby, You've got this!" he encouraged her, his eyes locked on her as she began to cross the ladder.

"I'm okay! Just hold on!" Sam shouted back, glancing over her shoulder to see Iris and Mindy bracing themselves against the dresser.

Once she reached the other side, she shouted, "Come on! Next person!"

The sound of Ghostface's relentless banging reverberated through the room, and Iris felt a rush of fear at the thought of losing her friends.

"Iris, it's your turn," Mindy urged, glancing over her shoulder.

"Fuck no, you go. I'll stay," Iris insisted, struggling against the dresser as Ghostface pressed closer.

Mindy helped Anika get toward the window. "You have to go first," she insisted.

"I can't," Anika whispered, panic rising in her voice.

"You have to please"

"Mindy, please," Anika begged, her eyes wide with fear. Mindy sighed, leaning in for one last kiss.

"I love you, okay?" she said softly, then made her way to the ladder, disappearing into the night.

"Now you, Anika, come on!" Iris called, moving to the window to help.

"I can't," Anika cried, shaking her head desperately.

"You have to! Please, I need to hold the door!".

"You go, Iris, please," Anika urged, her voice trembling.

"Anika, look at me," Iris said firmly, gripping her friend's face. "You are here because of me, because you're my friend and now he did this to you"

"It's not your fault," Anika replied, shaking her head, desperation filling her eyes.

"Yes, it is," Iris insisted, her voice steady despite the fear swirling around them. "I need you to get onto that ladder, okay? I can't let you die on me. I'll hold him off."

Anika's heart sank as she realized Iris had already made her decision. There was no changing her mind. With a heavy sigh, she nodded, determination replacing her fear as she stepped toward the window.

Iris moved to the door, her body tense as she braced herself against it. "Just go!" she shouted, her voice filled with urgency. Anika climbed onto the ladder, her hands trembling as she reached for the rungs.

As she moved, Anika felt the warmth of blood seeping through her clothes, each drop a reminder of the danger they were facing. Her strength waned with every movement, her bones feeling heavier, her vision dimming. Panic bubbled beneath the surface as she glanced back, seeing Iris struggling to keep the door shut against Ghostface's pounding.

"Come on, Anika! You can do this!" Iris shouted, her eyes fierce with fear. "Just a little further!"

Anika pushed herself to keep climbing, her heart racing. "Iris!" she called out, but the sound felt distant as her world began to blur.

Then, through the haze, she spotted Danny, his hands reaching for her from the other side of the window. Relief washed over her as she felt herself being pulled into the safety of his apartment. Just as she crossed the threshold, she heard Iris scream, the sound chilling her to the bone.

"IRIS, COME ON!" Sam shouted from the apartment, panic evident in her voice. She couldn't lose Iris now; it felt more real than ever in that moment.

Iris stood at the window, the ladder swaying slightly beneath her as she peered down into the darkness below. Her heart raced, each thud of Ghostface against the door echoing in her ears, a constant reminder that time was running out.

She took a deep breath, her injured arm pulsing with pain. The wound throbbed, making her hesitate as she gripped the ladder.

With trembling hands, Iris stepped onto the first rung. The metal felt cold beneath her fingers. She glanced back at the door, where the pounding intensified, splintering the wood with each blow. She could almost feel the dark figure on the other side, waiting for the moment when she would falter.

The ladder shifted slightly, and Iris's stomach dropped. She steadied herself, breathing deeply as she forced one foot after the other onto the rungs. Each movement sent jolts of pain through her arm.

Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the room, the door splintering under the force of Ghostface's relentless assault. Panic surged through Iris as she felt him drawing closer, but she forced herself to focus. She was so close to the window, right in the middle of the way.

With every ounce of willpower, she pushed her body forward, her injured arm screaming in protest. The pain was sharp and relentless, but she couldn't afford to give in to it. Behind her, the door finally gave way, crashing open as Ghostface entered, his presence suffocating the air. He stepped into the room, eyes locked on her, and her heart dropped.

He approached the window and impaled the knife in the wood before reaching for the ladder. "No, no, no—fuck!" Iris whimpered, her desperation growing as she glanced back at Mindy and Sam, who were frantic with fear.

"IRIS, YOU HAVE TO MOVE NOW!" Mindy yelled, urgency lacing her voice. But Iris's eyes were glued to the figure at the window, dread pooling in her stomach as Ghostface lifted the ladder with ease, shaking it violently. The metal rattled beneath her, each jolt sending a wave of terror coursing through her.

Iris took another step, her heart pounding in her chest. The ladder swayed again, and she felt a rush of vertigo. "No, no, no," she muttered under her breath, gripping the rungs tighter.

Ghostface shook the ladder again, trying to dislodge her. Iris could feel the metal creaking beneath her as she lay flat against it, fighting to maintain her grip. Her heart raced, and she felt herself teetering on the edge. Sam's hand brushed hers, but she couldn't get a solid hold.

"Iris!" Sam urged, panic etched on her face. "Just a little further!"

"No!" Iris cried out, feeling her grip weaken as the ladder wobbled precariously. "I can't".

"Iris, you have to keep going!" Mindy shouted, her voice breaking through the chaos.

Iris squeezed her eyes shut, summoning every ounce of strength she had left. She pushed against the pain in her arm, forcing herself to move. With a deep breath, she began inching forward, her body trembling with fear and exhaustion.

Ghostface was still right there, the knife gleaming menacingly as he gripped the ladder, continued to shake it, his movements gleaming with malicious intent.

Sam reached out, stretching half of her body out of the window, her heart racing as she desperately tried to reach for Iris. Danny and Mindy embraced her in order to protect her from falling. Finally, her fingers found Iris's forearm, she gripped it tightly, not willing to let go of the girl. "I've got you!" she shouted, pulling with all her strength.

Danny joined Sam and together they managed to inch her closer. With one last, frantic effort, Danny scrambled through the window, his arms wrapping securely around Iris. He pulled her into the apartment with a powerful yank.

Iris rolled into the room, gasping as she hit the floor. The moment felt surreal, the adrenaline still coursing through them as she scrambled to her feet. But just as relief began to wash over them, they all turned and froze. There stood Ghostface, staring coldly at them from the window of their apartment. The knife glinted menacingly in his grip.

"I'm going to kill you motherfucker" Iris shouted, her voice laced with anger and fear. The words echoing in the small space. "You heard me? I'll fucking end you!"

Ghostface stood still for a heartbeat, seemingly assessing them, before slowly backing away as he slipped out of the room.

"Iris, thank god you're okay!" Sam exclaimed, wrapping her arms around her friend in a tight embrace, her relief palpable as tears streamed down her cheeks. "You're okay."

But the moment of safety was short-lived. "We need to get her to the hospital right now!" Danny shouted, urgency in his voice as he moved towards the door. He had Anika in his arms, applying pressure to her wound, his face strained with concern.

Iris swayed slightly, still in shock but nodding at Danny's command. "He's right" she managed to say. Just as she began to move, her strength gave out, and she suddenly collapsed to the ground.

[heartnanase]

scaramouche

i dont know what this is but my love life has been cooking recently so i decided to write again after months (i’ve been left on delivered for 16 minutes so you guys get angst)

“look seriously? don’t be like that— hey! wait! it wasn’t my choice! the fatui? i wanted you to be safe!”

“im getting married. deal with it.” you said while quickly walking, holding onto the sides of your heavy wedding dress, not even 3 minutes into putting on your outfit and you already regret wearing heels. “who? tartaglia huh?” he looked like a fool, you assumed he did at least. getting the courage to look at him was difficult. “it’s ajax.” you coldly say. you could picture his eye roll in your head as he mumbles a “whatever.” all you could do was watch his shadow in the corner of your eye trying to match your pace, while he reached to grab your hand. you angrily turn to him. “no! no just go! its been five years and now i’m just supposed to believe that you suddenly want me again?” all he can do is stare at your teary eyes, he chuckles. scaramouche isn’t making fun of you, but he thinks it’s cute when you’re upset. it’s weird, you had no clue why you were crying. was it cause the way he trims his hair now is different? was it cause his voice has changed, it sounds restless; was it cause it’s been so long? or was it because your heart still beats the same for him as it once did years ago. it didn’t matter how you felt anymore, you had a husband. well you will have a husband. so—

“listen okay? i just needed you to be safe” he cuts off your thoughts. scaramouche is nervous, he thinks he’s hiding it well with his smirk but he’s really not. you watch as he awkwardly try and fix his posture and grins at you, shoving his hands in his pocket hoping you didn’t notice his shaky fingers. you couldn’t stay here with him much longer, ajax would be furious. it’s not like you loved ajax, nor did he love you. it was a mutual agreement that your marriage would be perfect considering you and ajax both came from respectable families. however your dad always hated scaramouche, and you wish you listened to your father about how boys like him are pieces of shit. “you don’t get to decide that!”

scaramouche scoffs, “so what? what would that make me if i was the reason you died?” you slowly gulped as you both stood in science. he sighs and continues, “look i love you okay i still do and being away from you was one of the hardest things i’ve done!” you kinda always hoped the break up hurt scaramouche, even if it was just a little bit. you hoped that seeing you with someone else makes him bite his inner cheek. so it makes you feel better about drawing doodles of him. and making playlists dedicated to him. and learning the stupid piano just so you could play his favourite songs. “you have no right… no right to come back into my life!” your lip quivered, “it took me so long to fall asleep without you. do you know how difficult it is to eat with a heavy heart? maybe you didn’t kill me physically but the world stopped spinning the day you left so if you’re trying to come back the moment i’m starting to feel okay i’m not letting you.” of course you still loved him, but he was the reason why you put such restrictions on love. and now you cant even break your own rules, not even for him. scaramouche opens his mouth to speak but a voice calls out for you.

“hey! ajax is looking for you!” a guest you didn’t even know yelled from across the room. you look at scaramouche one more time before walking past him.

[waffles-art-writing]

Can you do Ghost(mw2) x female reader who is like Yor from spy x family(the jobs she has not the personality)

Female reader also has a child

COD MWII Ghost x Female!Assassin!Reader. (Reader has a child)

Summary: You’re recalled from retirement of being an Assassin, your daughter being your main priority. You end up going back into the field with Task Force 141. After the mainly successful mission, Ghost takes you home after finding out you’re injured but not sever enough to need to go to the medical wing. You share a soft moment with the cold lieutenant, showing the side of the quiet man no one has seen. The next morning the babysitter drops your daughter back home, your young child coming home to a surprise and a face she hasn’t seen since she was a wee babe.

Proofread: Kinda???? Not really

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley X Female Assassin (AFAB)

Age Rating: 16+

Codename: *Whatever you want it to be*

KEY: Y/N - Your Name. L/N - Last Name. C/N - Codename

Warning/Info: FLUFF!!!! Soft!Ghost, Injury Description, COD Violence, Female!Reader, Weapons. It is reasonably long. Call Of Duty Comic Description of Ghost.

If you want a part 2 please comment!!! <3 :) (PART TWO)

I apologise for the lack of posting, stuff irl has been picking up a lot and I will not be able to post as much as I wish I could. And I am applying for a new job which will result in me having to spend less and less time on here. :( but I’ll update when I can.

A screeching sound pierces through your calm, soundless sleep. The ear piercing sound making you groan, rolling over, smacking your hand onto your nightstand, slapping the screen of your phone. The sound comes to a halt, you look at the time. Eyes widening, you didn’t set the earlier alarm. “Shit shit shit.” You curse out, stumbling to pull on some pants, tossing a shirt over your head as you dash down the hall. Stopping to peek into your daughters room, who is fast asleep, covers pulled up to her chin, a foot sticking out of the bed to the side.

A soft smile spreads across your lips as you look at her. Her hair a mess on the pillow, hands wrapped around her stuffed dog toy, snuggled into it. You move away from the door, continuing on your mission to the bathroom, pulling your hair back into a messy bun. Life has been hectic ever since putting your job as an assassin on hold so you can have your daughter, and not end up losing her cause you’re not around enough. Only two people knew about you and your daughter, both of them still working well and truly.

You flick on the bright light in the bathroom, you look towards the mirror. Dark circles rest under your eyes, hair tousled and messy despite it being pulled up in a messy bun. You lean against the bathroom counter, turning the tap on to brush your teeth. Suddenly your phone vibrates, the sound echoing around the cold room, almost amplifying the sound. You tap the green button on the screen not looking who it was.

“Hello?” You answer, your voice quiet to not wake your daughter.

“Morning L/N.” The deep gravely voice of Price comes from the speakers, it almost sends a chill down your spine. You haven’t been called this early by him in a long while. “Morning John, is there something you need?” You cut straight to the point, not wanting to beat around the bush as to why he is calling you so early in the morning, on a week day of all days.

“Straight to the point as always I see. Yes, we need your expertise for an overview of a mission- Yes I know, before you even complain I know you aren’t in the field anymore, or thats what most say but Laswell says otherwise.” You roll your eyes, of course he would know you still do the occasional job but you haven’t done one for years, you aren’t even sure as to how he thinks you could help. “Mission Overview? What could I possibly help with?” You question, your hands running under the cold water to splash it onto your face.

“Its an Capture or kill mission and if the time comes and we, y’know gotta send the target on their merry way to an early grave, we want you to give us an idea on how we should do it.”

“And why can’t you guys figure it out?”

“L/N we need you for this, its a complicated mission… I myself want you in the field and execute this yourself…”

You sigh, running a hand down your face. You worked for KorTac - a mercenary group - and you assisted Price and his team the Task Force 141 on occasion. But you mainly worked solo, the Task Force 141 never met you, other than Price and Laswell. You met Ghost as well, you both stay in contact occasionally, only in case of emergencies… well more like, needing a ride from the base back home on the very rare occasion he decides to go home.

“Pay?” You ask.

“Whatever your rate is, kid.” He replies.

“Good. I’ll be there in 3 hours.” You hear Price reply with confirmation before hanging up the phone. Your fingers drum against the counter.

Okay, cool, doing another job, nothing new right? Just been out of the field for a few years, just gotta warm up a bit thats all… Right?

———

“Okay behave, don’t do anything silly and listen to your teachers. And remember to listen to Amber’s parents okay? Have a good day and a fun sleepover.” You say to your daughter - Emilia - kissing her forehead. “Yep!” She chimes, a smile spread across her cheeks, her braids neatly tucked up into a ponytail. “Good, Love you.” You smile, pulling her into a hug. “Love you too Mama.” She squeezes her arms around your neck, your crouched form still larger than her. Once you let go, she waves goodbye, running into school towards her friends. You smile, quickly turning around to walk towards the car park.

You make your way towards the dark blue sedan you bought far too long ago, still surprised it still works. Your face falls when you see a figure leaning against the hood of it, hands in their pockets, clad in black. Including a cap and what looks like a skull balaclava. You sigh, knowing who it is. Its not a common thing to see people walk around in a skull print mask and clad in full black.

“Lieutenant…” You greet when you reach him, he stands up and nods to you. “C/N…. Or should I call you Miss L/N?” He pokes, his dead pan tone not helping his remark to come across as teasing. You shake your head with a smile, unlocking the car. “I’m assuming you’ve been sent to make sure I end up coming right?”

Ghost shrugs, a small nod accompanying it. “We can’t be too careful…” He states, climbing into the passenger seat as you get into the drivers side. “Right… whatever you say Ghost.” You huff, buckling yourself in as you pull out of the car parking.

———

“The mission will be tough, but I brought an old acquaintance along to help us plan out a strategy. Boys, meet C/N. She has worked with me in the past and used to work for the Mercenary ground KorTac, she now works solo for the government.” Price states as you stand at the front of the room.

“Hello, Yes before you ask I’m what some call an ‘assassin’. I work solo but I haven’t worked in the field for some years now, as I have had other things going on. But I am still qualified to assist you boys in any way to make sure this mission is a success.” You pause, locking eyes with Ghost, he knows you’re nervous to be here again. You continue to inform them the best strategies for them to be able to do this unnoticed, especially while inside.

———

It’s the day of the mission, you managed to get a babysitter for Emilia. She wasn’t all too happy about you leaving for a few days, but you said you’ll be back in not time, and have a gift for her. Which is partly true, you just hope nothing goes south and cause you to stay away longer than you planned. You want to be back by the weekend, or at least before the new school week starts.

Your plan to stay out of the field didn’t last long, Gaz ended up falling sick with food poisoning, pretty bad food poisoning from the amount of time he spent in the bathroom or medical bay yesterday. Still having an upset gut this morning when you arrived at an ungodly hour in the morning, having just dropped Emilia off at the baby sitters.

The team is communicating back and forth over the comms, you’ve managed to infiltrate the building where the target is. The slick walls on the outside not making the job easier. You are definitely a lot less fit than what you thought you were, but still fit enough to keep up with the team and your job on this mission.

Assassinate the target, and get the hell home.

Simple right? Yeah really simple, if it wasn’t a great big warehouse like building with barely any cover or high points for you to use to your advantage.

———

“Got eyes on the target.” You whisper into the comms, slinking along the beams that support the A-Frame ceiling of the warehouse. “Copy that, Ready when you are C/N.” Price states, Ghost and Soap stating something of confirmation.

You step lightly across the beam, your light footwork going unnoticed by the man littering the floor below you. There’s a catwalk just below you, one armed guard standing at a door that leads into the office where your target sits, back to the door and window that overviews the factory.

The guard walks up and down the cat walk intermittently, observing everything below him. Never above him. How stupid.

As soon as the guard passes by under you, reaching a part in the catwalk railing that’s solid sheet metal. You jump down, landing lightly on your feet, the sounds of the factory drowning out your movement. Crouched low you sneak up behind him, slicing the backs of legs, right through the tendons that keep him standing. You spring up, hand covering his mouth to keep him silent. Other arm wrapping around to the front, quick jerk to the side. Lights out.

You gently lay his limp body down, tucking him up against the metal barrier.

“Guards out, preparing to breach the targets office.” You communicate. “Be careful C/N.” Ghost states over the Comms, both him and Soap just downstairs at the entrance, ready to breach if anything goes sideways. “Always am.” You hear Soap snort at your reply as Price growls at you all to focus.

Your skilful hands test the door, it doesn’t budge, the window that’s just a foot or two away from the edge of the cat walk is open. Either pick lock the door and risk getting caught with your back to the open or swing in through the open window and possibly fall and either hurt your self, die, or break all your bones then die by one of the other guards bullets. Either way you could end up dead.

Window.

Quickest way in.

———

The mission was a success, you managed to get into the room, secure the target and kill them. Clean and quietly. Getting out was a different mission entirely, one of the guards spotted the fact they couldn’t see another guard on the cat walk. They investigated and found the slumped body of the dead guard. Immediately yelling for the alarm to be pulled.

Ghost and Soap busted in to draw their attention to them and away from the office, all you had to do was get the fuck out and get to the extraction point. You managed to slip out the window on the far side of the office, but not without being nicked by the a few bullets.

You manage to sprint across the roof, throwing yourself off the edge and landing on top of a large truck with a large thump. You cough harshly, feeling like your ribs got smashed by a sledge hammer. You stumble to your feet, slipping off the side of the truck and sprinting towards the back fence of the compound, you glance to your right, seeing Ghost and Soap climbing the wall quickly. You fling yourself into the fence, dragging yourself over the top, thankful theres not barbed wire.

“C/N? You good?” Soap calls over the comms, you can hear he’s breathless, the faint sound of Ghost in the background barking orders out to the extraction chopper to start the engine. “Y-Yeah…” You wheeze, rushing through the brush of the forest, weaving in and out of trees heading uphill towards the small clearing the chopper is situated in. Your lungs burn, the cold air stinging your eyes and cheeks. The adrenaline numbing the pain in your leg and arm, your ribs still feeling like you’re wearing a corset.

You stumble into the clearing, Ghost and Soap a few paces ahead, the lieutenant spins around. Noticing you’ve arrived, Soap running to the chopper. You nod to Ghost as you approach, Ghost waits for you to pass before following after you into the chopper. You slump down into the uncomfortable chair of the helicopter, adjusting to keep your ribs from being pushed on by the seat strap.

Both the men ask if you’re okay, you wave them off chuckling while wheezing out a “Just a little unfit is all.” Soap chuckles, Ghost just shakes his head lightly, moving forward to signal for the chopper to get you all out of there.

———

Once back in England and on base you get a phone call from the babysitter a normal thing, it’s almost eight thirty in the evening “Hello?” You ask, bringing the phone to your ear as you walk down path towards the entrance of the base, car parked not too far front he entrance. “Hey Miss L/N! Lizzie here, I was just gonna put Emilia to bed. Are you free to talk to her?” The babysitter Lizzie states, it’s almost like a nightly ritual. Every night that you’re not home, whoever is looking after your daughter will call to see if your available to say goodnight to Emilia.

“Yeah I’m free.” You state, stopping at the end of the path by the entrance of the main building, sitting down on the bench outside. You hear Lizzie talking to Emilia, your daughter sounding tired but excited. “MAMA!” She calls through eh phone, you smile a and laugh lightly hearing your daughters voice warms your heart, her sweet voice making you happy. “Hey pumpkin. You behaving?” You ask her, having a teasing tone. “Yeah! We got to watch a movie while eating dinner!” She states happily, you smile listening to her talk about what happened throughout the day.

The door opens and closes, Ghost slips out into the cold evening. His eyes spot you off to the side, its dusk, the flood lights not coming on just yet. He can see your breath in the cold air, billowing out past your lips. His own breath billowing out into the air as he pulls his mask up, he leans against the small wall of the entrance staircase. He shoves he cigarette between his lips, cupping his hands around the flame of the lighter. He hears your laugh, it echos into the evening air. Its warm and light to his ears, his eyes flick up to watch you. He’s too far away to hear what you’re talking about.

You bid Emilia goodnight, shutting off your phone as you shoved it into your jacket pocket. Sighing as you search your small duffle bag for your keys, knowing you threw them in there. You wince, groaning as you lean over, gripping your side with ragged breaths.

Ghost pushes off the wall as soon as he sees you double over on the bench, showing pain. “Hey hey hey… what’s wrong?” He mumbles, flicking his cigarette in front of his boot and stomping it out. Stopping over the smouldering ashes to crouch down in front of you, pulling his mask down quickly as he kneels. “C/N what’s wrong?” He asks, his voice stern as he looks at your scrunched face, pain obvious across your expression. “My ribs- I… I thought they were just bruised.” You wheeze out, sitting back to look at him. His hands ghost over your knees as he stands, sitting next to you.

“Let me check, we don’t want you to go home with broken bones. Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asks, motioning for you to shrug off your jacket. “Just a few grazes from a bullet but I handled them, they weren’t deep.” You groan, pulling your jacket off, your thick jersey and shirt thankfully being warm enough in the crisp air. “Okay, may I touch your ribs? Under your jumper?” The taller man asks, you nod your head turning slightly so your back is facing him. His glove clad hands snake under your jersey and shirt, ghosting over your waist up to your ribs.

“Did you land on your back or front?” He asks, his fingers delicately pressing against your rib cage. “Front, kinda threw myself off the roof onto a truck roof…” you state, flinching when his hands snake around to your front, right under the hem of your sports bra. Rough gloves pressing into your ribs. You wine, flinching away from his hands. “Ow- Watch it lieutenant…” you snap, your body disagreeing with your sudden movements. “M’sorry” he mumbles, he pulls his hands back. Laying your jacket across your shoulders again. “Well nothing is broken from what I could tell, but you’re not driving.” He states, standing from his spot next to you and grabbing your duffle bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

You look at him confused, a brow raise as you slip your arms through eh jacket again, fixing your jersey and shirt in the process. You stand, looking up at the large man. “What? I need to get home, what the hell do you mean Ghost?” You ask, tone almost angry. “I’m driving you home, you shouldn’t drive when you have damaged ribs.” He states, keeping his explanation to a minimum. You sigh shaking your head as you follow him, he ready knows where your car is. You both arrived in the same vehicle so thankfully he remembered where you parked.

———

The drive back to your place was quiet, the occasional question, or observation. Ghost helps you out of your car, his hand ghosting over the small of your back guiding you up the stairs of the small apartment. “You didn’t have to walk me to my door, Ghost.” You state, unlocking the door and pushing the door open. Toeing off your boots by the door and dumping your bag on the couch as you walk past it, Ghost follows you in, leaving his boots by the door while closing it and locking it. He immediately walks towards your bathroom, he’s been here a few times, he knows the layout like the back of his hand. “Ghost? The hell are-” “Finding your med kit, take your shirt off, I need to properly check your ribs.” You stare down the corridor towards the bathroom with a shocked expression. You throw your coat over the back of the couch, walking down the hallway towards the bathroom, passing it towards your bedroom at the end of the hallway. “I’m in my room just so you know.” You call out, grabbing the hem of your jersey, wincing when you tug it up.

You jump at the feeling of calloused hands resting over yours. “G-Ghost?” You stutter, feeling his presence behind you, his breathing quiet and muffled by his mask. “Let me help.” He offers, more like stating he is going to help you even if you deny it. You lift your arms above your head, wincing at the movement. He tugs the heavy fabric carefully over your head, throwing it over to the hamper in the corner. You wince you turn around, looking up at the taller man. “Why… Why are you doing this?” You ask, brows furrowed.

“You go n’one else to help you, and I know that you wouldn’t get help.” He states, gently pulling your dark shirt up and over your head as well, your sports bra on full display. Ghost’s eyes linger on your chest for a second before quickly adverting his eyes to the medkit on your bed. “Sit down.” He mumbles as he opens the small bag, kneeling down in front of you. You sit with your arms tucked around your stomach, conscious of how you look.

You have always been conscious of your body, especially after your pregnancy. Your tummy never got back to as toned and flat as it was before. Stretch marks paint your hips and thighs, and your lower abdomen like tiger stripes, rough to the touch and unpleasant to look at. Ghost grabs the anti inflammatory cream from the kit, pulling his gloves off and warming the cream up in his hands. You stare at the movement of his hands, mind wandering to thoughts you never thought you would have again.

What would his hands feel like, I wonder if his touch is soft - he lays wears gloves maybe he has soft hands? Maybe they are rough, like his personality. What his he doesn’t like what I look like and thinks I’m disgusting, what if he thinks pathetic for being in pain. What if-

“Y/n?” Ghost asks, he’s being saying your name for the past few moments. You snap your attention back to him, letting out a small ‘huh?’ When you notice him looking at you with slightly furrowed brows. “Can I put the cream on?” He asks, his voice quiet, his hands resting on your legs, palms facing up with the cream smeared across them. “Oh… uh yeah…” A small blush of embarrassment paints your cheeks as you sit straighter, arms resting across your tummy. Ghost watches you sit up properly, reluctant to move your arms. He attempts to work around your arms, gently spreading the cream across your ribs. His hands are calloused but his touch his soft but firm enough to make sure the cream spreads.

“…Love, I need you to move your arms…” He states softly, his eyes looking up to yours, his soft with concern. You furrow your brows, looking away as you move your arms, the yellow light from your lamp glowing softly across your skin. The light bumped stretch marks marring your skin, the deep colour a large contrast against the rest of your skin, most of them have lightened but a few are still dark. You flinch when you feel his hands move lower along your rib cage.

He hasn’t said anything, quiet, like always, eyes analysing everything he is doing in great detail.

He finishes rubbing the cream in after gently lifting the side of your sports bra to get under the cloth, gently massaging the cream into your sore body. “Its still going to be bruise to shit, you’ll have to be careful…” He mumbles, he gently takes your left arm into his hands, peeling back the bandage you haphazardly wrapped around while back on the base. He smears the residue of the cream around the wound, “You did a good job at cleaning it…. Just half assed bandage” he teases lightly, re wrapping your arm with a clean bandage.

You shrug, handing your head, eyes trained on his knee thats pressing into the plush carpet of your room. The same carpet you paid too much money for and installed it yourself while almost 3 months pregnant. A lot of tears have been shed on this carpet, some blood but mainly tears. You hear him say something, your mind elsewhere as you mindlessly shake your head. Not a hundred percent sure on what you were disagreeing too.

You never noticed how detailed his tattoo is, its on display as he takes his jacket off, rolling his long sleeve up. The permanent ink thats been delicately painted into his skin stand out against the rest of his pale skin tone. The scars he’s gained after the tattoo break the ink in small lines, mostly the ink has stayed. His hands are large, rough but gentle. He’s always been a tough and scary man on the outside but you can see he has the same needs as anyone else. Love, affection and care… even partnership. Yes he has the team but he needs something more, but he’s scared, hesitant. Horrified if he gets too attached or too close with someone he cares about he will lose them, he’s terrier he will do the wrong thing, scare them off, pained himself in the a bad light he’s always been known to hold.

Ghost eventually gets to check the bullet graze on your thigh, its shallow. Still needing antibiotic cream and a new bandage, your track pants that unzip up your mid thigh are scrunched up around your hips and upper thigh as he works on your injury. Mumbling something as you hold the clothing out of the way.

“…Can you stay the night?”

Ghost’s movements cease for a brief moment, his breathing stilling as he glances up at you then back down at the bandage he’s wrapping around your thigh. You stay silent, looking at him. Hands itching to do something, but you can’t.

“…Sure…” he replies after a moment.

You nod your head, happy that he agreed. A little anxious despite the fact you know him, he knows you. Fuck he even knows your daughter since she was a wee babe, but hasn’t seen her for some years. She probably won’t remember him at all. She was barely three when he met her, she’s now turning six in a week.

Ghost zips your track pants back up, pulling the fabric down your leg. His hands linger on your covered calf. Fingers pressing in the muscle gently as he stares blankly. You can see he’s thinking, thinking to the point of being motionless. You lean forward, ignoring the slight pain thats throbbing throughout your body. You reach down a tap his hand thats on your calf, knowing he isn’t fond of physical touch. “Ghost…” you whisper, trying to draw him out of his thoughts.

He snaps his head up to look at you, eyes set at a hard glare which soften slightly when he realises its you. You give him a soft smile. “You okay?” You ask softly, his hands falling away from your calf, the warmth going with it. You miss it, the comforting weight and warmth of his large hands gripping your calf. He nods his head as he cleans his throat, standing to clean up the med kit and discard of the old bandages. “Yeah, I’ll be right back… Get uh…” he pauses glancing over at you when he turns to walk to the door. “Change and get into bed, I’ll get you water an a pain killer.” He states, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Ghost shuts the door softly, careful to not slam it. He glances down at his watch. 2245 (10:45pm) he groans quietly, nudging the bathroom door open again the put the med kit back in the sink cabinet.

Why the hell did I agree to stay? What the fuck is wrong with me? Her skin was so soft… Her stretch marks were fucking amazing- FUCK I can’t think like this. I need to stop thinking like this, we are friends… are we even friends? What is she hates me and Is only offering for me to stay out of sympathy or it being late? God she has a kid, I can’t just barge into their life and be the man they see with their mother. I’m not a go-

His thoughts get cut short when he spots a photo of the fridge door, one side of it ripped, torn off. He reaches up and slides it out from under the sunflower magnet. The photo is of you, smiling as bright as the sun thats beaming in through the tree tops. Emilia is cradled in your arms, clearly only a few months old. Her big eyes beaming in sunlight, same colour as yours. Ghost’s fingers trace the ripped edge of the photo, he knew who was supposed to be there. He quickly pins it back to the fridge before taking the pain killers and water to your room.

———

You watch as Ghost places the bottle of water and pain killers on the bedside table. You’re sitting in bed, bag t-shirt and shorts. You look up at ghost, patting the bed next to you. Ghost stares for a moment, shocked you want him in your bed and not to just crash on the couch.

He opens his mouth to deny but you beat him to it. “You aren’t sleeping on that piece of shit couch, you’re staying in here with me. And thats final.” You state, tone firm. Ghost looks from you to the open space on the king sized bed next to you. His eyes flickering back and forth over and over again. “Sleeping on top of the blankets.” He mumbles out, knowing we won’t be able to get past your stubborn attitude, you’re a mother. You know how to get your way. You smile, a soft one of reassurance. You throw a spare shirt at him and point towards the box in the corner.

“Stole this from you a year ago cause you forgot to take it with you after you did your washing here…” You chuckle lightly, “The box should have some basketball shorts or something you can wear. They were my brothers that he gave to me when I was pregnant cause they were bigger than my clothes.” Ghost just nods, crouching down in front of the box and searching through it, he knows you would be angry at him if he slept in his clothes he wore that day.

He looks over at you then towards the lamp next to you, you get the idea and turn over. Back facing him, hand resting on the switch to turn it off as soon as you feel the bed dip behind you. It feels like an eternity for him to lay on the bed, even though he’s on top of the covers. You can hear a small groan emitting from his side of the bed, you flick the switch. The room delving into darkness, the only light peeking out from under our door, the nightlight that sits in the hallway for Emilia happily lighting under the dark corridor.

It quiet, apart from your breathing and Ghost’s muffled breaths, and the starting pitter patter of rain hitting the window. You turn to lay on your back, keeping your eyes on the ceiling.

“Thank you.”

Your soft words break the silence, Ghost looks at you from the corner of his eye. He’s laying like a dead man, straight as board, hands clasped together over his stomach as he looks towards the ceiling.

He hums in response, he turns his head to look at you properly, the dim light from the hallway making it practically impossible to see anything, but his eyes have adjusted easily. He reaches over to clasp your hand thats resting on your own stomach overtop the blankets. Squeezing it softly, letting you know he heard you. A small smile creeps up onto your lips. You turn onto your side, facing him now. He copies your action, bodies mirroring each other as your hands lay clasped together between the two of you. You let out a small sigh, his hand squeezes yours when he hears the heavy breath.

“Emilia would’ve jumped in between us if she was here, she doesn’t like when it starts raining late at night.” You state, smiling to yourself as you trace Ghost’s broad silhouette in the dark room. The small amount of light peeking through the thing curtains behind him on the far side of the room. “So she’s scared of rain?” Ghost’s rough voice cuts through the quiet, the gravel in his voice hoarse but still has a soft tone to it as he tries to talk quietly.

You shrug, unsure what she’s actually scared of. “I think it’s more when it suddenly pours down and it’s dark, the sound and lack of light scares her.” You hum, still trying to figure out what your daughter is scared of, even though you have reassure her many times that its just rain. You hear the deep rumble of Ghost making a humming like sound, like he’s thinking.

“Well… I’m sure there’s no monsters, you’re scary enough” he teases, squeezing your hand. You feign hurt, gasping and swatting his chest lightly. A giggle leaving you, a small, breathy almost non existent chuckle rumbles from Ghost’s chest. “God, if the Ghost thinks I’m scary, I really must be.” You laugh, teasing him back. Your ribs hurt from your laughter, but you’re too caught up in the fact you are hearing the one and only Lieutenant Riley laughing, laying on your bed, your hand in his.

“Nah, yer alright. You’re scary, but not as scary as Price when he hasn’t had his morning coffee” he jokes, tugging you closer slightly, he’s still on top of the blankets. His arm wrapping around your waist, careful on your sore ribs. “That’s true.” You agree, laughing softly as you place a hand on his chest, feather lightly touches run along your back. Your head tucked under his chin, his mask still on. Thankfully he didn’t wear the hard skull one and just a simple fabric one with a skull print.

Your laughter slowly ceases, breathing going back to normal. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you speak up again.

“Thank you again… This means a lot Ghost.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Simon…”

“What?”

“Call me Simon…”

Your eyes widen at his words, a warm feeling flooding your chest as you tuck your face into the nook between his shoulder and neck.

“Thank you Simon.”

“Anytime Y/n”

His words were barely a whisper, you fall back into silence. Its nice, the heat from his body keeping you warm, eating your pain in a way you didn’t think was possible. The pain killers probably taking most the credit for the lack of pain, yet the sense of security and comfort falls over you. Your eyes slide shut, breathing evening out as sleep pulls you into the depths of slumber.

“Goodnight, Love.”

————

You walk out of your room, hair messy, rubbing your eyes, feet padding across the hardwood of the hallway. Mind still in sleep mode. You round the corner into the kitchen from the hallway, bumping into something… more like someone. You wobble as you lose your balance, arms snake around your waist quickly, pulling you close.

“Careful, I don’t wanna take you to the hospital cause you broke your ass.” A deep voice chuckles, you look up, bleary eyed and confused. “O-Oh… Sorry Gho- Simon…” You apologies, rubbing a hand down your face with a groan, leaning your forehead against his chest. He’s changed into his cargo pants from the day before, same shirt from last night. It fits a little tight across his chest and his biceps but not too tight.

“Drinks on the coffee table, go sit down.” He states, his voice still laced with sleep. You look at him confused, glancing over at the coffee table. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to.” You state, walking over to the couch and slumping into it.

“I’m not the one who looks like I got ran over by a bus.” He teases as he walks over, bowl of fruit in hand and more painkillers and a glass of water. You thank him as he hands them to you, he sits next to you on the couch. “Feeling any better?” He asks, voice quiet. You nod your head, scooping some fruit into your mouth. The comfortable quiet gets broken by a knock at the door, you jump from your spot. “Shit” you mumble around a mouthful of fruit. “That’s Lizzie with Emilia.” You state stumbling from the couch, placing the bowl of fruit on the table, throwing your hair back into some sort of up-do. Simon stands from his spot, hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “Sit back down, I’ll get it.” He states, turning to go to the door.

“Wait Simon you still got-” you were gonna say hes still got his mask on, it will scare Lizzie and Emilia and confused them both as well. But your words die in your throat as you watch him tug it over his head, stuffing it in his pocket. You didn’t realise until now he must’ve washed the black war paint off when he got up. You watched in stunned silence, the man who never takes the mask off, ever. Has now taken it off, his dark short cut hair on display.

With baited breath you watch as the door opens, Lizzie coming into view with Emilia standing next to her gripping her hand. Lizzie looks up at the taller male with wide eyes, filled with confusion. You’re too shocked to register any words being exchanged between the two, you’re shaken from your trance when Simon turns to face you with a small smile. Jaw covered with a light stubble, dark chocolate eyes, a small scar cuts into his brow, two other scars rest just above his other brow. His nose is sharp, jawline defined. On his left another scars cuts through his top lip going up to the outer edge of his nose. There’s a another scar that paints his skin from the bridge of his nose trailing to the right, ending on his cheek bone below his eyes.

“MAMA!” Emilia screams, snapping you out of the trance properly. You crouched down catching her in your arms, ignoring the fact she just rammed straight into your heavily bruised ribs. “Hey pumpkin! I missed you so much.” Emilia wraps her arms around your neck, legs clinging to your waist like a koala as you stand up. Your arms scooped under her to support her properly as you walk over to stand next to Simon. “Thanks a lot Lizzie. I’ll go get your pay-” Simon stops you from moving towards the kitchen island to get your wallet. “Already paid her.” He states, hand resting on your lower back as you look up at him. Emilia looks between the two of you smiling. Lizzie waves it off and says shes happy to do it again, you bid her goodbye and close the door.

Emilia dragged Simon off to her room while you talked to Lizzie, saying something about wanting to show him her stuffed toys. You thank Lizzie again, showing your appreciation for her looking after your daughter. Once you closed the door, you stroll down the hallway. Hearing the rumbling timbre of Simon’s voice softly echoing around the apartment. You reach Emilia’s room, leaning against the door frame, you bite your tongue to not giggle at the sight in front of you.

There’s stands, Simon Ghost Riley, Clad in black cargo pants and a dark grey shirt. Sitting Criss Cross Apple Sauce on the floor, the pastel pink fluffy rug below him a strong contrast to his clothing. Emilia is rambling on about her stuff toys, pulling each stuffed animal off her bed to show the large man. Simon’s eyes are soft, just the barest hint of a smile on his lips as he nods along to Emilia’s words.

“And this one is Burt! He’s a water dragon! See!” The young girl states, a large smile on her face, cheeks rosy from excitement to showing a new person her toys. “Nice to meet you Burt.” Simon greets the toy, probably the umpteenth one he has greeted in the span of five minutes. “Nice to meet you too Mr. Simon!” Emilia states, hanging her voice to sound like a boyish drawl. You can’t help but chuckle at this, walking into the room when they both look over at you.

“I see your toys like Mr. Simon quite a lot, sweetheart.” You smile, taking a seat on the ground, knees tucked beneath you. Emilia smiles, nodding her head as she grabs another toy, leaving the small blue dragon next to Simon, like the rest of the toys she’s shown him so far. “She’s very confident and friendly for a kid.” Simon quietly states, keeping his voice low to talk to you. You nod and shrug your shoulders, a small smirk on your lips. “Yeah, I guess so. She always has been.”

“Mr. Simon… are you staying the night?” Emilia ask’s suddenly, gripping her favourite stuffed dog, in her hands. Simon looks from the young girl to you, in which you just nod to Emilia. “If your mum says I can.” He states, his tone soft. Emilia’s eyes light up, she jumps towards you, pressing the dog toy into your chest. “Please mama! Please please please! Can he stay!” She asks, more like demands. You laugh lightly, scooping the young girl up in your arms. Cradling her against you, humming in a a question manner. “Hmmm. I don’t see why not. SO yes, he can stay.” You conclude, laughing when Emilia squeals in excitement. “Thank you thank you!” She dashes from her spot in your arms, towards her bedroom door. “I gotta go build a fort for movies! Don’t come over till I’m done!” She states, dashing towards the living room, her bare feet pounding against the hardwood.

“Well… Look’s like you have a fan.” You tease the quiet man, a small smile on your lips as your eyes soften when you see him. His large and scarred hands softly gripping the small dragon toy in his hands. “Seem’s so… Guess I’m going to be spending more time here.” He states, standing as he places the toy back on the bed. You stand next to him, leaning up and leaving a light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you…” you softly state, placing a hand on his upper arm before leaving the room when you hear Emilia yell something about needing help.

Simon watches you leave, a hand ghosting over his cheek. His chest tightening with emotion, it feels tight but its almost comforting. He shakes his head as he follows you out, planning to help Emilia with her ‘fort’.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

VALENTINO & VOX | ⅔ of THE VEES (Hazbin Hotel)

—

“Live Demonstration” (Valentino & Fem!Reader & Vox)

| After constantly fighting their authority Vox sends you to watch an execution in order to scare you into submission; Valentino couldn’t make your situation any worse if he tried.

| SFW, 16+, non-romantic, no polyamory, non-sexual, canon typical violence & gore, (TW: descriptions of a brutal death, Valentino, but no seriously the Vees kind of are their own trigger warning in this fandom), this shit is mean

| A branch-off oneshot from this post (an imagine), but can also be read as a stand-alone.

| Pic source: Hazbin Hotel S1

| 1k+ words

⚠︎ I DO NOT ENDORSE VIVZIEPOP (& associated parties) but I did watch the show and wanted to write for it , so idk ⚠︎

You’re still standing, rooted in place with your gaze stuck on the singular severed finger that managed to survive the feeding frenzy. It’s the only thing in the tank you can still see at all; the clear water had gone a red so thick you couldn’t see any of the sharks except for when one of their fins grazed the glass.

Everything around you feels staticy like it hasn’t since you first spawned in Hell trapped in a body completely foreign to you. Being forced to function with misshapen limbs like a bird thrown from the nest didn’t hold a candle to this shit though.

The speakers lined high along the walls around you come to life.

“Are you finally finished with wasting our time with your fruitless escape attempts?”

Vox’s voice booms unavoidably through the room, every decibel of his lax tone overflowing the floor of the tower you’re on and flooding your brain to the brim.

Where your arms are crossed your hands wrapped around your forearms tighten.

He sounds less like he just ordered a man to be eaten alive right before you and more like he’s booking a frivolous appointment for a wife he can’t stand, put upon sigh and all.

A few moments pass where the hopes you had for escape and revenge fall to pieces at your feet. Directly afterward you blink away the veil of red in front of you and look up to nod at one of the dozens of cameras around you.

“I’ll be needing verbal agreement, actually,” he drawls, voice still loud enough to vibrate your internal biological systems.

The grip you have on yourself is starting to ache.

“Yes, Vox. No more escape attempts, you’ve made your point.”

The camera you're talking to is as unfeeling as ever but you’d take the clinical paranoia of constant observation over a personal visit from Vox any day. You knew how quickly he could get to you and you did not want to tempt him.

“I sure hope so,” he mutters, voice cutting and snide, before his voice animates for the first time since he began speaking; show host cadence coming out in full force. “Glad we could finally come to such a beneficial agreement for us both!” He cuts the act then, tone mellowing, “Now, try not to do anything too drastic, I’ll be needing her for a presentation in an hour. Otherwise I don’t care what you get up to.”

He clicks off, the speakers going dead once more.

With a clipped breath you glance around the room after his final warning, brows furrowing.

That hadn’t been for you.

What you find after turning around makes you stiffen and the sinner to blame grins at you from where he’s leaning inside the door frame, all four arms crossed over his torso.

You blink, face dropping as his name falls like stone from your mouth. “Valentino.”

One of his bottom hands lifts so he can wave his fingers at you and then he’s pushing off the door to saunter closer. His steps are too deliberate for you not to rock back on your heels where you stand.

He sighs, this airy melodramatic thing that doesn’t sway you to him one bit. As if your personal interest was of any actual concern to him though.

“Voxy’s so mean sometimes, isn’t he? Forcing you to watch all this.” Stopping beside you he casts a disgusted look at the bloody water that managed to spill over around the sides of the tank. The sight of it makes you shiver and Valentino looks at you, his mouth flipping into a frown as he reaches out to clasp a dainty hand atop your shoulder.

His eyes are sparkling when they meet your own though, and his grip is too firm. Even his body is commandeering too much of your space despite his slender figure.

A thick perfume permeates from his glands that you’d probably find pleasant smelling in another context, tangy and sweet as it is; it’s similar to how you never once found the sound of CPU fans whirling unpleasant until being around Vox long enough to equate it as the precursor to his patience waning and his ire compounding right before he ordered something drastic and sadistic. Or how the staccato clack of heels never used to make you start cataloging exits till you met Velvette and her fatal storm of demands for absolute perfection and unrelenting need to snuff out her competition.

His thumb digs harshly into the edge of your shoulder blade.

“Pobrecita,” Valentino coos, his other upper arm coming up so that he can press his fingers into your cheek and force you to keep your gaze on him. His thumb swipes through the tacky tear line running from your eye and he clicks his tongue. “He’s too harsh sometimes. Personally I wouldn’t have put these pretty tears to waste, but you know how Vox is. Too much machine, not enough man.”

He talks like you’re friends. Like his platitudes do you any favors. Valentino and Vox are similar in that way; rarely did their delivery ever match the situation or social cues of the moment. Velvette was often the same but after your internet beef a few days back she’d grown bored of you and moved on. As of now her chats with you had mellowed into something that could be seen as amicable out of context even.

With you successfully cowed you suspected Vox would soon do the same, only bothering with you when he had need of you.

Valentino however….

You watch the way he abandons the frown to let his grin curl back over glossed lips and something in your gut tightens.

Looking up at another one of Vox’s cameras from over his shoulder is useless but you do it anyway. There was no doubt in your mind that he was watching, just knowledge that sat like a weight in your gut that he sure as shit wouldn’t be your savior.

“It’s okay to admit you were scared, you know?” His smile hitches a little higher and his antennae twitch. “Were you scared? Did the little bug's death hurt your feelings?”

His words make you rankle.

“I’m fine,” you ground out.

The Overlord scoffs like you’ve said something absurd and suddenly it’s as if yellow wallpaper shifts in your peripheral.

Black, and female, and delusional— hysterical; that’s what you’d be now if he did something to you and you went crying around about it, nevermind that your dark ever-shackled flesh had been ripped from your core and replaced with something more demonic, you hadn’t been a patron of Hell long enough for your human mind to corrode entirely. And you were yet again unfairly bondaged regardless.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” in an instant his grin turns from placating to harsh as his expression storms over, “I like that you’re scared. Vox gets so sexy when he puts his foot down, but you? You get a bit unremarkable, if I’m being honest.”

He flicks one of his lower hands, rolling his eyes.

“You glaze over like a wet cat. Hm, Miedosa? Those tears weren’t only from frustration were they?” He shakes his head. “If you felt so bad, why didn’t you go in there and save them then?”

The hand on your cheek shifts to grip both sides of your jaw. He shakes your head, fingers tight as they grind into your teeth through your skin and leave an ache that swiftly travels through the rest of your face and settles.

He regards you coolly, the way one might an ant.

“Nothing? Alright, I’ll tell you why,” he purrs, eyes going lidded as he leans in, “it’s because you’re our bitch now. And bitches do as they’re told.”

For a second all you do is gape, eyes wide and mouth open as much as his grip will allow. That doesn’t last awfully long.

Soon after you’re sneering wordlessly up at him, hands balling at your sides so harshly they tremble.

Valentino chuckles, dark and coiling and somehow just as all encompassing in your brain’s real estate as Vox’s voice over the intercom had been.

“I can’t wait to ruin you,” he whispers, eyes burning through you as he racks his gaze over your face before he’s pulling away and walking off without another word.

You hear him say something ridiculous to Travis from the hallway but it doesn’t alienate the tension strung through you like a live wire and for over a half hour you stare, face void of expression, into the closed door he’d come through until Vox calls for you.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

I— deeply apologize for Valentino, I do. My little blurb with him kind of got away from me if I’m being honest, but I’m not even kind of mad at it.

Also, I’m almost completely sure that my use of Pobrecito/a is correct (I’ve had it said to me for years, I just had to look up the spelling), but my use of Miedosa I’m not as sure about. I wanted to post this now, but I will be changing shit accordingly once I get “outside consultation”. Either way I’m not a Spanish speaker so don’t take me as a source.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

—

Spanish words of the day (how they were used in this fic): “Pobrecita” - poor baby.

“Miedosa” - Scaredy Cat; Coward.

Alt. Banner (scrapped) —

[sufrimientilia]

The Director

humiliation | dehumanization | conditioning @augusnippets Day 16

cw: medical/lab setting, subject whumpee, captivity, see above

The operating theater was dim and quiet, free of machines and stainless metal trays and the buzz of nurses poking at every part of him. Maybe that was a good sign.

Although the observation deck overhead was dimly lit up as well. That definitely wasn’t.

He had been forced into some cushy padded chair. The researcher fussing over him was a vaguely familiar and unwelcome face by now, and most of the time she didn’t even bother speaking directly to him. “Director. I have been looking forward to showing you the progress we’ve made with this study. I think you’ll be… quite impressed.”

She was squeaky today, talking up to one big reflective wall. Like she had something to prove.

He pulled at his restraints. “Really chose your star student for this one, huh?”

“You’re aware of my efforts to achieve a state of neuroplasticity for our behavioral conditioning program,” the researcher continued unfettered, propping a halo-shaped machine right over his head. “Through exhaustive trials, I’ve finally achieved an inducible state of docility and submission. Each brain reacts so differently, but we are particularly proud of Subject 3B-167. He has taken to the induction very well.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” He started fighting even harder. The padded cuffs always had such a distinct way of cutting into his wrists and ankles, raw and ragged even under layers of gauze. “I haven’t taken to shit! All you do is drug me and cut me open and act like a fuckin’ cu—”

The machine gave one shrill little tone and lit up with a ring of blue light. Every part of him locked up like it was electricity, a single lightning strike through every muscle, clenching and stretching his skin gaunt. It lasted only as long as the beep, and then he just went slack— limp and lifeless, eyes glazed, mouth dropping open under the blue haze.

“Initial findings are promising: we’re seeing a consistent reduction in resistance, with the subject entering a compliant state in under three seconds.” She flicked her fingers in front of his eyes. He didn’t even twitch. “His reactivity varies, but most cognitive faculties are effectively shut down.”

She flicked off the blue light. The subject jerked and shuddered hard, blinking like it was just an odd muscle spasm. And then he kept on fighting without skipping another beat, not realizing the gap in his efforts. “—cunt! You stupid cunt! What are you trying to—ghh-”

The light flicked on and he slumped under its glow. She pushed his head back against the headrest. “I’ve tested this across various states of consciousness, but the results are especially intriguing when the subject is under duress. It seems the stress amplifies the effectiveness of the trigger. We can achieve total behavioral suppression.”

She dimmed the light until it turned off. This time he took longer to snap out of it, blinking hard before pulling in a sharp breath. He exchanged her observant stare with a confused one before finally lifting his head. He looked around. “What… What the hell’s going on?”

“Repeated therapies make the subject highly suggestible and seems to affect memory retention. He doesn’t even remember most of the procedures.” She sounded amused here. “Each reset wipes the slate clean.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, lady?”

The blue ring. His pupils blew wide. His neck kept landing at an uncomfortable, awkward angle, and the researcher shoved his head back before he could drool all over himself. “His defiance is only a facade now. Gone in an instant.”

When the light shut off, it took a long moment for him to regain his bearings. His brow hardened— frustration, maybe, like everything was too slow to follow. “Why ‘m I…” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He glared up at the researcher. “Just get it over with or lemme go, why are y—”

The blue light flicked on. Every part of him surrendered to the misty glow, eyes rolling upwards to give the halo a blank stare. “It feels good to obey,” the researcher said, following the same compliance protocols. “Resistance fades; obedience remains.”

Next time the light turned off, he barely woke up. He stayed slumped against the padded chair, dazed and confused, blinking owlishly at the dark ring hovering above him. “What ‘re you… doing…”

“Subject 3B-167. Follow my finger closely.” His gaze tracked a slow horizontal. Up and down. “Very good. Noted for compliance.”

“Wha’?” He weakly pulled at the restraints. “Mm not, n’no…”

A twilight haze of blue. His gaze roamed along the arc of it, enraptured and lost, paralyzed all over by the usual mantras. A subject’s identity is in their obedience. Obedience is his natural state. He exists to obey. Obey, obey, obey.

Eventually, the light dimmed all the way and the subject was still a drooling mess. He didn’t snap out of it, not even with enough prodding and pushing. He just mumbled out an incoherent string of sound and stared at the empty ring.

“From here we would move on to hypnotic conditioning. I find the subjects tend to be incredibly receptive in this state,” the researcher said, standing proudly next to her mindless subject like he was some pretty prototype. “My next phase will involve refining the protocols to ensure long-term compliance without the need for constant reinforcement. It will take time, but we're on a good track."

The microphone from the other side of the glass finally sparked to life, and it was with the greatest approval to be had from The Director: “Keep going. I want to see more.”

[persevereforahappyending]

Maybe in Another Life |12|

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 Battle of The Labyrinth Spoilers

Word Count: 3.1k+

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 were in Clarisse’s bathroom finishing setting up everything you’d need to create a rainbow. You had the shower running, Clarisse found a smaller mirror you could use to help reflect that light from the window to the mirror above the sink. It took a few minutes but once everything was positioned properly you pulled out a gold drachma, your last one, and tossed it into the rainbow.

You closed your eyes after a minute, silently hoping this would work. Your eyes snapped open when you heard Thalia’s voice, yelling at some of the other Hunters about how to set up the camp. You let out a shaky breath, the noise seeming to draw Thalia’s attention.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “You’re alive.”

“Language!” You heard one of your sisters yell. A moment later she popped up through the mist, her eyes widening as soon as she saw you. “Oh, my gods, you’re alive!”

“Get Artemis,” Thalia demanded, your sister instantly took off at the order. “I can’t believe you’re alive, what happened?”

You nodded; you probably shouldn’t have been so surprised at their shock. You knew you had just up and disappeared, but you didn’t think they’d all assume you were dead.

“What’s going on?” Artemis’s voice came, a second later she appeared next to Thalia. She turned, her eyes widening upon seeing you.

“Apologies my goddess,” you rasped out. Your voice suddenly a lot drier than it had previously been. “I did not mean to disappear on you.” You bowed your head slightly.

“What happened?” Artemis asked softly. “We were beginning to think the worst.” Even through the iris message you could see the care and worry in your goddesses’ eyes. The loss of Zoe was still fresh and then you up and disappeared for you didn’t know how long, you were sure it wasn’t easy on Artemis or the Hunters.

“You look like shit,” Thalia said. Artemis quickly shot her a glare and Thalia was quick to mumble an apology. “Seriously, did you like take a shortcut through the underworld?”

“I wish,” you sighed. “I was downtown, picking up the ambrosia and nectar when I saw Clarisse.” Thalia’s widened in shock, but Artemis tilted her head at the unknown person. “She’s a daughter of Ares from camp Half-Blood.”

“The one you’ve been communicating with,” Artemis concluded.

Your entire body tensed up. Artemis knew you were talking to someone from camp you had befriended but she didn’t know much more. You were afraid of her knowing more, if she saw you and Clarisse together, there was no doubt in your mind that she’d pick up on the fact that you had feelings for the other girl. You might not have crossed any lines yet but that didn’t mean Artemis would be forgiving. She could decide Clarisse was a distraction and order you to cut contact with her. Still, you nodded nonetheless, confirming what Artemis already knew.

“She’s the one that’s been missing,” Thalia added. You furrowed your brow at that. You weren’t too surprised that Chiron and the camp knew she was gone but you weren’t sure how Thalia knew. “I talked to Annabeth.” Now that made sense.

“Chiron asked us to keep an eye out for a missing camper,” Artemis said. “He mentioned how they hadn’t met their check-in’s and last he heard from them they were still in the city.”

“How long were we gone?” You asked. You tried processing everything they were telling you. A day or two would be worrisome but not enough to inform others. If Chiron asked Artemis and the Hunters to keep an eye out that meant you had to have been in the labyrinth for a significant amount of time.”

“Three months.” Your eyes widened at that. You were thinking maybe a few weeks at most, not three whole months.

“It only felt like two days,” you mumbled to yourself. Two days in the labyrinth, one night, and yet on the outside world it had been three months.

“You found it,” Thalia whispered, her eyes widening.

Your eyes snapped back up to hers. You shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew about the mission. She talked to Annabeth regularly, they were best friends, she was probably the only person outside of Annabeth, Chiron, and Clarisse to know about it. You slowly nodded your head.

“What were you doing with her?” Artemis asked. “How did you end up in the labyrinth?” You weren’t even surprised that she knew as well, Chiron probably informed her what Clarisse was working on when she went missing.

“I saw Clarisse looking around a hotel across the street from where I was,” you said. “I knew she was on a secret mission but didn’t know what for. After she told me, I suggested searching the basement instead of outside the hotel.”

“You know she was supposed to just find the door not actually enter, right?” Thalia snarked.

You gave Thalia an unamused look. “That wasn’t intentional.” You glanced back to the closed bathroom door, you could hear Clarisse mumbling and moving around as she talked to Chris. “There was a monster, we took cover and it ended up being the door to the labyrinth.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Yeah, we-” there was a loud bang as if something had been thrown at the bathroom door.

“What was that?”

You kept your attention on the door, ignoring Thalia’s question. There was more banging, and you heard Clarisse yelling. You took a step towards the door, ready to fling it open and help Clarisse with whatever she was dealing with. You waited a second and the banging eventually died down.

“You good?” you called out. You needed to be sure that Clarisse answered you and it hadn’t gotten quite because Chris did something.

“Yeah,” Clarisse called out, though it was muffled through the door.

You let out a shaky breath, looking up to the ceiling. “Sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “We found Chris.”

Thalia furrowed her brow. “Chris, Chris?” she asked. You nodded, watching as her eyes widened. “Chris Rodriguez, Chris?”

“Yeah.”

“Where the hell did you find him?” Thalia gestured with her hands.

“Arizona,” you sighed tiredly. Thalia raised her eyebrows at that. “We followed one of Hephaestus’ mechanical spiders, it led us to the door that got us out of the labyrinth which apparently was in Arizona.” You could only shrug, you were glad they knew about the labyrinth because your words sounded insane.

“And why is he still with you?” Thalia asked hesitantly.

You opened and closed your mouth a few times. You glanced back at the door as if you could see through it, you remembered the look Clarisse had in her eyes upon seeing Chris like that. You didn’t know how close Clarisse and Chris were before his betrayal, she had never mentioned him, but it was clear she cared for him. Getting him back to her house wasn’t easy, he fought the both of you at every turn, but Clarisse had still treated him with kindness. You wanted to just knock him out and drag him back, but she didn’t seem to want to hurt him.

“He’s not right,” you said quietly, looking down at the ground. “I don’t know what happened to him in the labyrinth but whatever it was,” you shook your head, flicking your gaze up to meet Thalia and Artemis’s. “It wasn’t good.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Artemis said. “Where are you now?”

“Clarisse’s,” you looked around. “Got lucky it seems, we popped out not to far from her place.”

“We’re camping for the night.”

“Where? I can meet you.” You didn’t want to leave Clarisse so soon after surviving what the two of you just did but you needed to be back with your sisters.

“Rest.” Though Artemis’s tone was soft you couldn’t help but frown. “You look like you need it. We’re leaving at first light, if you leave early morning, we should be able to meet up. You know our usual spot just north of you?”

“Of course,” you nodded. The Hunters always stopped in the same spot if they were passing by. It was a gorgeous natural area, somehow completely secluded and nearly untouched by humans. That was rare to find, and it also happened to be one of the best places to see the stars.

“See you then,” Artemis gave a final nod, then walked away.

You stood there for a moment, staring down at the floor. “Are you okay?” Thalia asked.

You let out a long breath. “The labyrinth…” you shook your head. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Luke might be trying to find a way to make it work for him, but Annabeth needs to be careful with whatever she’s planning.”

Thalia nodded; she was looking off to the side, deep in thought. You didn’t know Annabeth well, you truly only had met her twice, but she was Thalia’s best friend. Thalia didn’t seem thrilled about whatever Annabeth’s plan was. You weren’t sure if Thalia knew all the details about what Annabeth wanted to do but she knew enough and knew Annebeth well enough to be able to guess what her friend’s logic was.

“Do you want me to contact Chiron for you?” Thalia asked after a few seconds.

You shook your head. “Clarisse will,” you sighed. “Once I take over Chris watch.”

“Is he really that bad?”

You nodded. “I’d only ever heard the stories, people losing their mind in the maze, I never imagined it would be like this though.”

Thalia nodded. “I’m glad you’re not dead.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “It would suck if that not even a year into being Artemis’s lieutenant I lost my second.”

“Had a close call but I don’t intend to die on you.”

Thalia tilted her head at your words, but she didn’t press. You weren’t ready to talk about what happened, you were still processing everything. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you then.” With that you ended the call.

Just as you ended the call you heard more shouting, and stuff being thrown around. You didn’t hesitate this time as you flung open the door and ran out into her bedroom. Your eyes widened at the scene before you. Chris was thrashing around on the bed, reaching for whatever he could get his hands on as Clarisse held him down by the shoulders, trying to pin him. His right hand was still tied, though loose, and he had somehow broken free of the restraint on his left hand.

You rushed forward, ripping the lamp out of Chris’s hand before he could smash it over Clarisse’s head. She glanced at you; eyes wide as they went from you to Chris to the lamp. You nodded at her as you grabbed Chris’s left arm, pushing him harder into the mattress. He was practically foaming at the mouth as he screamed and thrashed around.

You looked at Clarisse until she looked up at you again. “Sorry,” you whispered. She only had time to furrow her brow before you took one of your hands off of Chris and punched him in the face. You didn’t pay attention to Clarisse’s reaction as you punched him in the face two more times, finally knocking him out.

You slumped back, but unable to take your eyes off Chris, you were waiting for him to pop back up and try clawing your eyes out. “We need to restrain him better,” you finally said. “I know you don’t want to hurt him.” You glanced at Clarisse; but her eyes were still on Chris. “But it’s for the best. He could hurt himself or someone else otherwise.” You didn’t move from the side of the bed until Clarisse gave you a nod.

You re-tied and tightened the old fabric Clarisse had torn up to tie Chris to the headboard. You grabbed the extra pieces of fabric and tied them around his ankles then to the posts at the end of the bed. When you were done Clarisse got up from the bed, without a word she began digging through her bag until she pulled out some rope, handing it to you without so much as glancing in your direction. You tied the rope around the fabric as tight as you could without cutting off Chris’s circulation. The rope would hold him in place better, it was stronger, but the fabric underneath it would hopefully prevent it from digging into his wrists when he inevitably woke up and started thrashing around.

“I’m going to contact Chiron,” Clarisse mumbled before heading off to the bathroom.

You decided to plop yourself down in the chair at her desk. You kept an eye on Chris, he twitched every once in a while, like he was in a nightmare, but he didn’t wake up. You couldn’t help but glance around the room, it was like you were getting an inside look at Clarisse’s mind. She had a large stereo on a shelf and her walls were lined with posters, you assumed from bands based on some of them holding instruments. There were also books on famous wars, a few photos and art prints depicting famous battles. There were also weapons littered all over the place, swords and axes hanging form the walls, and daggers lying on table tops and under books.

“How’d it go?” you asked, pushing yourself out of the chair when Clarisse walked out of the bathroom.

“Chiron’s on his way,” Clarisse said. “Maybe he can help,” she glanced at Chris.

“I’m sorry.” You weren’t sure what you were apologizing for. You were sorry someone she clearly cared for was suffering, you were sorry you had to tie him up, you were sorry for being the reason she lost her spear, you were sorry for so much and yet ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t seem to be enough.

“It’s not your fault,” she mumbled, walking up to Chris’s side. She reached out, brushing some hair out of the way that was sticking to his forehead. “I used to have a crush on him.” It was nearly a whisper, but you heard it, you couldn’t help the way your heart dropped at those words. “Before he was a traitor.” She let out a humorless chuckle.

“What?” you couldn’t help but ask.

Clarisse shook her head. “My first crush turned out to be a traitor and my second…”

You dropped your eyes to the floor. Her first crush was a traitor and her second was you, a Hunter, someone she could never be with. “Really know how to pick ’em,” she sighed.

“I’m sure there’s someone out there for you,” you said softly. “And it will be someone that actually deserves you.”

You gave a half smile when you saw a small smile appear on Clarisse’s face, though it was a sad one. “Maybe I’m meant to be alone,” she shrugged.

You shook your head. “I don’t believe that. There’s someone out there that will be everything you desire; they’ll see you for how strong and incredible you truly are.” Clarisse finally looked up at you, meeting your eyes for the first time since you restrained Chris. “The only way you don’t end up with someone is if you decide that’s not what you want.”

Clarisse glanced around her room, avoiding eye contact with you once again, clearly trying to hide her emotions. “I assume you’re leaving,” she abruptly changed the subject.

“In the morning,” you said, allowing the subject change. “Hope it’s okay to crash on your couch.”

“Of course.”

After getting cleaned up and getting some clean clothes from Clarisse, since yours were covered in dirt and blood, you went downstairs to see Clarisse setting out a blanket and pillow for you on the couch. You didn’t know where her mom was and she hadn’t mentioned her, you figured her mom not being home was probably a common thing. It was still light out as you settled in for sleep, but your body was definitely feeling the toll the labyrinth had taken on it. Clarisse volunteered for Chris duty, she was going to sleep in her mom’s room, which was just down the hall, so she would be the closest anyway.

Sleep came easy for you; you didn’t wake up once. When you did wake up the rest of the house was silent, and it was still dark out. You glanced at the clock in the room, seeing it was just before sunrise. As quietly as you could you folded the blanket, sitting it and the pillow on the couch as nicely as you could. Then you grabbed your bag, making sure you had everything, and going through a mental checklist of anything you might need to get before meeting up with the others.

“You leaving?” Clarisse whispered.

You glanced back to see her standing at the bottom of the stairs, you had to give her credit, you hadn’t even heard her walk down the steps. “In a few minutes,” you said, closing up your pack. “Don’t worry, I was going to say goodbye.” You gave her a soft smile as you turned around to fully face her. “How was last night?” you nodded towards the stairs.

“Seems you knocked him out very well.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, you hadn’t meant to hit him quite that hard, but you were glad if it meant Clarisse finally got some sleep.

Before anything else could be said there was a knock at the door. You and Clarisse glanced at each other before she cautiously walked to the door. You reached for your bow as she turned the door handle, not relaxing your grip until you saw Chiron walk in.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Chiron said. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs,” Clarisse answered, pointing Chiron in the direction. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

You watched as Chiron disappeared up the stairs. You walked over to the front door where Clarisse was still standing. You reached out, brushing your fingers against hers, you were about to pull away when she intertwined your hands.

“He’ll be okay,” you whispered, giving her hand a soft squeeze.

She nodded. “Be safe and keep in touch,” she said, giving your hand a gently squeeze back.

With that you made your way out her front door. You looked back once, watching as she finally closed the door behind you. You truly hoped Chiron would be able to help Chris, no one deserved to be going through what he was. You gave a final look at the house, not sure when you’d see Clarisse again before turning and making your way to the place you’d meet your sisters.

Taglist: @cxcilla @touchmyfracturedomens @luclue @manu-007s-world @death-in-love @nenas19 @mynameiskaci @danonered

[cormorant-red]

I played 999 recently at @xivu-arath's recommendation, and I had so much fun that (inspired by that one polygon video) I illustrated my liveblog about it!

If you haven't played 999 and you are even a little bit intrigued by a puzzle/mystery visual novel with multiple timelines that all guide you towards wild plot twists...probably don't read the text! 999 is the kind of story that is best experienced with no knowledge besides the basic premise.

Transcript below the cut:

Cormorant: characters in this game really just say shit like "have you heard the story about the crystallization of glycerin?"

as a matter of fact i haven't, june, please enlighten me

Storm: "I know we're stuck in a freezer but. let's talk about weird mythical science!"

Cormorant: it's also killing me that junpei is dressed like marty mcfly and isn't sharing any of his jackets

-----

Cormorant: this game is leading me to arrive at mathematical concepts on my own. what the heck

Storm: kshgushhsg

I take it you're having a good time then

Cormorant: trying to check lotus's work and it turns out that no matter what group i arrange to take through a door, the people left behind will always have the same digital root

so to get through door 7 with snake missing, i could either send a group with sum 16 (junpei, ace, clover, and june) or with sum 25 (clover, june, seven, and lotus), but it doesn't matter because the remainder always have root 9 and can't get through doors 3 or 8! wild!

Storm: yeah the numbers and which doors end up barred to you is so cleverly deliberate

-----

Cormorant: i'm glad i finally checked what novel mode meant, because this is way more fun

Santa cocked his head to one side, like an inquisitive bird, and looked at them.

After several long moments, during which it became apparent that Santa had no idea what the cards meant, June took pity on him.

i'll have to go back and redo the beginning after i get to the first ending

Storm: oh yeah! as I recall that was done differently when it was originally a dual screen game... but it's much better when in novel style. gimme all the descriptions

-----

Cormorant: I had a long day of sitting though presentations and so I entertained myself by calculating digital roots

I discovered that adding 9 or any multiple of 9 to a number has no effect on the digital root, which is awfully interesting bc I got to the part where snake gets killed. Assuming door 3 was opened with 12 and not 21, the options are 7+3 (motive?), 6+4 (they’d both have to be REALLY good actors), or 9+1. And if bracelets work without a body attached, and if ace picked it up in door 5…

That would be a really useful tool to get around the 3-person minimum without altering the digital root

I’m also very intrigued by the theory that zero is also in the game but I don’t know what to do with that yet

Storm: forlornly having to keep myself from saying literally anything

Cormorant: Understandable, please don’t give me any hints! I’m just calling shots for the joy of being wrong

-----

Cormorant: and how do you know that, my traitorous friend?

Santa: “The RED doesn’t need a person, you know.”

Santa: “All I need is the bracelet.”

-----

Cormorant: y’know what i think he’s bluffing. he does need June specifically and that’s why he refused to consider leaving her when they first found door 9. if all he needed was a hostage, he could have grabbed junpei and forced ace to come along, and then he would be dealing with two people under duress instead of three

i peeked at a guide and apparently i found the ending adjacent to the true ending(?) first, oh well. time to see the others!

santa: i said i don't want to leave seven alone

me: bud you can't do a heroic sacrifice too, it'll mess up all the math

reader, he was not doing a heroic sacrifice

-----

Storm: got any character opinions or theories to share so far?

Cormorant: hmm I’ve got soft spots for santa and lotus maybe just because they were in the first group I went with. I like that the game makes a point of showing that lotus is quick with the math/technical knowledge. I warmed up to clover and seven more than I expected to! I have no evidence to mistrust ace….but I don’t trust him

Snake died before I before I could say two words to him

Or…didn’t. Forgot clover said he didn’t

I got info about the previous experiments from clover and I wonder if we’re like…reenacting the past somehow? Experiencing morphogenetic resonance with the last voyage?

Again no evidence i just wonder where the pseudoscience is going

Storm: santa was so my type as soon as I started playing that I just picked all rooms with him on my first run skugrhsghu

Cormorant: AHAHA that makes me feel better about going “yeahhh door 4 I like the cut of this guy’s jib”

-----

Cormorant: “the bracelet comes off when your heart rate reaches zero” interesting then that we’ve brought up cryostasis

-----

Cormorant: i simply don't trust him not to have a spare bracelet in his pocket!!!

They climbed into the elevator and Junpei listened to it creak and rattle its way to the bottom deck. Only Junpei, Ace, and Lotus were left.

As the elevator rumbled out of sight, Ace spoke.

Ace: “Lotus, would you be so kind as to go with me?”

Cormorant: “bad end” YEAH I’LL SAY

Storm: lkksghr yeah there's a few of those!

Cormorant: santa was really quick to declare that he, june, and seven needed to go with clover. waht's his game

june and ace could have done it just as easily

Storm: they could have! good catch

maybe he just thinks seven is cooler than ace,

Cormorant: i'm imagining clover taking all her grisly trophies to the door only to find it already engaged, because lotus needed no persuading,

and regarding the true ending requirements, it's also funny that santa's like "i hate this bookmark! get it out of my sight!" and this is a huge help in junpei befriending the girl who's otherwise about to snap

Storm: load bearing bookmark

Cormorant: good thing you threw that tantrum bud or you would have been killed with an axe

-----

Cormorant: in my suspicions i forgot a critical detail, which is that he didn't actually go into the door with the body this time

of course seven has been propping doors open, so it really could have been anybody

-----

Cormorant: "where have these 16 boys and girls disappeared to?" eight for each game and then an experimenter? again with the idea that zero might be in the game...

-----

Cormorant: bad endings complete! on to the normal ending, which hopefully has less of junpei getting stabbed to death

puzzling over who could have done all those murders, especially in the sub ending...or did everyone get killed? clover thinks that snake's death was faked. or did snake do all the murders, since he was the only one unaccounted for?...and then i remember what kind of game i'm playing. can't discount the ice mummy as a suspect.

Storm: you truly cannot ignore the possibility of the ice mummy

-----

Cormorant: ah no, so santa's sister was the kid that died...

i can't figure out the connection between events! why did the last games have the veneer of a science experiment, while this one has no context given? why was it all kids last time, and a random mix of ages this time, with some repeat subjects?

-----

Cormorant: called it!!!!

Junpei: “Ace, Guy X, and the 9th Man’s bracelet.”

Junpei: “That was all you needed to open door [3].”

Cormorant: called it before i even got to an ending ehehe

what i’ve been saying!!

Ace: “(9) is a potent ally in the Nonary Game.”

Ace: “Adding (9) to any set of numbers won’t alter the digital root.”

Ace: “As you can see, (9) is a very useful number here.”

Ace: “With it, one can go anywhere, with anyone.”

Ace: “It is, I suppose you could say, a game changer.”

-----

Cormorant: okay, normal ending finished! junpei did not get stabbed but we also didn’t resolve much…I’m now thinking that ace with his pocket drugs could have easily played dead in the sub ending

glad to see that snake is okay and hopefully can stay okay in the true ending. where did clover get that riddle, and will she still have it?

0=6. how much do I read into this

still don’t understand how we get from here to santa hostage situation. he’s been so consistent about not even considering betraying or abandoning people, so either he’s a better actor than ace…or it’s staged. are he and june in cahoots

Storm: augh so close now!! soon I can actually say things

-----

Cormorant: O FUCK

Seven: “Santa’s always in the room with her. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

Snake: “Yes, that’s right.”

Clover: “What about it…?”

Snake: “That’s quite simple, really.”

Snake: “You told me that the first time you came to this room…”

Snake: “…Santa was the first to refuse to leave June behind.”

Snake: “Now, doesn’t that beg the question “why?” Why would Santa do such a thing?”

Snake: “The answer is easy.”

Storm: B)

Cormorant: i've been thinking of them as a pair because it makes the math easier! if you've got 3 + 6 + 8, just cross out the ones that make 9 and don't even bother with the addition, your root is 8

Storm: B) B) B)

Cormorant: but god!! they are a pair, do not separate (or the jig is up)

Storm: they hid it soooo well

-----

Cormorant: was wondering when we would see the last cradle guy and oh duh, he was guy X

i did think it was odd that santa phrased it as "i need to leave two of you behind" rather than "i need three of you to come with me," but if he was responsible for everything (most things?), he knew that snake was there, and he was setting up a group that could follow him. excited to see where this is going!

[dreamy sigh] this game is so elegant. what a little puzzle box

Storm: yeah it is, it's just so wonderfully crafted. so little is wasted!

-----

Cormorant: oh boy [akane vision label]

"through the morphic fieldset we were resonant, and we were as one" i don't think i've mentioned it before but i'm constantly pleasantly surprised by the narration in this game. it's not flashy but it's evocative in a way that's really working for me

Storm: this is where the port falls short a bit of the original version... the ds really worked well with this aspect

-----

Cormorant: the number of times i thought "this will be totally wrong but i'll say it to storm anyway"

hello??? [arrow pointing back to the message “I wonder if we’re like…reenacting the past somehow? Experiencing morphogenetic resonance with the last voyage?”]

Storm: Y E A H

Cormorant: laser-guided spitballing

-----

Cormorant: man i said that 4+6 would have to be really good actors if they were the ones that opened door 3...and while they didn't kill snake, i sure underestimated our queen of the stage akane kurashiki

the baseline was NOT where i thought it was

Storm: no one does it like her