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honeekyuu · 5 months ago

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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.

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!]

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“ 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.

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #akaashi smut

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marvelstoriesepic · 1 month ago

Text

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 🍁

#angstober2024 #angstober 2024 #day 16 #marvel mcu #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you

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two-stars · 4 months ago

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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.

#posts #dr ratio #hsr dr ratio #my analysis #sighhh I worry a lot of this is surface level but feel free to add on anything if you want hehe.#and also if anything is wrong!#mostly just got my info from google searches #my friend made me post this because I constantly ramble in her dms abt dr ratio hehe

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mossyeyeballs · 2 months ago

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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.”

#cw drugs #class of 09 #class of 09 flipside #class of 09 the re up #co09 #co09 emily #co09 jecka #co09 nicole #jeckole #flip side #flipside #cw sa mention

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waffles-art-writing · 1 year ago

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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’.

#fanfic #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #cod mwii #cod x reader #ghost mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod ghost x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw ghost #cod mw x reader #female reader #afab reader #call of duty fanfic

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exhuastedpigeon · 9 months ago

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Buddie Hiatus Fic Recs - Month 5 Sept 16 - Oct 15

my all time favourite buddie fic is on this list. can you guess which one? 😂

0-5k

Morning After by glorious_spoon / @glorious-spoonTeen | 1k The bed is empty when Buck wakes up.

you’re looking like you fell in love tonight by devirnis / @devirnis Gen | 1.1k Eddie is on top of him, clinging to him like a koala bear, snoring softly into Buck’s collarbone.

Buck’s traitorous heart soars in his chest.

Through The Open Window by inkinmyheartandonthepage / @inkinmyheartandonthepageGen | 2.1k At the reception of Maddie and Chimney wedding, Eddie stumbles across a Buckley sibling moment and overhears something he probably wasn't meant to hear just yet.

and i always will by Maira / @carrierofthepaperclips Mature | 2.3k the one where Eddie answers the wrong phone

The Night Shift by Veronae Teen | 2.3k “I think I’m in love with Eddie.” Heart pounding against his breastbone, Eddie gripped the handrail of the staircase so hard his fingers turned numb. Buck. That was Buck’s voice.

and all of my peaches are ruined for you by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Explicit | 4.1k Buck asks to breed Eddie one morning and, well, Eddie isn't going to say no.

5k-10k

reassure me with your praise by honestlydarkprincess / @honestlydarkprincessExplict | 5.3k the one where Buck is concerned he might be bad in bed and Eddie has a solution.

hope is a sword by jeeyuns / @jeeyuns Teen | 5.4k “Did it nick the femoral artery?” Eddie mutters to Chim, hands gentle as he cuts through the fabric of Buck’s turnout pants to get a better look. Buck has a glimmer in his tired eyes as Eddie looks up and catches his gaze. He can hear the bright laughter in his mind as Buck relays a dirty joke about getting into his pants with a twitch of his lips and a scrunch of his nose.

Make So Much Smoke it Sparks a Fire by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeelsExplicit | 7.2k Incubi and succubi are not about sex. They're about lust. Desire. The build up. Driving you so insane that sex is all you can think about, all you want, all you need. Pushing you right over the edge.

Something Dumb to Do by glorious_spoon / @glorious-spoon Explicit | 8.5k Buck and Eddie try something out together.

Hot and Heavy by 42hrb Explicit | 9.4k Five times Eddie had casual sex with someone who wasn't Buck and the time they finally got their shit together

10k-20k

baby, you drive me wild by wikiangela / @wikiangela Explicit | 10.9k Buck and Eddie have car sex on the side of the road.

it still beats steady (this heart i handed you for free) by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Mature | 12.8k “Have you seen Eddie?”

Albert looks up at him, frowning. “Did they not tell you?” he asks, wrinkling his brow. He wipes the back of his hand over his forehead, smearing soot and sweat and wet ash like watercolor paint. “He’s on his way to the hospital. Jonah’s with him.”

It’s Not the Roaring Dream, It’s the Silent Lightning by giselleslash / @gigi-gigi Mature | 15.2k the one where Buck is married to Eddie in a coma dream and he doesn’t want to let the dream go.

20k - 30k

Four Can Keep a Secret by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars Teen | 20.1k When Ravi and Hen accidentally see Buck and Eddie, who are trying hard to keep their new relationship a secret, in the middle of a romantic moment, they try to make them confess without the rest of the station finding out. Shenanigans ensue.

but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher / @captain-hen Mature | 28.8k eddie confesses his feelings for buck. buck is absolutely, a hundred percent sure that he does not feel the same way.

the universe has different plans.

30k +

Claim Your Ghost by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briarsTeen | 32.k After a near death experience on a call, Eddie starts having strange hallucinations of people who have died. There’s definitely no way he’s seeing ghosts, right? Because Eddie doesn’t believe in ghosts…

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston / @ebjameston Teen | 40.9k The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind.

Even in Winter There is Eranthis by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels Explicit | 45.4k Buck is supposedly a god. Supposedly. But he's got no idea what his domain is or what role he plays in Olympus. When he meets Christopher, a young boy lost and trying to find his father, he helps Chris get home - and ends up accidentally binding himself to the Underworld.

Pick a Star on the Dark Horizon (Follow the Light) by Bob_loblaws_lawblog / @buddierightsExplicit | 57.4k When Eddie learns that he's getting stationed on the other side of the country, he's faced with a reality where Buck isn't a part of his daily life. Neither of them are prepared for a life without the other. Their solution? To get married.

Month 1 (May 15 - June 15) Month 2 (June 16 - July 15) Month 3 (July 16 - August 15) Month 4 (August 16 - September 15)

#buddie #buddie hiatus fic recs #buddie fic rec #rec list

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sufrimientilia · 3 months ago

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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.”

#whump #augusnippets #augusnippets day 16 #medical whump #lab rat #mind conditioning #whump prompt #tw captivity #mind control #brainwashing #dehumanization

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persevereforahappyending · 6 months ago

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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

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse x reader #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #maybe in another life

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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 month ago

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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) —

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cormorant-red · 9 months ago

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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

#zero escape #999 #999 spoilers #'i'm calling shots for the joy of being wrong' <- girl who just correctly identified the murderer #i wanted to include more back-and-forth but i didn't have enough notes and illustrations to pad it. storm still got the last word in hehe #talk tag #THIS is what the waiting until the ink is dry post was about.#i went and got a new kneaded eraser because my old one was fossilized. are you all happy

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daydreamtofiction · 4 months ago

Text

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 16: Sanctuary

Contents | Part 15 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) Ellis gets the keys to her new flat.

Word Count: 7.9K (Grab a snack my dudes, it's a long one.)

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult and sexual themes, alcohol consumption, body insecurity. Smut: penetrative sex, oral sex (receiving), lurrv making, praise, worship, aftercare, feels. Readers must be 18+

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter I would so, so, so appreciate it if you left a comment. It helps a lot and means more than you’ll ever know to hear what you all think. Thank you so much, hope you enjoy this one as much I do 🤍

"Jesus Christ."

You considered it a talent; how easily you could compel a priest to take the Lord's name in vain.

Father Benedict's knuckles were blanched, bone white as he clung to the handle above the passenger door of his car. You could have sworn you saw him make the sign of the cross from the corner of your eye, mumbling a prayer under his breath.

"At least there's nothing here for me to crash into," you said, taking a hand off the steering wheel to gesture to the empty supermarket carpark around you.

"Both hands on the wheel," he said.

"Sorry."

"It's alright, you're doing fine, just... Remember you need to slow down as we approach this turn."

"Okay." You looked down at your foot as you took it off the accelerator, swapping it to the brake.

"Eyes up, Ellis. You have to do it without looking."

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

"Now, get ready to press the clutch down."

"Why do I need to press the clutch?"

He rubbed his eyes, trying to disguise his growing frustration. "To move into first gear."

"Oh." You looked down at your feet again.

"Ellis... Ellis!"

You looked up, slamming your foot on the brake and bringing the car to a sudden, hard stop just inches from a row of bollards. The car shuddered and the engine cut out, you turned to look at Father Benedict, his hand still gripping the handle above his head.

He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself with a deep breath before glancing over at you. "It's fine," he said calmly. "Just restart the car and let's keep going."

You fiddled with the keys until the engine roared back to life, the car jerking forward suddenly before cutting out again.

"Clutch," he said quietly.

"Right, yes. Clutch. I just- Y'know it's really hard having to do foot things, hand things and eye things all at once."

"Eye things... You mean seeing...?"

"Yes," you said, starting the car again and moving the gearstick into first. You pulled off slowly, turning the corner that led you back into the empty carpark. "I have to look in front of me, behind me and either side, somehow all at once, while simultaneously using two feet to operate three pedals, and two hands to steer a wheel, indicate and change gear every other fucking second."

"Change gear."

"Hm?"

"You need to change gear. Can you not hear the engine? It sounds like it's going to explode."

"Oh." You looked down at your feet as you pressed the clutch, then down at your hand as you fiddled with the gearstick.

He leaned over quickly, gripping the steering wheel with one hand to stop the car veering through the empty bays.

"Shit, sorry," you muttered, taking over again. "I'm pissing you off, aren't I."

"No! No of course not. I just can't believe you've managed to go your whole life without ever driving a car."

"Oh, well funny story actually," you began sarcastically. "See, I was in this really serious car crash when I was thirteen and had to be cut out of the wreck with heavy machinery. Oh, and my brother died in the driver's seat right next to me while we waited for emergency services. It was quite traumatising, believe it or not, so when I finally got old enough to take driving lessons I'd have panic attacks at the wheel. Which meant I never actually got to learn. Did I not tell you about that? I'm sure I told you about that."

"Okay, alright, fair point. I apologise." He held his hands up in surrender. "Why don't we have a go at parking instead?"

He directed you to a space near the back, trying his best to sound encouraging as he talked you through it.

"Here," he said. "So you're going to slow down and start turning the wheel just before this line, okay?"

You did as he instructed, driving towards the space and beginning to slow down.

"Slower," he said. "Even slower. Now start turning- Nope, not that much- You're still going too fast-"

You somehow managed to park diagonally across three spaces, stalling once again in the process.

"You know what, it's fine," you said with a shrug. "I just... It's time we all accept that I wasn't made to drive, I was made to be driven."

"No, come on, you can do this," he laughed. "Turn the car back on."

You huffed and did as you were told, like a sulking child. He leaned over and grabbed the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror before looking at you.

"Right, clutch down and put it in reverse... Reverse... The one with the R on it, Ellis... Okay, that's it. Now gently on the accelerator."

The car slowly began to roll backwards. He took your hands and put them on the wheel.

"Now brake. Okay." He let go and sat back in the passenger seat. "Clutch, first gear, and we'll drive down there."

"You make this look so easy when you do it," you said as you fiddled with the gearstick.

"It is easy once you get used to it. Becomes like second nature."

"Mm. Or maybe you're just good at everything."

"I'm not good at everything," he laughed.

"Okay, name something you're bad at."

He paused in thought. "My handwriting's awful."

You laughed softly, bringing the car to a gentle stop. "Oh my god, I didn't stall."

"See, I told you," he replied with a smile. "Now get out of my car."

You climbed out and made your way to the passenger side, waiting as he battled to force open the stiff door. You grabbed the handle and pulled as he pushed, eventually managing to pry it open. He got out, blowing a stray curl out of his eyes and looking down at his watch.

"Come on, we better get back."

He placed a hand on the top of your head, scrunching his fingers gently in your hair before making his way around to the driver's side of the car.

You loved when he touched you like that. The simple, chaste gestures that served no purpose beyond showing his affection for you; the comforting hand on the back of your neck or the light squeeze of your thigh, the head scratches and sweep of his thumb across your cheek. There was something so intimate about being touched so purely, how naturally he had inhabited your personal space, and how easily you'd welcomed him in.

You arrived back at the rectory soon after, Father Benedict's car shuddering as it rolled along the gravel driveway.

"Have I fucked up your car?" you asked.

"Nah." He shook his head. "It's on its last legs anyway."

He got out and lifted two large packs of bottled water from the boot. You tried to take one from him but he refused, insisting on carrying them both. It was late August, the air void of any breeze, thick and muggy despite the cloudy sky. You walked with him down the winding path that led to the pub, beads of sweat peppering your face by the time you got inside. You followed him into the back room, another sign added to the door which read:'St Augustine's Church Book Club - Wednesdays 11am'. And for a moment you questioned why the hell you'd chosen to spend your day off doing this. Why anyone would do this at all.

You quickly blotted your face with the bottom of your t-shirt, immediately walking over to the windows and pushing them open one by one. It made no difference; there was no air, the outside just as warm and still as it was inside. You rolled your eyes and wandered to the pile of metal chairs, taking them out and unfolding them one by one.

Father Benedict was humming to himself, his back to you as he set the bottles down on the floor and tore through the packaging. "Ellis, would you mind getting started on the ch-" he turned around to find you already setting them up in a circle.

"I'm a pro now, Father," you joked.

"That you are," he laughed, turning his back to you again as he unpacked the bottles and set them on the table. "Thank you for helping me with this, I know it's a pain in the arse."

"I don't mind. After that driving lesson this morning I think I owe you."

He chuckled. "Hopefully when Edith gets out of hospital she'll feel well enough to take over again. But until then," he turned around and placed his hands on his hips with a sigh. "Looks like I run a book club."

You laughed softly. "You're a good soul."

"I do try."

There was a moment of quiet, your eyes fixed on each other from across the room, subtle smiles and unspoken desire. He broke first, clearing his throat and looking down at his watch.

"Right, people should be arriving soon," he said. "Do you want to stick around for the meeting and I'll drive you home afterwards?"

"I would but I have some last minute flat stuff to sort out before I move in next week." You placed the last chair down to complete the circle. "I can't believe how fucking expensive some things are. Dining tables, hundreds and hundreds of pounds. Why?"

He bowed his head and laughed. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye," you said with a smile, certain you could feel him watching you as you walked away.

You held the keys in the palm of your hand, staring down at them like you couldn't believe it was real. You hadn't even realised you'd arrived until your father nudged you, jokingly singing She's Leaving Home by The Beatles.

You rolled your eyes and breathed out a laugh, opening the door and jumping out of the van. You walked up to the front gate, staring up at the building, wondering why you suddenly felt scared.

"Are you going in or what?" your father called out as he slid open the large side door of his van.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, then back to the building, taking a deep breath and pushing through the gate. You unlocked the front door and walked inside, the cute frog doormat still sitting outside your neighbour's door.

Neighbour. You had neighbours now.

You made your way up the first flight of stairs, turning to head up the second when the door of 336B opened and a man stepped out onto the landing with a large bin bag in his hand. You almost walked right into him, stumbling backwards slightly.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," you replied with a polite laugh.

He stepped aside for you to walk past. "Narrow landings," he said.

"Yeah."

You had just reached the first step when he turned and called out to you. "Are you the new neighbour?"

You nodded.

"Oh, cool, nice to meet you. I'm Rav."

"Ellis. Nice to meet you too."

"Have you met the downstairs neighbours yet?"

"No, but I like their doormat."

He smiled. "Well her name's Lorna, I'm sure she'll come and introduce herself at some point. It's just her and her daughter Blossom."

"Blossom...?"

"Yeah." He laughed. "The name'll make sense when you meet them. Anyway, welcome to the building, I better go and get rid of this bag that is definitely not full of pizza boxes."

You breathed out a laugh, giving a slight wave as he disappeared down the stairs. He'd left his door ajar, and it made you feel safe, somehow. Like your building was the kind of place where people could leave their front doors open without worrying, have friendly chats on the landing as they passed each other.

You continued up the stairs, fiddling with the keys in your hand as you approached your new front door. Maybe you'd paint it a fun colour, get yourself a cute doormat too. You unlocked it and stepped inside, swallowing past a lump in your throat as you walked into the middle of the stark, empty living area, the wooden floor glittering with shafts of multicoloured light from the stained glass window.

You sat on the floor and lay down, arms and legs outstretched like a star, basking in the silence, the empty space that was yours to fill. It smelled like fresh paint, a piece of masking tape still stuck to the coving in the corner. You wondered how hard it would be to decorate the ceiling; cover it in stars or patterned wallpaper, paint it like a cloudy sky. You had all the time in the world to decide, the thought making you smile.

"The fuck are you doing?"

You sat up to see Mara stepping into the flat, Soleil perched contently on her hip. You clambered to your feet, staring at her as she stood with a raised eyebrow, still so pretty despite the confused scowl on her face. Her eyes darted around the room then back to you, waiting for you to say something.

You weren't a hugger. Neither was she. But still, you found yourself hurrying across the room towards her, wrapping your arms around her and holding her tight.

"Thank you," you said.

She stilled for a moment before gently rubbing your back. "You're welcome. Just don't get the place repossessed."

You laughed and pulled away.

"Nathan's downstairs helping dad up with all your stuff," she said. "I just thought I'd come up and see the place before you fill it with shit."

"It's nice, isn't it."

"It's beautiful. I love this." She pointed to the window. "Anyway, I can't stay. I'm taking this little one to a mother and baby class. Shoot me. But I'll pop round once you're settled. We can kill each other putting together some flatpack furniture."

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

"I'll see you soon. Happy moving day."

"Enjoy your class."

She brought two fingers to the side of her head, miming a gunshot.

You watched as she walked out, her voice suddenly becoming high-pitched and animated as she talked to Soleil. When you could no longer hear her, you sat back down on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you waited for Nathan and your father.

For months, your life had sat inside a cluttered garage, waiting, waning, much like you. Now all of a sudden there was light.

You hadn't gotten used to the intercom yet; the loud buzz still making you jump whenever it rang through the flat. You rushed to the door, practically hurdling over boxes to get there, and pressed the button on the wall.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to hold in the smile threatening to spread across your face. "I'll be down in a second."

You ran downstairs, not bothering to change out of your t-shirt and pyjama shorts, and opened the front door, the smile finally breaking through when you saw Father Benedict on the other side. He was in his own clothes; a grey t-shirt, dark jeans and trainers. You still found it strange seeing him so casual, so normal. But even in the most ordinary of clothing, there was still something ethereal about him.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi." He gave a charming smile.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Yes, I would much prefer that to standing on the doorstep."

You laughed sarcastically, allowing him to step in and closing the door behind him.

He followed you upstairs, the closer you got, the tighter your stomach became. You were excited; excited to see him in your space, to blur the lines between your two worlds.

"So obviously I've only been here for two days," you said as you walked into the flat. "So it's still mostly unfurnished. And there's boxes everywhere. And I haven't-"

"Wow," he whispered as he stepped inside.

"What do you think?"

"It's nice. Really nice. And this..." He wandered over to the window. "It's beautiful."

"I know." You felt a slight sense of pride wash over you, his approval mattering more than you thought it would. "Do you want a tour?"

"Sure."

"Okay, well obviously this is the living room," you gestured to the space around you.

There was a small second-hand couch, an old coffee table from your mother's house and a TV balanced atop a cardboard box. Your green chair sat in the window, the place you'd spent the majority of the last two days.

He followed you through to the alcove where you opened each door. "Bathroom. Spare room or office, haven't decided yet. And my bedroom..."

He peered inside the empty room, furrowing his brow at the double mattress on the floor, your duvet and pillows strewn messily on top.

"My bed won't be delivered for another three weeks," you said.

"Ah."

"I actually don't mind this though. It's quite comfy."

He smiled at you, following you back towards the kitchen.

"And this is my kitchen, complete with empty cupboards and a microwave I have no idea how to use."

"Love it."

You laughed.

He cocked his head slightly, eyeing you for a moment.

"What?" you asked.

He shrugged. "I just like seeing you like this. You're happy."

You paused for a moment. "I really am."

There was a lull as he gazed down at you, eyes creasing with joy from seeing you so content. But after a moment he snapped out of it.

"Oh, I brought you a little gift," he said, reaching to pull something from his back pocket. "Now, I know you're not religious, but in the catholic faith this is supposed to bring protection to your home, so I wanted you to have one..."

He handed you a small glass picture frame, the edges decorated with intricate gold filigree. Inside was a depiction of Christ, a vibrant red heart on his chest.

"It's the sacred heart," he said, an uncertainty in his tone. "You can tell me to go fuck myself if you don't want to-"

"No. No, this is... It's really thoughtful. Thank you." You pressed it to your chest, smiling at him appreciatively, before walking past him into the living area.

He followed, watching from the kitchen doorway as you placed the dainty frame in the middle of the coffee table. You turned to see him smiling, creating the deep lines in his cheeks that you loved so much.

You looked around for a moment before clearing your throat. "Do you have to be anywhere?"

"Nope, I am completely free for once."

"Really? Well, would you maybe want to stay for a while? I was just going to order food and maybe watch some films or..."

"What films?"

"Oh, let me think, erm... Passion of the Christ... Stigmata... The Exorcist... The God Father."

He gave a sarcastic laugh. "Hilarious."

You smirked, far too proud of your own joke.

"Yes. I'd love to stay," he said sincerely.

"Great."

There was another moment of quiet between you as you stood across the room from each other. He was leaning against the kitchen doorframe with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, while you hovered near the coffee table, nervously twiddling your fingers. Since you met him, you had always been the guest. Now suddenly you were the host, and you weren't sure what you were supposed to do.

"What's that going to be?" he asked, nodding towards a pile of wood, screws and nails on the floor.

"A bookcase. I got annoyed and gave up."

He chuckled and walked over to it, crouching down to read the instructions before picking up a heavy, black Dr Marten boot. "Please don't tell me this is what you're using for a hammer."

"What else would you suggest I use?"

"An actual hammer...?" He picked up a bread knife, holding it up at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Screwdriver," you said.

He dropped his head and laughed. "Okay. Okay, I can work with it."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"I want to," he said, grabbing a large plank of wood and leaning it against the wall. "Doesn't look too complicated."

You'd never found traditional masculinity particularly attractive before; never desired a man who could build or fix or lift. But for two hours, you watched Father Benedict put together your bookcase. You watched him heave heavy slabs of wood with ease, hold nails between his lips as he eyeballed measurements and use his t-shirt to mop the sweat from his brow.

When he was done, he took a step back, hands on hips as he admired his work. He knocked his fist against the side of it, showing you just how sturdy it was, and moved the entire thing across the room and back twice when you changed your mind about where it should go.

You were sitting together now, cross-legged on the floor in front of it as you sorted through a box of books. You had a specific system, a particular way you liked to order your shelves. You knew it was annoying, remembering how Alfie would huff whenever he put a book on your shelf only to have you move it back to its original place soon after. But Father Benedict didn't huff, didn't get irritated or tell you it was stupid. Instead he was patient; asking you questions and trying to learn the system so he could follow it without having to ask where things should go.

He reached into the box and pulled out the bible he'd given you, sticky notes still poking out from between the pages. It felt like a lifetime ago now, a relic of an era you didn't even recognise anymore. He held it up and you smiled.

"You can have it back if you want," you said.

"No, you keep it," he said, sliding it onto the shelf in the exact place you would have put it.

You sifted through a handful of books, finding a small, leather-bound binder amongst them.

"Is that a photo album?" he asked.

"No," you lied, throwing it back in the box.

He pulled it back out immediately, opening it and flicking through the plastic wallet pages with a grin. He turned it around to show you a picture; your scrawny, eight-year-old self scowling at the camera as she sat on a sun lounger beside a hotel pool.

"I was annoyed because my mum was forcing me to wear a t-shirt in the water," you said.

He gave a deep chuckle in his throat, turning the album back to him and fanning his thumb across the photos.

"Is this your brother?" he asked, showing you another picture.

You tilted your head to one side, looking down at the image you vividly remembered being taken. You were twelve, wearing a blue floral shirt beneath a brown pinafore dress, a large rubber mallet in your hand. Cain was standing beside you in a white vest, ugly Hawaiian shirt and bright red trousers, his hair styled in a ridiculous quiff.

"Yeah," you said. "We were at my aunt and uncle's costume party."

He looked at the picture for a moment. "He went as Ace Ventura?"

"Mhm."

"Nice." He smiled, before narrowing his eyes. "Who the fuck were you supposed to be?"

"I was Kathy Bates in Misery," you said bluntly, as if it were obvious.

He burst into laughter. "What kid chooses that as a costume?"

You shrugged. "What would you have preferred I go as? A Spice Girl?"

He continued to giggle, shaking it away as he analysed the photo closer. "You have his smile."

"You think so?"

"Mhm."

You took the album from him gently, closing it and putting it back in the box. "Evidently I have his driving ability too."

His mouth opened slightly, eyes widening as he breathed out a laugh. "That was dark."

"I was a kid who loved Stephen King films, what do you expect?"

His mouth curled into a half smile.

You struggled to your feet, your legs tingly and numb from sitting cross-legged for so long. You hobbled to the couch and picked up your phone, turning back to look at him.

"Shall we order food?"

The sun was slowly fading, a promise that summer was finally coming to an end. The dim light melted through the window, making the flat feel smaller, cozy and serene. You convinced him to watch trashy reality TV while you ate dinner on the couch, laughing as he grew invested in the drama, shouting at the screen with a mouthful of food.

You couldn't remember ever feeling this comfortable with another human being. It was effortless, harmonious; two voices blending together to create something new and beautiful. You had been drawn to his exterior, attracted to the parts you could see on the surface. But the deeper you delved, you only seemed to discover more to adore.

The coffee table was strewn with empty takeaway boxes and trays. Obnoxiously loud music played as the end credits of the show began to roll. You forced yourself to get off the couch, making your way towards the kitchen.

"Do you need another drink?" you asked.

"Please," he replied, stuck to the couch and nursing his full stomach.

You pushed through the door and opened the fridge, pulling out the bottle of champagne your mother had given you as a housewarming gift.

He looked up at you as you returned, his eyes creasing with amusement at the bottle and two mismatched mugs in your hands.

"I'm not the champagne-flute-owning kind of person," you said.

"No way," he teased.

You rolled your eyes and sat beside him, popping the cork and pouring some into each mug.

He waited for you to bring the mug to your lips before taking a sip himself, the pair of you sharing a glance as the sharp, bubbling liquid slid down your throat.

You grimaced. "I forgot I don't like champagne."

He laughed, taking it and placing it on the table for you. You thanked him and relaxed back into the couch, tucking your feet beneath you as you flicked through movies on the TV.

It grew dark outside as the movie played, the TV illuminating the room with a blueish hue. You kept asking questions, another habit Alfie would groan at until you stopped watching movies together at all. But Father Benedict simply answered them, even laughing at how thoroughly you'd misunderstood the plot.

You sat forward and grabbed your mug of champagne, wincing as you took another sip. "So now who's that?" you asked, pointing at the TV.

"That's the big boss," he said.

"But I thought the other guy was the big boss?"

"He is. Of the rival group."

"Oh. But then why did those men go and talk to him before?"

"Well because it's obviously being hinted at that they're moles of some kind."

"Ah." You put your mug back on the table.

He looked at you, his mouth curling with a smile. "You're still not following, are you."

"Nope."

He gave a deep, throaty laugh. "We can watch something else if you'd prefer?"

You shook your head and leaned back against him, absentmindedly taking his arm and draping it around your shoulders. "I'm enjoying it."

"You keep saying you don't have a clue what's going on..."

"Yeah but you do. So we're watching it."

He paused for a moment, exhaling a quick, soft breath through his nose. You felt his body relax, his arm wrapping around you more securely. He placed his other hand in his lap, palm up, silently asking you to hold it. You linked your fingers through his and he squeezed your hand gently.

When the movie ended, you didn't move, too comfortable and content in his embrace. You watched the credits roll to the very end, the remote control just out of reach. Father Benedict moved his arm, scratching your head with the tips of his fingers. You turned your head to look up at him.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep," he said.

You laughed softly and forced yourself to sit upright. "Of course not, I was just very invested in the film."

He smirked. "Of course, silly me."

You looked at him, admiring the structure of his face beneath the glow of the TV; the soft shadows and sharp angles, smile lines and pale, captivating eyes.

"Thank you for spending your one, very rare night off with me," you said. "I know there's probably a million things you'd rather be doing than building bookcases and explaining movie plots to me."

He shook his head. "There is nothing else I'd rather be doing."

His own words seemed to give him pause. You cocked your head, watching as his eyes rounded, turning soft and glassy, his jaw relaxing, lips parting ever so slightly.

"What's up?" you asked.

"Nothing," he said quietly, blinking a few times and swallowing hard.

You thought about pressing him for a moment, but you didn't. Instead you got up and gathered the mess from the table.

"Do you want something different to drink?" you asked. "I can't stomach that champagne anymore."

He shook his head distractedly, staring blankly at the TV.

You shrugged and carried the rubbish into the kitchen, stuffing it in the bin and forcing it down until the lid finally closed. Then you moved to the sink to wash your hands, peering out at the tall, thick tree that stretched across the window. In the mornings, you could hear birds singing inside it, and at night you would watch the leaves sway gently in the breeze.

You were drying your hands when the door opened behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Father Benedict stepping into the kitchen.

"Hey," you said. "Changed your mind about the drink?"

He didn't say anything as he walked up behind you, turning you around to look at him and taking your face in his hands.

You stayed quiet as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, inhaling deeply as he kissed you softly, slowly, earnestly. You placed a hand on his cheek, returning the kiss, following his lead. His breath quivered as he broke away - just for a moment - to tilt his head the other way and bring his lips back to yours. He moved a hand to the back of your head, clutching your hair in his fist, the other slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him. You curved your hands around the back of his neck, rising onto your toes to kiss him with more ease.

Usually when you kissed, there was an urgency behind it, a hunger, a primal, impatient need for one another that made you move with haste and vigour. But this was different, somehow. It was longing, desperate, intense. You could feel anguish in his hold of you, reverence in the way he moved his lips, so slowly and deliberately.

He broke away again, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against yours. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his chest, resting them there as you caught his gaze with your own, searching his eyes for a clue, a reason for his sudden sincerity. But all you saw was adoration, a shimmer in his waterline.

You led him to your bedroom, his hold on you never wavering as you moved together through the flat, as though he couldn't bring himself to let go of you, even for a second. You opened the door and pulled him gently into the room, kissing him with the same care and patience he'd shown you.

The room was dark and cool, the curtain-less window letting in a dim glow from the streetlights outside. You wished you'd taken the time to make the bed this morning; your rumpled duvet and mismatched pillows strewn across the sad mattress in the middle of the floor. You opened your mouth to apologise for it, but he caught the words in another kiss before they could surface.

He broke away to take off his t-shirt, throwing it aside and immediately returning his lips to yours, as though any second he was deprived of you was a second too long. You let your fingers dance over the ridges of his torso; the firm muscle of his chest and soft flesh of his belly, the trail of hair beneath his navel and smooth skin slowly puckering with goosebumps. You could no longer imagine a world where this body didn't belong to you.

You moved your hands to the waistline of his jeans but he stopped you, gently pulling his hips back and reaching for the hem of your t-shirt instead. You raised your arms above your head as he peeled it from you, still fighting the urge to hide yourself from him as he laid eyes on your body, even after all this time. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing you deeply as he unclasped your bra. You slid the straps down your arms and let it fall to the ground, melting as the warmth of his chest pressed against yours.

He lowered you both to the mattress, laying you gently on your back as he began showering your body in kisses. Your core fluttered with every warm press of his lips to your skin, your nipples growing tight and hard, making you shiver as his tongue grazed over them. He moved lower, kissing your ribs, hips and stomach, letting his hands roam in tandem with his mouth, taking in as much of you as he could at once.

You tensed your abs beneath his lips, arching your back, making your body appear firmer, ridding yourself of any curves, any softness you didn't want him to see. He responded by kissing the parts you couldn't hide; the dip at your waist and the rounds of your breasts, the soft spot over your womb and the imprint your pyjama shorts had left on your hips. He was admiring the things you thought of as flaws, worshipping them like virtues.

He slid the shorts further down your thighs. You lifted your backside off the mattress, allowing him to drag them down along with your underwear. He tossed them aside and continued to cover you in kisses; the heat of his breath making your body tingle, the anticipation of feeling him in the place that craved him most sending shivers through your core. His lips grazed over the crease where hip met thigh, slowly travelling inwards but never touching your centre.

You sighed in desperation, reaching down to stroke his hair. He glanced up at you, like your touch had snapped him out of a trance, and crawled back up to kiss your lips. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to you, the solid bulge in his jeans pressing against your stomach.

"Are you teasing me?" you whispered, playfully thrusting your hips against his erection.

He breathed out a soft laugh before falling serious again. "I'm indulging in you." He kissed your neck. "You, Ellis, are the most... divine woman I have ever met."

Divine - Of a God, or God-like.

Was that really how he saw you? Heavenly? Seraphic? Something worthy of worship? In the beginning, you'd been a temptation, a test, a weakness. But now, you were divine.

He trailed his kisses back down your body, parting your legs and pressing his lips to your inner thighs. You lay back and closed your eyes, fists clenching the duvet beneath you as his tongue finally made contact with your clit, so lightly it was almost torturous.

You'd gotten so used to the severity of your interactions; the pent up frustration or deep, aggressive need that made sex hard, rough and intense. It's what you wanted, what you enjoyed. You'd almost forgotten it could be like this; tender, forbearing, every breath hanging like a pause in the air between you.

He licked along the seam of your pussy, lapping and sucking as he hummed in pleasure, like he could happily spend the entire night with his face buried between your legs.

"Ben," you whispered.

Your back arched as he flicked his tongue, focusing the pressure on your clit, hands wrapping around your thighs to hold you in place. You whimpered, filling the quiet room with the sound of your shallow breaths as your fingers dug into the sheets. You never understood why it took so long to give yourself an orgasm, yet every time, without fail, he had you on the brink in minutes. It was like your body had an express setting, and he was the only person who knew how to activate it.

He didn't speed up, didn't change pressure or adjust your positions. Yet still, the slow, gentle sweeps of his tongue drew the climax from you in a deep, shuddering rush. Your legs shook, toes curling as an electric current whirred through your core. You moaned softly, reaching down to grab whatever part of him you could as you rode out your orgasm against his mouth.

You hadn't even realised he'd moved until you felt him kiss your jaw, the weight of his body on your chest. If you were divine, then you were convinced he must be God himself. You turned your head, catching his lips with your own and cupping his face in your hands. He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, his hard cock springing out against your stomach as he shimmied them off.

You spread your legs further, rocking your hips wantonly. He sighed into your mouth, breaking away and resting his forehead against yours, looking down into your eyes as he shifted to position himself at your entrance.

He groaned as he entered you, slipping effortlessly through the slick and filling you with a familiar, breathtaking pressure. He drew back and pushed inside again, slowly, making you feel every ridge and vein, every inch and pulsation against your inner walls. A quiet moan escaped you, a tight coiling deep in your belly making you squeeze around him.

He kept eye contact as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, as though nothing else in the world existed besides the place your bodies became one. He slid his fingers between yours, pushing your hands above your head and holding them there, kissing you, moaning with you, connecting with you in a way you weren't sure you'd ever connected with anyone before.

Your breath was trembling; the friction of his cock, his groin rubbing against your clit, the weight of him on top of you, all sending you into a heady daze. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin. You let go of his hands and wrapped them around his back, holding him close to you, fingernails pressing into the flesh of his shoulder blades.

You weren't sure how long it had been, but your thighs were starting to ache, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every steady slide of his cock. You dug your nails deeper into his back, eliciting a growl deep in his throat. He lifted his head, brushing away the hair that had stuck to your face with sweat, and kissed you lovingly.

The next orgasm was different than the first; it was heavier, more guttural, coming from a place deeper inside you. The first was electric and airy, spiritual and sublime. But this one was earthly, carnal, thundering through your body like an earthquake. It was so visceral that he felt it too, almost losing his composure as you came around him.

He kept kissing you, moving with long, slow strokes until your limbs softened, head falling back against the mattress in bliss. Your eyelids were heavy as you gazed up at him, a part of you certain that you could have drifted off to sleep, sated and satisfied. But the other part never wanted him to stop.

He rested on his elbows, propping them either side of your head. "You know," he whispered. "You're the only woman I've ever came inside."

You let out a breathy gasp, his confession sending a shiver through your entire body.

"And it is..." he continued. "The most incredible feeling."

You whimpered, clutching the back of his neck with both hands and bringing his forehead back to yours. He almost lost it again, his rhythm faltering for a moment. He planted his palms on the mattress either side of your head, looking down at you with intense, stormy blue eyes.

He knew you liked his voice, liked it when he said dirty things, talked to you as he buried his cock inside you. But that wasn't for you. He wanted you to know that, to understand you were separate from whoever he'd been with before.

"Come inside me," you whispered against his lips. "Ben..."

He exhaled a heavy breath, thrusting deep and slow before finally letting go. He growled into your mouth as he sank as far as he could, cock pulsing as he released every last drop of pleasure.

You wrapped your arms around him as he collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving, damp curls tickling your face. You smoothed them down, closing your eyes and relaxing beneath the shelter of his large frame. You could hear again; the whoosh of distant traffic outside, the annoying buzz of the lampposts, the sound of Father Benedict's heavy breaths. It was serene, a contentment you never knew you were capable of.

After a while, he shifted slightly, laying kisses across your chest. You smiled, exhaling a soft laugh as his lips tickled your skin. He'd softened inside you, sliding out as he moved, continuing his kisses down to your stomach before resting his head there, seemingly more tired than he'd thought he was. You giggled again, stroking his head gently.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you said with a smile.

"Good."

He stayed there a while longer, resting on you like a pillow, swirling his fingers over your hips and stomach as you played with his hair.

"Ben..." you said quietly.

"Mm?"

"Don't leave me tonight."

He lifted his head to look at you. "I won't."

You nodded with a smile.

He shuffled up the mattress to lay at your side, draping a leg over yours and pulling you into him. You nuzzled your face into his neck and closed your eyes.

You didn't think this place could feel any more like home. But with him there, you would happily never leave.

You woke groggy and confused, the side of your face stuck to Father Benedict's bare chest. You had no idea of the time, but the sky was still pitch black outside, the room colder than it was when you fell asleep. You sat up and began shuffling to the edge of the mattress when you felt him grab your arm with a sleepy grumble. You turned back to see him squinting at you in a half-sleepy state, shushing him softly and gently releasing your arm from his grasp.

"I'm just going to get some water," you whispered.

He relaxed back into the mattress and closed his eyes. You smiled and climbed to your feet, walking out of the bedroom as quietly as you could.

You didn't bother to cover up. It was one of the joys of living alone, people would always say, being able to walk around naked. You never understood why anyone would do that, but as you padded through the flat and into the kitchen, completely unclothed, you felt like you finally got the appeal.

You glanced at the clock on the cooker - 2:34am - wondering what the hell made you stir from sleep at that time. Then you tried to swallow, your throat so dry it seemed to stick closed, and you realised that was why. You took a glass from the draining board and pulled your new water filter out of the fridge, pouring just enough for you to swill your mouth out. Then you poured a full glass, gulping it down without stopping.

Father Benedict pushed through the kitchen door, the sudden noise making you jump in fright.

"Sorry," he said, his voice low and croaky.

He was naked too, his hair wild and messy, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

"It's okay." You put your glass down. "I didn't mean to disturb you when I got up."

"Don't worry." He pointed to his mouth. "Could do with a drink as well."

You padded around the kitchen together in a comfortable silence, naked in more than just body. Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a milky glow across your skin, making everything seem soft, calm. You stretched on your tiptoes to reach a glass from the cupboard, handing it to him as he grabbed the water filter off the counter. You rinsed your glass at the sink as he guzzled down two lots of water, one after the other. Then you took his glass when he was done, rinsing it and placing it side-by-side with yours on the draining board.

You felt him press his body against your back as you stood at the sink, placing a kiss on the side of your head, another on the back of your shoulder. You let your head fall back against his chest, basking in the feeling of his hands as they roamed your body; squeezing your breasts and dipping between your legs. He slid a finger through the slick he'd left there and you hummed softly, tilting your head to give him access to your neck. He nipped you with his teeth, soothing the sting with a kiss, and you closed your eyes as his finger slid into your pussy. It was brief, shallow, but enough to make your stomach flutter.

He brought his lips to your ear. "I like that there's still a part of me inside you."

You shivered, composing yourself quickly and turning your head to look at him from the corner of your eye. "Only because I fell asleep."

He gave a short, deep chuckle, his voice so gruff and low you could feel it vibrating against your ear. He inhaled deeply through his nose, letting it out in a calm, quiet breath. "Bend over."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him again.

He squeezed your backside. "If you want to, that is..."

He fucked you in the kitchen, tiredness doing little to deter his stamina, and afterwards he carried you back to bed, stroking your hair and holding you until you drifted off again. The next time you stirred, it was you who wanted him, nudging him awake and straddling his lap, riding his cock until your body gave out, your mutual climax coming quick and with little effort.

Your joints ached, skin peppered with love bites and fingertip bruises, hair sticking to the nape of your neck with sweat. But you didn't care. It was all evidence of him, memories that would echo in the days that followed.

The mattress shifted. You opened your eyes to the room illuminated in the faint light of dawn. You blinked through the grit in your vision to see Father Benedict putting on his clothes, trying to be quiet as he hopped into his jeans and searched the floor for his t-shirt. He turned to find you sitting up watching him, making his way around to your side and crouching to bring himself face-to-face with you.

"I have to get to the church," he said.

"Okay," you croaked, shifting to get up.

"Hey, it's alright, you stay there and I'll let myself out."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Go back to sleep, it's still early."

"Okay."

He tilted your chin up with his finger and leaned in to kiss you.

It was gentle, lingering, like he didn't want it to end. And when he finally broke away, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"Goodbye, Ellis."

"Bye."

You watched him leave, listening as the slam of your front door echoed through the flat. Only then did you lie back down, pressing your face to the pillow he'd slept on and giving in to slumber once more.

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @hiddendiary @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch @paola-carter @gordorio @shjl15 @thedaredevilsgirl @howardtonypotts @ceccille @wllsfer @thelostsmiles @vi0letdaze @stanfanfiction @king-kongbebe-blog @sof38 @doctorscarletwitch @rmoonstoner @intrappolatatrairicordi @ehuether @dragonqueen89 @estheticwh0re @Lfp10836 @kanyewestest @star-girl-05 @theothersideofthescreen @battledress @chaosdorito @vlqueen @erratica47 @happybunnyclumsyduck @bloggerbatch @bimrwolf @chaand-sitara

*If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the tag list here

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sandwhitches · 4 months ago

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𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗢, 𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗬𝗘! (𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗺𝘂 𝗺𝗶𝘆𝗮 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝘂)

II. “parent trap” ✧ (contains written portion under cut)

warnings: (16+) language, implications of alcohol consumption, references to smoking, sexual allusions

<- prev. | m. list | next ->

this all must be a joke. one big and entirely unfunny joke. the set up? you walking into bokuto and kuroo’s party thinking nothing terribly odd would happen. the punchline? running smack into atsumu miya, a sizable red splotch from the cheap liquor he drank staining your new blouse.

before you could wait for the laughter, you found your wrist seized in an urgent grip that dragged you to the tiny bathroom tucked at the end of the hallway. atsumu miya, the last person you wished to spend your night with, is hastily running a rag under the whooshing mouth of the water faucet. if you weren’t already of the predisposition that atsumu was incapable of such flagrant displays of empathy, you could almost believe that he felt sorry.

“shit-“ he’s been rambling nervously for the past thirty seconds since he’d spilled his drink all over you, “here, try this.” calloused hands wring out the sopping rag and offer it to you, nodding to the stain upon your chest.

words tumble to the tip of your tongue, only to stagnate as you meet eyes with him and fully comprehend what’s happening. how you got to this point is beyond you, and you don’t think you’ll ever catch up with it. you shake your head, “it won’t work if it’s just water.” though, you still find yourself making a useless attempt to scrub at the fabric, feeling as though you might only be making it worse.

“hand soap?” he inquires, picking up the dish soap which apparently doubles as such, and you can’t help but think about how bokuto and kuroo practically live like heathens. you set your jaw firmly, “it’s okay, i really wasn’t planning on staying long.” you don’t really mean it, but, you will say anything to get out of this situation.

your chest constricts as atsumu lets out an incredulous scoff, “nah, you shouldn’t hafta leave just ‘cus of that.” you’d never realized how different he was until that very moment.

when you thought about atsumu, you thought about the boy you used to know all those years back. the one who terrified you. the atsumu who tugged on your hair in the lunch line, who launched crumpled up papers scribbled with awful notes into the back of your head, the boy who called you every nasty name a child could come up with and do it with a smile on his face.

but now, it wasn’t like that. for only a brief, fleeting moment, he was just a stranger. like the dark or rollercoasters, not as scary as they used to be now that you’re older. everything seems to click for only a moment, ideas bleeding into your mind about all the things you thought wrong of him.

your train of thought was cut short by a furious pounding at the door, followed by an angry hurry up in there!

“well,” atsumu’s eyes suddenly glint with something alarming, and everything you were thinking up until that point dissipates like mist. he reaches for the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his blond head of hair without a second thought. you yelp, covering your eyes like an awkward teenager.

“what? can’t handle it?” he snickers, hands working at turning the shirt right side out, “what are you doing?” you hiss, dropping your hands to your sides like weights.

don’t look at his six-pack, don’t look at his six-pack, don’t-

“i can’t.” you blurt out, staring down in horror at the shirt he is offering. atsumu snorts, “no, seriously, take it.” he nudges it closer to you, dangling it tauntingly. you shake your head, “you can’t just walk around shirtless.”

atsumu raises a brow, lips pulling into a lopsided grin that seems terrifyingly familiar, “why? i don’t think anyone would mind.” he waggles his brows suggestively and your stomach churns at the fact that he can somehow still manage to look like an asshole while quite literally giving you the shirt off of his back.

in surrender, you take the shirt, pinching at the soft white fabric. atsumu hums, head tilting ever so slightly as he watched you pull it over your head without further argument. “see? much better, hm?” the idea of affirming this made your head hurt, so you opted for silence instead, which seemed to do nothing to deter him.

there is a certain shine in his eyes that wasn’t there before. atsumu miya is absolutely unpredictable and unreadable and that is the scariest fucking thing in the world to you. a series of sharp raps at the door interrupts once again, almost allowing you to forget about the strange feeling that crept up your back and heated the nape of your neck. something akin to fear, but a fear so carnal it almost felt like desire.

nope! not happening!

“okay, fuck!” atsumu shouts back at whoever is pounding at the door, reaching to thumb at the lock on the knob. “um-“ you start, your fists balling nervously at your sides until your nails bite into the meat of your palms. he glances over his shoulder at you, pausing his ministrations to listen. the rush you get from this sudden beacon of undivided attention is exactly why you need to stay away from atsumu miya.

“thanks.” you mumble.

“don’t mention it.” atsumu smirks, shouldering into the door to open it and disappearing into the crowded hallway before you can even figure out why his smile had faltered just for a second upon your weak display of gratitude.

earlier you had thought that atsumu spilling his drink all over you was the punchline, but you were woefully wrong. that was just the set up to the best joke of the night: standing in perfect view of the bathroom, your friends all stare at you clambering out of the room after atsumu, wearing his shirt. akaashi, kuroo, and bokuto are all equally wide-eyed and slack-jawed, drinks long forgotten in their hands. that is the punchline. how the hell are you going to explain this one?

notes:

-> atsumu was probably wearing the stupidest shirt ever but i’ll leave it up to your imagination

-> kuroo and bokuto use dawn dish soap for everything “because of the cute ducks on the bottle” NO YOU MAY NOT USE THAT AS SHAMPOO

-> also if it wasn’t clear enough atsumu, suna & bokuto all play for the university v.ball team >:)

a/n: IM SO SORRY IVE HAD TO UPLOAD THIS MULTIPLE TIMES DUE TO FORMATTING ISSUES TUMBLR IS THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE!!! GAAHHH tysm for all the love on my first chapter!! hope u liked this one!! my creative writing is a little rusty after this terrible paper i just did for my poli sci class i feel like i’m writing like a robot. my third chapter is also done and will most likely be up tomorrow (7/18) sometime in the evening! also about taglists, if u sent an ask i just decided not to respond in case u wanted ur request to be private or smth but i see all ur nice input and it makes me so happy so thank u!!! working on smth not related to this smau too!!

taglist status: open! (comment or send an ask!)

taglist: @honeekyuu @reignsaway @luna-mothii @lumiether

#atsumu smau #atsumu fluff #hq atsumu #haikyuu #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #☎️.hello goodbye!#🍓.atsumu

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thebramblewood · 1 year ago

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That moment you find out the girl you’ve been seeing is famous - for being a 130-year-old missing persons case with an entire "theories and speculation" section on Wikipedia.

Previous / Next

Yes, I made Lilith a Wikipedia page because I'm just that extra. If you want to read it (I threw in some new information), you can find the whole thing following the transcript below the cut.

Real-time footage of Helena researching:

[Snippets of Caleb's letter echo in Helena's mind] I will put it to you bluntly: Lilith and I have been vampires for some 100 years. Faced with your otherwise certain demise, I chose to make you one too. You may not believe me. It will feel like a bad flu for a day or two; then it will feel like the heat of 1000 fires blazing inside. I very well knew it would turn you into a monster against your will.

Helena, thinking: It's just a hangover, Helena. It's just a hangover. Yeah, that crazy bitch bit you, and her crazy brother wrote a dumb letter to scare the shit out of you. But vampires aren't real.

Thank god Ulrike left all these fucking tarps. This sunlight is murder on my eyes.

Several internet rabbitholes later... [Helena scanning Wikipedia page on computer screen] Last seen alive March 16, 1918... disappeared under mysterious circumstances... seemed to fall ill... Tangled Vines... immortal vampires... This can't actually be her. It's impossible...

Lilith Violetta Vatore (December 2, 1891 – last seen alive March 16, 1918) was an heiress and socialite who disappeared under mysterious circumstances at the age of 26 along with her brother, Caleb Vatore, 24. Before vanishing, the siblings were poised to jointly inherit the Vatore fortune, home, and 100-year-old vineyard and winery. This was considered unusual for the period, as family property, wealth, and business interests were often only passed to women in the complete absence of a male inheritor.

Despite societal expectations, Vatore reportedly had little interest in courting or eventually marrying. She was said to have rebuffed dozens of engagement offers, much to her parents' dismay. However, she rarely turned down an invitation to a ball, and her baldly flirtatious escapades were frequently reported on in society columns. One such columnist wrote that she "bandied about in a bold and bawdy manner most unbecoming of a respectable lady, laughing uproariously, drinking excessively, and making coy conversation with every handsome man in sight." Some historians suggest based on a series of candid letters from Vatore to fellow socialite and confidante Prudence Crumplebottom, donated to the University of Britechester by Crumplebottom's daughters, that she may have preferred the company of women in private.

The Vatore siblings were said to be so close that one was rarely seen without the other. The society columns were not kind to Caleb Vatore, calling him a "poor chap" who seemed "nothing more than a playmate, servant, or lapdop, his role at any given moment wholly dependent upon his dear sister's whims." Little is known about his personal life.

In the days preceding the siblings' disappearance, Vatore seemed to fall ill. She sequestered herself to her bedroom, allowing no one but her brother to enter. On the morning of March 16, a maid found Caleb's chambers undisturbed, and Vatore's locked bedroom door was forced open, whereupon she was discovered to have absconded in the night, along with her brother and her finest jewels.

Various court battles ensued over the fate of the Vatore estate, and interest in the siblings' disappearance was briefly renewed when their alleged children materialized in the mid-1950s. However, the entire ordeal all but disappeared from public consciousness until the recent publication of Tangled Vines: A Complete Investigation of the Vatore Disappearances by journalist Salim Benali. Benali posits that the Vatores are immortal vampires who still live today, and though some scholars find elements of his research intriguing, others dismiss his argument as an elaborate, attention-seeking hoax.

#ts4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #ts4 story #simblr #helena zhao #story: hzid #as unbelievable as it may be i love the idea of the vatores being minor historical figures who should be long dead hiding in plain sight #helena probably should've done this before the party and saved herself the trouble #but to be fair i don't think she knew lilith's last name

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brbsoulnomming · 1 year ago

Text

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 24

Rating: mature

-----

The next morning, he and Robin drape themselves over a pair of pool chairs to get their lounge on while Steve works on getting the pool in good enough shape for their upcoming party.

It means watching Steve in nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of cut off shorts, so Eddie's very on board.

Robin scoffs next to him. "I am so glad you got your shit together so I don't have to tiptoe around you drooling right now."

"I'm not drooling!" Eddie insists, though he does wipe his hand over his mouth just to check.

No drool.

"Metaphorically," Robin clarifies, grinning at him. "By all means, oogle away. Just know Steve's probably showing off a little on purpose."

Eddie squints at him, and sure enough - there's probably no need for Steve to be lifting things that often.

"I hate that it's working," Eddie grumbles.

"Of course it's working." Robin rolls her eyes.

Right, of course it is. Eddie's always known that Steve was very attractive - it used to irritate the hell out of him, that he was susceptible to the same allure as the rest of the masses of Hawkins High. The fact that he thought Steve was a douche used to counter it, but, well.

Now he's pretty much in love with the guy.

Eddie leans forward a little, fiddling with some blades of grass by his chair. "Steve's, uh. It's true, right, that he's had a lot of sex with a lot of girls?"

Robin nods. "It's true. He was in a slump when I first met him, but before - well, before you, he was complaining about all his meaningless relationships that were just about sex when he wanted a real connection."

That's… Eddie doesn't know exactly what that is, actually, or how he feels about it. He thinks it should be weird, talking about this when they're both dating Steve, but - it doesn't feel weird, not really. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Does it bother me that he's been with more girls than I can count before I even got my first kiss? Not really. I mean, sure, I guess a little, in an ugh why is it so easy for him and so hard for me, but, you know. We both had our different ways of finding our other soulmate. Apparently neither of them were successful, since the Upside Down brought you to Steve, and I'm still striking out." She pauses, then adds, "Plus he's like really good at eating girls out, so I'm not going to complain about getting to benefit from him demonstrating his technique."

He takes it back, it's weird and uncomfortable and that was way too much information about their sex life.

Whatever face he's making gets her to laugh at him, eyes crinkling.

"Don't worry, it probably translates over decently well. Besides, I've seen him practically deep throat a banana so you're probably good. Oh, has he gotten to do that thing with his tongue yet?"

Eddie squeaks. He's pretty sure his face is bright red, considering how much it's burning, and Robin's laughter turns into a cackle.

Steve overhears the laughter and turns towards them, hip cocked as he squints at them.

"What's so funny?" he calls.

"Just asking Eddie if he's gotten to experience your tongue skills yet!" she calls back.

"Robin!" Steve yelps, dropping the pool net to come over to them.

"What?" she asks. "Weren't you the one who was whining at me about how you wanted to choke on his dick and then eat him out until he cried?"

The blood that had been flooding his cheeks immediately rushes south, and Eddie has to lean over to adjust his pants and try to make that less obvious.

Yes, please, sign him up for all of that.

"In confidence! I told you that in confidence!" Steve sputters.

Eddie leans back, tipping his head up at Steve with a slow smirk. "I'm feeling a little hurt, here, Harrington, how come I haven't gotten a fruit demonstration?"

Steve gapes at him for a moment, just long enough for Eddie to start to regain his footing.

Then Steve's eyes narrow.

"If I was demonstrating for you, Munson, it wouldn't be on fruit," he replies.

Steve turns his back on them and returns to the pool, leaving Eddie to make a protesting noise - that is not a whine, no matter how much he can read that in Robin's eyes while she laughs at him.

"Do I need to shove you in the pool to cool you off?" she teases.

"Shut up," he mutters, adjusting himself again.

Then he tips his head back and closes his eyes, because if he looks at Steve again in the next fifteen minutes or so, he might need to take Robin up on that.

—

They eat lunch all jammed together on the couch, plates balanced on their laps. Steve's eating with his left hand, because his right hand is holding Eddie's left. Their fingers are laced together, and Steve refuses to let go, and Eddie's pretty sure his cheeks are flushed red, but he's really not going to complain about it.

There's a little bit of sauce on the corner of Steve's lip, and ridiculously, it makes Eddie want to lean in to lick it off.

Fuck, he really wants to kiss him. Is he allowed to kiss him, is that weird? Steve and Robin haven't kissed in front of him, but Eddie kind of figures that's because they knew he had hang ups about the sharing thing.

Ugh, if he wants kissing Steve when they're like this to be on the table, it's probably going to be on him to talk about it.

Eddie clears his throat. "Hey, uh," he starts, but has no idea where to go after that.

Robin makes a little encouraging noise.

"I appreciate you guys holding back on the PDA around me while I figured all this out, but you don't have to anymore," he says.

Steve's eyebrows raise. He looks down, where Robin's toes are shoved under his thigh and he'd been in the middle of eating the olives off of her plate. "I hate to break it to you, Eds, but we haven't been holding back all that much."

"Well, yeah, not for that, but-" Eddie pauses, switching to come at this from another angle. "Not a lot of people know about me. And I'm guessing - not a lot know about Steve?"

Steve nods when Eddie looks at him for confirmation. "Just Robin and you, and Max and Lucas."

Eddie smiles a little. "Same, but Uncle Wayne knows about me."

"Just you and Steve, Max and Lucas for me," Robin adds, which -

Eddie hadn't known that, actually, but it makes him smile brightly at her. It makes it even better, knowing that Robin's in the same boat as him and Steve - that she gets it. "You're the only one who knows about me and Steve, and me and Steve. I don't know how you feel about telling the others who know?"

Steve considers that. "I feel okay," he says finally. "But if we tell Lucas and Max, we have to tell the rest of the party. It's not fair to have them keep that secret."

Eddie doesn't disagree, but - "Table that for now, then. So yeah, just you. And I'd really, really like to just kiss Steve without thinking about it when it's just the three of us, so it'd be really shitty of me if I told you not to."

There's a moment of silence as Robin and Steve look at each other with near identical expressions of confusion.

"Eddie," Robin says after a moment. "I like girls."

Eddie frowns. He thought they just covered that. "Yeah?"

"Only girls," she clarifies.

What.

"But Steve-" he starts.

"Is not a girl," Robin finishes.

"Definitely not a girl," Steve adds.

"Wait, so you - so you're not -" Eddie stammers.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Oh my God, Eddie, have you thought we were dating this whole time?" Robin shrieks.

"Yes! Of course I did! Look at you!" Eddie gestures at them.

"You said you told him!" Steve hisses at Robin.

"I did!" Robin protests.

"I think I would have remembered that!" Eddie counters.

"We were sitting in the kitchen! I told you that Steve has two soulmates, a platonic," she gestures at herself, the motion just as exaggerated as the word. "And a romantic!" She gestures at Eddie this time.

Eddie closes his eyes, fights the urge to just keep repeating Jesus Christ, and opens them again. "Buckley. I wasn't looking at you while we were talking."

"You weren't - well that's just rude, Munson! What were you so busy staring at that you couldn't pay attention to me in the very important discussion we were having?" Robin demands.

Eddie's eyes cut to Steve.

Her gaze must follow his, because she groans. "Of course you were looking at Steve. See, look at that, another person ignoring me because they're obsessed with you."

Eddie squawks. "I wasn't obsessed with-"

His jaw snaps shut as he realizes that might not be a lie.

Shit.

Steve grins at him, looking just a little bit too smug. "It's okay," he says. "I'm kind of obsessed with you, too."

Robin groans, face planting onto Steve's shoulder. "How did we miss this?"

"I thought we were being so mature," Steve agrees. "So open and communicative."

"In my defense, you two did shower together," Eddie points out.

"Not like that!" Robin says.

"How do you shower together but not like that?" Eddie demands.

Steve shrugs. "The same way you wash someone's hair but not like that?"

Eddie makes a face at him. "Yeah, that doesn't count, I wanted to jump you the whole time."

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again. "Yeah, okay, me too," he admits. "You kept making these little sounds, I just-"

Eddie waggles his eyebrows. "Keep going, Stevie, you just what?"

"Get sidetracked later," Robin cuts in. "The point is - technically, Steve showered while I was brushing my teeth, and I showered while he was doing his hair care routine. We're soulmates, it's not like it matters what we see."

"But - there was giggling, and smacking, and - other noises," Eddie protests, but it's a weak one now.

Steve shrugs. "My back was all fucked up, man, you know that. Rob was helping me with the bandages."

"And Steve was doing his stupid shower characters," Robin adds, rolling her eyes. "He makes himself a dumb beard out of shaving cream or a stupid hairstyle out of shampoo and does terrible voices, and it's awful and I don't hate it at all."

Eddie - Eddie can imagine that perfectly, actually, and fuck, something so stupid shouldn't make him want so badly, but there it is.

"Stop," he whines. "I'm already in love with you, stop making it worse."

Both Steve and Robin freeze, but it still takes him a moment to realize what he just said.

Oh shit.

Eddie swallows, building up his courage for a moment before he sneaks a look at Steve.

Steve's looking back, just a little bit awestruck. "You love me?"

Eddie can't pull his hand free to fidget with his wrist brace, so he plays with Steve's fingers instead. "Well, yeah. I kind of thought that was obvious."

Then again, apparently some things all three of them thought were obvious were very much not obvious, and he grimaces.

"Yeah," he says. "I really do."

Robin kicks Steve in the thigh, leaning over and snatching their plates out of their laps. "Upstairs, now," she informs them. "I know that look, Steve, and if you're going to make out with him you're not doing it sitting next to me on the couch."

"Upstairs?" Steve asks, and who the hell is Eddie to say no to that?

"Just remember you're supposed to pick Dustin up for patrol in half an hour!" Robin yells up after them. "And I will not be stalling if he walkies asking what's taking you so long!"

"Guess we shouldn't waste any time." Eddie turns to Steve with a smirk, one eyebrow raised, only to find himself pinned to the wall in the upstairs hallway.

Steve crowds in against him, kissing him in short little bursts, like he keeps trying to pull back to say something but can't make himself stop for long.

Eddie doesn't make it easy for him to pull away, chasing him every time he does to kiss him again. He drags his teeth along Steve's bottom lip the next time he pulls back, but this time, Steve actually does stop long enough to speak.

"I love you, too," he pants out against Eddie's lips, the words muffled by how close they are together.

And Eddie - yeah, part of him had known. Like he told Uncle Wayne, it was obvious that Steve cared about him, and it was just as obvious that Steve was really into him.

But mostly knowing about it and hearing it confirmed are two different things, and Eddie surges forward to kiss him again.

Steve presses him back against the wall, one thigh wedged between Eddie's legs - still in those cut off shorts, and if Eddie could bring himself to break the kiss long enough to look down, he's pretty sure he'd get more than a flash of hairy skin. Eddie groans, rolling his hips up so he can at least grind against his thigh.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, before his tongue slides into his mouth at the same time his thigh presses up and up, giving Eddie more friction to rut against.

Which he immediately takes advantage of, grabbing Steve's ass with both hands and holding on as they rock together.

"Wanna make you feel good," Steve says, dropping little biting kisses along the line of Eddie's jaw. "Want you to tell me everything you like."

Eddie huffs out a shaky little laugh. "I, uh. I've never done this before, Stevie."

Steve tips his head back to look at him, brows furrowed for a moment before he seems to get that Eddie means, like, ever.

Despite the fact that he's mostly sure Steve isn't going to make fun of him, his stomach still drops when Steve groans and drops his head down into Eddie's shoulder.

"Steve?" Eddie asks.

"We gotta stop," Steve replies, muffled. "We've only got like twenty minutes left now, and that's really not enough for everything I want to do with you."

Eddie's dick throbs where it's still pressed against Steve's thigh. "It's enough for something, though, come on."

Steve pulls back to look at him. "Eds, your first time is not going to be a quickie in our hallway with Robin downstairs and Dustin waiting on me."

Eddie considers that, then rolls his hips up again, grinning smugly when it makes Steve inhale sharply. "Yeah, I'm pretty okay with that for my first mutual orgasm experience."

Steve makes a face at him, the impact of which is a little ruined by his slightly glazed eyes. "I'm not."

Eddie grunts. "I'm not a girl," he manages to growl out.

Steve looks down between them, where Eddie's still very hard and very pressed into him. "I noticed."

"Then don't treat me like some delicate little virgin," Eddie snaps.

Steve huffs. "It's not like that, it's - fine, why did you tell me, then?"

"What?" Eddie asks, thrown.

"If it's not a big deal, why did you say anything?"

"I… I don't know," Eddie admits. "I just - thought you should be aware, I guess, in case you were expecting something else."

Someone who knew what they were doing.

"Eds," Steve breathes out, tipping his head in to kiss him again. "I'm not expecting anything but you, I promise. Just you, that's all I want."

"That's all?" Eddie asks, and he means it to be teasing, but it comes out a little shaky.

"I want - look, I know it's crap about virginity being special and your first time being perfect and all that, but… it's also not crap."

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

"It's - it should be good, Eddie. You deserve to have something go right. I want to take my time with you, not be thinking about how we have to rush."

Well when Steve puts it like that.

"You're such a romantic," Eddie teases.

Steve's ears go a little pink, but he shrugs. "Yeah, I guess I kind of am."

Eddie pulls him back in for another kiss. "I love you," he whispers against his lips, part because he does and part just to see if he can get Steve all riled up again.

"Not fair," Steve mutters back.

Eddie can't help but laugh a little. "It work?"

"Yes." Steve kisses him again. "But it didn't change my mind."

He steps back, though Eddie's pleased to note that he looks both rumpled and reluctant. Eddie sighs, then reaches out to fix Steve's collar, run his fingers through his hair. Steve does the same for him, and it feels -

Well, pretty fucking good, actually.

They head back downstairs. Robin cheers for them, shouting, "Three minutes to spare!"

Steve rolls his eyes, leans over to kiss the top of her head.

Then he drags Eddie to the front door with him so they can kiss again, long and lingering, before Steve finally heads back out.

Eddie drifts back into the living room to sit down next to Robin again, trying not to look too dazed.

She huffs at him, and it's only then that he realizes this is the first time they've been alone since she told him she was coming back for him.

"You still pissed at me?"

Robin rolls her eyes. "No, you fixed that last night. For the record - it wasn't at you, not really. Steve was miserable, which gets my hackles up. I know, he said he was happy no matter what, but I know him. He would have been hung up on you for ages. Plus, the boy likes sex," she adds matter-of-factly. "It would have been awful dealing with him pining and all pent up from not getting laid."

Eddie snorts.

"What?" Robin asks.

"Nothing," Eddie replies. "Just - I'm really glad we don't have to work out a schedule for both of us having sex with him."

Robin lets out a sound that's some unholy mix between a giggle and a shriek. "Okay, first, thanks for putting that mental image in my brain, I need at least three shots later tonight to get that out. Second - oh my god we would run him ragged, he's pretty insatiable but I'm not sure even he could keep up with the two of us."

Eddie cackles, head tipping back in a laughter there's no way he can contain. "I really love you, Robbie," he says quietly when he's managed to calm down.

Her eyes are soft as she looks at him. "Yeah," she says. "I do, too."

"I can't promise that I won't ever hurt him," he says. "Because, you know, sometimes I get up in my head about stuff, and sometimes I miss things. But I love him. It's always going to be him. I won't - I won't ever leave him, or give up on us."

Robin's quiet for a long time. "You and I aren't really soulmates, you know. I can't tell if you just lied to me."

Eddie knows what his knee-jerk reaction to that is. But he sits with it for a moment, breathes in and breathes out, and then decides knee-jerk was the right reaction. "Yeah, you can."

Robin smiles at him, reaching out to tug on a lock of his hair. "Yeah, I can," she agrees.

He opens his arms, and she hugs him, then shoves him off.

"Come on, Steve left us to do the lunch dishes."

—

Steve brings home pizza for dinner when he gets done with patrolling.

"Hey, I was thinking - do you want to head out to Forest Hills when we're done?" Steve asks while they eat. "There's not really anyone there anymore, we could see if there's anything left of yours you want to get."

Eddie considers that. Part of him isn't sure he wants to go back there, ever, but the other part kind of feels like he needs to see it. To make it real again, and not just a thing in his nightmares.

So he agrees, and they head out after they clean up dinner - Robin refuses to get stuck with it this time.

It still feels strange, driving around in the front seat of Steve's Bimmer, but mostly a nice strange. They don't pass many cars on the way out there, and Steve's got Trooper's Thick as Thieves album playing quietly, and Eddie can just lean back and alternate looking out the window with looking at the beautiful boy in the driver's seat.

Steve pulls a couple of empty boxes out of the trunk when they get there, and Eddie sees him hesitate over the nail bat that's still in there from his patrol earlier.

"Here," Eddie says, taking the boxes so Steve can grab the bat.

There hasn't been any sign of Vecna or the Upside Down on their patrols yet, but Eddie's pretty sure they'll both feel better if Steve's carrying it.

The trailer is barely holding together, a huge chunk ripped out of the living room, and Eddie swallows back a surge of tears.

He knows they have insurance, knows what Uncle Wayne said about the stuff in the trailer, but - it was the first place that ever really felt like home to Eddie. Even though the home was more about Uncle Wayne himself than the physical trailer, it hurts seeing it like this.

"Hey," Steve says softly. "We don't have to do this tonight, we can wait."

We.

Like it's just a guarantee that whenever Eddie does decide to look through the shattered remains of his life, Steve will be right there with him. No question.

It shouldn't be, but it's still a little bit of a surprise to realize that Eddie believes it.

"No," he says, though he does lean in for a kiss. "I want to get this over with. Come on, let's look in my room."

His room isn't as bad as the living room, but it's still pretty trashed. He gets to work rifling through the debris while Steve hangs out in the doorway, nailbat on one shoulder and keeping an eye on the dormant but still not closed gate in the living room.

Eventually, Eddie manages to find about a couple of boxes worth of clothes, most of his jewelry, some D&D things, a few other odds and ends. It's not a lot, but it's more than Eddie thought he might have, which lifts his spirits a little.

"I can stop borrowing your clothes all the time," Eddie tells Steve.

Steve makes a face like he's trying not to say anything.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"…I kind of like you in my clothes," Steve admits.

Eddie barks out a little laugh, then sets down his box so he can sidle into Steve's space. "Oh yeah?" he asks, cocking one eyebrow. "You want me to wear your letterman jacket?"

Steve tips his head, which Eddie is pretty damn sure means yes, but I don't want to say it.

"Steve Harrington," Eddie teases as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of Steve's jeans and gives it a tug. "You wanna be my boyfriend?"

"I'm your soulmate," Steve replies, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't stop himself from being reeled in.

"You wanna be my boyfriend," Eddie repeats, voice sing song, and steals another kiss.

"You were the one who said you wanted the full Steve Harrington experience," Steve teases back.

"I was joking!" Eddie replies, but he realized the moment he says it that - well, no, he kind of wasn't.

Steve grins widely at him. "No, you weren't," he retorts, with all the confidence of someone who's just felt a new lie being written on them.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. "So what are you going to do about it, then?"

Steve leans in to kiss him one more time. "Come on. Let's get out of here first."

And, well, all right, Eddie can't exactly protest that.

He picks up two boxes, leaving Steve to grab the third and his bat, then the two of them head back out of the trailer.

They're not too far from what's left of the front door when the sound of footsteps crunches on the gravel nearby.

It's probably just one of the handful of folks too stubborn to leave Forest Hills, but - it's dark, and Eddie can't see anyone, and he can't help the rush of panic that he feels. It must hit Steve the same way, because when he turns back to look at him, he sees that Steve has gone still, head tilted like he's listening.

The sound of a gun cocking rings out far louder than it should.

"Don't move," Jason Carver says.

-----

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At least all three of them are finally on the same page?

Part 25

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #steddie fic #steddie soulmate au #platonic soulmates stobin

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