You hit the Stop Streaming button in OBS after saying your goodbyes to your dear Saplings. All creepy comments again today, huh. A descending "pft" instinctly exits your lips. You put away the KU-100, leave the recording room and take your phone with you, heading for the bedroom for your eight hours.
Streaming nowadays is a rarity even for you. Your genmates don't do it, your branchmates barely do it, hell, you might be number one of hololive fucking English in terms of hours streamed this month. But it's not your fault that you or your genmates don't want to stream. It's stressful, the chat is creepy they force this weird thing called "idol culture" on you, and half the money you make goes to the weeaboo country anyways. Some people can bear that, but not you. You're a grown western woman and you deserve some solid cum in your tum, 'cause you're only in here for the money, no?
But for now, it's over, you got some lonetime to enjoy and you got an intimate partner to unwind with. You bring up Discord and hit the entry aptly named "ed", preparing to write up some cheesy version of "hey I'm done" before going to sleep. Finger on the greedy blue Send button, you hesitate as his account goes from Idle to Online, and in the chat log appears the words you never expected at this time of day.
"come over."
"i need help"
Hell do you do now? Clock's dead center on zero o'clock, it's freezing cold out there, and an oh so frail girl like you going outside is dangerous as it is.
You bite the bullet. Barely fifteen minutes later, you arrive at the door of your boyfriend's house. You had to put on baggy clothes and a mask and had to put up a stupid convo with that creepy taxi driver. You're not even certain of how you are going to get back home, but you're here. His Discord didn't pick up your call, and shouting at the door doesn't give you any response either. Alright, plan two.
You're going to take a deep breath, your hands on the door knob, and twist. The door swings right open, sending a shock up your spine; damn thing isn't even locked. What's up with this guy today, pulling pranks on me at this hour? Decently pissed, you steadily charge towards the bedroom, ready to scold him for this distasteful joke he set up. This time, the door's locked.
"Fuck off." F-bomb dropped, you throw a few solid punches at the door. No way that's going to pop it open, but you do it anyways to dissolve your anger. Fine, let's just check on another room. Dude is probably just passing out from alcohol in the kitchen. You yank out the phone again to try giving him another call, but the moment you turn away from the door, a tall, yet fat and dark-skinned figure stands before you.
