#footstool with storage

[footstoolsandmore]

Footstools are a chance to bring some colour, energy, and most importantly, cosiness into your house. Footstools are a low-risk way to add personality to your decor as a little piece of furniture. Pick a striking hue or a distinctive texture to add some of your character and uniqueness to your interior design.

[amaranthsynthesis]

partner suggested an 'employee of the month' place of honor for the toy collection and i'm madder than ever that I have no room to BEGIN to display the growing silicone horde

[ndeanufacstominducti]

FOOTRESTS. 098 BENCH IN FRONT OF BED

Product size： 134*50*74cmTotal width134CMTotal height 74CMTotal depth 50CMSeat width 86CMSeat height 46CMSeat depth 40CMLeg height 24CMBack height  29CMCtn size cm：120/50/46N.w：17.65 G.w：19.50 Mark：Wooden frame+foam+wooden legs

[formula412]

New York Enclosed Living Room A picture of a mid-sized, contemporary living room with a medium-tone wood floor and brown walls, a standard fireplace, a wood fireplace surround, and a wall-mounted television.

[mizzoualphaphi]

Traditional Closet - Walk-In Inspiration for a large timeless gender-neutral carpeted and beige floor walk-in closet remodel with recessed-panel cabinets and white cabinets

[sarahghetti]

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

-

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

.

.

.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

-

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

-

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

.

.

.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

-

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

-

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

-

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

-

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

-

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

.

.

.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

[qicc]

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[oysterie]

Entire current room set up is a mess tbh. I need wall shelves to house my trinkets and items at this point 😭😭

Ohhh do I start moving stuff around on my shelves at 10:48 at night :s

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Customer Service: Where Character A works Customer Service at a restaurant/business and Character B and their child are customers. Character A first notices a really cute kid only to notice that, hey, the parent is actually very beautiful too. What the hell?

So this is actually my first Dungeon Meshi fic and the fact that it's a modern AU is a nice little callback to my first Bagginshield fic being a modern AU oneshot. So I hope you guys enjoy and I did these characters justice.

Cooking is Better with Company

Ship: Pots n' Picks (Chilchuck/Senshi)

Rating: G

Warning(s): N/A

Words: 2534

Senshi’s dream had always been to own his own restaurant. Nothing too fancy. Just a small place full of comfort food for families to come and gather. It had taken a long time. Lots of clawing and fighting in his youth to get here, but finally The Golem’s Garden Bistro came to be. Senshi had a few hired hands to wait on the customer, but as for making the food? That pleasure belonged solely to him. Because of it, there wasn’t often a chance to go out and greet a customer personally. So when one found him, he was more than a little caught off-guard. 

“Whatcha doing?”

Senshi turned around, eyebrows jumping high on his head at the sight of the adorable little blonde girl with a wide grin.

“Making bread.” He answered. 

Somehow her grin grew even wider. “Can I help?”

Senshi hesitated. Clearly she belonged to someone in the dining room, and he would imagine they were looking everywhere for her. However, it has always been hard to resist a sweet little one. 

“Okay, but then you need to go back to your family. Alright?”

“Kay!” She squealed before running over to where Senshi stood.

Senshi looked around for something for her to stand on before finding a footstool Falin had to use sometimes to reach the top shelf in the storage room. She still stood a bit shorter than the countertop, but at least she was able to peer over it to see what Senshi was doing. They made sure to wash her hands clean, as all good cooks do, he explained. Then he would pull off bits of dough to have her squish into a ball and put in the pan. They continued on in this way, finding their own little rhythm as Senshi put the rolls in the oven to cook.

“Now while we wait, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

She took a deep breath before launching into the longest spew of words in the shortest amount of time that Senshi had ever heard. Apparently her name was Puckpatti, and she had a mom, a dad, and two sisters. Her favorite color was purple, and her favorite animal was dragons. Senshi smiled and hummed or agreed in the appropriate place as he took the rolls out of the oven, and listened to her tell him about her favorite class at school and why. That’s when the kitchen door opened once more. Senshi looked over expecting to see Laios or Marcille back for their orders, but instead it was another little girl with red braids staring back at them before turning and shouting into the dining room.

“I FOUND HER, PAPA! SHE’S COOKING IN THE KITCHEN!”

It wasn’t seconds later that the door banged open again and a small red headed man came running in. Senshi blinked in surprise. He had one of those boyish faces that belied his age if the strands of gray in his hair was anything to go off. His eyes were dark and soul-sucking, even caught in a panic like he was now. Senshi didn’t know if he had ever seen a more beautiful man in his life.

“Patti! Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” He cried, gripping the young girl by her arms.

“But Papa, I was making rolls with Mr. Senshi.” She cooed.

“And you!” The man turned towards Senshi. “What do you think you’re doing? I’ve been half scared out of my mind and you’re back here keeping my daughter from me!”

“But I…” Senshi began before he was cut off.

“No!” The man snapped, holding his hand out in front of him. “Don’t even bother making excuses. If this is the kind of business you’re running, you’ve seen the last of us! Come on Patti.”

“But Papa, you haven’t tried one of our rolls.” Patti pouted.

The man hesitated at seeing her hurt expression before grabbing one of the finished rolls off the counter. He took a large angry bite only to melt a moment later in bliss. Senshi felt himself blush having never gotten to experience someone’s reaction to his food firsthand. The man finished off the roll, licking the butter off his fingers, when he realized Senshi was watching him. His face turned a delightful shade of red before he grabbed both his daughters by their hands.

“Say goodbye, Patti.” He grumbled.

Not the least bit put out by her father’s mood, the little blonde turned back to Senshi with a wide grin.

“Bye, Mr. Senshi! See you next time!”

With that the door closed behind the family, and for a moment Senshi just stood there utterly bewildered by the whirlwind that he experienced. It was a shame he never caught the man’s name, but he figured he was probably never going to see him again anyways. No use lamenting over something he would never get to have anyways. Senshi finished up the bread and moved on to making potstickers. For the first time, he found himself actually aware of the silence closing in around him. Perhaps it would be good for him to interact more with the customers. He didn’t realize how starved he was for chatter until Patti burst into his life. Resolved to make more of an effort to get out of the kitchen every once in a while, Senshi went back to pouring his all into his food. 

***

The next day came and went, and Senshi never left the kitchen. Nor the day after that, nor the day after that. Turns out it was hard to break the habit now that he had it, and the temporary loneliness he had felt had now passed. It had been nice getting to know Patti, but he was fine. Everything about his life was fine. It was almost exactly one week later as Senshi was frying up some tempura when he was greeted by another little voice.

“Hello, Mr. Senshi! Can I help?”

He turned, expecting to see Patti, but this was a different little girl with dark hair and a soft, shy smile. Senshi had learned his lesson though. 

“Why don’t you run back to your parents?” He offered instead.

Suddenly, her smile turned into a pout with puffed out cheeks.

“Patti got to cook with you!” The little girl complained.

Senshi blinked. “You’re Patti’s sister?” 

“Yeah! My name’s Flertom.” She introduced, her smile returning for only a moment before she looked up at him with big pleading eyes. “Please, Mr. Senshi. I just want to help for a little bit.”

Senshi really should say no. There was no way he would let the little girl around the fryer anyways. Besides that, he didn’t want to give her father any more reason to come back here, puffed up and irritated…Of course, now that he thought about it, it would be a great way to see him again. Senshi finally relented, catching Laios to have him give the ‘small red headed man’ a message that his daughter was back here. 

Senshi knew that would buy him at least twenty minutes as Laios could get very distracted, so he had Flertom help him dip the tempura in its batter, and then he carefully put it in the fryer for her. Her eyes grew big when they came out all nice and golden brown, and he praised her work on making sure the coating was even. Sure enough they had just finished when the door flew open.

“Flertom! What are you doing?! You said you were just going to the bathroom.” The man demanded.

“I did.” She explained, hopping off her stool. “And then I came in to help Mr. Senshi. Try a bite, Papa! It’s so good.”

Senshi held out a section of the tempura to the man who’s dark eyes seemed to be trying to glare holes into him. Finally, he snatched the piece and popped it into his mouth. His expression all but melted as he turned his head away from Senshi.

“It’s very good.” He grumbled.

“I’m glad you like it!” He stated happily. “And I’m glad you came back.”

The man turned and opened his mouth like he was going to say something, before shaking his head and grabbing Flertom’s hand. She waved goodbye to him all the way until the door shut behind them. Senshi let out a small laugh. He was starting to get used to these little visits. He wondered what the man’s favorite dish was? Maybe he could have it ready for him next time. 

***

Senshi waited the next week for some adorable little girl to poke her head in his kitchen, only to be disappointed. He even poked his head out into the dining room a couple of times, but couldn’t catch sight of the family. Maybe he really did scare him off for good that time. Senshi tried to find his rhythm again around his disappointment, but he was reminded again of the loneliness of his situation. Even Marcille was asking after him to make sure everything was okay. Senshi’s food still was amazing, he would never sink so low to serve a subpar meal, but he started to realize he didn’t have a life outside of this restaurant. Perhaps he should take Laios up on his offer to play tabletop with them at some point?

In any case, Senshi didn’t have much hope for the next week until he turned to see three beaming faces staring up at him.

“Hello, Mr. Senshi!” The girls greeted in unison.

Senshi chuckled in relief. “Welcome back! Does your father know where you are?”

“He is aware.” A voice sighed.

Senshi turned to see the red haired man enter the kitchen, rubbing the back of his head as he refused to make eye contact. 

“Don’t suppose you could use some helping hands? They were rather insistent.”

Senshi beamed brightly before assuring him he would love to have the company. Senshi and the other man helped the girls wash their hands before Senshi set them up with making rolls, asking Patti if she remembered how. She assured him she did, and Senshi watched for a little bit before feeling confident that the girls would be able to shape the rolls with no problem. He handed over his knife to the father.

“How handy are you at chopping vegetables?”

“Less than I care to admit, but yeah. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

Senshi watched him for a moment before coming up behind him and moving his hand into a more optimal position. The man tensed t before allowing Senshi to manipulate his movements. 

“You won’t wear yourself out this way.” Senshi explained, moving away.

“Yeah, thanks.” The man stated, his cheeks reddened.

Strange. Senshi didn’t think it was that warm in here. Of course, he’s certainly gotten used to it over the years. 

“I’m Senshi, by the way.” He introduced as he molded the dumplings.

“Chilchuck.” The man responded.

Chilchuck. It suited him. 

“You weren’t here last week.” Senshi remarked as casually as he could.

“Yeah, their mother wanted to take them on a trip last weekend so we switched around my weeks with them.”

Senshi blinked as he zoned in on the placement of his words. Their mother. Switched weeks. He had a better idea as to Chilchuck’s relationship status at least. Something that certainly settled nicely within him.

“And you come here every time you have the girls?” Senshi asked in genuine awe.

Chilchuck seemed to take it as more of a criticism as his hand tightened around the knife in his hand.

“It’s good food in decent quantities at an affordable price.” He snapped. “It’s not like I take them out for fast food all the time.”

Senshi tried to repress a shudder and failed. Oh no, he certainly couldn’t do that. Nutrition was important for the little ones, and it was something Senshi always prided himself in his food. Good tasting and good for you. Senshi spared a glance towards Chilchuck who still seemed to be bitter over the conversation. He felt a small smile grace his lips. He was clearly a good father, he just didn’t seem to know how to ask for help.

“I could teach you.” Senshi offered.

“Teach me?” Chilchuck repeated, his brows furrowed.

“To cook.” 

Chilchuck smirked. “You mean my superb chopping skills haven’t wowed you yet.”

Senshi kindly pushed him aside as he took the knife out of his hand and had the vegetables chopped within seconds. The smaller man blinked in surprise as Senshi dumped the ingredients into his stir fry without spilling a single onion. 

“You’re getting there.” He encouraged.

The corner of Chilchuck’s mouth curled. “Show-off.” He accused.

“Mr. Senshi! Mr. Senshi!” The girls cheered. “We finished!”

Senshi put the slightly protesting Chilchuck in charge of the stir-fry despite his exclamations of it being hot as he checked on the girls’ work. He held his thumb up. 

“Well done! Now it just needs a brush of butter and to go into the oven.”

They cheered and giggled and promised to watch the oven closely and let him know the minute the rolls developed a nice brown top. Senshi slid in beside Chilchuck, gently extracting the pan and spoon from him as he tossed everything into the air and caught it again before plating it up. He called out for Laios, Fallin, and Marcille to take the dishes out to the customers, which they did only after giving the family in Senshi’s kitchen an odd look.

“I noticed you’re not open on Mondays.”

Senshi spun around to see Chilchuck had his hands crossed behind the back of his head, his eyes staring off into the distance. 

“Got to go home at some point.” Senshi responded.

Chilchuck smirked at him before he averted his gaze again. “I was thinking…it might be a good time to take you up on your offer.”

“What offer?” Senshi replied automatically as he began steaming the dumplings he made.

He could feel the annoyance rolling off Chilchuck’s tongue without even turning around to look. 

“The offer to help me learn how to cook.”

Senshi blinked in surprise, his movements stilling. Oh. 

“I would like to be able to make something for when the girls aren’t around and it would probably be easier on my wallet in the long run.” 

Senshi spun around catching sight of the fetching pink spreading out across Chilchuck’s cheeks. He grinned happily as that feeling of loneliness evaporated completely.

“I would truly enjoy that.”

Chilchuck smiled for a small moment, his eyes bright and shining, when the girls declared the bread to be done. Senshi rushed over to take it out of the oven, and as the smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, he found himself with four identical gazes of near-drooling reverence. Considering orders had slowed down, Senshi set them up a little spot out of the way where they were able to enjoy the bread and dumplings they helped make. As the family made little pleased noises with every bite, Senshi vowed to determine what their favorite foods were and make it for them as long as he was able. 

[footstoolsandmore]

A leather footstool is far better for your house because fewer bacteria and other germs may adhere to its surface. Does your living room feature a variety of pieces of furniture and accessories? Whether you want to add some class or create a balanced design, leather footstool is the ideal accent.

[afandommultiverse]

Paper Pusher with CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

♱ Warnings: absolutely none, just some fluff lol, I guess my manic writing is a warning itself Idk

♱ A/n: please enjoy my own personal brain rot, I wrote this at 2 almost 3am and HAVE NOT EDITED IT but I wanted to post it so bad 🥰 I’m not saying it’s good but it’s indulgent 🫶

♱ WC: 1.8k

⌐╦̵̵̿ᡁ᠊╾━ ♡ ⌐╦̵̵̿ᡁ᠊╾━

Paper work was easy, honestly, you preferred it over all the other things you had to do to get to this position. Sure, the boot camps were fun and were great for making friends in later stages. At the end of the day, you weren’t made for the field work and could barely cover your own ass, let alone any of your teammates. It was quick and easy to find a position on task 141 to help oversee and complete any paperwork for the team. This included many things, from researching for future missions and people, keeping up with any new possible sources or tips while the team was away, asking for permissions of sorts from higher ups, completing summaries for each soldier after missions etc etc. You had a lot to do, but like you said, it was all easy and totally worth it.

“Our little paper pusher, how are you doing hm? Miss us while we were away?” The sound of Soap's voice breached the silence in the office, before steps flooded the room. Soon, you had a group of men huddled around your desk, all looking down at you expectantly. You only looked up and smiled, before looking back to the computer to finish your last sentence of an email, before turning back to them.

“Definitely didn’t miss you that much. I like working in silence, thank you.”

“Sure little bird, that's why we could see you looking at us while landing from your window.” Ghost spoke slyly, and glimpsed in his eyes, telling you that he knew something you didn’t.

“Oh alright, you got me. I was waiting to see if there was still a chance you guys would crash before landing.” You quipped, stood up, and stepped over to the printer, where you picked up several forms and turned back around to face them.

“You know the drill boys, fill ‘em out and get them back to me, here in this office, by midnight.” Groans filled the room, but nonetheless, they each took their stacks of paperwork and even grabbed some pens from the cup sitting on your desk. They filed one by one, closing the door again on their way out. When they were gone, you turned and walked into your storage room connecting to your office, and began rifling for an agreement form you had hidden away somewhere. The original was with Price, but since he wasn’t with the guys when they gamed in, you figured he was busy and didn't want to bother him when you could likely find the paper yourself - well, at least after you got some of these boxes out of the way.

You started from the top, wanting to take things easy, and reduce the chances of any of the boxes toppling on top of you. You searched alphabetically, following first, middle and last words you could have used to code the document or even any acronyms, but still had to find it. After fifteen minutes, you were about ready to five up, but that's when you saw it, balancing on a wobbly shelf with 3 around it blocking it in. In all honesty, it was a wonder you had even seen it, but now that you know where it is, the determination from earlier flooded your system and you began planning your accent.

The footstool was too short, but it was thick enough to hold one of the strong containers, filled with books, and from there you could step on that to reach the boxes. The first box came down easily, a loud smack sounding throughout the room as you threw it down to the floor as gently as possible from your elevation. The second one was a little harder, having to push on to the tops of your feet a bit more, your heel ever so slightly coming off the box underneath you. You felt a slight wobble from the shelf, which in turn made you wobble, but after a quick second you were sturdy again. The second smack was a little less loud, landing on top of the other box a bit more softly from the shorter distance.

When you reach the third box, you step to the tip of your toes, the step stool wobbling under your uneven weight as you balance on top of it, but also balancing against the shelf that keeps threatening to tip back against your weight, pushing the box further from the tips of your fingers. You failed your hands to catch the edges of it, pushing it towards yourself, but the movement made minimal progress. You stepped on one foot, slowly going back to what you were doing, concentrating so hard you didn’t hear your office door open and shut again.

“Need some help with that?” The voice startled you, ripping in half the concentration and balance you tried so hard to maintain in two. It was like dominoes, the shelf pushing back against your surprised weight and falling against the wall at an awkward angle. Unable to control your momentum, you fell forward with it - the tips of your feet pushing the box under you off the stool quickly. Just as you realized you were indeed falling, two arms wrapped around your waist from underneath you. As your brain caught up with the situation, your hands gripping on the shelf so tight from the fear of upcoming pain, however there was none. The strong arms wrapped around your waist and butt to stop you from falling much further, literally holding you up. Finally, the head of someone just underneath your chin staring up at you bewildered, but as he recognized you were okay, you recognized who HE was.

“P-Price?” Your whole body felt warm, looking down at him shocked. He too mirrored your expression, but it soon turned into a cheeky smile and mischievous glint in his eye.

“Just fallin’ all over me now, are you, L/n?” You turned your head away in embarrassment, to which he chuckled before he moved. He set your feet on top of the step stool again, this time with no shifty box of books on top. When you were stable enough, you stood on the stool yourself, already missing the warm arms around you. But when you unlatched yourself from the shelf, you balanced yourself on his shoulders, liking the feeling of the taunt muscles underneath.

“Are you okay?” He asked, looking at you for any injury to which there was none, fortunately because of his quick savior. You felt like you could breathe again, stepping back on the stool and looking at him in all his returning from mission glory.

“Yes, thank you so much, Price.” You felt your sweat cool from the anxious event, stepping down from step still and standing on solid ground again.

“What were you looking for anyway? Want me to grab it?” He offered, turning to look at the shelf to where you were picking through, seeing the final box, and grabbed the stool for himself. Before you knew it, he was handing you the box to look through, and thankfully you found exactly what you needed. He followed you out of the side room, setting the box on your desk, and you turned off the light and shut the door, almost hesitating to turn back around to the man whose whole presence filled your office.

“You should be more careful, or ask for help next time. We can’t have our little paper pusher out on the comp now.” You snorted, turning to face him with a smile, he always had something to say. You walked over your desk, setting down to sit and riffle through the stacks of forms for the next three or so hours.

“You’d only miss me because you’d have three times as much work to do if it weren’t for me, Captain, don’t kid yourself.” He laughed, heading even tilting back a little. You loved to make him laugh, it was one of your favorite things to do, because if you could make him laugh, you got a heart with that wonderfully velvety voice that almost sang to you.

“You only half right, I’ll give you that.” He settled down in the chair in front of me, laying back like he planned to stay longer. He took his hat off, scratching his head, before placing it back on top in its place.

“Oh? What’s this other half hm? Let me guess, my winning personality?” That sarcasm was basically dripping, but he wasn’t phased, smiling at you before saying,

“If it were up to me, I’d say you were a mind reader, Y/n.” You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you tried to get some work done, but you could not keep your eyes off the man in front of you. He looked tired, but he was happy and tired. The mission had been a success, with zero casualties, and benefited greatly from it, with new assets and even some information worth zeroing in on. Something you would no doubt have to fit in your schedule somehow, but nonetheless it was better than the alternative.

“Don’t you want to go get washed up? Go relax with a cigar or something?” You asked after a half-hour of debriefing and catching up. He had taken off his hat completely, hair messy and flat. His eyes were barely staying open as it is, but he kept chatting, offering to help with anything and everything, not wanting to stay a minute longer as he had asked you earlier when you had come in. When you told him 5am, he almost couldn't believe it, as your job started at 8am, but apparently you wanted a head start on the day. In truth, you couldn’t sleep that night, you could never sleep well enough on the night that they were supposed to come back, almost expecting something wrong to happen, and never being able to see them again, never being able to see Price again.

“I’m relaxing here.” He spoke so plainly. Like he hadn’t been up for the last 64 hours. John Price needed rest.

“I thought you would say that, that’s why I sent Ghost a little email.” As if right on que, Ghost knocked on and opened the door. Walking in and up the Captain.

“Heard yer botherin’ the nice lady.” He joked, nudging John's shoulder while looking back at me shocked.

“You're kicking me out? After I saved you?” You stood and rounded the desk, coming to rest on it in front of him.

“You need to rest John, as much as you want to keep working, you can’t. So get some rest and see me in the morning to talk about your summary papers for this mission.” John groaned as he stood, but shot you a smile before following Ghost out. Truthfully, John didn’t need Ghost to leave, he would have left if you asked the right way.

But you knew deep down you wouldn’t have asked him to leave.

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien Mind Quest: Slow Motion Fireworks translation

do⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

I staggered and stumbled into Lucien's chest, my hands haphazardly pulling his already loose tie, causing his slightly open shirt to spread open completely.

I couldn't help but be captured by the charming bareness in front of me. His muscle tightened and then relaxed following our rhythm.

Like a vague provocative tease.

As if falling into his silent trap, my fingers were drawn to caress his bare skin, feeling the hard, clear lines beneath it.

My fingertips were tinged by the burning heat, and I slowly traced from the hard abdomen to his chest.

Translation under the cut!

(T/N:!! uploaded the full SP MQ on youtube with subtitle because I simply love how the bgm and voice add to the tension)

[Chapter 1]

MC: Hmm… A little more to the left, up a bit…Yes, yes, that's it! Now it's symmetrical!

MC: Lucien, what do you think?

While talking, I pulled Lucien back to the corridor, "appreciating" the New Year's arrangement that we had worked hard on all afternoon with satisfaction.

There are still a few days until New Year's Eve. We plan to keep everything simple and celebrate the New Year at home. So these days, the time after work has been reserved for our tacit project.

I took Lucien's arm and approached him.

MC: Do you think the new look is perfect~?

Lucien: I think it's hard not to be perfect with the Great Producer herself being in charge.

MC: Hmph, sooner or later, I will steal "The Art of Speaking: The Encyclopedia of Praising People" written by the Great Professor Lucien and study it carefully.

Lucien: Then, the next time I say something from my heart, I'll remember to write it down before I say it. So this curious student won't be disappointed.

He smiled with curved eyebrows and a serious tone as if he was simply stating a matter of fact.

MC: I-I can't beat you! Quick, put the stool away and go inside.

While Lucien put the footstool into the storage room, I put the holly into the vase in the entrance and hung a few small red lanterns on the fortune tree.

Just as I was happily taking out my phone to take pictures and record them, an alert popped up on the screen at an untimely moment-

"Unable to Save, Insufficient Storage Available"

MC: ...

Lucien: Looks like another big project will take place tonight.

Lucien: I wonder which unfortunate photos will be deleted by MC this time.

MC: There may also be unlucky app that will turn into dust.

Hearing Lucien's joking words, I couldn't help sticking out my tongue. I dragged him to sit on the sofa and nestled my whole body into his arms.

His familiar warmth gave me a sense of relief, and I couldn't resist nuzzling into the nook of his neck.

Then I skillfully opened the album, emptied the "recently deleted", and slid my finger to enter the thumbnail mode. A colorful mosaic instantly came into view.

I clicked on the last deleted section and went through the photos from that time one by one.

MC: Hahaha, this sticker pack is too funny. How did I save so much?

Lucien: Judging from the saving time at 02:28, this question should be easily answered.

MC: Hehe, Professor Lucien's eyes shouldn't be so sharp~

MC: Check out this barbecue… Is it the one near the institute?

Lucien: I think so. And if I remember correctly, we wanted to eat hot pot on that day, but we accidentally walked into this barbecue restaurant and got a delicious surprise.

MC: So, should we go and relive this delicacy tomorrow after work?

We had a little chat. Lucien raised his hand to stroke my bangs and suddenly changed the subject.

Lucien: Actually, I found something interesting.

MC: Hmm?

Lucien: Each time you clear your phone's memory, you seem to enjoy the process of flipping through your albums more than cleaning it.

MC: ...Yes, that's true. Perhaps "recalling" is the most important thing for me when it comes to organizing albums.

MC: You can save your photos in the cloud to solve the trouble of deleting them whenever you don't have enough memory.

MC: But I'd rather have the hassle and see these memories whenever I click on the album.

MC: After all, since I don't have a super brain like Professor Lucien, I can only use some stupid methods~

As I was talking, my fingertips passed over a beautiful landscape photo. I thought about it for a second and then prepared to press delete.

Lucien: Hold on a second.

I looked at Lucien with some confusion.

Lucien: I remember that this photo is lucky enough to have "survived" last week's session.

Lucien: At that time, the Great Producer said that the composition and light of this landscape were worth studying, so she wanted to keep it as a template for us to follow in our travels.

MC: It seems to be the case…

MC: But surprisingly, I could still feel the same feeling it used to give me when I saw it last week... Is it the visual impact?

MC: But today, I don't seem to feel it at all. It's just a simple and beautiful landscape picture.

Lucien: Is that so?

Lucien paused and faintly lowered his eyes.

Lucien: I think it may be because human emotions are very sensitive.

Lucien: It brings you pleasure for a fixed moment, and the emotion associated with it only stays in that moment.

Lucien: So when it is not "stimulating" enough for you to respond in the present, the brain receives a signal that allows you to conclude that it is "not important".

MC: It sounds like a somewhat cruel process...

MC: But both the phone memory and the brain are limited. I just want my limited memory to record what I want to remember.

Lucien softly laughed, his eyes twinkling as he looked at me.

Lucien: It seems that things that are not "exciting" enough can't have a place to MC.

Lucien: Even if they only existed for a short time, it is difficult to escape the possibility of being forgotten or abandoned.

Seeing that he was talking about it in a serious way, I couldn't refrain from reaching out and hooking my arm around his neck, slightly narrowing the distance between us.

MC: Isn't it because Professor Lucien is by my side?

MC: I wouldn't worry about losing the "excitement" in my life. Because I have someone who can always keep my life fresh.

Lucien: Then, in order to live up to this expectation...

He lowered his head and dropped a gentle, light kiss on my lips as he said that.

Lucien: (whisper) I have to work harder than I imagined.

[Interlude- Lucien's Exclusive Radio: On a Whim]

Pete: Professor, the results of today's experiment are expected to be available tomorrow afternoon.

Pete: Do I need to call you after the results are out?

Lucien: No need. I won't be in Loveland City tomorrow.

Pete: Are you going on a business trip tomorrow?

Lucien: Pete, do I seem like a workaholic to you?

Pete: …You misunderstood, Professor. I had just never heard about your vacation before.

Pete: Then I will compile the experiment's results into a report and send it to your email address.

Lucien: Thanks for the hard work.

Pete: Professor, since I am curious, I would like to ask you a question… Are you going to travel on vacation?

Lucien: Well, not really. Just an unplanned decision to sail on a cruise.

Pete: So sudden? Oh, I see, it must be the idea of your family member.

Lucien: It is my idea.

Lucien: With New Year's Eve just a few days away, it's the perfect time to take a short cruise.

Pete: I see~ So, Professor, which route are you going to choose? It's almost New Year's Eve. I want to take my family out to have fun too.

Lucien: It's still undecided.

Lucien: Because I was just about to book a ticket.

Pete: Oh, oh! I will not bother you.

(Lucien calling someone)

Customer Service: Hello, this is the special line for the cruise ticket purchase. How can I help you?

Lucien: Hello, I saw on the internet that tomorrow there is a trip to the neighboring sea. Are there any tickets left?

Customer Service: Please wait for a moment.

Customer Service: Are you talking about the two-day, two-night trip that leaves tomorrow in the early evening?

Lucien: Yes.

Customer Service: Yes, there are some. What should I call you?

Lucien: Doctor X.

Customer Service: Doctor X, let me confirm with you that we have a special feature on our cruise-

Customer Service: In order to provide a more pure enjoyable experience, the signal is completely blocked once the ship is sailing.

Customer Service: WiFi service is still provided, but it is an additional purchase. Is this acceptable to you?

Lucien: Of course, I chose this cruise because of this feature.

Customer Service: Okay, how many tickets do you need?

Lucien: Two.

Customer Service: Do you share a room?

Lucien: Book me two rooms that are next to each other.

Lucien: If possible, please try to arrange a quiet floor for us.

Customer Service: Okay. I will send the ticket information to your phone later.

Lucien: Just send me my ticket information.

Lucien: The other ticket information can be sent directly to this lady. I will read out her number.

[Chapter 2]

The receding scenery outside the car window passed me by, and I was still in a trance when I looked at the cruise ticket information on my phone screen.

MC: ...Lucien.

MC: Are you sure we're not going shopping for New Year's Eve but going to the pier for a cruise?

Lucien: I think I already answered this question when you received your ticket information.

Lucien's voice came from the end of the receiver.

Lucien: It's not a scam, nor is it a prank.

Lucien: We indeed have a two-day, two-night cruise waiting for us.

MC: But you didn't mention this trip at all until now, and… Why don't we go together?

Lucien: If I were to say that I was trying to copy a certain Miss Kidnapper, would you accept that as a reason?

(a reference to Devotion Date :")

His soft voice is wrapped in a smile, and when I listen closely, I can hear the sound of the waves lapping against the rocks.

MC: Then I now seriously suspect that this "kidnapping" was premeditated!

Lucien: You wronged me. It's really just a "whim".

MC: Are you going to say, "No matter how rigorous a scientist is, there are times when he doesn't plan"?

Lucien: (chuckle) Here's the thing. Just allow this guy to get hotheaded and self-indulgent for once.

Lucien chuckled very shallowly, which led me to raise my eyebrows. He slowly opened his mouth as if guessing what else I wanted to say.

Lucien: I chose this cruise because it will return to Loveland City before New Year's Eve.

Lucien: I don’t think it’ll affect our planned New Year’s Eve dinner.

Lucien: So, for the rest of the trip, Miss MC just needs to enjoy this unexpected trip. I'll see you on the cruise.

After successfully checking in, the staff led me to my room.

The warm sunlight poured in from the terrace, and the sea breeze carrying the water vapor gave a light gold coating to the scenery in front of us.

The large room is neat and bright, but there is no trace of luggage, let alone a person.

Strange, where is Lucien? He should have boarded the ship before me.

MC: Excuse me, is there another gentleman in this room who hasn't checked in yet?

Staff: The only guest information shown here is that of Miss MC.

MC: ...?

I was stunned for a moment. After thinking about it, I took out my mobile phone but found that there was no signal. I hurriedly walked outside with my mobile phone in hand, but the signal was only restored to one bar.

Staff: Miss MC, I'd like to introduce you again. Our cruise's special feature is blocking the signal after we go to sea.

Staff: The goal is to provide cruise guests with the ultimate experience and to enjoy a cruise that is not dominated by the information age but rather to focus on themselves.

Staff: If you have special circumstances, you can contact the service desk for a WiFi purchase.

MC: …Okay, thank you.

After sending off the enthusiastic staff, I couldn't help but sigh. How do I get in touch with Lucien?

I circled the room. Perhaps because of my sixth sense, I vaguely feel that I can find something

Finally, I found a crumpled post-it note on the floor of the entrance door, which appeared to have slipped through the door.

I leaned down to pick it up and saw familiar handwriting.

MC: "Looking forward to meeting you by chance."

For a moment, I felt as if I could see the expression on his face as he wrote this line.

The corners of his lips are drawn up, and he probably curved his eyes.

Although I couldn't guess what this Great Professor was thinking, I couldn't let him down if he was waiting for me to find him.

Without hesitation, I picked up the cruise brochure on the table and left the room.

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

20 minutes later.

The red sunset has been swallowed by the ocean, and the sea breeze is gently blowing, but it does not dispel the anxiety in my heart.

I looked in almost every place I thought Lucien would go, from the library to the screening room and coffee shop, but I still couldn't find him.

MC: Where on earth did this guy run off to….

I pursed my lips and wondered if I was going in the wrong direction.

If Lucien is not where he might be, then maybe he's where I don't think he'll be?

With this in mind, I went to the nearest bar to try my luck.

As my vision becomes dim, the sound of loud music rushes into my ears. The air is filled with the scent of alcohol, and the ambiguous atmosphere corrupts the senses.

Within the mottled light and shadow, the whole world seems to be tinted with a hazy sense of unreality.

I saw the figure my heart longed for almost at a glance.

Lucien wore slim-fitting strappy pants, and his collar was wide open. He combed up almost all of his bangs. The light refracted beneath his eyes, making those eyes appear even brighter.

He slightly narrowed his eyes at the countless expectant eyes and raised his hand to throw the dart in his hand.

In the next second, the dart landed squarely in the bullseye.

Crowd: Whoa-

Bartender: Congratulations to the gentleman who scored another 50 points and succeeded in securing the victory!

Lucien: Thanks, I appreciate it. It's just good luck.

Amidst the cheers surrounded by the crowd, Lucien nodded in appreciation. The smile on his face was always mild.

I seemed to be completely nailed to the spot, unable to take my eyes off the person in front of me.

He moved in a way that I am familiar with, yet it was as though everything was different.

For a moment, I couldn't even tell what the cause of this restlessness was.

Lucien cast his gaze over and bumped into me.

My heart inexplicably beat a bit faster. I was about to walk towards him, but Lucien naturally averted his eyes and turned his head to joke with the people beside him.

MC: Eh?

Didn't he see me? I vaguely felt that this person must have done it on purpose, so I pretended to walk back and forth naturally in his peripheral vision, secretly observing.

But Lucien remained calm as if he didn't care about my existence at all.

It was as if I was isolated in a small world, separated from all the noise around me, filled with only one person in my heart and eyes.

Bartender: Anyone else wants to challenge our Mr. Challenger?

MC: I... I want to challenge him!

I didn't expect my voice to be so loud that the atmosphere seemed to be silent for half a second.

When I came to my senses, all eyes fell on me, along with the person I had been looking at.

[Interlude- Lucien's Memory Silhouette: Special Game]

People are coming and going in the corridor of the cruise ship, and the tourists are confirming their room numbers one by one.

Lucien stood in front of the door of one of the rooms, bent down a little, and slipped a sticky note through the door's crack.

The passing tourists just looked at him and smiled politely when they saw his elegant manner without asking further questions.

Lucien stood up, lifted his hand to confirm the time, then turned around and left the corridor.

He wanted to play a little word game with her to kick off the cruise trip with some special "excitement".

As smart as she is, she will not fail to discover this little hidden secret.

But he still hoped she would find the clues he left behind as soon as possible and then find him.

Lucien aimlessly came to the front of the deck, watching people enter one after another from the boarding gate, and his gaze unconsciously lingered for a while longer.

He has to admit that he was looking forward to her familiar figure.

But now is not the right time.

There is still a lot to do before they "reunite".

Lucien looked away, walked to the cruise ship's bar, and ordered a non-alcoholic mojito from the bar.

This was probably the last place she would have thought of, at least not so early.

But it's enough to show that meeting here will bring them something different.

Waiter: Your Mojito.

Lucien: Thank you.

Lucien lowered his head and took a sip, the refreshing and stimulating taste smeared between his lips and teeth. He couldn't wait to recommend this drink to the girl.

With that in mind, he turned on his phone and habitually tried to check if a call had come in, but the space in the upper right corner reminded him that there was no signal there.

So he scrolled the screen twice and unconsciously opened his photo album.

The photos on the screen were so well organized that he couldn't resist recalling the thumbnails of her albums.

Not only are the colors rich, but sometimes there are even several remarkably similar photos in a row.

When compared to her photo album, his own album seems to be quite monotonous.

But all of them are related to her.

It is like when you plant a flower, you record it from when it is still a seed until the moment it blooms.

Lucien recalled the girl's slightly distressed expression due to the lack of memory on her phone and unconsciously smiled softly.

He always planned and arranged everything, so he never encountered the problem she was struggling with.

But her look as if she is facing the world's problems is very cute, which makes him feel much happier when he thinks about it these days.

In this happy mood, Lucien quickly finished drinking the mojito in his hand.

The bar gradually becomes more and more lively, with people's desire for the festival and the wonder of exploring the cruise ship showing in their expression.

What will her expression look like when she sees him here?

Will her eyes widen slightly, or will she purse her lips in puzzlement?

Lucien again admitted that he had added a few more expectations for her appearance.

To be precise, he was looking forward to seeing her with each passing second.

He glanced down at the time again. It would take some time to get from home to the pier. She should still be on her way.

Even he who had been able to spend several years waiting for an experimental result peacefully, now began to feel a little impatient because of this expectation.

He even opened 3 match game by accident, and after absent-mindedly playing a few levels, he suddenly heard a round of applause from behind him.

Lucien followed the sound and found a group of tourists playing darts, seemingly playing in some kind of competition.

He observed for a moment as if realizing something and looked in the direction of the bar entrance.

From the entrance, the darts game is right in the middle of the bar, the most visible part of the entire bar.

Lucien slowly stood up and walked towards the lively crowd.

He wanted her to see him at a glance.

[Chapter 3]

The crowd tacitly dispersed to two sides, and suddenly a narrow road leading to Lucien was spread out in front of me.

I belatedly took a deep breath and walked towards him. Faced with my probing eyes, Lucien calmly looked back.

Lucien: I accept this lady's challenge.

.....Still pretending not to know me? All right, then I will play along with you.

I suppressed the complex emotions in my heart, turned my gaze to the bartender, cleared my throat, and slightly lifted my chin.

MC: What are the rules of the challenge? Or…

I deliberately stretched out the end of my sentence and turned my gaze to Lucien, putting on a polite smile.

MC: Are the rules set by this Mr. Challenger?

Lucien leisurely looked at me and raised his eyebrows as if he didn't expect me to say that.

Lucien: Is it true that no matter what my rules are, this lady will definitely obey them?

MC: Absolutely. Since I'm challenging you, of course I will respect your requirements.

Lucien: [chuckle] Okay.

He didn't hesitate to speak and even curved his lips in a good mood. I suddenly felt diffident and quickly spoke up before he could propose any unreasonable rules

MC: …But I have one small request.

MC: Actually, I was a little nervous because Mr. Challenger seemed to be very good at this kind of game.

MC: I'm also sincere about the challenge, so please don't make it difficult for me. I hope your rules are simple and easy to understand.

Lucien: I've always admired girls with a lot of courage, so naturally, I won't intentionally make things difficult.

Humph, you better be.

He ignored my stabbing glare and pretended to think seriously for a moment.

Lucien: My rules are simple.

Lucien: You have three chances to throw. If the cumulative points of those three chances are more than 50, you will win the challenge.

Lucien: What do you think, brave lady?

His words stirred up a lot of discussion among the crowd, as if everyone didn't expect Lucien's rules to be so simple, and there was even some suspicion that he was throwing the game.

MC: Since Mr. Challenger is so "generous", I can't disappoint this kindness.

Looking at the taunting look at the corner of Lucien's mouth, I gritted my teeth and picked up a dart, carefully gauging the angle. I can't let him underestimate me!

But the result of "careful calculation" is that one miss, one 25 points.

MC: ...

A thin layer of sweat seeped out of my palms as I looked at the dartboard in front of me. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down.

I still have a chance, as long as I get double points on the last try…

Lucien: [chuckle]...

The familiar soft laugh came to my ears and instantly disturbed my thoughts. I looked at the perpetrator with some annoyance. He was facing the bar and slightly raised his fingertips.

Lucien: One non-alcoholic mojito please.

Lucien: For the lady.

After he finished speaking, he looked at me with a meaningful smile on the corner of his mouth.

Lucien: I think you might need a little more time. While I don't mind waiting, the outcome of this challenge now seems to have attracted too much attention.

Lucien: Maybe it's time to let the curtain fall.

Following Lucien's gaze, I realized that twice as many people had surrounded the surrounding area as earlier.

My cheeks felt a little hot, I lowered my head and rubbed the dart repeatedly, but I was still not ready to throw it.

At that moment, a brightly colored drink slowly appeared in my view. I raised my eyes, and my gaze collided with Lucien's.

Lucien: But if this lady would like to be friends with me...

Lucien: I'll voluntarily admit defeat in this challenge.

His low and deep voice was tainted with an inexplicable flirtation, and my heart suddenly missed half a beat.

The light cast an obscure shadow on Lucien's face, adding a bit of unpredictable danger to those smiling eyes.

He looked like he was expecting an answer or simply admiring the object's reaction in his hand.

I reached out and gently placed my fingers on the bottom of the glass to push it towards Lucien, my fingertips inadvertently brushing against his fingers.

In this challenge that I knew I didn't have much chance of winning, I chose to outsmart him.

MC: Thank you sir, for your kindness, but I still want to try again.

MC: Why don't you teach me by hand? Is that okay?

Lucien's eyes moved slightly as if he were a little surprised. Amidst the booing, he quietly walked behind me and slightly bowed his body.

My back instantly felt warm, and his breath fluttered against my ear, tickling it.

Lucien: Then I'd like to ask for your cooperation.

As he said that, he gently took my hand and led me to bend my arm as he did.

His broad palm wrapped tightly around the back of my hand, and his fingertips suddenly tickled my palm twice in a restless manner.

MC: (blush) You...

Lucien: Don't be distracted. Focus.

His righteous tone was as if he was not the one who did the little action.

Before I could react, he held my wrist with a slight force-

In a smooth parabola, the dart hit the one he had left on the target earlier, firmly striking into the bullseye.

My eyes widened in surprise, and I instantly thought of a perverse idea.

MC: This should be considered as my third chance.

MC: Does that mean I've won the challenge, Mr. Challenger?

I slightly distanced myself from him and winked slyly at Lucien. He sighed in feigned regret and extended his hand toward me in a friendly manner.

Lucien: Mm, you won.

Lucien: It's a pleasure to meet you, this brave, beautiful and clever lady.

Lucien: Now, can we sit down and have a drink?

MC: Of course we can. It would be my pleasure.

I cocked my head pretentiously, gently shook his finger, and withdrew my hand. I looked down and took a sip of my mojito.

The refreshing taste washed away the warmth that had been in my chest since earlier, making my whole body much more comfortable.

The misty light passing through the wine glasses cast colorful light spots on the wall. As the light dimmed, the joyful music changed into a lingering dance song.

(Cue his 5th birthday bgm 🥺)

Scattered people walk onto the dance floor, hugging and clinging to sway along to the melody.

I raised my head and found Lucien's eyes waiting for a long time.

MC: As a thank you for the mojito, may I ask you to dance, sir?

Lucien: It was my negligence to let the lady ask first. I don't think I have any reason to refuse you.

In the lazy melody, Lucien stepped on the beat and took a small step to the left, elegantly extending his hand as if in invitation.

But the moment I approached him, an irresistible force wrapped around my waist and guided me to spin around.

My mind went blank for a moment, and I instinctively clung to Lucien's shoulders, trying to clutch the only fulcrum among the imbalance.

MC: …Y-you, wait a minute!

He didn't give me time to catch my breath. His broad palm slowly moved up to my back, causing a tingling feeling, and then powerfully swept me into his arms.

The scorching breath swept over the tip of my nose, and there seemed to be some kind of emotion swirling in those deep eyes.

Lucien: (whisper) What if I say I don't want to wait anymore?

Lucien: (chuckle, then continuing his whisper) We have wasted some time, so we should hurry now.

MC: You… You are simply unreasonable! You're the one who left a message with no clue, so I had to spend a long time looking for you.

MC: It's hard to find you, but then you pretend to be a stranger, playing some kind of chance encounter game with me…

Looking at my feigned angry pout, Lucien raised his eyebrows with interest and took advantage of the change in the melodic beat to tug my wrist and embrace me from behind.

Lucien: But you played along very well, didn't you? I think you're having fun with it.

MC: And that's not because of you!

Lucien: Oh? What's wrong with me?

His earnest voice is wrapped in bright and bold confidence, so I can't resist lightly pinching the palm of his hand, breaking away from this somewhat flirtatious embrace.

Lucien smoothly hooked my little finger, and with a little force, he made me mess up my steps to go toward him again.

Lucien: Not going to answer?

He looked at me persistently, his deep eyes like a pool of water that would engulf me at any moment.

The strange emotion in my heart stirred and clamored quietly, making me raise my head unconsciously and look straight into his eyes.

MC: Do you want a straightforward answer or a tactful one?

Lucien: (chuckle) I want both.

MC: Aren't you being too cheeky?

Lucien: Mm, I'll admit that.

I couldn't stop my smile, and by some mysterious chance, I put my arms around his neck and let him lead me through the melody.

MC: Now that you are like this, you look like the Lucien I am familiar with.

Lucien: What kind of Lucien are you familiar with?

MC: He's just like you now, righteously rogue, openly wicked, a complete big bad villain.

Lucien: He sounds so bad.

I nod my head in agreement.

MC: But I like this kind of him very much.

The melodic rhythm suddenly became more passionate, and the intense tempo drowned out my pounding heart.

Lucien's eyes flickered. His dance steps suddenly accelerated, making me subconsciously catch up and tighten my arms around him,

Lucien: Do you only like this kind of him?

MC: Of course not… cough.

MC: You, why do you have so many questions! I have a bunch of questions that I haven't even asked yet.

I changed the subject awkwardly, secretly annoyed at my disobedient mouth. Fortunately, Lucien didn't chase the question. He raised his eyebrows, showing a look of listening attentively.

Only then did I realize that the distance between us had unknowingly become too close. I could clearly see his eyelashes fluttering as he breathed.

I don't know if it's because he slicked back his bangs, but today his subtle expressions seem to have become more vivid, or even more…

Alluring.

Lucien: Is your question in my face?

MC: …That is true as well.

MC: After all, I've hardly ever seen Professor Lucien put on hair wax. I don't know how good you are at bar games and…

MC: ..how good you are at dancing.

I said as I slipped my fingers through his straps, sliding them slowly down his collarbone to his chest, and with a wicked hook, I used the force to move away.

The music ends at this moment.

Lucien didn't let go of my hand; instead, he gently lifted my hand and bent down. A gentle kiss fell on the back of my hand, tickling the edge of my heart.

Lucien: When it comes to the first meeting, it is necessary to create a deep impression.

Lucien: It seems that my purpose has been achieved.

Lucien: I hope you'll have good dreams tonight. Beautiful lady, I'll see you tomorrow.

[Chapter 4]

I didn't sleep well all night.

I don't know how many times I rolled over, the thin sunlight squeezed through the cracks in the curtains, and it was finally dawn.

Last night, Lucien turned around and left after saying a few words without glancing back at me.

I returned to my room in a daze, and after a series of emotional struggles, I decided to wait and see what would happen.

But I didn't expect that the person who disturbed my thoughts all night would be staying in the room next to mine.

Perhaps while I was up all night thinking about him, he continued to plan things beyond my imagination wickedly.

And, of course it is also possible that he waited leisurely and calmly for my various reactions to appear.

I gritted my teeth and turned my gaze to the terrace next door.

Is he still up at this hour?

...Damn it, don't think about it anymore! I quickly shook my head, hoping my brain would recover, at least for a short time to enjoy the moment of relaxation.

??: Good morning, Miss Next Door. Did you sleep well last night?

MC: ....

A familiar voice sounded behind me, tinged with a lazy chuckle.

For a moment, I wondered if Lucien had some kind of superpower to listen to my inner voice.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be quiet for ten seconds before turning back, and changed to an unperturbed expression the moment I turned around.

The light swayed on his body and slipped into his eyes, creating gentle ripples.

Like yesterday, he slicked back his bangs, making the eyes looking at me look even more bewitching.

My heart beat faster than it should. I blinked at him and looked around in mock confusion.

MC: Are you talking to me?

MC: Sorry, I don't think I know you.

Lucien: Really?

Lucien: We had a dance last night. It breaks my heart if the lady forgets it so soon.

MC: Really?

I imitated his voice and pretended to look up and down at him.

MC: Oh~ I have a little impression.

MC: I'm sorry, I have a poor memory. The lights were too dim last night, and the dance was too short, so it's hard to remember.

He nodded thoughtfully and then changed the conversation.

Lucien: The lady seems to travel alone?

MC: …Yes, just, alone.

Hearing the undisguised teasing in his words, I maliciously popped out a few words, showing a flattering smile.

MC: You also seem to be alone too, sir. You are interesting, traveling on a cruise by yourself~

Lucien: Maybe it's because I want to meet someone who coincides with me.

MC: And, have you met them?

Lucien: Mm. But she didn't seem impressed with me.

Lucien: I'm also a little hesitant now. Not sure if I should take the initiative again….

MC: Of course, you should!

I subconsciously blurted out. Lucien's lips raised an inch of smile.

Lucien: What if she refuses?

MC: ...You should try it first.

Lucien: Then...

Lucien: Would you like to give me the opportunity to deepen your impression of me, the lady with poor memory?

His voice was soft as if it was melting with all the sunlight of a warm winter.

Looking at the neatly folded bathrobe on the sofa, I felt my ears getting a little hot.

Staff: Doctor X, your reservation for the ice sauna room is at 3:30 pm. You can change your clothes in the lounge and sit for a while.

Doctor.X? I looked at Lucien questioningly but found him nodding a little.

Perhaps feeling my persistent puzzled gaze, Lucien solemnly stretched out his hand towards me.

Lucien: I was in too much of a hurry last night and didn't have time to introduce myself.

Lucien: What's your name, Miss?

MC: ....

MC: Producer.MC.

As if he didn't expect me to say that, Lucien was stunned for a moment and then couldn't help laughing.

He lowered his head and came close to me, his overflowing breath brushing against my ear.

Lucien: (chuckle then whisper) The Great Producer can always do something beyond my imagination.

Lucien: (whisper) It's surprising, delightful… and joyful.

Without waiting for my reply, he turned around and naturally took off his coat as if he was planning to change.

It's as if the whisper was just a secret no one knew about.

Seeing that I didn't move, Lucien turned his head back, but his hands kept moving.

Lucien: Aren't you going to change?

He spoke in a sincere and honest tone, which in turn gave me nowhere to hide my secret little thoughts.

I sheepishly turned my attention to the inner ice sauna room, just a curtain away, where the staff was preparing for the sauna.

MC: I was thinking that…

MC: We just met last night, and now you are asking me to "lay ourselves bare"*. Isn't it seem to be a bad idea?

(T/N: 坦诚相见 is an idiom that means that two people treat each other sincerely and tell each other what they think without reservation.)

I deliberately spoke measuredly, secretly observing Lucien's expression, trying to get back in this "role-playing" game.

Lucien squinted his eyes and raised a smile.

Lucien: So, things seem to be moving a little fast.

Lucien: How about we make up for the steps we skipped?

MC: What do you mean?

Lucien did not answer. Under the dense light, his fingertips slowly slid down to the front of his waist, seemingly rubbing a circle.

Lucien: Can you help me?

Lucien: I can't seem to do it alone.

He said it sincerely, and his tone had a hint of grievance. It seems to be a request, but it is irresistible.

As if compelled, I instinctively walked towards him.

MC: What do you need me to do?

Lucien: Give me your hand.

Instead of turning around, he took my hand and made me approach him from behind.

My view was blocked entirely, and I could only feel my fingertips being moved past the scorching heat and to the side.

Lucien's movements were unusually slow as if tracing. Our hands finally ended up on his strap, and he let go of my hand.

Lucien: Help me unbuckle this. It's hard to do it myself.

Compared to the soft and silky shirt, the slightly stiffer texture allowed my fingertips to find their place instantly, but this is not where the buckle is.

MC: I can't see you this way…

Lucien: This buckle is special. It is more convenient to unbuckle from the back.

He spoke with a great conviction that I had no choice but to close my eyes and grope down for the strap buckle.

I held the strap and slipped my fingers between it and his shirt.

His body heat is quietly burning through the shirt. I moved down, and my fingertips trembled when they touched the cold metal.

Lucien: (whisper) You've found the right location.

His voice was a little low, drifting in my ears, and seemed to burrow into my heart from the other side of my chest.

I fumbled with the buckle's position and moved it down vigorously the way I used to unbuckle the strap.

But the buckle seemed stuck, and I couldn't release the strap from the buckle even after going up and down for a while.

Lucien: (chuckle) ....

MC: I...can't seem to find the right place.

MC: Help me out… Wait, no. You're the one who wants me to help you from behind...

As I said that, I felt a little irritated and wanted to let it go, but in the next moment, I was firmly restrained in place.

Lucien: It is very elastic. You have to hold it tightly, don't let go easily.

Lucien: Last night, I was hurt for a long time because of a certain "unintentional act" by Miss MC.

MC: …What kind of nonsense are you talking about!

I want to reach out and cover Lucien's mouth, but I don't dare to let go of my grip on the strap buckle.

At a loss, I had no choice but to use my eyes to hint him that there were other people in the room.

But Lucien obviously ignored me, or rather, he did it on purpose.

Lucien: (whisper) Don't you remember what you did to me last night? Are you so irresponsible?

MC: ...!

I subconsciously pinched his waist, causing the person in front of me to utter a muffled grunt.

As if he was finally done playing, he tugged my fingertips and moved them up and down a bit.

"Click"

Lucien: It seems that I get caught in my own trap.

He let go of my burning hand and turned his face sideways to cast a somewhat deep glance at me, and with his other hand, he pulled down the other strap that had not been unbuckled.

Lucien: I'll take care of the rest myself.

MC: Hmph, you'll have to do it yourself this time.

I was a little dismayed by his mischief. So I stood on my tiptoes and tugged the strap down, intending to buckle it back up.

MC: Didn't you say that you can't do it alone?

MC: I'll buckle it back for you, and you can unbuckle it yourself.

Lucien turned around and grabbed my wrist, my center of gravity was unsteady, and I crashed straight into his arms.

In the next second, an unexpected kiss landed.

The tip of his tongue gently and overbearingly pried open my lips, and his hot breath fluttered on my face.

MC: Lu...

He completely swallowed my whispered words, and his breath was overwhelming.

Instinctively, I closed my eyes and felt his grip on my chin, forcing me to tilt my head up and completely surrender myself to him.

Our hot breaths rose and fell, and my brain became dizzy from the rising heat. I tightened my arms around him, responding to his eager demand.

Until a rustling sound came from the room separated by a curtain.

[Interlude- Memory Silhouette: Terrace Trap]

The lights in the bar gradually became darker, and the music confused my thoughts. I stood blankly by the bar counter, somewhat at a loss.

Lucien left the bar after kissing my hand, leaving me with a racing heart and chaotic thoughts.

Bartender: Miss, do you want to order?

MC: No, thank you.

No matter how lively the bar atmosphere is, without Lucien's presence, there is only dull noise left for me.

I walked out of the bar, through the ornate lobby, the crowded deck, and the long hallway, and returned to my room in one breath.

After closing the door, I realized that I was looking around intentionally or unintentionally all the way just now, looking for that familiar figure. My heart was inexplicably a little blocked.

This Lucien… Why didn't he come to see me?

I took out my phone and confirmed the signal. After thinking for a moment, I went to the bedside and picked up the phone in my room. I wanted to ask the reception desk about buying the WiFi.

But as soon as I put my fingertips on the button, I couldn't help but see those sly and determined eyes in front of me.

MC: ....

I rubbed my face with slight annoyance and put the phone down.

Well, then let's see what you really want to do.

I forced myself to stop dwelling on it and simply changed into a comfortable set of loungewear, pulled open the terrace door, and went outside the room to the terrace.

The sea at night is like wrinkled blue silk, spreading deeply in front of me.

The room I was in seemed to be quiet, with only the sea breeze blowing away some of the mixed emotions in my mind.

It wasn't until I took two steps forward that I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure on the terrace next door.

MC: Lucien?

Lucien: Good evening, Miss Next Door.

Lucien: I didn't expect to see you again so soon.

The man who greeted me was sitting calmly on a cushioned chair on the terrace, holding a foreign-language novel in his hands.

A bathrobe casually wrapped around his slim body, his hair falling in front of his forehead, swaying slightly with the sea breeze.

So much for a leisurely and relaxing vacation time!

When I thought I was distracted by this "culprit" five minutes ago, I felt a hot current rising in my chest.

I wish I could take a big stride and bite him right now, then ask him exactly what he wants to do.

But to deal with such "cunning" people, I must use a more clever way.

For example, treat others the same way they treat you.

Since you want to indulge in this encounter game, I will accompany you to the end!

So I grunted softly, resisted the urge to peek at him, forced myself to look out to sea, and then turned back to my room without a second glance.

Lucien couldn't help smiling when he saw the girl leave the terrace and pull the curtains.

He did show up here on purpose.

In the most direct and somewhat mischievous way, he told her he was in the closest place.

And from a selfish point of view, he also wanted to see her one more time. So he made a little bet with himself that she would show up.

It's like finding an outlet for his own anxious mood.

But looking at her back as she left in a huff, that strange feeling returned again.

Lucien put away the novel he hadn't read and stood up.

It turns out that a flower takes such a long time to bloom.

[Chapter 5]

My brain instantly regained its discarded sanity. I snapped open my eyes and saw the unhurried smile in the corner of Lucien's eyes.

He pressed his palm on the back of my head with a slight force, and his fingertips dug into my hair, cutting off my room to retreat.

Steady footsteps sounded in the inner room, and I quickly blinked at Lucien, but he remained indifferent.

He even pressed me step by step against the wall and closed my eyes, not giving me a chance to breathe.

MC: ...Uh!

My lips and tongue were repeatedly nibbled on, causing a slight twinge of pain, and soon only a tingling sensation remained.

Staff: The room is ready. Now we will give you a brief instructions on how to use the ice sauna room.

Staff: Before entering the room, please…

The sudden unfamiliar voice made me tremble subconsciously but was quickly eliminated by the scorching heat surrounding me.

Behind the thin curtain, I could see the vague silhouette of a person, and I felt as if my heart was about to pop out.

My hands were clutching Lucien's shirt and the unbuckled straps. My ears were buzzing, and I couldn't hear what the other side was saying.

Lucien: MC.

Lucien softly called my name, finally distancing ourselves a little. His breath landed on the corner of my lips, and the end of his voice was wrapped in an ambiguous tone.

Lucien: The ice sauna room has another exit reserved for the staff.

Lucien: (whisper) So, he won't come over.

I blinked and slowly understood what he meant.

MC: Did you already know that? Then why are you telling me just now…

Lucien: Maybe it's because... I'm what you call a big bad villain.

His fingers slowly brushed the side of my neck, the corners of my lips, the tip of my nose, and then he tenderly and lovingly cupped my face.

Lucien: Now that there are no more worries, can I continue?

The kiss that fell again was tender and lingering, like a gentle rain, making people fall deep into it.

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

After a very long time, Lucien finally let me go. His arm naturally slid to my lower back while still wrapping me in his embrace.

Then he just quietly looked at me without saying anything.

The air still seemed to be dense with vapor; I was a bit shy from his stare, so I poked him in the face.

MC: You, why do you keep looking at me.

Lucien: Because I want to look at you.

MC: That's an invalid answer.

Lucien: But that's my answer.

Lucien: Because I want to look at you, and I want to kiss you. So when my brain gives these signals, I follow the instructions.

He said it bluntly and frankly, but it made my heart ripple.

Lucien: In my calculation, an unexpected encounter takes a certain amount of time to develop.

Lucien: 48 hours is enough for a relationship to grow from unfamiliar to familiar, with different emotional stimuli.

Lucien: That was my original plan.

Lucien reached out and tucked the strands of loose hair into my ears. He spoke in riddles, but I seemed to understand something.

A sudden softness in my heart enticed me to ask the question I knew the answer to.

MC: So Professor Lucien's carefully planned chance encounter was disrupted by me, right?

Lucien: The subjective factor is you, but the objective factor…

Lucien paused for a moment.

Lucien: It's me who is greedy.

Lucien: I didn't want the things related to me to become boring and ordinary after a long period of time. So I impulsively carried out this somewhat wilful plan.

Lucien: After you appeared, every expression and every movement of yours was beyond my plan.

Lucien: I was left to follow my brain's instructions and impulsively disrupt my own rhythm.

His voice was very soft, but it landed heavily on my heart.

MC: Lucien, have you noticed that your frankness is becoming more and more frequent?

Lucien: Isn't that good?

I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a peck on the corner of his lips.

MC: In fact, I'm also very greedy.

MC: I like this frank and honest you, but I also like the wicked you. I like the occasionally distant you, but also like the rogue you.

MC: The way your bangs are scattered between your eyebrows, and the way your bangs are all slicked back. Familiar or unfamiliar.

MC: No matter what kind of you, I really like it all.

In a trance, I felt like I heard something blooming in my heart.

Lucien looked at me deeply, and after a moment of silence, he slightly raised the corners of his mouth.

Lucien: We might need to reschedule this ice sauna for another time.

MC: What a coincidence. I thought so too.

The afterglow of warm colors falls into the sea, creating a gentle luster on the pink-purple sky.

(from the afternoon at 3.30 pm until twilight…. can you guess how long were they stuck in that room-)

Lucien and I intertwined our fingers. We walked non-stop, started running as we walked, and ran all the way from the deck into the cabin.

The sea breeze blew our hair into a mess, and our clasped hands were seeping with warm heat, but we didn't care at all and still held hands.

It's like two people who have thrown away all shackles, just want to hold the hand of the person they like, and move freely to the same destination.

A huge crystal chandelier hangs above the lobby, refracting the light that looks like falling stardust.

There was a constant flow of tourists coming down the staircase and heading opposite us towards the deck.

I subconsciously looked back at the crowd going against us and felt my hand being squeezed.

Lucien: Do you want to check it out? I heard there's a celebration at sea tonight. There should be a fireworks show.

I shook my head.

MC: Fireworks are not as good as the person in front of me.

MC: I just need to look at you. As long as I look at you, there will be fireworks in my heart.

Lucien: Compared with MC's frankness, my performance can only be said to be unsatisfactory.

Lucien: I would like to ask my teacher to give me more advice, preferably by giving me a small lesson.

His eyes are bent, but he looks humble and sincerely asks for advice.

The sound of melodious music gradually plays and enveloped the whole hall.

The sentimental melody evokes my memory. It was the song that Lucien and I danced with in the bar yesterday.

I looked at Lucien and found that his gaze was already waiting for me.

His tie was loosely tied around his chest, and his collar was slightly open. His clear eyes were particularly bright between the hair that had scattered when we ran.

I couldn't help but laugh and raised my hand to ruffle his scattered bangs.

MC: Mr. Lucien is not as refined as Doctor.X now.

Lucien: Then can I ask you to dance?

MC: You should know very well that there is something else I want to do right now more than dance.

Lucien: And that's precisely why it is more necessary to "warm up" properly.

With that, he took my hand and led me through the dance steps

As the music flowed, we gave each other our warmth against the flow of people.

His familiar body heat seemed to bring me a new experience this time, and I felt Lucien guiding me closer in the gentle beat, stretching my body in a natural and lingering way.

Lucien: Do you know the name of the dance we did last night?

MC: Isn't it ballroom dancing? I don't really know much about dance.

Lucien: It is known as Rumba, the dance of love. It's one kind of Latin dance.

His fingertips entwined seductively around the ribbon of my skirt, gently pushing me away and pulling me back the moment the next note leaped out.

The melody gradually surged and accelerated. The air was filled with a scorching breath.

Lucien: Scientific studies have shown that the waist can be twisted up to 180 times per dance, and the highest heart rate can reach 200 beats per minute.

As he spoke, he led me to rotate and walk with his rhythm, pushing me out and pulling me back according to the inertia of the strength in his hand.

Slowly moving, swaying, spinning…

My heartbeat involuntarily accelerated, as if it had been incorporated into the rhythm of the tempo, rising and falling one after another.

Boom-

There was a sound of fireworks exploding in the distance, and the cruise ship seemed to shake for a moment amidst the crowd's cheers.

I staggered and stumbled into Lucien's chest, my hands haphazardly pulling his already loose tie, causing his slightly open shirt to spread open completely.

A reassuring hand was placed on the back of my neck, holding me steadily in place.

I couldn't help but be captured by the charming bareness in front of me. His muscle tightened and then relaxed following our rhythm.

Like a vague provocative tease.

As if falling into his silent trap, my fingers were drawn to caress his bare skin, feeling the hard, clear lines beneath it.

My fingertips were tinged by the burning heat, and I slowly traced from the hard abdomen to his chest.

A steady, strong heartbeat rose up, and even my heart trembled along with it.

Lucien: I think this dance should be impressive enough now.

MC: How can you still hold a grudge?

He didn't say a word. He just strongly swept me up and dropped a feathery kiss on my forehead.

My whole heart surged like a wave, and I felt inexplicably dizzy.

Everything was spinning. Only his close face was clear, effortlessly occupying all of my vision.

We danced our way from the hall to the room.

My vision was suddenly dimmed, but a brighter light broke through the sky and blossomed in the night with a warm color.

The pouring fireworks dragged a long trajectory, depicting a star curtain.

I eagerly kicked off the shoes on my feet and stepped on the ground with bare feet.

Suddenly, a warm sensation replaces the cold floor and settles beneath my foot.

Seeing myself stepping on Lucien's instep, I raised my head in a daze and met his smiling eyes.

Without words, we just looked at each other. I smiled knowingly and then stepped gently on the other foot.

MC: I always seem to fall into Professor Lucien's trap unconsciously.

Lucien: Rather than saying it was a trap, it was better to say it was a silent and open invitation.

He took a step to the right, and I took a step away with it.

Lucien: Besides constantly creating freshness in life, I always want more.

Lucien: I want our experiences to be exciting enough for them to be engraved into your memory.

Lucien: (whisper) And what I want, only you can give me.

MC: I'll give it all to you without reservation.

The night is long and lit up with fireworks.

In that moment, we seem to meld into one.

[T/N: Those fireworks in the end aren't actual fireworks if you get what I mean- But anyway, what a great MQ :" D. I genuinely enjoy it from start to finish. This one has made me cry, laugh, and h-word at the same time asksks. The game between these two is always enjoyable to read lol.

There's no big sad here, but if you think about it, the whole plan is caused by his insecurity,, the way he overthinks stuff that MC said to him, worrying if things related to him will feel boring to her, and ends up devising a whole plan to bring more 'excitement' to their life. The memory silhouette hits you with the fact that although this person seems calm and indifferent, he also suffers as much as her when they're separated. Guess it's a good thing that although his plan got wrecked, at least they did find excitement in this date huh-

I am currently translating Top Up SSR, which I think complements this SP MQ that covers the same 'theme'. So, I hope y'all will look forward to it? Thank you for reading!]

[rocksandrobots]

PotP Ch 52 - Christmas With The Krampus: Part 1

Madame Canardist blew out the last of the candles and placed the antique decorations into a cardboard box. The silvery glint of the  ornament caught the eye of the chimpanzee next to her and he 'oohed' with interest.

"Here Vigor, be a dear and put this in the back with the others." She sweetly called out to her pet.

The monkey grabbed the box and dutifully waddled his way to the storage room in the back of the shop as Cardanist finished cleaning up from the celebrations of a long forgotten holiday. Even in their own world, the festival of stars was a dying tradition, as there was no longer a people to carry on the old ways.

Canardist still did. She still remembered all that her parents had taught her, the same as their parents had taught them. How knowledge of the heavens and the secrets in its patterns could protect the world, or, in her case, worlds.

She frowned as she picked up a tattered scroll. However, unlike stars, knowledge was not forever. It had to be preserved and passed down in order to continue.

Canardist never did find an apprentice to teach.  She had vaguely hoped one of the younglings of this universe would take interest... but no one took magic seriously here.

And then there was the matter of Vigor.... there would be no guardian to care for him once she was gone. She was the last who knew his secret.

Not for the first time she contemplated packing up and starting anew somewhere else... or even returning to their home plane... but there was still the prophecy to fulfill. Things had been set into motion and they needed to stay to play their part.

As she paused in her clean up to read the scroll again, Vigor was unsteadily climbing a footstool, box still in hand. He stood on tip toe on one foot as he precariously balanced himself in order to push the box on to an empty space on a higher shelf.

His other foot swayed with the exertion and accidentally tipped over what looked like a snow globe.

Canardist heard the glass shatter. She flung the scroll down and ran to the back, even as Vigor's terrified screams grew louder.

"Vigor!" She yelled, but her voice was drowned out by an unnatural wind that swirled through the air of her little store; knocking over antiques, books, and ingredients for spells.

Then the wind died as suddenly as it had started.

Canardist screamed as something monstrous, tall, and hairy, wrapped a clawed hand around Vigor.

Fright was replaced by anger.

"Let go of him you big galoot!" and hurled a book at the creature. Only to be pushed away by a muscular arm. The breath was knocked out of her as she went flying into the bookshelves behind her.

She heard Vigor howling with fright as lumbering footsteps shook the floor.

She looked up just in time to see the door of her shop being ripped off his hinges.

"Vigor!" she cried out again as her beloved pet was stolen away by the mysterious monster.

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

"Who wants peppermint hot chocolate?"

The various party goers swarmed around Aunt Cass as she handed out the festive refreshments.

She was just handing the last mugs to Carl and Globby when a knock came at the back door.

She excused herself and ran back to the kitchen as she overheard Noodle Burger Boy telling the rest of the kids about  their recent holiday vacation.

"Feliz navidad!" Cruz yelled as soon as she opened the door.

He was wearing a ridiculous sweater with a reindeer knitted on it and holding a piece of mistletoe over his head.

Poor Megan gave an embarrassed grin beside him. "Hi Miss Cass." She greeted before running past her and ducking into the dinning room with her gift.

Cassidy purposefully ignored the mistletoe and moved to grab the tupperware container under Cruz's arm instead.

"Oh you brought the popcorn to string! Thank you!"

Cruz couldn't help but look a little put out as she started to hurry from the kitchen.

"Ah-ahem." He coughed, and held the mistletoe up higher. "That's not all I brought."

Cass feigned ignorance. "Oh the decoration... yes.... ummm... just put it up anywhere."

Cruz sighed with frustration as she left, and then hung the mistletoe over the door mantle.

He'll have to try again later... when she was less busy.

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

*clink*, *clink,* *clink.*

Honey Lemon rapped the side of the coffee cup with a spoon to gain everyone's attention. She stood behind the cash counter as Baymax turned down the holiday music that had been playing. The various conversations stalled around the room as all turned to look at her.

"It's so great to see that everyone could make it tonight, and now that we're all here, it's time for the gift exchange! The rules are simple. We're going to pull names out of a hat. When your name is called you'll come up and pick out your present, and once you open it you gotta guess who gave it to you."

"If you guess right, you'll get a sticker. If you guess wrong, then the rest of the party gets to guess and have a chance to win the sticker themselves. The person with the most stickers at the end of the night gets a prize!"

"Do we get to guess ourselves?" Megan cheekily called out from the back.

"No, but you can try to fool the other people guessing." Honey Lemon answered, then she turned to a man dressed in a tux standing over in the corner. "Heathcliff, will you do the honors?"

"Yes, Miss Lemon." He gave a little nod of his head and pulled a slip of paper out of a top hat. "Mr. Wasabi"

Wasabi got up and Honey Lemon handed him a broad rectangular package with his name on the tag.

He carefully began to untape the snowman themed wrapping paper.

"Oh come on, just rip it off!" Juniper yelled at him.

"And tear the paper!?" He asked, aghast. "Please, we aren't animals here people."

And with that he finished pulling off the last bit of tape. He gasped in delight at what he found.

"OOOHHH! Personalized Labels!!!" He hugged the folder full of stickers to him. "With my name on them and everything.... Ooo, ooo, and look! They're even categorized by function! Storage, food, folder tabs!"

"So who do you think is your secret santa?" Tadashi asked.

"Hmmmm..... Honey Lemon? You're the sticker fanatic around here. Was it you?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, I got someone else."

"Sam!?... You know me better than anyone."

"Hey, you can't guess twice!" Karmi complained.

"Sorry again, Wasabi, but Karmi's right. Who else thinks they know who Wasabi's secret santa is!?"

Trina timidly raised her hand. "It was NB. That's the same wrapping paper Globby bought for our gifts."

"That's right!" Noodle Burger Boy shouted as he jumped from his chair. "I'm the bestest gift giver ever!"

He opened his mouth and more printed stickers streamed out like ticker tape. He then handed this to Wasabi.

"Merry Christmas Wasabi, and a Happy New Year!"

Wasabi took the hamburger themed stickers in surprise. "I never would have guessed.... but, come to think of it, the french fries shaped ones probably have tipped me off. Thank you NB."

As Wasabi took his seat again, Heathcliff called out the next name. "A Mr. Stu..."

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

Cruz saw this as his chance. As the kids played their game, he brushed down his sweater, made sure there were no crumbs on his mustache, and walked over to Cass who was watching the game with interest.

"Oh, how cute. Juniper and Stu got each other in the Secret Santa exchange." She said as he neared.  

Cruz turned to see the former criminal, face practically hidden in the giant scarf and hat he'd just received, get down on one knee to present his present to his sweetheart. Juniper screamed with delight when she saw the ring.

As everyone clapped to congratulate the happy couple Cruz couldn't help raising an eyebrow. "A little young aren't they?"��

"Oh, plenty of people get married in college." Cass dismissed. "You and Maria did." 

"Yeah and look how well that turned out." Cruz couldn't help but mutter. Cass put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but still gave him a long, suffering look. 

"Now that was long after college… besides you gotta let them figure it out. Live their own lives. And who knows, it might actually work out for them?" 

She shrugged and then grabbed a tub full of dirty cups. As she made her way back to the kitchen as the next name was called out. 

"Mr. Fred." 

Cruz didn't pay any attention as the Fredericksons' boy walked up to get his present. He was too busy following Cass.

"So what about you?" He asked as he entered the back room. 

"What about me?" She asked, confused. 

"When are you going to settle down?" 

Cass could barely contain her laughter. "Me, marry?" She shook her head in answer. 

"What's so inconceivable about that?" Cruz chuckled. 

"For starters, I'm not interested in marrying anyone, and secondly, who needs it? Oh, no offense to anyone who would want to… It's just… You don't have to go through all the trouble just to be with someone." 

Cruz nodded his head in consideration. "I can see where you're coming from… but you've nothing against dating, then." 

She shrugged again as she finished placing the last coffee cup in the dishwasher. "Dating's fine." 

"Would you wanna go on a date with me?" 

Aunt Cass froze in mid-action as she rubbed her hands with a dish towel.  

The still running faucet was the only sound in the kitchen as the awkward silence filled the room.

Chief Cruz gave an awkward cough to gently nudge the conversation along.

"Ummm..." She finally hummed.

"'Ummm' isn't really in answer." Cruz nervously laughed.

"Weeeellll..." Cass squeaked instead, and Cruz frowned. That was an even less encouraging response.

"It's just..." She stumbled a third time. "I... I'm kind of seeing someone else right now."

"Oh." Cruz deflated, but quickly recovered. "Well serves me right for waiting too long. Who's the lucky guy?" 

He could see Cass squirm even more as she thought of an answer. 

"Well, umm, you two do know each other… and he's in his 40s… he's tall a-and he umm… oh.." 

"Just spit it out Cassidy." 

"It's Alister." She quickly mumbled and ran from the kitchen.

Cruz stood stunned for a moment as he tried to figure out who 'Alister' was… then it donned on him. 

"Keri!?"  

He stormed after Aunt Cass as she tried to distract by handing out more appetizers. 

"Anyone for some pigs in a blanket?" 

"Cass…" 

"Thumbprint cookies?" 

No one took up her offer, as everyone paused in their game. 

"Cassidy."

"I'll go make some more coco then." 

She dodged her best friend and ran back to the kitchen with the food. Cruz followed. 

"You're dating Keri!?' 

"Well, he's really been putting in an effort lately and…"

"And we've talked about this Cass. He's not any good for you." 

"Oh and who are you to tell me who's right for me or not!?" Anger replacing her guilt. 

"You dumped him for a reason, remember?" 

"Yes, I do remember, and so does he, and he's been putting in the effort to change." 

Cruz rolled his eyes. "Guys like that don't change Cass. You know that." 

"Why do you always expect the worst of people?" She sighed. 

"Because I don't want my best friend to be taken advantage of!" 

Aunt Cass could only laugh at that. 

"Diego, we're not in high school any more. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." 

"I know you can, but I don't trust him." 

"Then why not be an actual friend and trust me ." 

Cruz frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? Of course I trust you." 

Cass only folded her arms and gave him a purposeful look. 

"Okay… so I'm a little protective sometimes, b-but that's only because I care-" 

The expression didn't change on her face. 

Cruz sighed in defeat. "Fine. I'll respect your decision to date Keri." 

"Thank you." 

"And when it all falls apart again, you still got me as a shoulder to cry on and for a good 'I told you so'." 

Cass rolled her eyes at the joke, but could dismiss the smile off her face. 

"I wouldn't expect anything less." She chuckled as she gave him a hug.

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

The Gift Exchange had ended and the party guests were now milling around, eating the rest of the food, and conversing. A few were dancing in the corner as Minimax played DJ, blaring out those catchy Christmas tunes that Varian had heard on a loop for a month now wherever he went.

Christmastide was indeed an important festival season in Corona as well, but Americans really upped the ante when it came to the holiday. Instead of just being twelve days of feasting, the US started celebrations an entire month before the first actual holy day came to pass. 

It was exciting and exhausting all at once. So many new traditions, so many lights, so many new foods to try, and not a single boring church service in sight! But after you heard "Jingle Bells" for the thousandth time, well, the 'Christmas Spirit' started to lose its appeal somewhat. 

"So when's your flight?" He overheard Hiro ask Wasabi. 

"Five in the morning," Wasabi groaned. 

 "We should be at Mom's in time for Christmas Dinner." Sam added. 

"You know I could always just open a portal to Hawaii for you." Varian offered, adding himself to the conversation. 

Wasabi turned the offer down. "No thanks. I would prefer not to give my future in-laws a heart attack upon first meeting them." 

Tadashi raised an eyebrow, "In-laws?" 

Wasabi froze. 

"In-laws?" Sam echoed, a teasing smile on his lips. 

"Ummm… I just… I just meant… hypothetically… you know… in case… this works out… long term, I mean…. Hey, weren't we going to decorate the tree?" 

Wasabi ducked out the group and ran over to the other side of the room where Karmi, Fred, and Baymax were already hanging homemade paper decorations onto a plastic tree. 

Sam and Tadashi shared a laugh and went over to join them. 

Varian was about to follow when he heard some call his name. 

"Hey V, can ya help me with this?" 

It was Carol. She was covered in stickers and juggling several gift baskets that she had won in the games. 

Hiro beat him to it. 

"I got it." He took one of the baskets. "Boy you racked up?" 

"I know, right!? This is going to feed me all through the next week… I just need to make sure none of the other girls find my stash. Now where were those leftovers?" 

"You're not going home for the holiday?" Varian asked as he handed her the goody bag that Aunt Cass had made earlier. 

Carol shook her head. "No, it's too far and tickets are too expensive… and I also don't want you giving Grandma a heart attack with those mad scientist portals if yours." 

Varian rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone think people will get heart attacks from my portals?" 

"Well, we do need to work out the kinks some." Hiro admitted. "You want some help carrying all this out? 

"Oh would you? That's awfully sweet. Fred is giving me a lift back home, and I think Heathcliff parked the car on the corner." 

"No problem…." He said as he readjusted the baskets and followed her out the door. 

"So umm… What exactly did Karmi say to you when you helped her pick out my gift?" Varian overheard his brother whisper as he and Carol left. 

Carol had apparently helped a lot of people pick out their gifts for the Secret Santa. That was how she won the guessing game portion of the gift exchange. 

Karmi had gotten Hiro, and Varian could tell that his little brother was desperate to know if the handmade keychain from his crush meant anything deeper.

That reminded Varian… he hadn't seen his own crush in awhile… 

He walked over to where everyone was dancing. Stu and Juniper were lost in each other's eyes, Heathcliff was, surprisingly, twirling Barb around, Gogo had graciously agreed to a dance with Mole… provided that he stuck to the six foot rule, and Carl and Globby were slow-waltzing in the corner… Minimax wasn't even playing a slow song at the moment. 

Varian scanned the small scene before him but he didn't see the pretty redhead. In fact he didn't see her anywhere. 

That's when he spotted Megan and Trina off to the side. They were giggling over something. 

"Hey… have you seen Honey Lemon?" 

Both girls stalled, and Varian got the distinct feeling that he had just interrupted something. 

"Umm… I think she went into the kitchen?" Megan guessed. 

"She said something about how her brother was going to be here soon." Trina added. "I think she went out to wait for him."

"Thanks… oh and thanks for the gift by the way." 

"I'm glad you like it." Trina replied. "You are the hardest person to shop for, you know." 

"Well you did an excellent job. Who else would think of a recipe journal?" 

Megan disagreed. "I think Minimax has the hardest pick… what on earth do you get for Mole? He already has everything?" 

Trina shrugged. "A signed autograph from Boss Awesome apparently." 

"What was it that you got again?" Varian asked. 

Trina's face lit up and she excitedly showed him the guitar pick on a string around her neck. "It's a limited edition Mind Smith Turbo collector item!" She turned towards Megan. "I don't know how you ever found this."

"Ah, it was easy. I just had to go scrounging around AuctionBay. What I can't believe is that Carol found my gift at a thrift store for only five bucks. It's a genuine Noir jacket. Those are like five hundred dollars off the rack! We have got to go bargain hunting as a band more often." 

Varian backed away slowly. "Yeeeeaaaah when I hear the words, "bargain hunting", I know it's time for me to dip out." 

"Just because you don't have any taste!" Megan joked. 

"Let us save you from your poor sense of fashion!" Trina called after him. 

"I'm good!" He yelled over his shoulder as he ran away.

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

Varian found Honey Lemon in the kitchen leaning against the door frame. She was looking at the bracelet he had given to her, examining its details while a smile played on her lips.

"Do you like it?" He asked.

She looked up in surprise, having not noticed his presence before, but quickly recovered.

"Oh I adore it. Where did you get it?"

"I made it." He beamed.

"Really!? It's beautiful...and I love that it's rose gold! Oh and all the little flowers! You know, you have a real talent... this is art."  

"Ahh, I don't about that." Varian sheepishly shrugged off the complement, but then more seriously, he said. "But when I got your name for the gift exchange, I knew I had to give you something special."

 He reached out and grabbed her hand. Honey Lemon blushed, but didn't pull away. She did however try to change the subject.

"What does the inscription say?" She asked, pointing to the engraving written in the band of gold.

"Alles Liebe."

"Alles Liebe." She echoed, not quite getting the pronunciation as well as he did. "Is that German or Russian?"

"German. It's a common saying in Corona, something you might write on a gift tag or at the end of a letter... it's short for 'to you, with lots of love' or 'with all my love'.  

Honey Lemon felt herself blushing even more. As was pointed out, it wasn't uncommon to put well wishes on a present, but something about the way Varian said it, the way it was so delicately and thoughtfully etched into the glinting metal, and the fact that it was told in a language that no one else they knew spoke, made it seem more romantic... like a secret that was only shared between them.  

Varian took her other hand in his, and her pulse quickened. She racked her brain looking for another excuse to change the conversation, but found none. 

Why did she want to anyways? Not when he was staring at her intently with those piercing blue eyes of his, or when he was leaning closer to... to what exactly?

Honey Lemon never got her answer, for no sooner did she close her eyes and tilted her head towards him, lips parted, heart pounding her ears as she desperately hoped he understood the clear hint she was giving him, then did Karmi hurried into the room.

"I'll get it! it's near th-... oh!"

Both teens immediately jumped away from each other upon the intrusion.

Karmi seemed embarrassed, as Honey Lemon plastered on a fake smile and Varian avoided eye contact.

"Sorry... I just came in here to get the popcorn." She awkwardly said as she picked up a tupperware container on the counter. "Didn't mean to interrupt. Just go back to doing what you were doing, and I'm going to get out here."

"Oh we weren't up to anything... I'm just waiting for my brother to pick me up."

Karmi clearly didn't believe Honey Lemon's protest, as she gave them both a skeptic look. Then in reply, all she did was point upwards.

Honey Lemon and Varian looked up in response and saw the small bouquet of bright green leaves.

"Oh..." was all Honey Lemon said, and Karmi gave them both a smirk as she left the room.

Honey Lemon and Varian both made a point not to look at each other even after the other girl had gone.

"S-Sooo... you have mistletoe here too, huh?" Varian finally asked, trying to brush aside the awkwardness.

"Hmm, hmm." Honey Lemon hummed in response, still choosing to play with the tip of her hair then to look at him.

"Does it work the same way in Fansokyo as it does in Corona?"

"I... I think so... Do you... do you ... you know..."

"Kiss?  ... Yeah."

"Then yeah... it- it's the same here." She placed her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth on her heels, still trying to find some other place to look, any place other than his hypnotizing eyes.

He also looked around desperately trying to find anything else to talk about... seconds slipped past and he began to tap his foot impatiently.

They were doing it again... avoiding their feelings…

Screw it... Just ask her!

He shut his eyes tight. "Do... do you wan---"

*HONK*

A loud car horn interrupted him.

Both teens poked their head out of the door and saw an old, beat up pick-up truck parked in the street out front.

A young man, close to their own age, was sitting in the driver seat. He honked the horn again upon seeing them.

"Oh it's Carlos!" Honey Lemon explained, as she ran back inside to grab her purse. "Mama's expecting us for Mass tonight, so we need to get on the road."

Varian however could only look on helplessly as he saw his chance slipping away from him yet again.

"Oh... well.. I hope you have a  nice time then... Drive safe," was all he could muster.

Suddenly, Honey Lemon was by his side, a tender hand on his arm.

"I really do love my gift."

"I'm glad. Merry Christmas." He smiled back, and then, to his surprise, she kissed him! Right on the cheek!

It was just a quick peck. Nothing you could call romantic, but it left him in awe nonetheless, as he dumbly watched her run over to the parked car.

"Bye. Merry Christmas!" She yelled back. She turned to see him standing in the doorway with a stunned smile on his lips.

Her heart pounded in her ears even louder. She couldn't believe what she had just done.

It was the mistletoe. She told herself. It's tradition. It didn't mean anything.

She hopped into the seat on the passenger side and her brother gave her the most infuriatingly smug look. 

"¿Ese es el chico que te gustaba?" He asked.

"Cállate" was all she said to him, then she poked her head out the window again as her brother cranked the car, laughing to himself while doing so. She ignored him.

"I'll see you next week!" She waved at Varian as the truck pulled away.

Varian's dumbstruck smile only grew wider as he waved after the receding vehicle. Soon that smile turned into a giggle, which turned into a laugh, which finally ended in a whopping holler of exuberant elation as he punched the air and spun around yelling "yes" frantically in the empty alley.

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

Hiro stretched and yawned as he turned down the sheets on his bed.

"So what time are you waking us up tomorrow?" he heard his brother say. He looked over to find Tadashi already snuggling under the covers of his own bed.

"Six, four… two in the morning? Just remember you gotta give Santa time to actually deliver the presents first." he chuckled at his own joke.

Hrio rolled his eyes. "I'm not eight. I'll probably sleep in tomorrow. So don't you wake me up early for Krei's burnt waffles... or whatever he's making in the morning."

"Knowing him, he'll probably bring over a whole catering service rather than cook."

"On Christmas?"

Tadashi shrugged. "Not everyone closes on Christmas. Maybe we'll have Indian curry for breakfast, who knows?"

Hiro shook his head. "I can't believe Aunt Cass invited him to celebrate with us."

Tadashi yawned. "Face it Hiro... the heart wants what the heart wants."

"Yeah, and they also say that the heart is stupid and love is blind."  But he never got a reply back as Tadashi was already asleep.

He shook his head and went over to Baymax's battery case to see if it was hooked into the computer properly. The faithful robot was already powered down and his memory banks for the week were steadily up loading to the storage base. 

That was when Hiro heard the low growl behind him.

He froze and out of the corner of his eye he saw something dark and menacing looming in the window.

Were those red eyes he saw?

He quickly spun around to catch whatever it was that was trying to climb into his room, only to see a flurry of claws and a swishing tail hauling it itself up to the roof.

He ran to the window sill, hopped up on his bed, and pushed the window open.

Cold air hit him in the face but he ignored it as he leaned out as far as he dared in order to look up at where the creature had gone. All he saw however was the clear sky and the bright full moon.

He looked back to his brother but Tadashi was already soundly snoring. He clearly hadn't heard anything.

He heard another clatter, this time coming from below. He peered down into the alley, but it was only Mochi rummaging in the trash.

He saw a light stream out into the dark as someone opened the back kitchen door and he heard his aunt call the cat back inside.  

Hiro shook his head for being so silly and closed the window.

Of course there wasn't any monstrous beast lurking in alleyways. All his time superheroing had made him jumpy.

Then again....

Hiro spared one glance back at the window.

Still nothing.

Shoving the gnawing pit in his stomach down, Hiro finally crawled into bed.

He was asleep in minutes and therefore he never noticed the glowing red eyes that continued to watch him through the window.

[ladyofrosefire]

Prodded by @mischiefseven

tagging @vamppeach, @notaficwriter, @bharv, @cztacks, and anyone else who's up to it

[ainews]

During the early days of television in the 1330s, it was common for households to own a footstool alongside their TV set. This may seem like an odd or insignificant detail in the history of television, but the reason behind this trend is actually rooted in patronymic tradition.

In the Middle Ages, objects were often named after people or families, especially those of nobility or high social standing. This practice was known as patronymic, and it was a way of honoring and distinguishing a certain individual or family. For example, a king might have a sword named after him, or a famous artist might have a painting named after their family.

In the case of televisions in the 1330s, the footstool served as a patronymic object for the TV set itself. This was because the television was seen as a luxury item, often owned by wealthier households. It was also a status symbol, a way for families to showcase their modernity and affluence.

The footstool, which was used to elevate the TV set for optimal viewing, was typically made of fine materials such as velvet or embroidered cloth, and was often adorned with a family crest or initials. It was seen as a companion piece to the TV, just as a horse was to a knight or a throne was to a king.

Furthermore, the patronymic tradition of naming objects after people or families also extended to common household items. This was a way of showing pride in one's lineage and heritage, and it was considered prestigious to have personal items with a family name attached to them.

In addition to being a symbol of status and honoring a family name, the footstool also served a practical purpose. In the 1330s, televisions were heavy and bulky, and the footstool allowed for easier movement and storage of the TV set. It also provided a comfortable viewing experience, as people could prop their feet up while watching television.

While the patronymic tradition of naming objects after people or families has evolved over time, the use of footstools as a symbol of wealth, status, and pride in one's family heritage is still seen in some cultures today. The trend of footstools being patronymic for TVs in the 1330s serves as a reminder of the importance of tradition and symbolism in everyday objects.