#perhaps i’m just cynical

[lewmagoo]

every time new thunderbolts promo stuff is released, the bob jokes start trickling in once again. as if we haven’t heard the joke 800 times before

[aisudabi]

i’m probably just being an asshole but whenever i see commission promos that are pushed as an urgent need for money yet also being blazed by op im like 🤨 you desperately need money urgently yet you can blaze?

[pizzabookbuying]

there are so many ‘best’ AUs and the ones I label as they best definitely change according to my mood but right now the BEST kind is the kind where the AU reveals that in different circumstances the two characters end up in completely opposite roles in their dynamic because the SOULMATISM of it all—the realization that these people respond EXACTLY the same way to things—THATS EVERYTHING TO ME RIGHT NOW

[euthymiya]

the anemo archon’s favor — ft. diluc ragnvindr

diluc doesn’t appreciate being swarmed by crystalflies when harvesting grapes. you somehow manage to make him change his mind, though

before you read: fem reader ; established relationship ; grape harvesting at the winery ; banter ; fluff ; mentions of venti ; made up crystalfly lore ; a kiss ;)

notes: @sillykawa wrote this with you in mind because i promised you more diluc content, hope it’s okay to tag you!

The Dawn Winery is a popular spot for crystalflies. Diluc used to be irritated by the fact—they make for a troublesome time when picking grapes as they flutter around his head.

It only takes one afternoon with you, however, to change his mind on them.

“Look at all the crystalflies,” you gasp quietly in awe, patting his shoulder as he tries to cut the branch of a cluster of grapes.

He sighs, looking over his shoulder at you wearily. “Yes,” he grumbles, “I see them. They’re quite troublesome to have all around the winery, in fact.”

“How come? They don’t feed off of the grapes.” Your lips twist into a soft, confused little frown, slightly glistening with the juice of the fruit you should be picking instead of eating.

(You’re meant to be helping him at the moment. You’d insisted that he take you around the grapevines and show you how to harvest, but it seems your way of helping comes in the form of eating his grapes straight off the vines, instead.

Your grapes are very sweet, Master Diluc, you tease with batted lashes.

Oh? I do hope you don’t put me out of business at this rate, he fights back a grin with a small, fond sigh.

The sound of your giggle as you murmur, no promises, still rings in his ear distantly. Your voice must be favored by the Anemo Archon, he thinks, with the way it carries through the vines as the wind blows.)

Diluc gives you a miserable look over his shoulder. You laugh as he huffs when a crystalfly flutters its wings right by his ear as it quickly flies past him.

You think you have your answer as to why he’s not so keen on being surrounded by them.

“They’re troublesome,” he says flatly, making a face as if to say: did you see?

“You know,” you hum thoughtfully, watching a couple of them fly in a circle in the distance with nothing short of pure awe in your pupils, “I’ve heard that crystalflies roam places favored by the Archons. Perhaps the God of Anemo favors you, Diluc.”

“I highly doubt that,” he scoffs.

A part of him wonders how you’d react if he told you he knows the Anemo Archon quite well—a part of him wonders even more how you’d react if he told you that you’ve seen the Archon drunk a number of times yourself.

He decides to withhold the information when he notices the hopefulness on your features, just to preserve those precious dreams of yours a little longer.

“Always such a cynic,” you shake your head affectionately, reaching over to brush his bangs from his forehead. He leans into your touch ever so slightly. “You can’t be sure, you know. Perhaps the Archon is listening right now.”

“Is that so?” He snorts, turning to face you as he looks at you amused, “And what, pray tell, do you think he’s thinking of our conversation?”

“That you’re being quite unkind to these poor crystaflies,” you click your teeth in exaggerated disappointment as you pluck a grape from the cluster in his hands.

He watches as you pop it between your lips and chew, humming at the sweetness that invades your tongue.

“And you’re being quite unkind at lending me a hand,” he murmurs, thumb gently wiping a small drop of juice from your lips.

You grin sweetly, chuckling as you say, “I am helping. I’m assessing the grapes, you know—this vine is particularly sweet, so I suggest using the grapes from this one. The last one was quite sour.”

“Ah,” he nods, laughing softly, “I owe my next round of revenue to you, then, I suppose.”

You beam brightly.

It’s a captivating smile, one that’s wormed its way into his heart slowly, surely, then consuming him all at once. He leans closer, cupping your cheek gently as he hovers his lips over yours.

Just as he’s about to lean closer to fill the gap, you gasp and grab his wrist, clutching tightly.

“Diluc,” you whisper, “Don’t move.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks in thinly masked panic, eyebrows furrowing.

“Nothing,” you breathe, lips twitching into an excited grin. “Just don’t move.”

And then, slowly, from the corner of his eyes, he watches the flap of two iridescent wings come closer, closer, closer—until the glowing body of a crystalfly rests delicately on your head.

His breath catches in his throat as he looks at you, slowly leaning away and taking in the sight.

You might be right, Diluc thinks suddenly, the Anemo Archon must send crystalflies to places he favors. There’s something about the way you smile as you look up without moving, eyes filled with awe when you notice the slow, gentle flaps of the wings atop your head.

He thinks the sight before him is nothing short of divine.

“See? They’re harmless, you old grump,” you whisper softly, watching as the crystalfly slowly takes flight and leaves its spot on your head, “And very, very beautiful, don’t you think?”

He’s silent for a moment. Unable to speak.

Finally, when your eyes meet his, he’s forced out of his trance before he clears his throat softly and takes a deep breath.

“Yes,” he mumbles, stepping closer and leaning in to hover over your lips once more, breathing the words against your mouth as he confesses, “Quite beautiful.”

(He’ll never admit it to you, but suddenly, he’s not so opposed to crystaflies swarming his winery. Maybe not if he has a chance to witness that sight again.)

A tribute to the Dawn Winery, my favorite god send of a place in Teyvat where I can always count on crystaflies residing for me to farm

[luveline]

reader getting really stressed out about being pregnant for the first time and so hotch just makes her sit down and he totally pampers her for the day?? idk u asked for hotch reqs and this is just the first thing i squeezed out my brain

thank you for requesting <3 fem, 1.2k

There are many things that come with being pregnant. Joy, for sure, but hardship and doubt overwhelmingly. You’re always treating an ailment you didn’t expect to have or worrying that things won’t be ready —that you won’t be ready. 

You’ve developed a bad habit. You can’t stop picking at your hands. Your skin is drier since you’ve been pregnant and the further along you get, the worse it becomes. You scratch at a dry patch between your fingers, wince when it hurts, but continue until there’s no dry skin left to pick, just raw soreness. It’s the first time you’ve made yourself bleed. 

“Are you doing it again?” Aaron asks from the hallway.

You drop your guilty hands down and turn away from his approach. “No, I’m not.” 

“You are, aren’t you?” he asks, a smile in his voice. His hand is warm where he takes your shoulder, turning you to face him. “Show me.” 

“No.” 

“Show me,” he says again, not asking. 

You were supposed to be doing the dishes, but you’d noticed your baby bump was getting in the way, which was oddly beautiful for a few seconds, but was quickly just another imposition in a day full of small annoyances. It is never going to get any easier, your stomach will continue to grow as the baby grows and your body accommodates her, and when you do have her you’ll have to find a way to wash dishes with her held to your chest or on your hip. And it’s lovely, it’s what you signed up for, you can’t wait to be a mom and love your baby, but that’s a big change, too. 

Now you're tail-spin panicking about your life and your hands take the brunt of it. Aaron can’t stop you, but he always tries. 

“I can’t understand why you do this,” he says, parting your fingers gently to assess the damage, “it must hurt. Can you stop?” 

He asks with a mixture of humour and fondness, his eyes on yours and a small smile playing on his lips to encourage a better mood. You don’t have much to give, but you smile back. 

“I know I shouldn’t pick it,” you say. 

“But it’s hard to stop,” he surmises, bringing your hand to his mouth for a soft peck against the back of it, far from your broken skin. 

“I’m just worried.” 

“Oh, I know,” he says, pulling at your hand as he takes your hip in his other and drags you into him. Your bump immediately blocks the way, but bodies are soft, and he keeps on pulling until you’re squished together. 

He smells like something particular. Not cologne or deodorant, not soap or laundry detergent. You can’t put your finger on the scent, your cheek pressed against his shoulder and your nose to his neck, thinking. It’s a sugary smell, but it’s cloying, too, like you’d touch the smell and have a residue on your fingers.

“I changed the air freshener in the bathroom,” he says quietly, his face turned down to yours. 

You don’t bother asking how he knows what you’d been thinking. He’s your mind reader. 

“It was making me feel sick,” you say unnecessarily. 

“I know. Let’s go sit down, my girl.” 

My girl, you think, not sure if you should roll your eyes or hug him tighter. 

You let him lead you from the kitchen to the living room, where he helps you down onto the nice couch, much too nice for babies. You can’t imagine it will stay very clean, but perhaps you’re being cynical. Still, you lean back against the cushions and rub your cheek into clean leather. 

Aaron takes the faux rabbit fur throw from the armrest and shakes it out over you with care, tucking it under your legs, and kissing your cheek as he secures it behind your back. All tucked in, he holds your hands together atop the blanket to encourage you to feel the texture. It’s a good distraction from picking at your hands, which he knows. Aaron knows everything. 

“What do we need?” he asks. “A drink? Dinner’s easy tonight, I’ve promised Jack we’ll make lasagne. Does that sound good to you?” 

You’re honestly not sure. You're quiet for a moment too long. “Sorry,” you frown. 

“I can make you anything you want. It doesn’t bother me.” 

“I feel a little like I’m acting over the top about this.” You’re pregnant. Millions and millions and millions of women have been pregnant. 

“About what?” he asks, sitting beside you on the couch, your blanket untucking under his legs. “Being tired? You can’t decide.” 

“About everything, I guess.” 

“Well, when you figure out what it is that’s making this,” —he puts a hand to your belly— “over the top, you can let me know.” 

You lift your chin. He kisses you soundly. 

It’s nice to be loved like this. 

“What’s up with my baby?” he asks, giving your stomach a soft rub. “Is she moving today?” 

You lean back and he understands that to mean he should feel lower, where you can feel the baby’s weight more clearly. “Not much moving. She gave me a good kick earlier.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think so.” 

He feels along the bottom of your stomach politely. It’s a little funny, the baby wouldn’t exist without him being rather less polite, but it’s also lovely. You can trust him to be a great father because he’s already an adoring husband. If he treats you with a never ending supply of tender caring and soft touches, it’s easy to picture how he’ll treat your girl. You’ve never once doubted him, and he’s never hurt you. You don’t think he could. 

“There?” he asks, putting his hand to the right side of the bump. 

You can’t be totally certain, but you’re sure he’s right. “Right there, handsome.” 

Things are far less stressful to think of when he’s near. He reminds you in something as small as a thumb to your belly that everything will be taken care of. You’re not half as alone as you feel, and neither is your baby. Aaron can do the dishes while you’re unable. He’d do them even if your only reason was that you didn’t want to. 

“Hello,” he says, charmed, eyes glowing with excitement as you encourage your shirt up over your stomach for a better view. Aaron places his hand to your naked skin, palm hot. “I love you.” 

He has to tap you under the chin for you to know who it is he’s talking to. “I love you, too,” you say quickly. 

He smiles, before his attention falls completely to your stomach once again. “And you, sweetheart. I love you. Can you say hello?” 

He has to talk for a while, but eventually your baby moves. 

Your shoulders relax. You close your eyes and let him murmur to you both, peaceful for a desperately needed half an hour.

[2pndr]

Dinner In a Winter Wonderland

Hi! This is my first ever fic! Hope you enjoy it :D

Winter x Male Reader Fluff

8.4k words (sorry)

“We’ll only agree if you guys bring along a fourth friend, ok?”

Your three friends all recited to you the conditions a “goddess” had set for the Christmas quadruple date they were dragging you into.

You sat at your desk, speechless as you scanned the pleading faces of your roommates and long-time friends, stunned by their brazen appeals to you. It was probably that last sentence that bamboozled you the most though. Sure you were the closest to them, but it’s not like they were short on other friends. Why did you of all people have to come along?

“Why me of all people?” you asked again, this time out loud.

“Well, apparently, they have a you in their friend group too,” one of your friends began.

“A me?” you scoffed.

“Yeah, a you,” he continued. “Y’know, a stubborn, reclusive homebody who needs to be dragged out of their room every time their friends wanna hang out. All because they enjoy their ‘me time’ a little too much,” he joked, perhaps a bit too accurately imitating your increasingly weak excuses to leave the dorm.

“Ha, ha,” you mocked.

“No seriously! Apparently, her name’s Winter.”

“Winter?” You stifled a snicker. “Like the season? That’s her real name?”

“I mean, that’s what they told us,” your friend replied with a shrug. “Who cares? It’s kinda cute.”

You silently agreed, hiding a smirk as to not concede that your interest was piqued. “So let me get this straight,” you began, folding your arms in an attempt to appear unfazed. “The only reason I’m being dragged along is because you guys need someone to pair up with some girl who—what?—shares my hate for leaving the house? The hell’s in this for me?” You asked, feigning anger.

“Dude, it’ll be a perfect match!” another friend enticed, desperately trying to paint the situation in an appealing light. “You both don’t like leaving your rooms, you both hate meeting new people. It’s like the universe is aligning for you two to meet.”

Did he even realise the irony of that sentence?

“C'mon man, spending Christmas alone in your room three years in a row is some of the saddest shit I’ve ever seen,” The first one remarked.

Well he wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t let him get any ground.

“Some people can’t help it,” You retorted.

“Well those people probably don’t have a chance to go out with the most attractive women they’ll ever see.”

You scowled, about to add fuel to the fire before your third friend cut you off.

“Think about it,” he chimed in, shifting the conversation away from an argument. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll probably want this whole thing over with as fast as you do.”

“Uh, huh…” You leaned back in your chair, tamed, but staring at the ceiling unconvinced. A girl like you? With how active the rest of the campus was, you found it hard to believe there was actually someone out there like you—someone cynical and uncomfortable with social gatherings of any form. 

To be clear, you didn't have poor social skills—in fact, you’d argue you had a certain way with words—you just avoided any chance to use them. You had a knack in discerning the smallest shift in someone’s expression, adjusting your tone, words and body language to suit.

But that knack was often overshadowed by an unshakable urge to assess, to weigh every syllable and gesture, scanning for the faintest sign of discomfort or misinterpretation.

This hyperawareness turned into a road-block for any conversation. Instead of letting the flow guide you, you’d find yourself scrutinising every word you said the instant it left your mouth, wondering if it had landed right, if it was too much or too little, or if you’d somehow veered into awkward territory.

The more you tried to keep things smooth, the more you’d find yourself caught in these spirals of self-correction, only to create the very awkwardness you’d been trying to avoid. 

So in the rare case you did end up at a social event, it was like you were playing a part. You stuck to the same few openings, the same practised routes for small talk.

There was nothing organic or genuine about the performance, nothing personal or meaningful. It was merely for show—a facade to keep up appearances.

It was all exhausting, and that’s what you had reiterated to your friends time and time again.

Regardless of your scepticism though, a strange part of you was actually a little curious. Not about the date itself—no, that was still a nightmare—but about this mysterious girl who apparently shared your introversions.

“Look, all we’re asking for is one night,” one pleaded, hands glued together as if he was in prayer. “One night! Just hang out with her for a couple hours while we chat up her friends, and you never have to do this again. You don’t have to see her again, talk to her again or anyone else if we ever ask.  We’ll owe you big time.”

“Seriously dude, we’ll pitch in for the PS5 Pro or something!” another added in further pleas.

You let out a long sigh, staring this time down at your desk. Not in a million years would you even consider buying that atrocious excuse for a cash grab, but the sentiment of your friends owing you that colossal amount was admittedly tempting.

And then there was this Winter girl. The one who was apparently as much of a hermit as you were. You couldn’t ignore that meeting her was happening during Christmas, the very time of year you tried to avoid going out the most. But you almost couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person she was, if she really was as closeted as you or just some exaggerated myth your friends had conjured up to lure you out.

It shouldn’t have, but just the idea of her tickled something deep in your brain, flooding your subconscious with various guesses of her character. 

Your mind conjured up an amalgamation of the most attractive women you had seen throughout your life; famous actresses and idols, the cute barista at the Starbucks down the road, that one girl at the airport who caught your eye but you never ended up talking to.  Their looks, personalities, whatever alluring details you could recall were being melted together and forged into what became your own expectation of Winter. 

You imagined a stunning slim and quiet girl—that much was obvious—with milky white hair, and fair complexion. They were traits all befitting of a girl named Winter. But in your mind something about her attitude, her facial expressions… they radiated… cold. It wasn’t unlike how you appeared to strangers—irrationally concealing your timid fear of interaction with a stiff stare and an emotionless face. As  you considered how similar your vision of her felt to you, it was strangely… warm…familiar. 

Within a matter of seconds, your apprehension had transformed to a hesitant desire to meet her. Or rather, this idea of her you had thrown together. 

You sat in a long silence, wrestling with your inner turmoil—your shameful, uncharacteristic urge to discover the truth about this girl. 

Seriously man? You asked yourself. There’s no way in hell she’d look anything like that if she was anything like you. 

Your asshole of a subconscious did have a point. 

But something about this tugged at you in a way you couldn’t help but notice. If this girl was like you, really like you, you had to know.

 “Alright,” you eventually grumbled, putting a hand over your face to suppress the oncoming wave of regret already washing over you. “I’ll go.”

Your friends erupted in cheers, high-fiving and dapping each other up like they had just won themselves a date with the hottest girls on campu–Oh.

“YES! You’re the man!” one of them yelled, giving you a ‘pat’ on the back that almost knocked you out of your chair.

"You won’t regret this!" another exclaimed, jabbing a finger toward you, though deep down, you already kind of did.

“FUCK YEAH!” the last one punched to the sky. “We owe you man,” smiling from ear-to-ear as cheers followed him out of your room.

As you hastily cleared the other two from your territory, you felt the dread settling in. One night, that’s all it was, you told yourself. Just one night with this girl named Winter, who was probably as opposed to this as you were.

What’s the worst that could happen?

---

Before you knew it, you were in your friend’s car, dressed in your Sunday’s best—which, admittedly, was a hastily thrown together fusion of your roommates’ closets.

An attempt had been made to make your less than desirable features appear at least mildly presentable to the outside world. Your hair had been styled with some expensive hair product you could barely pronounce, your caveman scent obscured by some B-list celebrity’s cologne, and your abhorrent posture—honed through years of agonising abuse to your spine—was being corrected by your friends’ frustrated hands what felt like every other second. 

They had half-jokingly, half-100%-seriously subjected you to some correction exercises over the past few days, few of which you actually bothered to attempt. Obviously, the few you had tried didn’t work, as your friend had stopped bothering to correct your posture himself, instead resorting to giving you a stinging slap every time your spine inevitably slumped from upright.

 The swelling of the handprint forming on your back had charitably distracted you from the metric-shit ton of adrenaline coursing through your veins. It caused your breathing to grow heavy and your heart to feel it was going to burst from your chest. A couple sleepless nights and a few too many hours of staring blankly at your PC monitor had transformed your strange curiosity for meeting Winter back into dread. 

You had moronically forgotten you actually had to talk to this girl for a couple hours instead of just confirming if she was similar to you.

Either you forced some kind of pitiful attempt at conversation with her—risking major embarrassment—or both of you succumb to sitting in introverted silence. 

Even if you could properly wrestle with overusing your little talent, the fact was, any attraction whatsoever to a girl caused you to fold like a cheap suit, rendering your ability useless. If Winter was any bit as alluring as your mind made her out to be it would be more than disastrous for you. It would be like every ounce of composure was swapped out for a hyperactive inner monologue—one that left you stumbling over your own thoughts.

As your friend’s car hummed along the bustling holiday streets, your mind continued to spin in overdrive almost as quickly as the neon red and green of the city's Christmas ornaments seemed to appear and disappear all around you. You aimed  to avoid risking any conversation that led to your humiliation, desperately mapping out the possible routes for conversation. This process was standard yet exhaustive at this point—your own RPG dialogue tree being mapped out in your mind.

"Hey, nice to meet you. How’s it going?"

"Fine."

[ No further options.]

You could already feel the weight of the dead-end conversation dragging the both of you down. That wasn’t going to work.

“So, what kind of stuff are you into?"

"Not much."

 [FAILED: Charisma check too low.]

Your mind projected you staring at the ceiling, desperately trying to find something, anything, to say while Winter twiddled her thumbs, wondering out loud with a groan,“Why did I even bother to show up.”

 What the fuck brain? That wasn’t helping your confidence at all.

“Hey, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

"Yeah, same."

[Neutral response. Proceed carefully.]

This felt promising. You could try pushing deeper, maybe ask a follow-up question, but you could already feel how you would screw it all up—one wrong word, one wrong look and kaput.

How about…

[Say Nothing.]

[No response.]

Yeah, that’s probably how it’s gonna go.

The car hit a bump in the road, and so did your only shred of confidence in this turning out well. You sighed quietly to yourself, senselessly running through these hypothetical scenarios in your head, frantically searching for the “good” dialogue option that simply wasn’t available to you.

There was no save scumming in real life, no charisma stat to help you bluff and charm your way through the whole thing, no getting lucky with your dice rolls either. It was just your limited social ability, a few thinly veiled attempts at small talk, and the faint hope that Winter might somehow be interested in having a conversation. It all reminded you why you avoided these kinds of situations in the first place…

You suck at them.

What felt like eternity with your own thoughts was soon interrupted as the car pulled up to the curb. You noticed the Christmas themed sign of the barbeque restaurant in the evening dusk. You stared at it, utterly terrified like it was signalling the entrance to some twisted version of hell—a place where your date, crowds of people, and the inevitable crushing embarrassment of being out of your element awaited—your hell. 

Your friends on the other hand were already pumped, talking over each other in excitement as they recounted for the hundredth time just how hot these girls they scored were. Meanwhile, you were still stuck somewhere between resignation and panic.

Their voices blended into background noise—drowned out by the mental gymnastics you were performing to figure out how to survive the next couple of hours. You hadn’t even walked into the restaurant yet, and you already felt like retreating into the comforting embrace of your bed sheets back home.

As you resolved to follow your friends inside you were instantly hit by a wall of warmth, thick with the smell of grilling meat and the hum of lively holiday celebrants. The restaurant was buzzing—waiters weaving between tables, the sizzling of meats echoing from grills, and laughter rippling across the room like a contagious wave. Already the ‘energy’ in here was too much for you, prompting you to  take a moment to adjust the atmosphere—all while your friends strode in like they owned the place. 

This was the kind of scene you’d typically steer clear of: crowded, chaotic, and packed with people who simply enjoyed the presence of others. The holiday season did nothing to ease your anxiety, doing its part to gather everyone together by filling every seat in the restaurant. You shoved your hands into the unfamiliar pockets of the jacket your friends threw on you, hyper aware of how out of place you felt.

 Your friends were greeted with warm smiles from the hostess—predictably, since they looked like they had just stepped off of the cover of Vogue magazine. Meanwhile, you were certain you looked like you’d rather be anywhere else.

She led you all to a private booth which was, thankfully, designated its own corner far away from the rest of the vivacious dynamic of the restaurant’s other patrons. Your relief didn’t last long though, as your heart leapt into your throat when you spotted four girls already sitting there. Three of them stood up to greet you, all endearing smiles, waves and the obligatory “Merry Christmas.”

Your fear was instantly frayed as the first girl began her introduction. Her name was Karina, and you were taken aback at how uncannily beautiful she was. In fact, it was almost unsettling how flawless she looked. It was like she had been engineered in a lab or generated by some AI algorithm designed to create the perfect face. Everything, right down to her sharp profile and unnaturally smooth skin was other-wordly perfect. A small mole dotted the edge of her chin, like an anchor tethering her otherwise impossibly symmetrical features to reality. She greeted your friends with a poised smile, but there was something behind her eyes—sharp, calculating, and trained on you—like she was sizing you up in particular.

But your mind paid that no attention as the next beauty introduced herself as Giselle—Her confident demeanour being the highlight for you. She moved with an ease that gave the impression she wasn’t fazed by anything or anyone. Her posture was relaxed, yet somehow commanding, exuding an energy that screamed, I’m hot, and I fuckin’ know it. The assertive eye contact she made with each of you as she introduced herself caused you to shrink back, almost out of respect for her authority. In contrast, her voice was steady and warm, but her eyes flicked back to Karina’s every so often, like the two of them were communicating without saying a word.

Then there was Ning Ning, who practically radiated excitement. Her lips curved into a smile that was bright and infectious, the kind that lit up her entire face. She greeted you all with a playful wave that bordered on adorable. Yet there was a switch in her—something in the way her expression shifted mid-conversation from lively and sweet to striking confidence—which could flip in an instant. She seemed to live in the moment though, completely detached from whatever silent exchange was happening between the other two. It was hard to tell if Ning Ning was more girl-next-door or temptress, and that fluidity made her all the more intriguing.

Your friends weren’t exaggerating. Each of them was stunning in their own way—like the kind of women you’d expect to see gracing the pages of a high-fashion magazine or as models strutting down a runway.

Yet, you couldn't help but notice the girl still seated at the inner end of the table, toying with her sleeves as the soft glow of her phone lit her face. Winter, you assumed. She didn’t stand, didn’t do so much as glance briefly at the four of you. But even in her stillness, she drew your attention. Her beauty wasn’t like Karina’s polished perfection or Giselle’s self-assured allure and most definitely not like Ning Ning’s bubbly charm. Winter appeared different—there was something so fundamentally distinct about her that interested you, piqued your curiosity when you thought you were infallible to such feelings. Regardless of what you heard about her, you found yourself encapsulated by nothing but her sheer beauty. 

As your eyes lingered on her you didn’t feel like you were looking at a person. Instead it was as if you were gazing upon the natural landmark of a frost-covered landscape—pure, serene, and silently breathtaking. It was as if she belonged more to the cold elegance of nature than to the warmth of human company. Her presence was subtle yet striking, like the clear, crisp air on a winter morning. The restaurant's soft, amber light caught her pale complexion in a way that made her seem almost ethereal, yet still grounded. Her silvery-white hair cascaded around her face like freshly fallen snow, soft and shimmering, as if her namesake itself had carefully crafted each strand to highlight her delicate features. Somehow, Winter lived up to that paradoxically beautiful expectation you had envisioned, but seeing her in person gave the impression she transcended it.

You stumbled through your own introduction to the rest of the girls, utterly captivated by what most people would consider a bad display of manners. Anybody in your shoes would have had their eyes glued to the trio of goddesses standing before you, but you could barely spare them a second—alright, a third glance. 

Predictably, the small talk that followed didn’t include you. Your friends however���more eager than you’ve ever seen them—quickly launched into banter with Karina, Giselle, and Ning Ning. Normally you would be in awe of how easy they made the whole thing look, but you could only half-listen, your thoughts and eyes constantly drifting toward Winter, who remained seated quietly at the end of the booth.

Eventually, Karina offered you all to sit, prompting one of your friends to shove you along to your side of the table. The little collision knocked you out of the fugue-like state you were in, drawing a quiet cry that caused laughter to erupt around you. Quickly realising that you’d be facing Winter, you hesitantly sat down, your eyes flicking back to her every now and then.

When she finally glanced your way, there was a brief pause, her cool eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, you were caught, held in the silence between you. Her gaze was steady, unwavering, but a hint of vulnerability showed itself as she studied you. Before you knew it, you were staring—completely absorbed by the depth in her eyes. They weren’t just cold or distant as you first thought—they were calm, almost reflective, like a still lake that hid something beneath its surface. The more you looked, the harder it became to pull yourself away.

Seconds passed—maybe more—and you didn’t even realise how long you’d been holding her gaze until your heart gave a sudden jolt, reminding you that you were looking at a person and not nature’s pièce de résistance. Embarrassment shot through you as you quickly broke eye contact, feeling a heat crawl up your neck.

“Winter, right?” Your voice came out much too casual, completely betraying the fact that you were just caught staring at her like an absolute buffoon. How did you already manage to mess this up?

Winter tilted her head ever so slightly, a small flicker of amusement ghosting over her lips before she nodded. She blinked more than once, her lashes fluttering to mask brief hesitation. Her gaze softened just slightly. “Yeah,” she replied simply. Her voice was soft, but clear. There was no hint of awkwardness or hesitation, but the slight shift in her posture, the way her fingers brushed the sleeve of her shirt said otherwise.

You nodded, you’d only asked one question and you already felt like your dialogue options were exhausted. But on the bright side, the mere fact she replied meant things were already going better than they did in your head.

The silence between you both stretched for a beat, then another. Neither of you spoke, but remarkably it felt like the words were there, waiting to be said. Winter’s fingers continued nervously with her sleeve, brushing the fabric in small, rhythmic strokes, while you found yourself looking at empty plates, the table—anything but her. Both of you seemed unsure of what to say next, letting you confidently conclude that she was indeed as nervous as you. You noticed her lips parting as if to speak, only to close again after a moment of hesitation. 

A few more seconds passed before you both spoke at once.

“So—”

“Did you—”

You stopped mid-sentence, catching her eye before you let out a quiet, awkward chuckle. “Uh, sorry. You go first.”

Winter looked down briefly, as if gathering herself. When she lifted her gaze again, there was a softness in her eyes, and a hint of vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. Her thumb brushed the edge of the table, tracing it gently as she glanced back at you. “They had to bribe you too?” She asked timidly, lightly gesturing to your friends who were engrossed with hers.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s a whole mess, isn’t it?”

Winter nodded, her own smile flickering into existence, delicate but brief. Her voice softened as she admitted, ”These three promised me free food for a week just to get me to show up.” Winter scrunched her face, slanting her eyebrows in an attempt to scowl at them, but failed miserably, producing an adorable pout that was more endearing than anything else.

Your heart may as well have melted right there. 

You laughed softly, buying yourself time to regain your composure. From afar, she was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, but up close? When that cold, hard exterior began to fade, she doubled as the cutest too.

Your little chuckle successfully let you continue the eerily natural flow the two of you had going. “Mine offered to chip in for a game console.”

“So that’s what got you, huh?” Her eyes brightened with amusement, and for the first time, you saw her smile linger just a little longer. It wasn’t just her smile though. A slight accent softened the edges of her naturally sweet tone. Everything she said felt so easy on the ears, so digestible, and you—despite your scepticism and bitterness towards being here—found yourself hungry for more. Your friends would have called you a hypocrite, but in your defence, they both contributed to this perfect image that sat opposite you. You couldn't help but think it was the cutest sight you’d ever seen. 

Perhaps that’s what gave you the strength to say this next part.

“Well not exactly…” You trailed off, breaking eye contact as your fingers fidgeted nervously under the table. 

Winter tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow in anticipation like a puppy awaiting a command. God, how was everything she did so adorable?

You leaned in, still avoiding her gaze and turned your head slightly toward the wall, hoping the others wouldn’t overhear what you were about to say.

“I was uh…” You began, almost a whisper as the words struggled to leave your suddenly dry mouth.

This time Winter leaned in, meeting you at a distance a little too close for comfort.

“I was curious about you…”

Your words were like bullets, creating an embarrassing recoil that sent you hurtling back into the headrest, your gaze pointing straight down as a crimson flush seized the skin of your cheeks.

Your friends would have scoffed at how trivial that whole exchange seemed, all the while you felt like a timid middle schooler confessing to his crush. You managed to baffle yourself with your boldness, not daring to look up and see Winter’s reaction.

To your further surprise, your little self-conscious introspection was interrupted by a giggle. Not just any giggle. Winter’s giggle.

You looked up to meet her face—equally as rosy as yours. But in place of your distraught expression was Winter, giggling like a child on a sugar-high. Her laughter was light and melodic, bubbling up like it couldn’t be contained. She leant back covering her open mouth with her hand. Her whole face had lit up, it was the kind of laugh that crinkled her eyes and shook her shoulders ever so slightly. It wasn’t just the sound, though—it was the way she smiled from ear to ear, so unguarded and genuine, a welcome contrast to the shy and distant she showed otherwise.

You lied earlier. This was the cutest thing you’d ever seen.

At first, you were confused by her sudden outburst, but as the infectious warmth of her laughter sunk in, a mutual smile spread across your face. The tension you’d been holding onto for several days seemed to melt away with each lingering note of her laugh. You honestly had no idea what she found so funny, but in the moment, you were just happy to go along with it, confident that you were doing at least something right.

Your friends, noticing her giggling, shared amused glances but didn’t interrupt. From the way they were staring, they were just as surprised as you were at how well this was going. They all held an expression that confessed we didn’t know you had it in you.

Ning Ning too giggled under her breath, playfully nudging Giselle. “Look at that—actual progress,” she muttered teasingly, her tone dripping with mock disbelief.

Karina though, was different. She subtly monitored the interaction, her sharp gaze softened now, intrigued by how Winter was opening up. It felt like she approved though, commending you in getting Winter out of her shell. She stayed silent though, still content to just observe.

Winter’s adorable outburst slowly ebbed, her shoulders still shaking slightly as she tried to catch her breath. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, an adorable mix of bashfulness and amusement colouring her features.

“So…” she began meekly, eyes flickering down before meeting yours again. “Do I live up to your expectations?” Her tone was soft, tentative, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer.

You were caught off guard by Winter’s own intrepid addition to your conversation, feeling your face heat up as you struggled to find the right words. 

I—well…” You exhaled, trying to pull together the honesty that was suddenly a challenge to articulate in her presence. “You’re not what I expected,” you admitted, a gentle smile finding its way onto your face. “I don’t think I could’ve pictured someone quite like you, even if I’d tried.” 

The sudden spark of vulnerability in Winter’s expression tugged at something in you. You realised your answer might’ve sounded too cryptic, maybe even evasive. The faint quiver of her brow and roll of her Adam's apple told you she wasn’t sure how to take that.

You cleared your throat, glancing up at her cautiously as you explained, “I mean that in a good way!” Winter had a beauty that seemed too obvious, too stunning to need validation, yet you couldn’t help but want to say it aloud. “I thought you’d be stunning and well…you are.” Winter turned away sharply, hiding her flushing face with a hand. “I just thought that you’d be a lot more.. distant. But meeting you here, seeing you laugh and smile…” you were thinking of an eloquent way to put this, but you found yourself beholden to the truth right now. 

Winter was having this… effect on you. You weren’t one to ‘open up’ or ‘talk about their feelings’ and yet you felt compelled to here. “Seeing you laugh and smile… I can’t help but think it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” You had no idea where this newfound confidence was coming from, but you had a sneaking suspicion it was spurred on from what you’d just described.

Winter’s cheeks deepened from a soft pink to a vibrant flush, and she let out a shaky breath. Her fingers lingered over her features, like she was trying to shield herself from the intensity of the moment. Her eyes darted back to you and the delicate gleam in her gaze made your heart skip. 

“Really?” she murmured, her voice barely audible, as though she feared saying anything louder might shatter the fragile honesty between you. She dropped her hand from her coloured cheeks, her eyes tracing your face for confirmation. “You really think that?”

You nodded, the sincerity in your gaze unwavering. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” You chuckled softly, hoping to lighten the air. 

Winter’s shoulders began to relax, she herself not realising that they were glued to her neck. Her face remained flushed, but the tightness in her posture had vanished, leaving her more relaxed and open in how she sat.

“Thank you…” she let out. Her voice remained soft, but they certainly carried more weight.

“I’ll admit I’m surprised too…” She hesitated, glancing away, lips curving into a soft smile. “I thought you’d be just like everyone else…” You listened attentively, holding her gaze while she spoke tenderly, honestly.

“So I didn’t expect you to be…well, this easy to talk to,” she admitted, rubbing up her arm. “You don’t feel like everyone else, all practised lines and smooth talking,” she let out a faint chuckle. “ You make mistakes, you slip up. You’re like me. And um… cute too.” It was your turn to look away, your own cheeks starting to heat up. “So there’s something really nice about that...”

 You pinched yourself under the table. This was going too well for you. This had to be a dream.

“I’m glad you think that,” you told her with a smile. Your voice was lower and steadier than you’d expected, though a trace of disbelief lingered beneath your words. Because, truthfully, you could never have imagined this going so well—not in a million lifetimes. 

To your absolute delight, Winter sent you another wide smile. You didn’t think it could get much wider, but somehow she pulled it off.

You hadn’t realised it till she brought it up, but with Winter, you didn’t need to use those memorised openers or routes. She enticed you in such a way that just encouraged you to just… be you. Everywhere else you went you always felt an expectation to act like everyone else, to sound like them. But in the short time you’ve been around Winter, you hadn’t felt that at all. Was it because you two were similar? 

“So,” You began, searching for your answer. “I take it you’re not a big fan of all this?” You gestured to the six other residents of the table, and by extension the rest of the restaurant.

Winter raised an eyebrow, leaning back into her chair.  She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs under the table, almost like she was trying to ground herself. “More or less. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate people... I just like my space, y’know? Too much noise, too many people... it feels like I’m in the wrong place.” She paused, glancing briefly at the rest of the table. “But you get it, right?”

“More than I care to admit,” you replied with a sigh, feeling some strange sense of relief wash over you. “It’s exhausting. I never know what to say, or how to keep up.”

Winter’s lips curved upward again, knowingly. She seemed to relax even more, sinking into the conversation as much as she did her seat. "Exactly. It always feels like everyone has these… scripts. Like they know exactly what to say and when to say it." She gestured lightly toward your friends, still engrossed in their own lively conversations. "But it’s… difficult. It’s all tiring,” She confessed with a little pout. “It doesn't feel natural or genuine to me, it feels like I'm… like I'm…”

“Like you’re playing a character,” you finished, taking the words right out of her mouth.

Her eyes widened a fraction, a glimmer of recognition passing through them. “Exactly!” she rejoiced. A quiet laugh escaped her, one that sounded relieved. “All our friends can happily be themselves, but we’re stuck acting like someone else.”

As Winter continued, you noticed a subtle shift in the way she spoke. It wasn’t just about her anymore—she was talking about the both of you. There was something comforting about the fact that she felt like you were in this together, like she saw a bit of herself in you. You weren’t just sharing a conversation anymore—it was an understanding. 

You nodded, staring into her opulent orbs as if she were a reflection of yourself.

But before either of you could say more, Karina’s voice cut through the air, pulling you both back into reality.

“Hey, are you two lovebirds ready to order?” she teased.

You blinked and glanced around, realising that everyone else had been staring at you—impatient, but knowing smiles all around. Even the waiter at the head of your table, pen poised and all, gave you a subtle, approving nod. 

“Oh, uh…” You stammered, feeling a rush of heat crawl up your neck. You turned to glance at Winter, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. Her eyes, wide and glimmering, were so close that you could see the subtle flecks of silver and blue swirling within them. The space between you was almost nonexistent; you were close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath, your noses almost grazing. Wait, what? The realisation hit you both at once, and in an instant, you jolted back into your seat, wide-eyed and startled, your heart pounding from the unexpected proximity.

Winter did the same, recoiling sharply and causing a small tremble in the table. Her face flushed a deep, rosy pink, the sudden burst of colour creeping from her cheeks down to her neck. 

“I’ll have the—”

“Could I have—”

 You both started at once, then stopped, exchanging an awkward, embarrassed laugh. You gave a little nod, gesturing for her to go first. 

“ I’ll have the…” 

Winter’s voice trailed off as she scanned the menu in a hurry, cheeks still rosy. She managed to mumble her order, then you fumbled your way through yours right after, both of you clearly rattled but trying to play it cool.

As the waiter left the table, a heavy silence settled over you and Winter. The energy from before—where genuine laughter and soft words had filled the space between you two—seemed to have dissipated. Now, you found yourself unable to speak, the memory of that fleeting, close encounter hanging thickly in the air, making it difficult to breathe. It rendered thinking of something to say practically impossible.

You glanced at Winter, only to find her just as quiet. She was staring at the menu again, though you knew she wasn’t really reading it. Her fingers brushed along the page absentmindedly, putting in no effort whatsoever to make her rapid flicking believable. Every so often, her eyes would dart toward you, only to quickly return to the menu the second she thought you might notice.

Despite the tension, a sense of relief came over you. The silence gave you an opportunity to collect yourself, to push back the storm of emotions swirling around inside you. You sank a little further into your chair, quietly thankful for the momentary ceasefire. 

Your mind wandered to all those couples who roamed the city streets—it was the bitter truth that you wouldn’t fit in as one of them. The way you’d always seen yourself didn’t align with how those people acted: smiling and talking for what felt like forever. For years on end you considered yourself emotionally unavailable, selfish with any time you had.  Yet, here you were, sitting across from Winter, someone who was...different. Someone who made you feel like, maybe—just maybe—you were capable of being one of those couples.

You shook your head slightly, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. No, that kind of thing didn’t happen to people like you. You were reading too much into it, weren’t you? It had to be just the heat of the moment, the proximity playing tricks on your mind. The sincerity in her gaze, the warmth of her breath—it was just...well, it was nothing, really.

But then why was your heart still racing?

Winter shifted slightly in her seat, her eyes still trained on the menu. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but stopped herself, the words catching before they had a chance to escape. You could almost feel her nerves mirrored in your own chest.

You too thought about saying something—anything—to break the silence, but every possible word felt clumsy in your mind. You were far too embarrassed to speak up, but at the same time, you wanted to recover the soft energy that radiated between the two of you—the thrill of a conversation where you felt at ease, where you could be you. 

"Sorry, about… uh, that," you forced out, sending her a sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.” There was no reason for you to take responsibility, but you assumed it would ease her if she was absolved of fault. After all, it would have eased you.

Winter shook her head quickly, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Trust me, if anyone made things weird, it was me.” You couldn't help but laugh—she was trying to do the exact same thing.

“Don’t worry about it, Winter,” you assured, her name slipping out instinctively.

There was a shift in her posture as her name escaped your lips, subtle but noticeable. She uncrossed her legs under the table and leaned forward ever so slightly, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her sleeve again. She seemed on the verge of saying something important. You could sense it in the way she glanced at you—anxious eyes, cheeks flushing scarlet.

Her lips pressed together for a moment, then softened as if she’d finally made up her mind. Her eyes met yours, letting you peer into that reflective lake once again. But this time, you could almost make out what was below— she was letting down a wall, one you’d wager few have ever seen behind.

 She took a breath, her chest rising and falling with a quiet resolve, and then, in almost a whisper she spoke.

 “Please. Call me Minjeong.” 

The simplicity of the words didn’t match the weight they carried. There was something so incredibly personal in her request, something that felt like a secret being shared between just the two of you. Her gaze stayed locked on yours, as if waiting to see how you’d react, her vulnerability laid bare.

“M-Minjeong,” you stuttered delicately, the name feeling both foreign and intimate on your tongue, like you were stepping into a space no one else had been invited to. 

Minjeong’s expression softened even more, a glimmer of relief flashing across her eyes. She let out a breath, one she seemed to have been holding in anticipation of your response. A curve played across her lips. It was pure, unguarded. You almost could see the warmth radiating off of her, like this simple act of you saying her name had drawn you two closer.

“I— I like the way you say it,” she confessed quietly.  Her voice was shy, as if she wasn’t used to hearing her own name spoken aloud.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, unsure of how to respond but feeling the gravity of the moment pull you deeper into her orbit. The vulnerability in her tone, the way her eyes softened when she looked at you, made everything feel so surreal. You had no idea what to say next, your mind scrambling for the right words, but none seemed enough.

Multiple pairs of eyes fell on you from around the table, but neither you nor Minjeong were in the right state to acknowledge it. As far as you were both concerned, you two were the only people on Earth right now.

Before you could manage a reply, Minjeong spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Most people just call me Winter. It’s easier for me… less personal.” She glanced down at the table, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of her sleeve. “But I dunno…” She trailed off. “Minjeong feels right with you.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and meaningful, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were seeing something fragile. It was like she was giving you a piece of herself, trusting you to hold it gently.

“Minjeong,” you repeated, this time more certain. “It’s a beautiful name.”

She met your gaze again, her eyes shining with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “Thanks,” she murmured, a shy smile tugging at her lips, but this time, there was no hesitation in the way she looked at you. No walls, no pretence. Just Minjeong, in all her quiet, ethereal beauty.

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest, the kind you hadn’t experienced in years. It was like being a teen again, that rush of excitement and nervous energy coursing through you—the way it used to when you’d catch your crush’s eye across the room and feel your heart race. But this was different—it was deeper. As you sat there, looking at Minjeong, you realised it wasn’t just her beauty or the way she had let you in. It was the feeling she stirred in you, something you thought you’d long forgotten. She wasn’t just someone who caught your eye—she made you feel alive again. Like you were rediscovering that fluttery, intoxicating rush from your youth, but unlike then it wasn’t fleeting. There was a quality to it that you just couldn’t articulate—your years of social isolation, your unending cynicism towards basic human emotion left you that way. 

But you tried, tried to put a label on this unfamiliar feeling. You searched your mind for a word, a description, anything that could encompass what was building in your chest, but nothing came close. It was a bewildering sensation that refused to fit into the neat definitions you knew.

The tension in your mind dissipated the moment the waiter brought the food, and you watched as everyone’s attention turned to their meals. The table filled with idle chatter and silverware scraping against plates, grounding you back to the present. You took a steadying breath, grateful for the pause and the warmth of the meal as it cut through the delicate web that had woven itself between you and Minjeong.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice her in the little pauses and movements—the way her eyes sparkled with each glance around the table, her small, quiet smile at each bite. Even now, Minjeong’s presence felt magnetic, she occupied her space without demanding it, a rare grace that felt refreshing. Each time she looked up, she met your eyes with a soft, almost bashful smile that sent an echo of warmth through you. It made you want to reach out, to learn more, to let her know how much she’d already begun to matter to you.

The conversation around the table grew louder, but your own exchange with Minjeong stayed quiet and gentle. You spoke in low tones, sharing snippets about each other’s lives. Every glance, every subtle word between you seemed to deepen the quiet understanding you shared. Gone was your lacking composure, the insatiable need to assess and please. Your exchange with Minjeong felt like a safe space, a judgement-free zone to be yourself in public. You’d explain to her all your nerdy hobbies, and she would listen with genuine attentiveness, her eyes adorably lighting up when you’d find something else in common. In return, you found yourself hanging onto every word she offered back, falling deeper and deeper into the conversation as she opened herself up to you

And when there were lulls—as there inevitably were between introverts such as the two of you—you both found comfort even in the silence. It was strange, feeling so drawn to someone you had known for only a few hours. The part of you that usually resisted connections seemed to fall silent in her presence. And as she leaned in closer to share an amused thought, her fingers playing absently at the edge of her napkin, you felt something within you shift.

What was this feeling, exactly? You had tried to put it into words, only to come up empty. You were someone who could gauge how a person was feeling from body language alone, like you could measure and judge everything they felt. But when it came to yourself—your feelings, your emotions—you came up short. 

But as the evening wore on and the rest of the table grew quieter, you found yourself looking at Minjeong with a soft certainty. From the way Minjeong looked at you, you got the impression she was struggling with the same dilemma. But you didn’t need to name this undefined feeling that stirred in you. Every shared glance, every smile that lingered a beat too long—these were all the words you needed. There was an understanding—unspoken yet undeniable—that whatever this was, it was real. And in that moment, with the quiet warmth shared between you two, it was enough.

---

You emerged from the restaurant, taking in the brisk air of the Christmas evening. Typically, retreating back into the bustling street was your first step in your retreat to the solitary comfort of your dorm room. It let you breathe a sigh of relief for escaping whatever social event you had been forced into. 

But tonight? Tonight your steps were unhurried, in fact you felt the urge to linger. Tonight, Minjeong was by your side, her soft smile mirroring your own. The breath you let go this time was instead a remorseful one, a signal that your time together was almost over. Of course as much as she looked the part, the girl before you wasn’t some unreachable, otherworldly angel—she was real, and very much contactable. 

You both watched from afar as your friends exchanged phone numbers with Karina, Giselle and Ning Ning. On any other day, you would have looked on in unspoken envy,but alas, tonight was different. You stared at the new contact sitting in your phone—a beautiful name befitting of an equally beautiful woman, punctuated by two snowflakes either side of it. 

“Minjeong,” it read. Simple, familiar now, but it held a weight you’d never thought a name could carry.

You grinned, feeling a warmth unlike any the night’s chill could steal away. The white-haired girl handed your phone back to you, sending a sincere smirk your way. 

“Make sure to call me, okay?” 

Her tone was light and gentle, but her eyes were serious, like this meant more to her than anything else.

“Of course,” you assured. There was nothing in this world that could make you shatter the joy reflected in that smile.

Without warning, she stepped forward, instantly closing the distance between you.  Her arms wrapped around you—warm, gentle and tentative. For a moment, you were too stunned to react, but the heat of her body—which was now flush to yours—quelled any concern.  Instinctively, your arms folded around her, drawing her closer, absorbing her presence. The soft scent of her hair drifted up to you, and you felt her heartbeat against your own.

“Thank you for tonight.” She whispered, her soft voice muffled by your chest.

You didn’t know how long you two were standing there, pressed together as one, but in the moment it didn’t matter. When she finally pulled away, you saw her face, beaming like the sun shines.

“Have a wonderful night,” she said, her cheeks flushed, mirroring the festive glow of the streets around you.

“It already has been,” you replied, your heart full as you returned a gentle, loving smile.

Love. You chuckled. 

Maybe that’s what this was.

---

If you got here thank you much for reading my first ever fic! I know there's a lot of filler here which could very easily be removed, but I really just wanted to keep everything I'd written. In the future, I'll make sure everything's more streamlined.

But apart from that I'd love for some constructive criticism. Thanks again!

[hom3landr]

So, I have an honest question. Homelander is used to his bday being a huge deal, but what if the person he is interested in doesn't care about their own bday?

Like he has known them for a year, and they never celebrated their own bday nor ever hinted at it. How do you think he'd react?

Birthday Blues

Homelander x Gender Neutral Reader

Homelander hates when you keep secrets from him. But what’s merely a harmless fact to you pokes a sore spot that you never expected.

You hear him before you see him, eyebrow raising at the angry stomp of his footsteps. You’re finishing up the chapter of the book you’re reading and you hope he doesn’t have beef with you because then who knows when you’ll get back to it. You read as fast as you can, words almost blurring as you hastily scan the page. But alas, before you reach the last sentence, your book is cruelly ripped from you.

Homelander stands over your place on the couch, one hand perched on his hip while the other points your book at you as a replacement for his “oh so imposing” finger that he loves to wave at you. His brow is knitted and there’s no doubt that whatever has his feathers ruffled has something to do with you. You lean back and sigh, contemplating how long you should let him ramble before attempting to calm him down. He’s cute when he’s angry. You can live with a lecture when he looks so good doing it. Although you’re hardly feeling charitable at the moment due to him snatching your book like some kind of barbarian.

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?!” He hisses at you, dropping your book with a thump as he places both hands jauntily on his hips. His jaw clenches as he waits for your answer.

You freeze.

Huh?

You don’t know what you expected but it certainly isn’t that. You had expected him to be fussy about you grabbing a drink with Starlight the other night or helping Ashley with some insane task he gave so he could watch her squirm. You missed a call from him earlier, that tends to set him off. You’d even believe he was feeling sensitive about you waking up before him and grabbing a coffee instead of a good morning kiss. Any of those would be easy to assume. But no, he’s apparently worked up that you didn’t tell him your birthday.

You figured Homelander isn’t a fan of birthdays. He certainly seems cynical about his own. He hasn’t told you the whole story but when he grits his teeth at his birthday obligations instead of basking in the cheers of the crowd, you can easily make the assumption that it’s a sore subject. You don’t have any hang ups about your own birthday but it just never seemed like a big deal to you. It’s just a day. Perhaps too many sneak attacks from the singing staff at restaurants traumatized you. Maybe it’s because birthday cake is always too sickly sweet. Or possibly you just don’t feel like celebrating the passage of time. You never tell people and people rarely ask.

Yet, you can tell by the petulant twist of his mouth that he’s not just angry but hurt that you didn’t share it with him.

“I’m…sorry. I just don’t really think about it that much.” You reply with a confused shrug. His mouth twitches and you know he’s not satisfied with that answer. He’s taking this awfully personally and you can’t for the life of you figure out why. It’s just a day.

“Are you trying to fuck with me? So next time we argue you can bring up what a horrible boyfriend I am for ignoring your birthday! You gonna gossip about it over cocktails with fucking Starlight?” He spits out her name like a curse. You want to roll your eyes but you don’t fancy Homelander flying you to the top of a skyscraper and leaving you there like the last time you tried that. You sigh and reach out to take his hand. He jerks it away petulantly for a moment but when you reach for it again he allows your touch.

“That would make me a pretty shitty partner. I’m not trying to play games with you. I’ve just never really had strong feelings about my birthday. That’s all. I promise.” You squeeze his hand and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. You rub the back of his hand with your thumb, enjoying the feel of the buttery soft leather of his glove. He pouts.

“I’m not a bad boyfriend.” He huffs. You gently tug his hand and guide him until he’s laying on the couch with his head in your lap. It only takes a few strokes of his hair before he deflates like a balloon. He turns to snuggle his face into your chest.

“I’m not.” He sighs into your shirt. You shush him gently.

“You’re my good boy. I know you wouldn’t forget on purpose. You take such good care of me. But why do you care so much about my birthday?” You switch from stroking his hair to rubbing soothing circles on his back. He’s easily mollified today and it further confirms your suspicions that his feelings were deeply wounded. He desperately needs reassurance when that happens. It’s sweet.

“Did you know that my birthday is fake? Corporate decided on it. I don’t even have one since I was…” He trails off and your heart squeezes painfully. He’s cagey about his past but every so often new details will slip out and it horrifies you every time. You continue to sooth him even as your stomach twists unpleasantly. “But you do have one and you don’t even care! Do you know how fucking spoiled you are?”

You ignore the jab although your hackles rise. Poking his ego now would prove disastrous. So you swallow your pride and continue to let him vent.

“I don’t want you keeping things like that from me. You’re mine and I deserve to know things about you. How can I trust you when you won’t even tell me your fucking birthday.” He huffs and you can feel him stiffen up as he works himself back up into an angry spiral. He nips at your stomach hard enough to bruise and you tug on his hair harshly as a reprimand.

“This isn’t me intentionally keeping some secret from you. I don’t tell anybody.” You pause briefly as an idea hits you. “But…maybe it’s your birthday today too.” You answer and he pulls himself away to fix you with a bemused glare. His brow twitches as he processes what you said

“I mean, if you don’t know the actual day. Then technically every day can be your birthday. It’s like Schrodinger's Cat. Screw corporate, pick your own birthday.” You give his shoulder a little shake and your heart lifts when the corner of his mouth tilts into a little smile.

“It’s my birthday today too then. Now you have to celebrate.” He gives you a smug grin and you ruffle his hair fondly. The hurt still lingers. This is a mere bandage over the leaking wound you know still remains. But if you can ease his burden even a little, you’re happy to do so. Even if it means making a big deal out of your birthday.

“The mighty Homelander sharing the spotlight with a humble human like me? It’s pretty scandalous.” You tease and he turns his head to kiss the sore spot where he bit you. He nuzzles into you one last time before sitting up. He leans in to rub his nose against yours, desperately seeking intimacy in such a vulnerable moment.

“No spotlight,” He whispers. “Just you and me.”

You smile and pull him into a chaste kiss. He whines at the brevity of it and you place another cheeky kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Just you and me.”

He grins and his eyes fill with mischief as he meets your gaze.

“That means it’s time for your birthday spankings” He reaches out to swat you when you bolt with a wild laugh, careening and slipping around his apartment in your socks as he gives chase. You realize as you shriek at his games that maybe birthdays aren’t so bad after all…at least as long as no one sings to you.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok this is very random but how do you think Ghost would deal w an s/o who is still a virgin at a very big girl age 🥴 maybe they’d be seeing each other for a while, and when things heat up and she confesses, how would he deal? Would he be honored and accept being her first or would he reject her altogether bc she is inexperienced?

(Because I’m in my 20s and safe to say on top of everything else in my life except this, I haven’t come across anyone with whom I’d like to be intimate with yet and though I try not to let it get to me, some part of me sometimes feels like a freak or like something is wrong with me)

I hope I did not cross any boundaries or make you uncomfortable by sharing this, if I did I apologize and please feel free to delete this ❤️🕊️

Ghost x FVirgin!Reader Word count: 2,9 k Tags/warnigs: Mild smut, light angst, fluff, comfort, praise & size kink Summary: Reader tells Ghost they’re a virgin while things are about to go down. 

A/N: Oh anon!! No boundaries crossed here at all! Your request (or at least I took it as such and got inspired to write a brief oneshot about it) was very sweet. This of course is my HC but Simon would only and only take pride in being your first. He would get a huge ego boost from this and feel absolutely privileged to hear he's worthy of such trust.  I think he would want to imprint himself in your head as the best man and the best sex partner you will ever have – he would do his all to eradicate even the very thought of wanting to try others after him. Again, an ego thing, but also a desperate wish to please his partner and make them feel safe. This man screams service top to me. I think Simon has a wild side – not mean, just wild, as in he might be into rough sex and certain types of kinky stuff every now and then but only if his partner is willing. He would be very gentle and considerate (passionate as hell though), knowing you're inexperienced, he would make you feel as safe as possible and wait until you were ready and willing to explore things further.  Also, I can't help but be moved by what you told me in this message. I understand where you're coming from with these "is there something wrong with me" thoughts, because gosh, I feel you! And speaking from experience… it's 110 % worth it to wait for the right person to come along! Sex can be awesome, mind-blowing, one of the best things – with the right partner. Not worth it with just whomever, imho. Stay safe and trust yourself! And I hope you like this short drabble I made for Ghost x Virgin!Reader ❤️❤️❤️ much love 😘

Simon Riley was a one of a kind man. 

He put every guy on every dating app to shame, and not just with his size. He was manly, in a word, even if you never knew you wanted such an overly masculine man. At least, not until you met him. 

Simon was not only sturdy and mature – he was armed with calm rage and dark humor. Just one look in his eyes told you he was not the life of the party. Actually, he was Death himself: one of those four horsemen that heralded the Apocalypse.

Perhaps unintelligibly, the same man was also extremely considerate. A true gentleman if there ever was one. He always placed you and your needs first. But underneath the calm, cynical surface you sensed fierce intensity: fire and smoke, something that screamed Danger, high voltage.

And you could not keep away. Quite the opposite, really. The combination of a wildfire and a tornado roaring upon this solid bedrock of a man was simply alluring.

Things had gone a little too far without you meaning them to. You were not a woman of one night stands, actually, you had never had a stand. But Simon changed that, too. Because now you were thinking about sleeping with him. 

After years and years of waiting for someone sensible to come along, you had begun to lose hope, especially when people seemed to fuck left and right while you wanted something real.

A bedrock. 

With that wildfire. Perhaps a tornado thrown in as well.

After weeks and weeks of flirting, the man asked you out, and after weeks and weeks of going out, you came to the conclusion that if someone deserved to be your first, it was Simon Riley. If there was any guy you wished would take you against a wall until you begged for mercy, it was him. At least in your fantasies, which were starting to get out of hand.

In real life, things were not that breezy.

Because what would he say if – no, when – you told him you were a virgin at this age? What if he would be bothered, what if things would get awkward between you two? 

What if he decided you were simply too much trouble than you were worth? 

It seemed like a miracle that the guy was still around, having been left blue-balled date after date. Either he was hellbent on conquering you, or then… Well, you didn't even dare to think about or's and then's and what if's. Especially when your own feelings were getting equally out of hand as those fantasies.

He probably had plenty of experience, and the thought certainly didn't make you feel any better. How would you compare, being not only inexperienced but a whole goddamn virgin? And it would probably hurt on top of everything. This man must be pretty damn big downstairs if 6 '4 feet and large hands were any indication.

Still, all fears flew out the window in record time every time he pulled you into a kiss. Your body molded into his already: the broad shoulders closed in around you, and it only felt thrilling. His warmth, his arms and scent enveloped you like the sweetest prison, and you held onto him as tightly as you could. Not because he wasn't clutching you with the same–if not greater–fervor, but because you wanted to make sure he was real.

And you realized what the allure of Simon Riley was. 

He felt safe.

In fact, he was safe. He represented safety in all its aspects. 

Who would've thought that death and wildfire could feel so good, so reliable?

You wondered if he thought this was some game; that you kept him waiting. The unwritten rule seemed to be that it was ok not to jump into bed on the first date. If anything, it was only a decent move. But what did the rules say about the second, third or fourth date? Not to talk about tenth? 

Things were starting to resemble some prudent high school romance. Well, perhaps not prudent, the way you two practically ground against each other while making out after every date. Without being vocal about it or pressuring you in any way, you could tell he wished for things to go further. Hell, every fiber in this man begged for more. He would soon burn your clothes off simply with that searing gaze alone. 

Watching the door close on that heated stare after at least 15 minutes of wanton, wicked kissing followed by clumsy Good night's and shy, apologetic smiles just wouldn't do anymore. The poor man was left breathless and puzzled in the cold night with nothing but a hard-on and the crumbs you gave him to keep him warm. 

Things were getting ridiculous, criminally so, and you felt pity for those pants trying to keep him in confinement. You felt pity for your own soaked underwear as you climbed to a lonely bed all hot, bothered, and wet.

Which was why this evening would end with you asking him to come inside. 

.  .  .

Lately, his hands have started to roam; they even cup your ass as he moans in your mouth – and hearing that raspy, low sound leave him forces the final decision. It's the final prophecy that tells you he is the one. You should’ve known it was only a matter of time with him.

The man hides his surprise well as you invite him in.

"Thought you'd never ask," he gives you a soft chuckle before stepping over the threshold to not only your apartment but also your life and privacy. 

You barely get out of your shoes before his shadow engulfs you and strong hands lift you in his lap like you weigh nothing at all. You instinctively reach for support by clasping your hands behind his neck. 

"You really know how to torture a man, don't you?" The brown in his eyes is nearly swallowed by warm darkness as he carries you to the bedroom. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and he gives a short laugh of gravel.

"Don't be. This has been fun." 

He sets you down next to the bed, and your heart is thumping so bad you fear he can hear it banging against your chest. 

"But it's about time I torture you, right?"

Oh God…

Things happen so fast that it’s hard to tell who undresses who, but somehow, you find yourself standing in your bedroom with nothing but knickers and a bra on while he's taking off his pants. The man has definitely waited for this to happen for god knows how long, and it only makes your stomach lurch.

He thinks you know what you're doing, your brain offers when it should know when it’s time to shut the hell up. You can see the generous bulge this man is packing, and while perhaps compelling to other women, to you, it mainly looks intimidating. Threatening, almost.

He doesn't take his boxers off, seeing you're just standing there like some statue, still in your underwear and almost shaking from thoughts running rampant. 

His form swallows you as he steps closer; wide hands slide up your arms, then draw you against him – against that demanding pulse that gets trapped between you two. Even through the black cloth, you can tell he's thick and big, just like you feared.

The man is blazing, and seems to have grown another foot in height as he towers over you with all that muscle. His shoulders are almost the size of your head, and you already know the hand that runs down your spine is experienced in crushing windpipes. It makes you breathe in shivers, and of course he notices something is wrong.

"Everything good?" He's eager and breathless, the erection pressing against you like a threat. He’s a man who has fashioned a weapon out of himself, so it shouldn't be a surprise that everything in him speaks violence.

"Yes," you try to assure him – a lousy lie only punctuated by the audible gulp that leaves your throat as you try to swallow your nerves back down.

"You afraid…?" 

"Just a little nervous," you tell him, a half confession.

"Mm. That makes two of us." 

He draws down into a kiss, the hands of a soldier and a killer nearly drawing you up from the ground as he pulls you close. You don't really buy his claim of being nervous too: you can feel how he throbs between you, heavy and impatient. 

Hesitantly, you reach to hug him as well, and you feel so small, so insignificant when wrapped around this… giant. The knowledge that you're about to be trapped under all this crushing weight leaves you both faint and needy. 

He’s a good kisser, but as he moves to devour your neck, you start to freeze from the middle.

"Alright… Come here."

He half carries, half lays you down on the bed, then crawls between your legs and changes his tactic a little. Gentle kisses are ghosted down your throat, and soon, he's at your breasts, soft as a whisper. But as he draws the fabric of your bra aside, your nipple is caught inside a hot, wet mouth, and the wildfire surges forth. There’s no way out from under him anytime soon, and you realize the colossal body is already spreading your thighs wide. 

The way he already looks so damn good there between your legs: big, the epitome of raw, masculine power… It's almost sinful that a man like him is here with a virgin. It's a whole new hell how he's kissing you gently as fuck while blazing like a bonfire about to engulf and devour you. You want to wrap your legs around his middle, attach yourself to him in any way you can, but your thighs are weak pudding. 

You feel both lost and found with him. In him.

He sucks and kisses your breasts like they're the only thing he's here for – and it feels good, heavenly, to be honest. But then he starts to travel down.

Shit… You need to tell him – and soon, or else there will be no time to say anything before the last of the shielding fabric is gone.

"Simon…?"

"Mm-hm?" 

He doesn't even stop with the kissing, merely hums on your skin as his mouth reaches your stomach.

"You're my first," you finally force the truth into the night; a soft and desperate fact. It's only the faintest breath, but he halts abruptly like he has been stabbed between the ribs.

Great… 

Here comes the awkward.

He rises. Softly, slowly, like a shadow, just a second away from getting to what's between your legs.

"Is that so?"

His voice is hoarse and dark from arousal. The whole man is intoxicating, and your heart is hammering in your chest, both from hunger and dread.

"Yes…?" 

A broad hand comes to rest on the dip of your waist; gently, like you're some frightened animal about to dart off from under his touch. 

"Love… Are you sure you want to do this?"

Are you? You almost ask, then bite your lip.

He just called you love, something he has never done before. You can see your breasts rising with the breaths you try to calm down with sheer willpower. 

He lets out a small sigh, then crawls beside you and takes you in his arms. The bed sags and wails under his weight before your body is pulled into a delicious bear hug.

"Sweetheart."

His voice is so smooth, so different from the intense, rough smoke that has followed you up until this point that you feel vehement tears burn your eyes. First love, and now, sweetheart…

"There's no need to rush things," he says while keeping you close. Ever the gentleman, but you fear that you've ruined everything.

"We haven't exactly been rushing," you mutter somewhere in the plates of his chest. You both feel and hear how another sigh travels up his throat and is breathed into the crown of your head.

"Now… listen to me, ok? I've wanted you ever since we met. Can't deny it. But the last thing I want is to force you to do something you don’t wanna do."

You squeeze your eyes shut from what he says. Ever since you met… You can remember the lingering gazes, the way his eyes lit up with something hopeful and pure, how it drove away the exhaustion that seemed to have made a home in this big, brooding man. You remember how he stole a few stares up and down your body, too; remember the hunger he never even tried to conceal – not until now.

He is the most enthralling being you have ever seen, a mystery and a force of nature, an indomitable man, and to say that you haven't thought about him that way ever since too would be a lie.

"But I want it," you look up at him slowly, feeling much safer now that he's holding you like this.

I want you.

You realize you're pouting when the warm look in his eyes gains a playful glint as he laughs softly.

"You want it?"

"Yes."

That little twinkle turns into a downright gleam as he looks at you like you're the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

“You want it with me?”

“Yes.”

"How much do you want it?" The charred voice is so soft now: it washes over you in generous waves. His hands keep you in safe custody – and you're the most willing prisoner there ever has been.

"Pretty badly?" You breathe into the air between you and see the corner of his mouth tug.

"Well, in that case…" His hand sweeps down your back and comes to reside on the swell of your hip. "I'm glad I'm here to help."

Pale eyelashes drop to your lips just before he kisses you again. You arch in his arms, like a flower leaning towards sunlight; your mouth, your whole being unfurls under his leadership. He rolls partly on top of you, then moves to kiss you all over as you lie on your back: he kisses your chin and neck, your collarbones and the hollow little crevice between them. The hand on your hip brushes down your thigh, then back up, up, until his fingers meet the folds already soaked through the fabric of your underwear. 

His touch is soft, but gains more weight as he sweeps slowly up, then brushes a thumb over the exact location of your clit.

"Oh–" 

He knows what he's found, even without the evidence of your voiceless shake of a breath. He brushes another stroke over it, and it doesn't matter that you still have your undies on – you can feel his weight, the gentle pressure he applies as he draws a circle to usher another soft moan out of you.

"You like that?"

"Mhm," is the only thing you are able to answer.

"That's it…" he cheers you on with calm assurance. "Gonna make you feel good. And that's a promise."

You catch a hint of ego in that promise, but there's something else, too. A fervent devotion, a bottomless need to please you no matter what. The right man, definitely: not someone who is only after their own satisfaction. You don't exactly need the answer anymore, but you ask the final, burning question nonetheless.

"Simon?"

"Speak your mind, love."

"Are you disappointed…?"

He stops again, a breath away from you. 

"Disappointed?" He sounds quite shocked, almost appalled. "...Disa–"

He huffs, then reaches to cup your face. You raise your eyes to his and see that he's…ardent, and very, very serious.

"Love, I'm honored."

You can only blink at the solemn vow, and he slowly shakes his head.

"Silly little thing…" 

It's something he muses almost to himself before he drags his fingers over your sternum and down your stomach, reverently, like you're a piece of precious porcelain. But the heat in his eyes is back, and your fingers curl to grasp a fistful of sheet as his hand disappears underneath the cloth, when he finally touches you with nothing in between.

You suppose it's his middle finger that sweeps over your clit this time, then slips between your folds without effort. It coaxes your thighs open to give him better access, and access he has: he curls the finger until it almost dips inside. Your lips part with a quiet sigh as your chin climbs toward the ceiling.

"Look at that… All wet and sweet for me already."

The way you expose your neck is like an invitation: he buries his face in your neck, tries to drown in the scent and feel of you while gliding across the wetness down below. He spreads moisture on the tight bud, and you jerk a little from how sensitive it is – he huffs a smile in your ear. It makes you release the sheet and reach out to grasp him by the neck, to make him stay precisely where he is, close like this, so close…

"Do ya even know how bloody sweet you are?"

The last of your wits make a vanishing act as he breathes more praise on your skin. You're languid in his arms, feeling both weightless and heavy, like you're sinking into the mattress, and then his hand moves lower; one thick finger is plunged slowly inside. 

Oh God oh God–

You feel him, all of him, filling and spreading you. And it's not enough… not nearly enough.

"We'll take it nice and slow, alright?" He whispers in your ear, and you tighten around him like on command. "Got all night to make a mess of you. That sound good?"

You can't help it: your lips draw into a smile when thinking about all the things he will do to you, all the sweet things you've always waited to happen. 

"Yes."

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello! I love your writing, especially the cult of the lamb stuff lately (I’m absolutely obsessed with the game) and was wondering if you could do something for Lamb with a follower! Reader that’s cynical but devoted to the cult because the lamb saved them, and how their relationship with the reader would evolve into something romantic?

Awh thank you!! This game is still an ever-present obsession ghshghs

.........

"Another gift? What's the meaning of this, Leader? Is there a reason for-?"

"Calm yourself, [y/n]. I only wanted to show my most devoted follower some appreciation."

"........."

"You can open it." Awkwardly shuffling their hooves, Lamb stood there as they watched you slowly unwrap the gift they had given you.

You wouldn't say it was "generous", considering how such an exchange is usually preceded by a favor ranging from assistance with a ritual to being forcibly converted into a demon.

It's not how most of your fellow followers would think, as they'd praise their leader for giving them presents and swear undying loyalty to them.

You're a little bit different.

After seeing that Lamb's gift was a golden plushie made in their likeness, you just frowned slightly. "It's...cute." Then you stuffed it into the pocket of your robe. "But don't think you can just woo me over with trinkets like these. If you're trying to turn me soft like the rest of your-"

"There is no ulterior motive behind my nice gesture, I can assure you. And this cult isn't making anyone "soft"." They scowled back, nearly baring their sharp teeth, but managing to hold back.

"...sure. Now may I be dismissed?"

"Yes. You may go back to whatever you're doing."

Huffing, you left for your sheltered home, leaving Lamb to reflect on why your attitude was so....foul today. But then again, they remembered a very important trait of yours that a few followers shared with you:

Cynicism.

Right from the start, your faith in this cult was low. And your loyalties weren't so easily boosted by gifts, confessions, decorations, and sermons...and yet despite your pessimistic ways of thinking, you've yet to actually dissent.

Dissenters usually began with the most cynical of followers, but you never acted like you hated Lamb themselves nor the way they run things here.

In fact, it's true you're the most devoted. You've gone to every sermon, assisted with rituals when needed, and even guided the young on the ways of this cult and aided the elderly.

You were everything Lamb wanted...

The only issue was your attitude towards their kindness.

But after a little bit of mindreading, they were aware that you've been in a different cult long before this one.

Your former leader had also done nice things for you, providing the basic necessities you've craved....all to make you gullible and willing to follow their every word.

Then they betrayed you to the Bishops of the Old Faith without a warning. You've done no wrong and never spoke out against anything they've done.

You never mattered to them. You were just a means to an end. A tool to help strengthen their cult and appease those "gods".

So even after Lamb saved you from the sacrificial altar, that bitterness and fear lingered. You were hesitant to let your guard down....especially when you became showered in gifts as thanks for your devotion.

In the back of your mind, you anticipated when they'd betray you when you least expected it--or perhaps they'd listen to the ludicrous idea of sacrificing or jailing you as some sick "prank" by another follower just to entertain them.

Surely, you were all just tools and entertainment to this sheep, right?

Yet there was a big part of you that didn't want to believe that..

You wanted to believe they were genuine in their gestures.

..........

"The Lamb has abandoned you all!! They are no hero!! They will fall to Bishop Shamura!!!"

"...really? It's too early for this crap.."

After going to bed feeling somewhat content, you woke up feeling groggy and annoyed as you heard some dissenter shouting nonsense outside. You drew back your shelter's curtain to see Hauras stationing himself near the shrine, holding a megaphone made of twigs.

Normally, the elders would be doing their morning prayers at the center, but with the scorpion being an absolute nuisance and a danger...they had no choice but to pray elsewhere.

It's no surprise that he was gonna be sour over his defeat and subsequent indoctrination for a long time, as he was the last of Shamura's keepers.

Speaking of whom, Lamb was still on their long crusade to finally kill the last standing bishop for good.

Even so, that pest thought demoralizing the cult's faith in them would be effective. But you weren't going to listen to this all damn morning.

And besides, your leader has tasked you with collecting lumbar as some new trees have recently sprouted. You've chopped them all down.....except for the one Hauras was standing right beside.

Lucky you.

Rolling your eyes, you just went ahead to make yourself breakfast, eating as you watched the other followers closely. A few of the overzealous ones shrugged off his words and continued on with their day, although some of the newer members looked confused and even anxious, thinking he was right about Lamb.

At that point, he began drawing a small crowd, but as you finally approached with an axe, they dispersed.

Hauras sneered, eyes literally seething red. "What do you want?"

"I wish you would take your little tirade elsewhere so our elders to pray here. Plus I need to chop down the-."

"You're [y/n], aren't you? The one who always second-guesses Lamb's "kindness"?" He chittered with a small smirk. "I've seen how you've acted around them...you hate them, don't you?"

"I don't hate them." You scowled. "They saved-"

"Sure, they saved you...but only because you're a means to an end." He taunted. "You don't have to lie around me. You think they're selfish..greedy..and no different from the Bishops of the Old Faith. They seek to replace them, but they won't replace Lord Shamura. I may have failed, but I know they-"

Fed up, you swiped the megaphone from his pinchers, throwing it towards a nearby boulder and smashing it to pieces.

He gasped. "How DARE YOU-?!!" After trying to whip his tail at you in retaliation, you dodged and managed to trip him, causing him to hit the ground hard as he laid on his back, groaning.

Then you stomped on his tail, hearing his pained yell that attracted the attention of other nearby followers. You, however, paid no mind to them. "You talk too much."

"R-Release me!!"

"I can....but first tell me one thing, Hauras."

"...what?"

"How badly do you need this stinger?"

His eyes widened with terror as he saw the blade of your axe glistening in the morning sunlight, hovering dangerously close to where his stinger connected to the tip of his tail.

"N-No.." He shuddered. "You wouldn't dare.."

"Then maybe I ought to tell Lamb you're singing praises about Shamura...and we'll see if it's more than just your stinger that you lose." You had a menacing glint in your eyes.

"Please..they would never-!!"

"[Y/n]. Hauras."

You both froze and looked to see Lamb suddenly standing there, their expression full of bewilderment at what was happening before them.

The moment you took your foot off of Hauras' tail, he scrambled to his feet and ran over to them. "Great Leader! They threatened to rip out my stinger!" He kneeled down, feigning tears. "You must punish them! They are-!"

"I've heard everything, Hauras." They cut him off, giving him a stern glare. "You're dissenting again, threatening our elders, and I'm honestly getting quite sick of it. But don't worry about defending Shamura anymore...for I've claimed their heart."

From the pockets of their cloak, they revealed the purplish thorn-wrapped organ, surprising both of you.

The scorpion, however, got up and scurried away to vomit somewhere, utterly repulsed by the sight and smell of blood.

It's clear to say he wasn't going to dissent anymore.

You scoffed. "That was one of Shamura's finest warriors, capable of melting his enemies from the inside out....and he gets disgusted by that?"

"It surprised me, too." Lamb glanced at you, smiling a little as they put the heart away. "I appreciate you defending me in my absence-"

"He was trying to put words in my mouth, and I didn't like that." You quickly spoke, trying to hide your flustered expression. "Like all scorpions, he was being a little pest...and this cult has no time for that."

"...that is true. The One Who Waits wishes to speak with me after I've broken all the chains, but for now..allow me to help you cut down this tree." The Red Crown flew off their head, turning into a gleaming axe in their hands. "It's pretty sturdy-looking. Should give us enough lumbar to improve the shelters."

"....alright. Thanks for the assist, Leader." Was all you said before heading over to the tree, while they hung back for a moment to process what you said to them.

A simple thank you.

That was all they've been wanting to hear from you for a long time, and you said it! To them!

It made their smile grow tenfold, before they quickened their pace in following you, ignoring the calls of their other followers. They could feel their own tail wagging with delight.

Were you finally warming up to them?

............

"Come dance with me, [y/n]!"

"...I don't dance."

"In this cult, we do. Now c'monnn.." Lamb tugged on your hands, pouting much like a needy child as you rolled your eyes.

Who would have thought someone with such a sweet face would change the lands of the Old Faith forever?

At last, they usurped the One Who Wait--or Narinder, as he was called--proving themselves worthy of the crown that many, yourself included, believed they didn't deserve.

Although you were still shaken up after being kidnapped and almost sacrificed to him (alongside the entire cult)...you saw that terrified look upon your leader's face, and realized there's no way they could have known..

Narinder had tricked all of you, and Lamb fought back not just for their own life, but for everyone's as well.

Especially yours.

That's what ultimately restored your faith in them.

Once everything was said and done, a huge celebration commenced--and lasted for three whole days.

Tonight, for the grand finale, Lamb wished to have a dance around the bonfire. You and your followers worked hard to gather as much wood as possible, before they ignited it at sundown.

It was a beautiful sight, seeing the red flames flickering and the smoke rising high into the night sky, lighting up the cult grounds and golden decor. And seeing the followers cheer, dance, sing, and play music was a lovely thing to witness.

You, however, felt content with just observing the scene..

Or at least, until a certain sheep approached and offered you a dance.

So maybe they did find a way into your heart after all, but you insisted on entertaining them with only one short dance. Just so they stopped pestering you.

Yet it lasted longer than you thought.

Together you two shuffled, twirled, and swayed..all while some other followers took inspiration and danced with their significant others and crushes.

Yet all you could focus on was Lamb and their surprisingly elegant motions.

Nothing else.

Eventually, you both settled into a slow and gentle sway, embracing each other with them burying their face into your chest, listening to your heartbeat. The blush on your cheeks was nearly as red as your robe at this point.

But you took in this peaceful and intimate moment, your hand gingerly stroking the back of their wooly head. The Red Crown was absent, instead being on the ground beside your feet, looking up at you.

For a brief second, you gazed at it, your blush worsening as it gave you a single wink. 'Huh..they're comfortable enough to leave it off in my presence..? They trust me this much?'

"Is it wise to leave your precious crown where any fool can just steal it, Lamb?"

"Why? You fancy stealing it yourself, hm?" They looked up at you with a teasing smile. "You're the most precious thing to me..the crown is just a tool at the end of the day."

"Like all the followers you work to th...."

You stopped.

It suddenly just occurred to you that they called you "precious". But why?

Were they infatuated with you?

Were you infatuated with them?

Lamb tilted their head. "What's wrong, [y/n]?"

You only gazed back at them, at first completely tongue-tied as you saw the curious glint in their eyes, alongside the red fire that reflected off of them.

It made your heart beat fast. Heat rose to your cheeks again...and it wasn't because of the flames.

That's all it took for the final wall to crumble.

You sighed quietly, relaxing your shoulders as you offered them a tiny smile. "Nothing, my dear leader. For the first time since you've saved me, I feel...at peace being here with you. This place, and you, make me feel....safe."

Lamb nearly teared up at your words. "I'm glad. Would you like to be-?"

"Yes."

Their ears perked up with surprise. Now it was their turn to blush as scarlet covered their gray cheeks. "You...knew what I was going to say?"

"You're not the only mind-reader around here, Lamb." You chuckled at their cuteness. "If it's alright, I'd rather...take it slow. No rush to do a marriage ritual."

That took a big weight off their shoulders.

You understood what they wanted the most. You've always understood them better than anyone. Even Narinder himself.

They were so elated they couldn't help but pull you into a kiss, not minding all the followers gasping and cooing at the intimate display.

None of them mattered, though.

Only you two.

[metranart]

My one and only wants you, so he’ll have you (Part 2)

ft. Sensei! Gojo Satoru, sensei! Suguru Geto, reader insert.

Gojo Satoru and Suguru Geto happily married, you, their lovely student and the cause of their ragging temptation. The problem: their son, Megumi, your best friend.

- 𖦹 Warning tags: Gojo x Reader x Geto, threesome, married couple, Suguru and Gojo happy married couple, polyamory, Teacher-Student Relationship, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, breeding, obsessive behavior, horny sorcerers, idiots in love, being the willing pet of your senseis, best friend! Megumi, Jealous! Megumi, anal plug, Secret Relationship, Domestic Fluff, falling in love, Pregnancy Kink, Hurt/Comfort, smut, rough sex, shameless smut, creampie, explicit sexual consent, sexual tension, shameless flirting, scratching.

-

Most of the time it was just you and Satoru Gojo, as he was still the same self-centered egoist who accidentally forgot to call Suguru, ups! 

On several, many occasions, he was vigorously scolded by his accomplice and husband for his lack of empathy. 

"Send me a text, an email, a damn carrier pigeon...make me stupid smoke signals, you selfish idiot." Suguru Geto complained in chilling calm, "...you're terrible at sharing." 

Satoru Gojo just smiled apologetically and did it again.

Dragging you to the building's gym so he could fuck you in the basketball storage room, or taking you to the bathrooms between classes and eating your pussy but not allowing you to come, keeping you on that thin edge between overwhelming and unbearable until you were shaking like a leaf against the wind, the low, hoarse noise of your poorly concealed gasps in the cubicle indescribably sweet.

“G-Gojo-san…someone might come in-”

“Gojo-sensei.” He was prone to correct, almost eager to do it.

It was fun, watching you fight the frustration and desperation of wanting to come, clinging to the orgasm with nails and fists and teeth, and sometimes, if Satoru was feeling in an especially naughty mood, he would wait until the bathroom was completely empty to lean you over the sink, locking the door and fucking you in front of the mirror, the thick tears rolling down the sides of your burning face, a thousand times more charming under the fluorescent lamp than in the battered dim-darkness of the cubicle.

“(Y/N), I’m so happy that you chose to be mine.” He beamed too gone into his own pleasure to measure his brain correctly.

“… Yours and Suguru’s?” your feeble voice asked with a hint of curious cynicism, and he hurried to comply.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant, pretty.” 

The smug grin on his face and the mischief glittering in his eyes made haste to a confident swagger on his hips while ramming his fat cock deeper inside you, making sure to kiss your cervix with each pump. Oh! how low Satoru could go sometimes; how desperate he was to pump you full of his own pups. He would certainly love and spoil any child of your being his or Suguru’s… but deep, very deeply hidden inside he wanted it to be HIS. At least the first one, and maybe the next one… and perhaps, the third one…. 

“Stop g-grinning like-e a maniac, Gojo-san.” You shared between ragged breaths, too little air in your lungs to waste it.

“Gojo-sensei.” He merely replied with the same maniac grin.

That was the usual, the regular thing since he had easier access to you. Nevertheless, Suguru Geto managed to show up without warning, watching him fuck you mercilessly until your ass was probably sore and Satoru's dick was bare. Still, he made an effort to be part of the activity. 

“Such a lovely sight you two make.” He teased all too pleased, his previous annoyance disappearing at the way his heart throbbed like a drum at the mere sight of your sweaty face and flushed cheeks.  

Sometimes he would come up to Satoru and hug him from behind, dropping his hands casually on his hips and guiding the movement with which he fucked you, deeper thrusts, bolder movements, precise and raw to make you scream your lungs out, rubbing his own erection against his husband's ass—

“Do you want me to put it in you, my love?" Suguru asked and Satoru's affirmative words melted with his moans. "My sweet boy wants me to stuff him with this fat cock?" the pulsing, warm meat glued to his naked asscheeks, teasing and prodding his tight ring with insistent pokes.

The white-haired professor convulsed with every vulgar tease of his beloved husband, the black-haired sorcerer knowing exactly what buttons to press to make him come indiscriminately fast... so he could have you to himself.

“Baby, I don´t want to come yet.” But they knew each other too well and Suguru’s tricks were easily discovered by his lover. "Sugu let me have her a little more...pleeeease, pretty, please."

The head of his husband’s cock nestled subtly inside his tight ring of flesh, which throbbed with studied excitement to the prospect of wrap around him. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Toru, I just want you to come hard and yummy inside our puppy," each word was tattooed on the sweaty skin of the prodigy while his husband kissed his neck. "Come on Satoru, I know you are eager to be the contact for my, fat and throbbing, plug-" 

Suguru snickered when felt him shudder under him, for some reason, Satoru really enjoyed that kind of suggestive metaphors.

“Don’t-” Satoru growled lowly.

His narrow hips colliding with your bare, bruised ass cheeks all while he refrained himself from burst his heavy load. 

"Baby." He sounded like a wounded animal, even so, the thrusts he delivered to your poor, defenseless cunt were without an inch of restraint or mercy, almost forcing the thick, vulgar cock between his thick thighs automatically inside you. There was no falter in his pumping motion, as if were way too natural for him to be nested inside you.

"Sensei!" you mewled brokenly aiming to aid him burst, fingers white from grabbing so hard to the bathroom sink, "...I’m almost praying for someone t-to happen u-upon us to finally take m-me away from you," you grunted severe and could see their perplexed expressions in the mirror before a smirk grazed your mouth making them realize you were teasing, "-you, feral mass of hormones masqueraded as the strongest sorcerers." You ended up sharing with a cute giggle, “how is it even possible for you to be even hornier than Megumi or Yuuji-"

“Oh, pup if you knew how many times a day, our dear Megumi beats his meat, you wouldn’t say that.” 

You made a pitiful sound, shaking your head. “Megumi d-doesn’t do that, he’s such a g-good boy.”

At this, both teachers burst out laughing because of how little you knew the real Megumi, no doubt their boy had tried hard to hide his true intentions from everyone, but it was transparent to them who had raised him since he was a puppy. Megumi had a wild and voracious side, which he would undoubtedly love to share with you. And right there lay their biggest concern.

"If you only knew, pretty,” Satoru chuckled breathlessly, rutting into your honeyed softness with frenzied exhilaration, he was getting close.

"That's your cumming face, Toru." Suguru scoffed, his smile showing all his teeth, one stab would be enough to break him. His girthy cock trespassed Satoru's tight ring in one blow and the prodigy screeched scream was muffled against your sweaty neck as he came, vast and plenty.

"Take it all in, my sweet girl. Let me live inside you." Gojo kept repeating like a mantra as he splashed your insides in ribbons of his musky essence. Sharp fingers keeping you effectively anchored to his groin as he emptied his balls.

"Fuck," Suguru laughed merrily in response to his husband's pathetic expression as he continued to sloppily gush away into your resistless, utterly conquered pussy. "That's my good boy, my husband really knows how to-"

"(Y/N)! are you in there?" You heard Nobara call, and everyone stilled. "Are you okay, it's been more than thirty minutes."

Quick as lighting Satoru slipped out of you, his precious cum slipping freely down your thighs as he hurried to pull your panties up. Poor Suguru, blue balled into frustration also help you look presentable, ignoring his throbbing erection and how uncomfortable it felt inside his own suffocating pants.

“She looks presentable-” Satoru stated questionably.

“Presentable enough, can you walk on your own, baby?” The raven-haired asked conversationally as he had you wrapped in his arms, too worried by your trembling legs which refused to carry your weight completely. “Toru, you idiot, you need to be gentler with her-”

“I’m fine, Suguru-san,” You defended, “it’s just a minute of weakness before I’m back to normal.” You said all smiles and Bambi legs. 

“So eager to defend me, I adore you so much, my pretty pup-” Satoru almost jumped you, disturbingly stretched grin and unfaltering baby-blue gaze betraying his jovial tone and innocently cocked head. “Makes me wanna dismiss Suguru and rammed you against the wa-”

“Knock it off, Toru.” Suguru pushed him back irritated, “do you feel better?” 

You nodded your head, and a sweet, syrupy kiss landed on your flushed cheek. “Soon.” Was all he said before almost drag Satoru out through the window to avoid been seen.

That same day, the unsatiated couple ended up fucking like crazy when they got home, teeth and fingers and lips covering every bit of skin they could find, bruises the color of Satoru's eyes blooming over the ridge of his pelvis the next day after Suguru pushed him face first into the floor, fucking him so hard that the neighbors would surely have noticed by now.

But those times always felt like something was missing, like your mere absence made their balls produce less cum and their cocks stay erect for less time. It was a meager relief that forced them to look for you almost immediately since you have already kidnapped their every thought.

Their eyes lit up like streetlights when your beautiful voice echoed through their home, and soon their joy turned to confusion when realized why you were there.

"Hello, I'm home." They heard their adopted son shout from the floor below, both clean up as best they could, pulling a t-shirt over their heads and adjusting their pants so they could go down. "I brought (Y/N) for dinner, I hope you don't mind."

Megumi continued saying to his parents, or as he tagged them, guardians. A little taken aback by their unusually, stunned faces.

"...Is there a problem?" Megumi asked them, airily. The young sorcerer almost looked radiant, besides his usual stoic expression. Yes! There was a fuckin’ problem, even so, they numbly shook their heads until Suguru found his voice again.

"N-No problem, Megumi. You're always welcome, (Y/N)."

You looked just as bewildered as them if not more. The only one unaware of the tense discomfort, Megumi, who actually looked quite satisfied. Both professors just couldn't stop following you with their astonished gazes while their set the table and prepare dinner, growing something beyond confused and why not, jealous… since what was driving them internally crazy was the infuriating fact that from the moment you set foot inside the house and until that moment: Megumi and you were holding hands.

COMING SOON PART 3....

⭕️ In my PATREON you will find scenes from this chapter and NSFW art of the story and lots of content from JJK, exclusive smut fanfiction and animation like THIS ONE . Plus! voting poll privilege for the exclusive Patreon one-shot stories where you can choose the anime, couple pairing and kinky mood for the story, and of course, my eternal and immense gratitude for your support!!!

[absfawn]

⠀⠀⠀ღ ELECTRAPLAYER ✶ CLEAN UP THE MESS YOU MADE !

a/n: massive shoutout to @andersonfilms for helping me with this. with all of it actually ... ily ღ

the slam of the wooden door echoes throughout your shared home, rage spilling over like oil under a gas stove, both of your frustrated but truthfully? more so you. not so carefully you discard the keys in the entry bowl, smirking maliciously as abby just continues to press, creating more distance between the two of you as if this doesn’t need to be discussed. 

abby’s nails pick at the cuticles anxiously and you know if she continues they’ll bleed. you also know, you’re far too stubborn to help her with it, not with the stunt she pulled tonight. the two of you leaving early, the attitude she seemed to pull out of her ass. 

no, you’re not fucking standing for this bullshit. 

anxiously, the blonde halts near the kitchen island, waiting for you to meet her there but you don’t. firm hands running over your hair until they reach the nape of your neck, fingers pressing against the tension built. 

“are we going to talk about this or are you going to continue to give me the silent treatment? that is your typical move, abby.” questioning her as you slowly step forward. cynically, cocking your head to the side, waiting to give her back the same bullshit behaviour she served you on a silver platter all night long. 

her soft jaw clenches, lips pursed into a pout as her arms cross her chest. a needle drop could be heard between the two of you, only sound to be heard is the insistent tapping of your foot. an attempt to edge her into submission. 

taking one step closer, your cologne starting to invade her sense, numbing the frustration nudged in her mind. “is this what you really want? to act like an absolute brat, go to bed angry, and leave this all unresolved just so you can cry to me in the middle of the night when you want me to hold you.” 

“t-that’s not— i don’t do that.” abby defends, breaking her silence for the first time since the two of you headed home. 

“oh? you don’t?” your tongue pokes through your cheek, shaking your head at her in the process. all the fucking talk in the world but when it comes to you? she never has it in her fight back when you do. “okay. fine. let’s just pretend you don’t for one second. why on earth are you pissed at me for talking to people we both know?” 

“you’re calling it talking? please you fucking get off on flirting with other people in front of me.” perhaps she wasn’t thinking clearly, all the pent up frustration doing the talking for her but it spilled before she could halt her words. 

this time she was met with silence, as you roll the sleeves to your elbows carefully, exposing your tattoo forearms, the ones she loves so dearly. abby can’t read you, fuck, you look stone cold. processing what she just said to you as you reassess. 

if abby wants to play dirty, you’ll play goddamn dirty. 

“that’s what you think?” you laughed, dryly but sarcastically in her direction. “you’re gonna stand there, tell me m’flustered over some other girl? right in front of you? my girl? better yet, you wanna say i’m flirting with them?” you scoffed, running your fingers through your hair and tugging gently. 

abby didn’t know why you had switched from being so sweet, soft, and gentle, to suddenly pissed off, and annoyed. it was a joke. a joke she always tells you. always tells you that other girls make you flustered when you suddenly get warm and hot in a room. a joke that you usually laugh at and say something like ‘if it’s not because of you, then i am not flustered, i am pissed off’ and let it go. but since coming home, you’ve been downright moody and pissed off. “it was a joke” she sighed, shrugging off her jacket.

“a joke” you laughed and moved closer, not enough but one step was enough to have her baby blue eyes locking onto yours. “a bit of an overused joke, don’t you think, baby?” you’re scoffing again, cocking your head to the side. “a joke that you should know pisses me off by now”

“babe i didn’t mean it seriously. i know that you dont have eyes for anyone else” abby sighed again, looking at you with softer eyes. softer ones than a few hours ago. ones that would usually have you kneeling at her feet, worshiping the ground she walks on, and doing whatever she wanted you to do. tonight though? tonight you weren’t doing any of that. so she knew she had pissed you off with her joke. 

she’s barely able to keep up with her own thoughts circling in her brain, let alone able to keep up with how fast you’re moving. one second you’re standing so far away from her, so far away from her reach to being right in front of her. looking down at her with a clenched jaw. a clenched jaw that she usually finds so attractive, but now her throat is dry and she’s looking up at you with wide eyes and a pout on her face. “so you think that any girl i see makes me flustered?” you questioned, inching your face closer.

“no! s’not what i mean” she mumbled, shaking her head and closing her eyes.

“no? then what did you mean?”

“it was just a harmless joke, babe. really”

abby chokes out a sound. you can’t really tell when you’re grabbing onto her hand and tilting your head to the side more, your breath fanning her face hotly. “harmless joke?” you’re asking, eyes flickering over the way her eyes flutter open and she’s gasping softly when you’re out of nowhere shoving her hand down your pants. a crimson blush coating her cheeks upon feeling just how wet you are. “you wear those tight fuckin’ pants, that shirt that shows everything, and you think i am flustered because of them? 

“i—”

you have her body boxed in against the wall. her hand shoved down your pants. her brain and body are fighting against each other. one side is telling her to behave and do nothing until you let her do something. but her brain is telling her to touch you. have you gasping under her touch and make you forget all about the joke. and yet she can’t. not when you’re looking down at her like that.

“have you ever taken notice to understand you are the most beautiful person in the entire world, and every single day i am with you or near you, i can’t contain myself? do you really forget how wet you make me?” you whispered against her neck, smirking. “have you forgotten how many times you have made me cum in the same night? forgotten the sounds i make when you touch me?” 

“no— i just—”

“you just what? c’mon baby, speak up, use your words”

“i was teasing you. m’sorry” abby whined, squirming against the wall when you’re sinking your teeth into her neck, and sucked softly. “m’sorry”

“yeah? you know how much i hate being teased” you’re growling, using your free hand and wrapping it around her throat. grinning smugly at the small gasp she lets out when you squeeze just enough. “get on your knees, clean up the mess you made and maybe i’ll think about forgiving you. depends on if you do a good job or not”

[maxdibert]

It shouldn’t surprise me that the Arcane fandom has a hefty dose of internalized misogyny, but honestly, it’s exhausting to constantly see how female characters are judged, condemned, and demonized for the simple "sin" of being complex, layered, and morally questionable, while the fandom favorite is a drug lord who used a populist, nationalist rhetoric to justify child exploitation and drug trafficking that poisoned the very people he claimed to defend. Yes, I’m talking about Silco. The same Silco who threw a little girl in prison and took her younger sister, making her believe her older sister didn’t care about her anymore. The same Silco who projected his traumas onto a kid and manipulated her into being his weapon. The same Silco who posed as the "people’s champion" while being one of the main reasons the people were dying in the first place.

And don’t get me wrong—I love Silco. He’s a fantastic villain, and his relationship with Jinx is as fascinating as it is deeply uncomfortable at times. But it feels incredibly cynical to see people excuse all the atrocities he committed, or at least try to understand them, while they spent all of season one attacking characters like Mel for being ambitious and power-hungry, doing morally questionable things. Sorry, but none of Mel’s actions in season one even come close to Silco’s level of ethical depravity with the whole shimmer situation, yet Mel got dragged.

Vi—perhaps the series’ ultimate punching bag of suffering—who lost her parents, stepped up to take care of her sister, carried the responsibility of being the eldest (as tasked by Vander to protect the group), lost her "siblings" and "father" in one night, got wrongfully imprisoned as a kid, spent years in jail for nothing, only to come out and see that her sister had turned into a monster and that the man responsible for their adoptive father’s death was now the kingpin of the Undercity—was treated like absolute crap by the fandom. Why? Because she didn’t understand or accept that her younger sister was suddenly cool with a man who was poisoning the city? The same man who killed their father figure? I remember people calling Silco the "Father of the Year" and Vi the "Worst Sister of the Decade," and I was genuinely floored. Like, as a meme, sure, it’s funny. But as an actual take? The level of cognitive dissonance is wild.

And now, in this season, of course, the hate is all directed at Caitlyn. Why? Because instead of being the idealistic nepo baby who dreams of coexistence like in season one, she’s dealing with severe PTSD after being kidnapped and witnessing a missile nearly obliterate her mother. And people just can’t seem to grasp that. They can understand a man going from revolutionary to drug lord, using the idea of freedom and the people’s anger to expand his shady business and exploit children, but they can’t understand a young woman becoming incredibly violent out of a thirst for revenge.

What these reactions tell me is that men can be the absolute worst scum narrative writing has ever birthed, and it’s fine because everyone will bend over backwards to understand their motivations or at least where they’re coming from. But if we’re talking about women who aren’t compliant, who overreact, who struggle to manage their emotions or trauma, or who don’t behave the way women are "supposed" to behave, there’s no room for understanding. No excuses, no empathy. They’re just bitches, villains, or—like people are now saying about Caitlyn—"fascists."

Look, the fact that people are calling Caitlyn a fascist while never using that term for Silco—who was literally a despot—isn’t just cognitive dissonance; it’s hypocrisy at its finest.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 54

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I am back to work tmrw.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You choose a simple dress. You like the shade of peach even as Loki eyes you archly. It might not be the choice that offends him but the state of yourself. Your nose is still healing, bandaged but not as heavily, and you have much left to recover. His own injuries remain tinged on his pale skin.

You shimmy the dress on and turn your back to him as he drones cynically. His fingers creep up along your bottom to meet the zipper and he tugs it up slowly. He’s reluctant. 

“What is it? You don’t like the dress?” You face him.

“I’d rather prefer you naked,” he purrs with a wink, “but I am not overly fond of the colour, no.” 

“Oh, but... you bought it?” 

“Yes, my sister did have it included in the purchase but... it is rather bright.” 

“I like it,” you run your hands over your stomach and hips, “it fits nicely but if you want me to change...” 

“No, darling, do what you wish,” he crosses his arms, “I must learn to let you do so.” 

You narrow your eyes. His malleability does not come without resentment. You shrug. You don’t have all day to be sussing out his preference. 

“What is it you and my mother have planned?” He asks. 

“I’m not certain,” you say as you search for your phone. The one he gave you. 

“No? Hm, darling, what about a necklace?” He goes to the jewellery box and plucks out a golden chain with a peridot emblem.  

“I guess,” you dig around in your work bag, most of your luggage still unpacked. 

“You guess? It is a pretty necklace. What about amethyst?” 

“Loki,” you fish out your phone but not the one you meant to. Your old flip.  

You put it down on the nightstand stiffly and return to your search. It feels so long ago that you were that person. That sad girl living with your father and flitting through a meandering existence. You won’t say you’ve moved up very much, still at the whim of a man, but you feel distant from that person. 

Perhaps Walpurgisnacht was more a rebirth than you could know. 

“Pet...” Loki comes closer as you retrieve your work phone. It’s dead.  

“I need to charge it,” you show him the device. 

“You should toss the old one. Doubt it even works.” 

“I know, I will. I have to back it up,” you say evasively. There’s not much on it but it’s the only connection you still have to your previous life. You’re not ready to slice through that last strand. 

“Mm, right then, well, another to do for the list,” he steps nearer and tickles your waist, “suppose you delay your little outing with my mother and I take you to lunch--” 

“She’s a guest, and your mother,” you rebuke. “Loki, I’m only doing what I need to do. Isn’t that what you want?” 

He sighs, “yes, but... it is still my house. I would like more than my leave. I should say when you need go pick out flowers or tablecloths or whatnot.” 

“Proposals typically lead to all that,” you say, “at least from what I know.” 

“What you know?” He muses. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few Kate Hudson movies,” you quip and give a goofy smile but quickly repress it. “Sorry, that wasn’t... funny.” 

His cheeks dimple and his nostrils flair, his lips slightly curved, “is that... humour? From you?” 

“Well, I... yeah, why not?” 

“Hm, it isn’t a slight but you are not one for laughter.” 

“Or maybe you’ve never made me laugh,” you blurt out and quickly snap your mouth shut. 

His brows drop and his smile too. You stare at him. Oops. You are getting to comfortable. Even if you are to be his wife, you aren’t his equal. You don’t know that you could ever be. 

He chuckles, “darling, how very sharp.” He reaches to frame your chin and turns you to him completely, “I should try harder then, to hear your sweet laughs.” 

You smile, a flutter in your chest, “that’s sweet.” 

“I am sweet,” he says, offended. “What do you mean?” 

You just stare at him. Is he kidding? 

“Don’t,” he warns with a frown. “Very well, go, have fun. Should I need anything, I will be certain to let mother know since you will be without tether...” he keeps his hand on you, squeezing, “you will be safe with her, I know.” 

“Loki,” you murmur, “he’s not coming back. He wouldn’t.” 

He stares at you solemnly, “no, he shouldn’t.” 

It seems as if he doubts his own words. For a moment, you do too. He knows his brother much better. Yet, how can Thor return when all have turned their backs on him? 

“There is no hurry, mother can wait...” 

“Loki, she’s only visiting,” you remind him, “the sooner it’s done, the sooner they go, right?” 

“Mm, you are clever,” he looks past you with apprehension, “suppose so. And I should speak with father about some things...” he leans in and kisses your forehead, withdrawing absently as he taps his fingertips together, “weddings and such...” 

You give him a look but he’s too distracted to notice. This whole affair is his idea and yet he is uncertain. You watch him placidly. 

“We don’t have to... marry--” 

“No, no,” he returns his attention to you, “of course we must. We will—how could you—oh, I know it is all very new to you, pet, but trust in me. It isn’t my first rodeo. Regrettably.” 

You feel a pang at the allusion to his previous marriage. You remember Sif with her sleek figure and her perfect smile and her sparkling eyes. You are second in all ways to her. 

“I should go,” you insist with a sniff. 

“Mm, yes, you should,” he grabs your shoulders and lays another kiss, this time on your lips. “I have told mother very strictly not to dawdle so you shouldn’t either.” 

“We’ll be fine,” you assure him. 

“When did you get so confident,” he teases as he retracts from you. 

You offer a sheepish smile. Not confident, but hopeful. A change nonetheless. 

✨

Frigga insists on lunch before you do anything. You’re struck with deja vu as she returns to that same place you went to with her sons. That day feels like eons ago but it’s been just over a month. 

The change feels all the more sudden after a lifetime of stagnancy. With your dad, every day blurred together, the constancy was as dull as it was oppressive. Yet, you mourn it all the same. The spontaneity and turbulence of your new existence proves just as paralysing at times. 

You may have gone from maid to fiancee, but it doesn’t dissolve your expected deference. You are marrying into the Odinsons, they have no need to ingratiate themselves to you. Even as the reminder of her elder son troubles you, you will not mention your worries aloud to the matriarch. 

Frigga orders a sparkling water with fruit, you ask for the same. The waitress is not subtle as she eyes your bandaged nose. Just another reason for you to feel out of place. It's tender but feels much better.

You peer up at the sky as you sit in the open patio and the scent of the curated flowers around the space wafts in the air. Your dress rustles and tickles your leg, causing you to flinch. Another flash of before. That day you ate with Thor at your side, his hand under the table... 

You shudder and blow away the memory. You reach for your water and sip as you look over the entrees. Your appetite is erratic. One second you’re ravenous, the next, nauseous. The tuna sounds good but sickening at once. You’ll get a salad. 

“We will have to plan an engagement party first. Perhaps a local venue for that,” she looks at her phone and turns it on its screen as you hear it buzzing. 

“Or the house? I thought... the gazebo...” 

“Mm, yes, I recall, what was the name of that contractor you hired? I wouldn’t mind a similar build back at our house. Oh, and perhaps if you did want to do the wedding at home as well, a wedding arch might be a thought. I’m certain a carpenter might be up to that task,” she continues, ignoring how her phone rattles her glass. “So, we’ll skip over venues then. But invitations, perhaps? Oo, do you have a dress in mind? A brunch or something in the evening?” 

You can hardly keep up with her questions. At least she offers distraction from the shadow looming over your shoulder. Both of them. If it isn’t one son, it’s the other. 

The waitress returns and you order. Frigga eyes you as she puts in for a monte cristo with the soup du jour. You try to smile. You’re tired. 

“Are you okay, dear? You’ve not been eating very much.” 

“Oh, haven’t I?” You squirm evasively. “I’m... fine, I guess I just have a lot on my mind.” 

“Oh, darling, forgive me if I am overloading you,” she fans herself with her hand, “I apologise. I’ve a bad habit of getting head over feet about these things. I have so many ideas all at once but if I sit still, I feel I might burst.” 

Her words call you back to Loki pacing and circling at the hotel, then at home, he manic muttering. 

“It’s alright. I don’t think of any of it. I don’t know where to begin,” you assure her. 

“Ah, well, yes, but I’ve had a wedding and my son’s had a wedding already,” she chuckles, “so I do have a bit more experience. You shouldn’t worry terribly if you have questions. I am simply here to guide you.” 

“I know--” 

Her phone shakes again and she sighs.  

“Pardon,” she tilts the phone up and you see the incoming call; Loki. She quickly turns off the ringer. “My, he is a pest. It cannot be that important--” 

“I don’t have my phone,” you say, “maybe he needs something.” 

“My son can wait. He is so selfish. Especially about you. Surely, he trusts his own mother,” she scoffs, “anyhow, I think a luncheon might be pleasant enough. Perhaps with a theme. Summer is here and the flowers will be lovely this time of season.” 

“Excuse me, miss,” the waitress comes up to the table, a cordless phone in her hand, “there’s a gentleman on the phone asking for you.” 

You frown at Frigga then glance up, realising the woman is speaking to you. You blink and take the phone from her. You put it to your ear, staring at Frigga. 

“Hello?” 

“Pet,” Loki bursts eagerly, “oh, I knew you’d be there. Yes, I only wanted to check in, hear your voice, but I couldn’t get through to mother.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, we were just ordering--” 

‘Give me the phone’ Frigga mouths and gestures. 

“I...” you begin and her green eyes flare. You hand over the phone. 

“Loki, this is not your time. You can wait. We are busy. You have a lovely day and we will be home in a few hours,” she says tritely, “certainly, you might find something to keep yourself busy.” 

She doesn’t wait for his response as she hits the end button and hands the phone back to the server, thanking her with a smile. The brunette flits away and you tap your fingers on the table top. Frigga plays with a wave and pushes it behind her ear, “darling, don’t even worry about my son. You just focus on yourself.” 

“Thank you, I just...” 

“You just don’t worry,” she repeats, “if my son has issue with us doing exactly as we told him we would, then he may take it up with me. Uh, he always was a needy little boy.” 

You almost laugh. You might agree with part of her sentiment but you could never imagine Loki as a little boy. In your mind, he just seems as if he’s always been grown. Not like you.  

You’ve always felt clueless and inadequate. As if you never moved past childhood, that you got caught behind some wall and watched the adults from afar. Yet, now that you’re on the other side, you still feel a barrier. Like them, but not the same. 

Not like the Odinsons especially. A family. You don’t have any of that. The more you think of the wedding, the more you see empty seats. No bridesmaids, not father-daughter dance, no one on your side. 

“Dear, have I upset you?” Frigga cuts the silence and you catch yourself staring at the table. 

You shake your head and sit up, “no, sorry, just thinking...” you scramble for a lie. You hate that you do that so often now, “what about a tea party?” 

“A tea party? Marvelous, I love it,” she trills, “oh, yes, we will have to find some fine porcelain for the event.” 

“Loki has lots--” 

“Yes, but this is special, dear. You’ll need a special set so you can always remember the party. Oh, and teas. There is a tea shop nearby. They sell loose leaf. We can have a whole array. Ooh, and biscuits, pastries...” she begins to list off. You let her, thankful to forget everything else for the minutest of details. Tea is easy. 

[astermath]

sweet like you🍓

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: carmen stumbles across a local farmer’s market on accident and discovers a family run strawberry stand. he discovers that not only the strawberries are delicious and sweet, but so is the girl selling them to him.

word count: 2.1K

notes: yk what’s really funny,, i never realised so far a lot of my fics involve the color red. perhaps it’s becoming my new favorite color and I love to make it obvious dsgdfsj,, anyways first time writing for carmen, been obsessed w him since the bear came out. i’m a whore for jeremy allen white in case you haven’t noticed. anyways this will def get a part two!!

P.S. let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated, requests are open!

Saturday was farmer’s market day.

Every Saturday morning, dozens of independent businesses, farmers and food stands would come together at Lincoln Park to sell their wares. It made for a colorful and interesting blend of smells, sounds and sights, and for most, a great way to start off their weekend.

And Carmen was no exception to this. He’d first stumbled upon it by accident on his way to the Beef. Taking a wrong turn because of his still waking morning head resulted in him walking through the park and, unavoidably, being distracted by what vendors there were. A chef at heart, he couldn’t help but look around the wide array of fresh ingredients available for purchase. He’d taken out his notebook and started writing down business names as he tried a sample every now and then. 

He held a bag of fresh paprikas in one hand, making his way down the line before he came across a peculiar and seemingly very busy stand. The fresh, sweet scent of strawberries allured him, stepping closer to take a look at what they had to offer. And it was exactly that, just strawberries. It appeared to be a family business, your mother and father packing orders, and you at the front taking them and accepting payments. For a second he just kind of stood there, bag in hand, staring at you. There was no way you were from here, Chicago doesn’t let a smile like that survive very long. Or maybe that was just his cynical mind doing its usual thing.

He snapped out of it when you glanced his way, looking to the side. He felt his cheeks getting warmer, embarrassed that just looking at a pretty girl got such a reaction from him. He’s a collected person, he should be acting like one. He took a deep breath and got in line. Lord knows what he’d be using strawberries for, he’d figure something out, might as well just eat them as a snack while the season allowed it.

“Hi! How many?” Your voice was sweet and chipper, something he couldn’t even think of being after taking orders all morning. Somehow, you kept it up.

“Oh, uh...” He looked at your display, before remembering that all you sold were strawberries, so browsing just made him look even more stupid. “How many... Strawberries?”

“Boxes. They’re 500 grams, 5 bucks each. So how many?” Your smile remained the same, though you were slightly amused by his confusion. 

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He could have sank into the ground right then and there. Of course you meant boxes, who in their right mind is buying individual strawberries? “Uh... Just one box is fine, please.” He reached for his wallet while you took over a box from your mom.

“Great! That’ll be 5 dollars please.” You took the slightly crumpled bill from his hand, storing it in the tin box in front of you and quickly writing down something on a paper. Seemed like you still did everything by hand, he couldn’t imagine what a mess it would be if he had to do that at the restaurant.

“Here you go, have a great day!” The box you gave him was neatly wrapped in brown paper, with a sticker serving as a business card on top. 

“Uh...” He stared at the sticker, reading over it before looking back up at you.

Ask for her name.

“Yeah...”

Her name.

“You too.” 

You idiot.

He picked up the box and walked away, walking a little faster than usual. He was never good at talking to people, but god, that was just embarrassing. He opened up the packaging, and took out a perfectly plump strawberry. He took a bite, humming as the juicy sweetness washed over his tastebuds.

Lunch rush had just ended, and Carmen was sat outside the back of the restaurant with Richie, smoking as per usual. Except now, a small cardboard box sat between them. It was almost empty as the two of them snacked on the fruit between puffs of their cigarettes. 

“Ya know, I read somewhere on Facebook that these are supposed to help with uh... Cancer or something.” Richie said, throwing the green leafy part back into the box. 

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, cousin.” Carmy smiled to himself, back leaned against the wall as he brought the cigarette to his lips.

“Oh, why’s that huh? Cause I can’t read shit online anymore without having to do an hour of research behind it?” Richie furrowed his brows, blowing smoke out his nose.

“No, stupid,” Carmen put the cigarette out on the concrete. “Cause you’re fuckin’ smoking, man. The fuck is a strawberry gonna do against that.”

“Yeah, well... I try to stay positive, you should fucking try it sometime, ya depressed asshole.” He grabbed another strawberry. “Where d’you get these from anyways? Shit’s pretty good.”

The image of you working at the stand flashed through his mind. “Passed by some random farmer’s market this morning. Might stop by there again, got a ton of fresh produce there for not much money.”

“Speakin’ of produce.” Richie used his thumb to point back over his shoulder to the kitchen. “Place’s out of onions. Your magical farmer’s market got those? Cause we need more by the dinner shift.”

Carmen groaned, wanting to curse at Richie for not letting him know earlier. But honestly, if it gave him a chance to go back, get more delicious strawberries and possibly redeem his awkward first impression to the pretty girl there... It might not be a bad idea. He checked the time on his watch, early afternoon, you’d probably be wrapping up right now. If he was fast, he could totally still make it. “Fine, but I’m taking your car.”

“Don’t crash it.” Richie said as he got up, ready to get back inside.

“You’re the one with a suspended license.” He joked, catching the keys Richie threw at him that were totally not aimed at his head.

“Fuck you cousin.”

Parking was a bitch, as always, but Carmen had managed to find a stall selling onions for about half of what he usually got them for. He was starting to like this market, not just for the prices, but because these were all people who worked hard and loved their products. A lot of work goes into putting something out there to sell, he would know. 

He realized he might be pushing his luck if he still wanted to see you, but he decided to take the chance nonetheless and walk down the lineup. It seemed to be his lucky day, as he caught sight of your parents loading up mostly empty boxes back in the car. You were working on breaking down the stand, doing so with relative ease. You were currently folding up the tables, kneeled down onto the ground. 

Again, he stared. Honestly, how could he not? It wasn’t every day he saw someone so beautiful, and with a sweet personality to match. Granted his only interaction with you had been brief, but still, he got a good vibe from you, and he was usually so distrustful.

You looked up, and by pure coincidence, your eyes met. His eyes were so intense, hues of blue that anyone would recognize, even from a mile away. You certainly recognized them from this morning at least. Your face brightened with the same smile he saw you had before, and for a second he wondered if it was just a customer service thing. 

“Hi! Hope you enjoyed your strawberries!” You got up, holding the folded table under your arm. 

“Sure did.” He put on a bit of an awkward smile. God, why was he doing this... What was he even supposed to say?

Your eyes squinted slightly when you read the words on his shirt. “Nice shirt... Oh, wait, you work at the Beef?”

His body tenses up a little when you mention the restaurant. Given its... Peculiar reputation, that question could be followed up by any kind of statement. “Yeah, yeah, I uh... I kinda run it now.” He decided not to mention Mikey. Seemed a bit overkill to mention your dead brother to someone whose name you don’t even know.

“Ohhh, that’s you! Yeah, I’ve seen you smoking outside before.” You extend your hand and you both introduce yourselves. “I work at a café just two blocks over. You might have seen it, it’s called Odette’s?” 

Carmy nodded. He knew that place. He also knew the cranky old French lady who owned it. “Ah... Yeah. Menu still the same?”

“As long as Odette is still alive, I doubt she’ll ever let me change anything. ‘Over my dead body, cherie’”. You jokingly imitated her French accent, chuckling to yourself.

Carmen smiled, glad that he’s at least not making a complete fool out of himself now. This was good, he knew this, work and food, those were his safe topics. “Yeah, well... Maybe if she tasted one of these strawberries first, you might convince her.” 

“Huh,” You thought to yourself for a second, imagining your usual grumpy boss overflowing with glee after trying the fruit from your family’s farm. “You know what, I’ve never actually thought of that. Maybe I’ll try it out!” You smile. “You know I’ve been meaning to try and serve some of my pastries there. I’m a huge baking fanatic, but she’s so... Set in her ways. I don’t know if my amateur baking skills could possibly convince her, no matter how tasty the strawberries I use are.”

“Yeah, I know what that’s like...” Carmen thought about his crew, and how much they loved their so called ‘system’. Change was good, change meant progress, but it was also scary. On that part, he didn’t blame her boss for refusing to switch things up. “If you want, I could help you out. I’m a full time chef, so... Always willing to taste test.” He hoped his poorly masked excuse to stay in touch came across as friendly, and not pushy. He always felt like he was overthinking everything when he was trying to socialize, like he was reading off some type of script. Your chipper personality made things a tad easier, at least. 

“Really?” You seem to brighten up even more. Carmen is sure there’s light shining from your face from how excited you look, but he doesn’t mind. It’s amusing, almost... Cute.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. Just uh... Let me know when.” He puts his hands in his pockets.

“Of course!” You pause, realizing he’s probably expecting you to give him some kind of contact information. Unless he was planning to use telepathic communication. You put down the folded table. “Right, sorry, uh...” You laughed awkwardly and pulled out a pen and an old receipt from your back pocket to scribble your number on, before handing it to him. “There we go!” 

Carmen’s eyes went over the number, putting it in his wallet so he wouldn’t forget to save it later. “Cool, cool... So uh, text you later.” He silently cringed at his own words, trying painfully hard to play it cool. 

“Yeah, totally!” Your mom called your name, and you look over your shoulder, seeing her gesture to you to hurry up. “Be right there, mama!” You chuckled. “Sorry, duty calls! But yeah, I’ll hear from you. And if I don’t, I know where you work, Berzatto.” 

He chuckles slightly at your joking threat. “Sure, I’ll hold you to that.” He gives you a curt wave before walking off and letting you go back to work. 

He really hoped you didn’t mean that “threat”. He’d rather die than let you see him at the Beef right when they got such a bad hygiene rating. 

He was laid down on the couch late at night, watching an episode on the food network about an olive farm in Italy. He wondered if your family’s farm was anything like this one, and remembered he hadn’t even saved your number or texted you yet. Carmen rubbed his sleepy eyes and pulled out his phone, saving your number under a new contact and typing out a few quick texts. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, realized he was overthinking it and fell asleep not long after, the sound of an elderly Italian woman speaking on TV in the background.

[unknown]: hey, it’s carmen

[unknown]: guy from the beef

[unknown]: next thursday work for you?

You groaned in your bed, looking over at your phone and cursing yourself for forgetting to turn off your notifications. “The fuck...” Your eyes squinted at the brightness of the screen. A sleepy smile adorned your face when you read his name, saving his contact and texting something back quickly before putting the phone away and going back to sleep.

[y/n]: for sure!

[y/n]: let’s do 4:30 PM? café closes at 4 anyways so we’ll have the kitchen to ourselves :)))

[crimsonstonetranslations]

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo volume 11 - file 01

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo novel translation

Volume 11 - Worth of a Spirit ( prologue )

file 01 - box

-

1 -

Along the sidewalk that stretched next to the river, a group of students could be seen riding their bikes, gliding as they cheerfully conversed with one another. Cynically watching the sight of those students some distance ahead of him, a man stood on the sloped riverbank.

Why did it become like this? If only such a thing had never happened, that girl could’ve been part of that group of students.

Yet fate had other plans, and her bright future had been cruelly snatched away. It wasn't just the girl. The man had lost a lot, too. His future had vanished in an instant.

Still, regret wouldn’t bring back time that had passed. He was forced to lead a life he never wanted for himself. The man stared at the water gates visible in the distance. Exhaling a long sigh, he slowly began to walk.

“Hey. You over there—” A voice could be heard out of nowhere.

At first, the man hadn’t realised that those words had been directed at him. Hence, he continued to walk without stopping or turning around. “Why are you walking away?” said the voice again.

Hearing it the second time, the man eventually realised that the voice had been talking to him. It was the voice of a woman.

The man turned around to find a woman standing there. She was probably in her late twenties. Her hair was long, her body tall and slim, just like a model.

Even so, the man didn’t think of her as beautiful. The aura enveloping said woman felt heavy, perhaps even terrifying.

Besides, looking at her closely, the woman’s left wrist ended in a stump and she was wearing a prosthetic hand. “You’re referring to me?” the man asked back.

“Yes. You—” The woman smiled, flashing her white teeth. The woman was speaking familiarly, yet the man didn’t recognise her. He didn’t understand why this woman reached out to him.

“Um...” “There’s no need to be afraid,” the woman extended her hand and pinched the man’s arm with her fingers.

The man pulled his arm away in reflex. The woman thought the man’s panicked reaction was amusing, laughing in delight. The man suddenly felt embarrassed in response.

“I’ve come to help you,” said the woman. Gusts of wind swayed her long hair. Something smelled sweet. He had no idea whether the smell had originated from this model-like woman's body or it had been carried by the wind from elsewhere.

“Help me? What do you mean?” said the man cautiously. However he thought about it, it was strange for an unfamiliar woman to talk to him like this. This might be the new modus operandi of a sect or some kind of shady organisation.

He knew he should’ve quickly walked away without responding, yet his legs refused to move. Most likely, he was starting to take interest in this woman.

“Right now, you’re trapped in a box,” said the woman. “A box—”

What was this woman talking about? At this point in time, he was moving about freely. He wasn’t inside any box.

“Yes. I’m not talking about physically.” “Then, what are you talking about?”

“About—here.” The woman lightly pressed on the man’s chest with her finger.

Even though she wasn’t using much strength, the man lost his footing and staggered backwards. The place where the woman had touched felt hot. Heat that was accompanied by pain—

“I’ll show it just for you,” said the woman happily as she placed the bag she had been carrying on the ground and swiftly took something out of it. It was a wooden box the size of a cremation urn—

Perhaps made out of kiri wood. The box looked expensive. Just what could be inside of it?

“Would you like to know the contents?” the woman asked as if she could read his mind. At the sight of the woman’s alluring face, the man began to feel rather than as if, his mind was genuinely being read by the woman.

“I’ll show it to you just for a bit,” said the woman, touching the front side of the box. Apparently, the front part of the box was slidable.

After pausing as if to watch his reaction, the woman slowly shifted the front side of the box. The box’s contents became exposed.

However, the man didn’t know what it was at first. Not because it was dark or something.

What laid within the box was beyond his imagination, it took some time before he could comprehend it. Inside the box—

Was a bottle. A large, cylindrical bottle, typically used for brewing homemade plum wine.

Inside, the bottle was filled with liquid. Had that been all, he wouldn’t need to be surprised.

Even so— Within the liquid was a floating human head.

The skin was swollen and while one could recognize that it was a human’s, it was no longer in a state to distinguish whether it was a man or a woman. Long, black hair that belonged to the face inside the bottle swayed inside the liquid.

Is that a real human head? The man immediately got rid of the question inside his mind.

No. That would be impossible. No one would put a human head into a bottle and then carry it everywhere with a box. It was probably just a meticulously crafted doll head. No doubt about it, someone must’ve intended to scare him by doing an excessive prank such as this.

The voice inside his head tried to convince him that way. Despite that, his heart refused to accept it. Not his sense of reason, but his gut feeling telling him that head wasn’t fake. “He is my beloved person—” said the woman with a tranced expression.

Beloved person? In other words, after the person she loved had passed away, this woman couldn’t forget about him and carried his head everywhere she went?

Was this akin to the Abe Sada case, who had murdered her lover and had brought his manhood everywhere with her? “Wrong,” said the woman, shaking her head.

“Eh?” “He isn’t dead yet,” she said.

Again. This woman could read his mind yet again. “Not dead yet?”

“That’s right. He’s still alive—” Reacting to the woman’s words, the eyelids of the head inside the bottle began to move.

The pair of wide open eyes were stained as red as blazing flame— -

2 -

Saitou Yakumo felt the gaze as he read a book in the Movie Research Circle clubroom. A gaze that felt too powerful to be mere imagination.

He sighed deeply while slipping a bookmark into the paperback book he was in the middle of reading. Placing the book on the table, he lifted his face. A woman had been standing at the doorway of his room for an unknown amount of time.

She was frail with a small stature. With her head lowered, her face wasn’t visible, but she appeared to be around the same age as him. There hadn’t been anyone earlier where the woman was now standing. The door was also closed the entire time. Even if he had been engrossed in reading, it would be impossible for anyone to have entered without him noticing at all.

“What brings you here?“ Yakumo tried to ask, but she gave no reply.

The woman simply stood there without moving an inch. Yakumo then tried covering his left eye with his left palm.

Along with it, the woman’s figure disappeared. As if she’d never been there in the first place— With a small sigh, Yakumo put away his left hand and the woman’s figure returned to his field of vision.

So it’s true, he mumbled inside. Yakumo’s left eye had been red from birth.

Not just red in colour, it also allowed him to see beings that an average person couldn’t see. Spirits of the dead—in other words, ghosts. The fact that she was only visible to his left eye meant the woman before his eyes was no living human, but a ghost.

All because of his red eye, Yakumo had endured countless suffering thus far. Humans would feel reassured if they were the same as their fellow peers. They felt safe when obscured within a group.

Yakumo didn’t intend to criticise that fact. For the kind of people who chose to form society based on groups, such a thing was inevitable.

However— Such a decision had another side to it. Without mercy, they would reject those who were different from them.

Yakumo’s red left eye had been a target of that rejection. “Disgusting.”

“What’s with that eye?” “Don’t come any closer, you monster.”

He had no idea just how many hurtful words he had been subjected to because of his red left eye. Having received such a treatment countless times, Yakumo realised he couldn’t be with other people.

Ostracised from the group and forced into solitude, Yakumo had chosen to build a wall around his heart, shutting himself inside as means of self-defence. As he became a middle school student, he had used a black contact lens to conceal his red left eye such that his outward appearance wouldn’t be feared.

Yet, doing so hadn’t put his heart at ease. He had merely been hiding it. The fact that his left eye was different from others had remained unchanged. Besides, the thought that his secret might get exposed kept him anxious.

He couldn’t blend well with others despite already concealing his red left eye. Because he knew that people would ostracise him as an abnormality once they discovered the truth.

In the end, Yakumo stayed away from getting too involved with others and chose to be alone. Of course, his differing appearance hadn’t been the only reason he had suffered.

Being able to see deceased spirits that others couldn’t on the daily in itself was a form of suffering. The world of the living and the realm of the dead—constantly being able to see both caused the barrier between the two to blur, until he himself saw his own existence as something dangerous.

Spirits lingered after their death because they had unusual attachments left in this world, often negative emotions such as anger, hatred, jealousy, or envy. While Yakumo could see them, he couldn’t do anything despite being blatantly exposed to such unpleasant emotions.

It wasn’t something he could handle all by himself. Living while pretending not to see and not to hear was hard enough of a struggle.

Hence, it hadn’t taken long before Yakumo considered his red left eye to be a curse. That eye had made him feel like he was being tied down. During middle school, he had even tried to gouge his own left eye out with a cutter, unable to bear it anymore.

And yet in that state, countless people had saved him. The parents who had raised him, as well as his uncle, Isshin, continued to watch over Yakumo in whatever situation there may be. Without that man’s kindness, Yakumo might have ended his own life ages ago.

Nao, his little sister from another mother who would always greet him with a smile. That sincerity of Nao’s had saved him more than just once or twice. The detective who had rescued Yakumo when he had nearly been killed by his own mother, Gotou, was also among those who had helped him. He had been involving Yakumo in various spiritual cases over and over to help Yakumo in facing spirits of the dead. While his methods could get warped and clumsy, he had always shared Yakumo’s pain.

And— The person who had described the red left eye he hated so much as beautiful, Haruka—

When he had heard that word directed at his red eye, for the first time in his life, Yakumo had felt accepted, that he was allowed to live. That singular word had completely changed his worldview.

Haruka had also been the one who had told Yakumo that his red left eye and its ability to see spirits of the dead hadn’t been a curse, but a light to save others instead. The list goes on. Akemi, his teacher who had passed. Detective Ishii, newspaper journalist Makoto—he had received countless help that it would be impossible to address each and every one.

Yakumo had intended to be solitary, but reality was otherwise. He simply hadn’t noticed all the people concerned for him because of the wall surrounding his heart. He had realised the fact thanks to the drastic transformation of his world caused by Haruka’s influence.

Through all the help he had received, Yakumo had learned to make use of that unique ability of his. Now, he could lead his life without needing to hide his red left eye.

That was why— “Why did you come here?” asked Yakumo to the woman.

Why did the woman before his eyes wander this earth? If he knew that reason, he might be able to save her soul. Will that really save her?

A question emerged in Yakumo’s mind.  So far, spirits of the dead would disappear once their ties had been severed. And yet, Yakumo himself had no idea where they disappeared to.

Just where did they all go? What was death like, really?

What would actually become of spirits, or that so-called consciousness? Yakumo could only see the spirits that lingered about this world. He couldn’t so much as imagine what the world beyond that would be like.

Perhaps for those spirits, a wandering existence might just be a happier one. Yakumo shook his head several times to get rid of that thinking.

Save the unnecessary thoughts for later. For now, he should listen to what the figure before him had to say. Yakumo took another look at the woman.

Her head remained lowered, obscuring her face and expression. Was the emotion she harboured that of anger, hatred, or jealousy—he couldn’t identify it well, but he could feel just how powerful that emotion was.

“Help…” said the woman as she lifted her gaze slightly. “Help?”

“Please. Help me…” “What do you mean by helping you?” asked Yakumo.

The woman’s lips showed a slight movement. She wanted to express something, yet her body had disappeared before that. He grew frustrated.

This always happens. Spirits of the dead weren’t present as an object the way living humans do. Their existence was unstable and would become unmaintainable over the slightest change, just like a reflection on a water surface.

But was the instability of their existence really to blame? Perhaps it could be the fact that only Yakumo’s left eye was red. If only both his eyes were red, he might be able to see their existence more clearly.

Having thought that far, the face of a certain man came to his mind. The face of Yakumo’s father, Unkai. Both of his eyes were red and could see spirits of the dead just like Yakumo.

Even so, Unkai hadn’t used that ability to help them. He had taken advantage of others’ weakness, manipulating them, and had led them to destruction. Unkai had passed away, yet he was obsessed with living and had lingered in this world as a spirit, all the while aiming for Yakumo.

He intended to use Yakumo as a replacement for his body that was no longer in his possession. Unkai had defined bodies as a box that could be filled in with a soul. That was how he had come up with such a twisted idea.

Yakumo sighed deeply. He had no idea who that woman was and what she had tried to say. Nevertheless, having known her existence, Yakumo couldn’t ignore her.

He would never have imagined that he would be having thoughts like this. To think that nosy trait of Haruka’s might have rubbed on him—

It made Yakumo smile unknowingly. -

3 -

Gotou Kazutoshi went through the temple gates with a crutch. After passing the main temple, the man continued walking until he arrived in front of the entrance to the living quarters.

He hadn’t been back for three weeks. Hence, as soon as he was home, he felt just how much he had missed it. Gotou had been involved in a case and had been hit by a car. He had been unconscious and had to undergo treatment in the hospital for a while. After he had gotten permission from the doctor in charge, he could finally go home today.

The cast on his leg had yet to be taken off and he was still bandaged all over. Despite that, based on how he could go home by himself like this, he had more or less healed. Even the doctor had been surprised by his recovery.

“I’m back,” said Gotou as he opened the entrance door. That instant, his daughter Nao ran in full speed, jumping to embrace the man. Gotou nearly fell over.

His wounds stung a little, but that pain immediately disappeared. Whilst stroking Nao’s head, he became immersed in the reality that he had come home safely. During the case that had occurred three weeks ago, Gotou had gotten hit by a car after chasing Nao who had then disappeared whilst being possessed.

He had imagined the worst would happen. Therefore, the fact that they could touch each other like this was an incredibly joyous occasion. Nao wasn’t Gotou’s biological daughter. He had adopted her.

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t had any concerns when adopting Nao. Thoughts of whether he could love Nao who had no blood relation to him had come to his mind more than just once or twice. However, that recent incident had made him understand. Whatever blood ran through her veins, to Gotou, Nao was his daughter.

“Oh, you really came home by yourself?” his wife Atsuko said in disbelief. Atsuko had offered to pick up Gotou upon his discharge from the hospital, but that offer had been rejected outright.

The man had felt embarrassed at the idea of a grown man such as him needing to be picked up. Besides, he had wanted to confirm how much he had recovered. “Yeah.”

“Are you really fine now?” “I managed to come home all by myself, didn’t I? Don’t worry, I’m good now.”

“Good grief,” said Atsuko yet again with a smile, still partly in doubt. “There, Nao. If you don’t let go of Dad, he can’t get inside, you know,” she said, pulling Nao’s hand. Nao’s hearing was impaired. Yet despite not being able to hear Atsuko’s words, she seemed to have read the situation and let go of Gotou.

Gotou took his shoes off and smiled as he entered the house. Earlier, Atsuko had referred to him as ‘Dad’. The word which he had just experienced for the first time tingled in his ears.

He never would have guessed the day he would be addressed as such would ever arrive, but he was overjoyed. Gotou entered the sitting room in a good mood, but that feeling was destroyed instantly.

“Looks like you got discharged from the hospital safely,” said the man sipping tea in the sitting room—Eishin. Eishin was a monk and an old man pushing his eighties. Despite this, his sturdy physique didn’t reflect his age and he was in such good health, it was irritating.

A monk of significant position who handled matters in this area, yet to Gotou, the old man was merely a pest. “Why are you here?” asked Gotou in displeasure.

Even though Gotou had been in a good mood just now, Eishin had to make it all disappear. “I have some business with you.” Eishin smiled in satisfaction.

“I have no business with the likes of you,” Gotou denied firmly as he sat on an empty spot. “Don’t be mean like that. How narrowhearted of you.”

“Shut up! Nothing good ever comes out of being involved with you.” The case that had led to Gotou being hit by a car had also come from Eishin.

Without Eishin, the case would’ve happened regardless, but that wasn’t the issue. Not just the last case alone, misfortune had always befell Gotou while being with Eishin. “Go away soon,” Gotou said as he swayed his hand. 

Yet Eishin didn’t move. Gotou had known by now that Eishin was thick-skinned. “You sure you want to act like that towards me?” Eishin threatened with a smile rich in meaning.

Gotou felt a horrible premonition. “What do you mean?” he asked in return.

Eishin’s smile grew wider. “Just under whose permission are you living here?” Always the sharp-mouthed grandpa.

Being told that, Gotou couldn’t deny anything. Gotou’s family currently lived in the temple’s living quarters. A place that normally forbade those who weren’t monks, like Gotou and his family, from residing there.

Gotou, Atsuko, and Nao could live peacefully like this thanks to Eishin’s influence. Gotou had only recently left the police force and switched jobs to become a private detective, so his income wasn’t stable. Furthermore, he had no savings, so getting kicked out from there meant the entire family would be out in the streets. “Damn monk,” Gotou could only say so bitterly. While completely reluctant, he didn’t seem to have a choice but to listen to what business Eishin had with him.

Atsuko took the initiative of bringing Nao out of the sitting room. “So, what business do you have?” said Gotou, glaring at Eishin.

Honestly, without asking he more or less had an idea on Eishin's purpose of visit. “Oh, so you’re willing to listen at last?” Eishin clasped his hands together as if he’d just remembered.

What an obvious display. “Actually, one of the families supporting the temple asked for help. Apparently, their daughter is being disturbed by a spiritual phenomena.”

I knew it. As Gotou had suspected, it appeared that Eishin wanted Gotou to resolve a spiritual phenomena.

After quitting the police force, Gotou had been working as a private detective specialising in spiritual phenomena. Maybe he should listen to Eishin’s story with enthusiasm as it practically meant he was getting a job, nevertheless, he couldn’t feel happy about it.

If an incident were to occur like before, he might actually lose his life this time. “I refuse!” Gotou said harshly.

“You should decide after listening,” “Once I’ve listened to it, I won’t be able to ignore it,” stressed Gotou.

“Right,” Eishin put his hands together. “In that case, I should jump straight into telling it.” “I’m saying…” interrupted Gotou, yet his conversation partner ignored him and began speaking. As it turned out, he had unknowingly said something he shouldn't have.

At this point, he was forced to give in. “She’s called Nakamoto-san. She has a daughter in high school named Sana-san. It seems that Sana-san had seen a ghost.”

“The ghost appeared at home?” “No. She said she had seen it on her way home from school.”

“On her way home?” “That’s right. On the sidewalk alongside Tama River, near the water gates.”

“Ah. Over there...” Gotou knew that water gate.

He’d been there previously due to a case. It was impossible for him to forget that place as he had experienced something troubling there. “Apparently she saw a girl standing there.”

“Was it really a ghost?” Gotou spontaneously displayed his doubts. That kid wasn’t Yakumo. If she had merely seen a girl standing, she shouldn’t have been able to tell whether that had been a ghost or not.

“I had the same thought. That was why I asked about it in more detail.” “Then, how was it?”

“In a season like this, the girl she had seen had been drenched from head to toe, even though it hadn’t been raining—” Certainly, that would be strange.

It didn’t seem plausible for someone to jump into a river in the middle of winter such as now. Even if it was summertime, a girl standing around while drenched would still be odd. However—

“Maybe she had seen her after the girl had just got out of the river after falling in by accident?” “Said daughter who had claimed to see a ghost had thought so too at first. Hence, she had asked the girl, ‘are you alright?’ Something along those lines,”

“And then she had disappeared?” asked Gotou. Eishin shook his head. “She hadn’t disappeared.”

“So, what then?” “After asking her that question, the drenched girl had spoken in a trembling voice.”

“What did she say?” “I never wanted that—she said.”

“Never wanted that? Never wanted what?” “I don’t know either. There was still more to the story, though,”

“More?” Eishin didn’t continue his story immediately.

He added a pause to pique Gotou’s curiosity before opening his mouth. “The events at the time had ended there. But ever since that night, she said the drenched girl had been constantly standing outside her window.” “That’s—”

Scary. The image of a drenched girl came into Gotou’s mind.

“Furthermore, the distance grew lesser over time.” “Is that really the case?”

“At first, she had only seen the figure of a human. After three days, she had come to realise that the figure belonged to that girl,” “......”

“She claimed that the drenched girl had now arrived all the way in front of her home.” “Left the way it is, she might eventually enter her room, is that it?” asked Gotou. Eishin nodded firmly.

A ghost that drew closer with each passing day—simply imagining it was terrifying enough. It made Gotou understand why the family had hoped for a monk’s assistance. Even so—

“What will happen if the ghost enters her room?” asked Gotou. Eishin tilted his head. “I have no idea either.”

In horror movies, she might get dragged into purgatory once the ghost entered her room, but those were merely works of fiction. Following the theory that Yakumo had frequently mentioned, ghosts were clusters of human emotions with no physical influence whatsoever.

Put another way, even if the ghost got inside the room, nothing would happen. Still—

Ignoring her would be too pitiful. The girl must be restless out of fear for the ghost that was closing in day by day. It wouldn’t harm her physically, yet her mental state might be burdened.

“Well, that’s how the story goes. So, why don’t we go over there and hear her out directly at least?” said Eishin, grinning wide. “Fine by me, but will we be able to handle it?”

That was the primary concern. “If the case turns out to be tough, we can just rely on Yakumo as always,” Eishin said with no filter.

Gotou disliked the old man’s trait of constantly throwing the responsibility to someone else. Yet he had no way to deny it, as Gotou had begun work as a private detective specialising in spiritual phenomena with the same idea in mind. “Geez. How carefree,” Gotou grumbled as he sighed.

- 4

- Ishii Yuutarou looked up at the house before him, swallowing his saliva until his throat made an audible sound.

A Western-style building two stories high, with brick walls and ornamental decor on its window frames and doors, the house had to be elegant back in the day. There was a reason to say ‘back in the day’.

According to the information, this house had been empty for about two years. With the windows dirty, its interior wasn’t visible, while the front door and rain gutters had rusted into discoloration. Half-dried vines crept up along its walls. Weeds grew lush in the garden to knee-length height. The olive tree next to the house had grown so uncontrollably that its branches covered the entire house.

The house emanated an aura that those who enter would find themselves cursed. Rustle, rustle—

“Eek—!” The abrupt noise going into his ears made Ishii shriek as he jumped. Then came the caws of a crow.

It had been nothing but the sound of a crow flying away from the garden of that house. “So jumpy,” said his superior next to him, Miyagawa Hideya, poking his head lightly.

While small in stature, Miyagawa had a bald head and a sharp gaze. Witnessing his figure dressed in formalwear, he appeared more like a member of the yakuza instead of the police. This place might not be scary for Miyagawa, but it was different for Ishii.

He had a keen interest in books and everything related to the occult: ghosts, monsters, UFOs, UMAs, legends and the like. There had even been times when he became engrossed in such literature during his pastime. Despite that, he merely enjoyed them as reading materials and nothing more.

Having to experience them first-hand was a completely different story. Ever since he had gotten involved with his former superior Gotou, and the university student who could see ghosts, Yakumo, he had witnessed many spiritual cases and thought he had built up a resistance over it by now, but such wasn’t the case after all.

Scary things would remain scary regardless. “B-b-but… if there’s really a ghost…”

“There’s no way,” said Miyagawa, poking Ishii’s head yet again. Why Miyagawa could be so convinced, Ishii didn’t understand in the slightest.

It had all begun three hours ago— A call had connected to the Unsolved Cases Special Investigations Division, where Ishii and Miyagawa were part of.

They had received consecutive reports of a ghost appearing in the vicinity of a luxury home, so they came onsite to check. Their division was impressive in name alone, as their main workload was to sort the paperwork of old cases, abandoned after they had been left unsolved. Instances where their work had been ridiculed and looked down upon hadn’t been unusual.

As a result, troublesome matters such as this were often handed to them. “Anyway, let’s go check,” said Miyagawa, pushing the metal gates to the house open without minding Ishii’s feelings.

The squeaking noise of rusted metal rubbing against each other sounded unpleasant. Ishii wanted to just wait outside, but doing that would be considered neglect of one’s work. Scraping out all the courage from the depths of his heart, Ishii then walked following Miyagawa.

Weeds brushed against his legs. Upon closer observation, the walls were cracked all over, looking like they might collapse any minute now.

So the saying that houses would turn decrepit in the absence of an inhabitant was really true. However, abandoned buildings such as this weren’t uncommon. In recent times, many houses have become desolate and unmaintained because of inheritance problems or from families choosing to only live with their nuclear family members.

The house Ishii and Miyagawa were about to enter was among those abandoned houses. With a little investigation, they had found out that the woman who had owned the house had passed away about two years ago, and her next-of-kin hadn’t come forward afterwards, so the house had been left as it was.

Strange. Ishii sensed something off.

The old woman used to live here alone. If a ghost were to appear, it should’ve been the ghost of that old woman. Yet the testimonies of witnesses who had seen the ghost had claimed that the ghost had been of a middle school girl.

Thinking in that direction, most likely they had mistaken what they had seen. Ishii convinced himself with said thought to gain his courage. “Let’s go in,” Miyagawa mumbled before reaching for the doorknob of the front door.

He turned the doorknob, pulled it, and the door opened with the creaking sound of something being dragged. The entryway was spacious and across from it extended a long corridor.

It was dark even though it was daytime. Whether the place had been built like this or the overgrown tree branches were in the way of sunlight— Whichever it was, Ishii felt as if time flowed differently inside this house.

“What an eerie place,” Miyagawa grumbled as he went in with his shoes still on. Ishii was briefly on the fence about taking off his shoes, but upon seeing all the dust accumulating on the floor, he immediately went after Miyagawa.

Miyagawa went along the corridor and opened a door to his right. It seemed to be the living room; its floor covered in carpet, along with a sofa, a table, as well as a fireplace.

They must’ve looked luxurious in the past, yet they were all dusty and worn down now. “There’s no one here,” Miyagawa set his eyes across the entire room.

“You’re right. Let’s head back.” “What are you even saying?”

Miyagawa poked his head for the third time. “B-but…”

“No buts. There are still a lot of other rooms. Let’s split up and check them all.” It had been Miyagawa’s strength to maintain his enthusiasm over work despite all the complaints. Unlike Ishii who wanted them to just go home right now.

“I’ll check the second floor. You check the other rooms on the first floor,” ordered Miyagawa before directly ascending the stairs without waiting for Ishii’s reply. Ishii knew it would be more efficient to split up, yet he was afraid of going around the first floor by himself. Still, he doubted he would get away with a mere poke in the head if he continued to stay still at a place like this.

It’s fine! There’s nothing! Reassuring himself that way, he opened the door to the room across the living room.

It was a Japanese-style room with an area of around eight tatami. He would never have imagined there would be a tatami room in a Western-style building such as this. Compared to the living room from earlier, there was nothing here. “Nothing’s here,” said Ishii, closing the door without going inside.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, he walked through the corridor and stood before the door at the end of the hall. He only needed to check this room, afterwards all that was left would be the toilet and bathroom. Ishii slowly pushed the door until it opened.

The creaking noise whenever he opened a door creeped him out every time. The room to which he had pushed the door open was a room ten tatami large. The floor was covered in red carpet, and placed in the middle of the room was a bed that looked like ones used to care for the ill.

Next to it was a wheelchair and a few tools that appeared to be medical equipment, though he had no idea of their exact purpose. The owner of this house had been an old woman. Perhaps she had lived out her final days whilst being looked after in this room.

As he thought that— A strange sound was caught by his ears.

Fu fu fu. He didn’t know what sound it was at first.

Fu fu fu fu. The sound could be heard again.

By this point, Ishii realised what the sound was. It was—

The sound of laughter. He had thought there was a group of people chattering outside at first, but that wasn’t the case. The sound just now had clearly originated from inside the room.

So the stories of a ghost girl appearing around here had been true after all. “Hey—”

In contrast to the laughter from before, this voice sounded crystal clear. I mustn’t look.

That was the command instructed by his brain, yet against the wishes of his thoughts, his body turned in the direction where the voice had come from. “Eek!”

Ishii froze in place. There should’ve been no one just now. Yet he didn’t know how long a girl had been sitting on the bed, staring into Ishii as she swung her legs back and forth.

She was smiling innocently and casually, but Ishii found it extremely terrifying. “Hey, tell me where?” asked the girl with a smile.

Ishii fell sitting down from all the shock. The next second, the girl hopped down from the bed and walked towards Ishii.

I need to run, he thought, yet his body couldn’t move an inch. “Gyaaa!”

Ishii screamed with all his strength. -

5 -

Ozawa Haruka stood in front of the last door on the first floor of the two-storey prefabricated building behind building B. This building was lent out by the university to be used as clubrooms for student circles and organisational activities.

A plate with the words <Movie Research Circle> hung at the door before Haruka. In reality, such a circle didn’t exist.

The owner of this room—a university student named Saitou Yakumo—had filled out some paperwork, tricking the university so that he could turn this room into his place of residence. “Hey—” greeted Haruka as she opened the door.”

“It’s you,” said Yakumo who was sitting on a chair lazily. His face may be good looking, yet his messed up hair and heavily drooping eyelids like someone fresh out of bed made him appear sloppy.

His appearance, paying no heed to the season with the white shirt and jeans, further supported that impression. “You’re so cold even though I came all the way to visit,” grumbled Haruka who then sat on the folding chair in front of Yakumo.

Though Haruka commented on his attitude being cold, there was a vast improvement compared to before. Previously, the words ‘it’s you’ used to be preceded by an unpleasantly said ‘oh’. Yakumo wouldn’t even look at Haruka’s face.

When they had just met, the man had been acting like an unsociable, eccentric character, but he slowly began to change over time. He no longer hid his red left eye with a black contact lens as he had before, and his words towards Haruka had become slightly more amicable.

Especially since the events of the last case, said tendency felt more prominent than ever. On the topic of that case, Haruka had unknowingly said something that resembled a confession towards Yakumo.

After saying such a thing, Yakumo should’ve taken notice of Haruka’s feelings. However, he had yet to give any reply in response.

At some point, Yakumo had seemed to want to express it, though his words had remained vague in the end. Haruka herself didn’t want to forcefully demand an answer.

She was comfortable with the distance they had now: more than friends yet less than lovers. Honestly, though, she was scared of hearing Yakumo's true feelings. If Yakumo were to say he wanted them to remain as friends or that he only saw her like a little sister—Haruka wouldn’t have the confidence to get back on her feet.

“I don’t recall ever asking you to come,” said Yakumo, interrupting Haruka’s daydream. “I don’t recall being asked either,” Haruka puffed out her chest.

Back then she could only quietly endure Yakumo’s insults, but recently she was able to talk back. Perhaps that meant the one who had changed wasn’t Yakumo, but Haruka herself. “You’ve got nothing to do?” asked Yakumo as he held back a yawn.

“Yup. Nothing.” said Haruka straightforwardly. “That’s not something to brag about,” said Yakumo in disbelief, but Haruka felt she had the right to be proud.

She had passed the qualification test to become a teacher and had landed a job that would start in the upcoming April. She had also gained enough academic credits to graduate. Only thing left to be done was to finish her undergraduate thesis. Despite her involvement in various cases, she had proven to carry out her tasks diligently.

When Haruka expressed that with enthusiasm, Yakumo let out a long sigh. “That doesn’t mean you have to come here. You can go on a graduation trip or do part-time work, there are various things you can do.”

Yakumo’s words had a point. Her university days wouldn’t remain for much longer. Spending time with friends was also important. However, to Haruka, the time she spent with Yakumo was just as irreplaceable.

After graduation, she wouldn’t be able to carefreely visit Yakumo like this anymore. While she hadn’t heard of Yakumo’s plans after graduation, whatever it may be, the fact remained that the distance between them would grow wider. This room may be barren with nothing but a table, some chairs, a fridge and a sleeping bag, yet Haruka’s most unforgettable memories throughout her campus life was of this room, where she had met Yakumo for the first time.

If only she hadn’t met Yakumo back then—surely Haruka’s university days would’ve been completely different. And not just her university days. Her life itself would have changed.

Her encounter with Yakumo had led to her involvement in all sorts of cases. Her life had been put in danger more than just once or twice. Yet the truth remained that she had gained a lot from it.

Haruka had also gotten to know people she would never have met, had she led the average university life. Throughout those meetings, she had learned many things and had created memories too many to count.

That was why, as much as possible, Haruka wished to spend what few university days she had left in this room. “Don’t worry, I’ve already got plans to go on a graduation trip. I’ve also been studying in preparation for my job.”

“Good to hear that you have a lot of plans. My bad although you came all the way, but I have things to do as well,” Yakumo held back a yawn as he slowly stood up before putting on the coat that had been hanging over the backrest of the chair. “You’re going somewhere?” said Haruka, to which Yakumo frowned in response.

He appeared to debate whether to talk about it. “I want to investigate something for a bit,” said Yakumo, scratching the tip of his nose.

“Investigate something?” “A spiritual phenomenon.”

Courtesy of Yakumo’s unique ability, he had often received requests in regards to spiritual cases. Haruka too had met Yakumo because she had wanted to ask him to solve a spiritual case.

Ever since then, Haruka had often brought him spiritual cases, earning the label of troublemaker from Yakumo, but lately the number of cases she brought had dropped significantly. “Did Gotou-san ask for your help?”

Aside from Haruka, the person who had often brought spiritual cases to Yakumo was undoubtedly Gotou. “No.”

“Then, was it Ishii-san, or Makoto-san?” “That’s not it either,” Yakumo shook his head.

“So, a new person’s request?” Rumours that Yakumo was an expert in spiritual cases had spread widely enough within and outside the campus.

Someone must have heard about it and had come to seek his assistance. “It’s not a request.”

“Eh?” Yakumo, investigating a spiritual case without being asked? What’s the meaning of this?

Unable to comprehend it, Haruka tilted her head, causing Yakumo to let out a bitter laugh. After going silent for some time, Yakumo scratched his nape and began talking. “Last night, a ghost showed up in my room—”

“The ghost came here?” “That’s right.”

“Who was it?” “The face wasn’t clearly visible. Only thing I know is that it was a female ghost. Just that...”

“What?” “To me, she looked like she was suffering greatly.”

“Suffering...” “Yeah. I don’t know the specifics, but she seemed to be harbouring a deep sorrow—that was how it felt.” Yakumo narrowed his eyes, staring somewhere far.

Maybe he was picturing the image of the ghost that had appeared the night before. “And so you want to do something for her,”

“Well, I might have caught some of your nosiness…” Yakumo turned his face away and ruffled his bedhead hair. Watching the sight of the man before her, the corners of Haruka’s eyes grew hot and without realising, her tears nearly fell.

Is that so— Yakumo could understand the feelings of the ghost he had happened to see and had taken it upon himself to help without being requested by anyone.

All this time Yakumo had always hated his red left eye. He had even deemed his red eye as a curse. That was why he had remained passive over spiritual cases and had refused to be involved. Only after much convincing from the people around him would he reluctantly take action.

Despite so— Now Yakumo was willing to look into a spiritual case without anyone asking him to.

This was a first. During the previous case, Yakumo had called the man with two red eyes, his biological father and subject of hatred this entire time—Unkai—using the word ‘father’.

Perhaps Yakumo might have been able to accept his existence in a positive light ever since. He might have started to believe that his left red eye wasn’t a curse, but rather a power that could bring salvation. Hence, he was willing to face the ghost out of his own volition.

“I’m going too.” Haruka said so without so much as thinking.

- 6

- “Please help…” asked the woman sitting in front of her with a ghastly pale face.

Her hair was unkempt, her eyes bloodshot, and her skin was noticeably dry. She appeared to be exhausted. This woman had reached out to Hijikata Makoto yesterday.

To be more precise, she had sent a message through the enquiry form on the website of the newspaper company Makoto was working for. It contained a request for help over being followed by a ghost.

Normally, a newspaper company wouldn’t have acted upon receiving such a message. They wouldn’t respond or would merely advise the sender to make a police report. Yet for some reason, this case had landed on Makoto’s lap.

The reasoning was obvious. In the office, Makoto had been labelled as an occult lover.

Unfortunately, Makoto hadn’t acquired that label out of love for the occult. She had merely ended up being involved in such cases ever since she had encountered a university student who could see spirits of the dead—Saitou Yakumo.

Because of that, her image at the workplace had become odd, and the person who had seen the message had passed it to Makoto half jokingly. She could’ve just refused, but Makoto had chosen to meet up with the message sender.

It would be easy to dismiss being followed by a ghost as a ridiculous, laughable thing, yet based on her experience so far, such a story could end up becoming an unexpected case. That was the reason she had contacted the message sender and had requested her to come down to her workplace meeting room.

“Could you explain what happened in detail?” asked Makoto, and the woman nodded. Even so, she didn’t speak immediately. Perhaps this woman was still somewhat panicked. At times like this, urging her wouldn’t be a good idea.

Makoto waited until the woman had calmed back down. Some time passed before the woman spoke in a dwindling voice, “I found something strange...”

“Something strange?” “At our university there’s an archival facility that is about to be renovated, so some of the documents stored there are to be relocated to an old warehouse across the road from it,” the woman said in rapid fire out of fear.

But at the sudden mention of ‘our university’ and ‘archival facility’, Makoto couldn’t follow the story at all. She hadn’t even learned the name of this person speaking to her. She might have made a mistake in asking her to talk in detail straight away.

“Wait a minute. I suppose I got the order wrong. First of all, could you introduce yourself?” said Makoto to restart. “Sorry. My name is Yasui Maki. I’m a student at Meisei University majoring in medicine.”

Her voice had grown calmer than before. Meisei University, where Makoto’s acquaintances—Yakumo and Haruka—studied was a university notorious for its difficulty. All the more when it came to its faculty of medicine.

“Majoring in medicine? How impressive,” “Not at all,”

“The archival facility you mentioned, was it the one at the western gate of Meisei University?” Makoto asked, and Maki nodded. Makoto had never set foot at Meisei University’s archival facility, though she knew of the location.

The place had been used as a laboratory by the Japanese ground forces during the war, and according to rumours, weapons and the raw materials used to create them had been discovered there. Among them were objects deemed problematic from the perspective of both humanitarian and international law. Truly a dark relic of the past. Despite that, Meisei University maintained part of the building as an anti-war message for citizens of the future, transforming it into an archival facility.

Aside from the structure that had been made into an archival building, there was another building that had used to be a lab and now became a warehouse. Having been built in the beginning of the Showa era, the building had aged quite a bit. Renovations of the archival facility might have also been planned because the building had weathered from its age.

“So, you were helping to relocate documents from the archival facility to the warehouse for temporary storage, right?” asked Makoto. Maki then gave a nod. It wasn’t uncommon to enlist the help of their own university students to reduce labour costs.

“There were quite a number of items and the work continued until late into the night… That was when someone found a door in the warehouse.” “A door?”

“Yes. Not your typical vertical door on the wall. It was on the floor. Like a basement...” “And then you guys opened that door?” asked Makoto.

Maki’s expression turned worse. “Yes. I was against it, but Shinozaki-kun was insistent…” “Only the two of you went inside?”

Maki shook her head before saying, “No. I think there were six people in total.” “And then?”

“After opening the door, there was a ladder leading down to the basement, and everyone descended there. Down the ladder was a large room.” “What’s the interior like?”

“There were a few shelves on the wall, and aside from documents, there were rows of medicine bottles.” “Like a doctor's examination room?”

“Slightly different from that. There was an old operating table too. It felt like an operating theatre or an autopsy room...” Could it have been one of the facilities used by the Japanese ground forces?

Makoto had that thought initially, but she set the idea aside immediately. If the strange object the woman had mentioned in the beginning had been there since wartime, it had to have been at least eighty years of age. For it to remain there untouched felt unnatural. “I see.”

“Then, there was where we found something peculiar.” “Something peculiar?”

“A box—” said Maki in a trembling voice. “A box?”

Makoto tilted her head in confusion. “Yes. There was a box. It was made out of metal and was rusted here and there, shaped like a coffin.”

“......” “That wasn’t all. The box was covered in lots of talismans.”

A box plastered with many talismans— “Certainly, that would be odd.”

“Furthermore, there were letters carved onto the lid,” said Maki, leaning her body forward. “What sort of letters?”

“Take a look.” Maki took out her phone from inside her bag, and after operating it for some time she handed the phone so that Makoto could see.

The phone screen displayed a single photo. It must’ve been taken using a flash in a dark room. The box Maki had mentioned was captured there with a bluish white light shining over it.

Makoto could also see the countless talismans pasted against the box. Yet the crucial detail that was the engraved letters couldn’t be seen clearly. Maki, seemingly having read Makoto’s mind, operated her phone to zoom into a particular section of the photo.

Indeed, some letters had been carved there.

This box shouldn’t be opened.

The letters had to have been carved using a sharp object. The box was fairly old and the carved area also appeared to have rusted. “Maki-san, did you see the inside of this box?”

Maki grimaced. “I didn’t see what was inside, but…” she said, covering her face with both hands. Just what had she gone through?

The time spent waiting for her answer felt unusually long to Makoto. -

7 -

“So, where do we start?” Haruka asked Yakumo, who was leaving the Movie Research Circle clubroom. Though they intended to investigate the spiritual phenomenon together, Haruka wouldn’t be able to make a move without knowing exactly what she needed to do.

“That’s the troublesome part,” said Yakumo, scratching his head in annoyance. “Troublesome?”

“As I said earlier, I saw the ghost, but her face was unclear. I could predict her age, but that was all.” “So, you wanted to look into the ghost’s identity, but you don’t have enough clues to do so,” said Haruka, and Yakumo laughed.

“What’s so funny?” “You can finally use your head a little,“ said Yakumo as he placed a hand on top of Haruka’s head.

His words just now were implying as if Haruka had never used her head all this time. Though annoyed, Haruka set aside her desire to retaliate. After all, that had indeed been the case from time to time.

There was a part of her that didn’t try to think for herself, always relying on Yakumo to find the answer. However, they’ve investigated many cases together, so she could more or less read Yakumo’s mind.

“So, what are we going to do?” asked Haruka, returning from her thoughts. The main problem was how they were going to find out the ghost’s identity despite not knowing her face—

“Firstly, we can request Ishii-san to show us a list of people who were murdered, got into an accident, or went missing, and then search within that list.” They’ve used that method countless times until now.

Ghosts were spirits who wander from some form of lingering attachment to this world. They often weren’t people who had died naturally from illness or age, but had experienced unnatural deaths related to cases and the like. Murder victims, accidents, and missing persons cases were a good category to begin the search.

“The thing is...” “What is it?”

“I’ve tried calling Ishii-san’s phone, but there was no answer.” Yakumo’s voice sounded disappointed.

Haruka understood how he felt, but it couldn’t be helped. Ishii was a police officer on duty. He didn’t have the sort of free time university students do. “He’ll call back eventually.”

“Right,” said Yakumo with a shrug. Ishii was a meticulous person. As long as nothing was in the way, he wouldn’t simply let their call go unanswered. They just had to wait until Ishii had the time to call them back.

Haruka then felt something was off. “Even if Ishii-san showed us that list, wouldn’t it still be difficult to identify who the person is?”

Yakumo hadn’t seen the ghost’s face clearly. The number of murder victims may not be a lot, but when combined with accident victims and missing persons, it would surely add up to a high number of people.

Over eighty thousand people went missing every year. With simple calculation, there would be eight hundred thousand missing people over the span of ten years. Even if they narrowed them based on gender and age range, it would still amount to a lot. Furthermore, even if they scanned through the list, comparing it to the ghost that had appeared in front of Yakumo felt like it would be difficult.

“As for that, I have a way to narrow down the list, so no need to worry,” said Yakumo with a smile. “How do you plan on doing that?”

“The ghost showed up in my room. What do you think that means?” asked Yakumo. Normally Haruka would have immediately asked, ‘what do you mean?’ without thinking it through, but this time was different.

Even she knew what Yakumo was trying to say. “This is within the campus grounds. It would be unnatural for a ghost that has nothing to do with this university to come to your room.”

Yakumo nodded in satisfaction. “I thought so too. Even if she just happened to come to my room, it feels unlikely for her to be wandering around the campus for no reason.” “So that means the ghost is someone with a connection with this university,”

“Precisely,” Yakumo snapped his fingers. If they were to narrow the list down to that of students, instructors, and staff at Meisei University, then the total number should become fairly limited.

Identifying the ghost Yakumo had seen would no longer be an impossible task. “So we can only wait for Ishii-san to call back for the time being…”

“I don’t want to just sit around and wait,” said Yakumo firmly. “Do you have some other method?”

“Yeah.” “What are you planning to do?”

“Don’t you know?” “I don’t, so I asked.”

“Simple enough. We’ll just ask.” “Ask? As in we go around and ask people who that woman is?”

“Not like that. Before coming to my place, it’s possible she was already wandering within the campus grounds.” At that point, Haruka finally understood what Yakumo was trying to say.

“So there could be other people who have seen that ghost—is that it?” “Basically,” Yakumo said, full of confidence, yet it felt overly reckless to Haruka.

“Don’t tell me you plan to go around and ask the next person you see?” “That’s just how information gathering works,” said Yakumo, as if implying ‘what are you talking about?’— to Haruka.

Gathering information by means of asking around may be effective for larger organisations such as the police, but it felt impossible to gather witness accounts with the two of them alone. Meisei University was a large-scale institution. The total number of students combined could easily reach thirty thousand people. Even the campus grounds were vast in size; there were many buildings Haruka had never been into.

Unfortunately, this method could hardly be considered efficient. Yakumo has a bright mind and he was an expert at making analysis based on what little information was gathered, yet on the contrary, his way of gathering information was often inefficient.

Previously, while investigating a certain spiritual case, he had also retrieved a list of students’ names, and at the time he too had intended to look through them manually one by one. Even though it would’ve been faster to search through the database, he hadn’t thought that far.

“There’s no need to go around and ask, I think it’ll be faster to gather information through social media,” Haruka suggested. Yakumo made a clearly displeased look. “It’s the same as going around and asking, right.”

“It’s completely different. We could ask people to spread it and gather information efficiently.” “Spread… what are you saying?”

Yakumo frowned. What a rigid-minded person, not grasping how convenient the internet could be despite being a youngster himself.

Haruka felt as if she’d discovered Yakumo’s weakness and unknowingly burst into laughter. She sensed a glare aimed at her—

Yet Haruka wasn’t scared at all. Rather, she felt it was adorable. Even so, as Yakumo might get cranky from being continuously made fun of, Haruka eventually cleared her throat and held back her laugh.

“Anyway, let’s try spreading through Twitter that we’re appealing for information. If anyone knows of such a story, we’ll meet them and ask about it, how does that sound?” said Haruka. Yakumo sighed a little as he went back to sit on his chair. While he didn’t give a reply, he seemed to agree with Haruka’s suggestion.

Haruka typed ‘please share’, stating that she was looking for anyone who had seen a female ghost around Meisei University grounds and made a post on Twitter. Aside from that, she also sent the same message in her club and seminar LINE groups. This way, a decent number of people on campus should see it.

“What a boring era,” mumbled Yakumo. -

8 -

Gotou and Eishin visited the residence of Nakamoto Sana, who had claimed to experience a spiritual phenomenon. The house was located within one row of similarly designed ready-to-move houses at a newly built residential area near the Tama River.

From the outside, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The roads within the residential area were neatly paved and the buildings were designed without fences between them, giving it a sense of openness.

It made Gotou doubt whether a ghost had truly appeared in such a place. Well, standing around here wouldn’t solve anything. They first needed to meet the girl who had seen said ghost.

Eishin sounded the intercom and the mother who had sought their assistance soon greeted them. As usual, Eishin introduced Gotou with the strange name ‘Kumakichi’. Gotou wanted to protest, but held himself back as arguing here would only be a waste of time.

The mother spoke, “My apologies for consulting about something strange despite your busy schedule,” as she bowed over and over. They were being ushered up the staircase, and walked all the way until they reached in front of her daughter Sana’s room on the second floor.

“Just this far is alright. Leave the rest to me and Kumakichi—” said Eishin. The mother appeared a little puzzled, though she simply said, “I’ll be in your care,” before excusing herself and went down the stairs.

“Well then. It’s time to show off your ability, Kumakichi,” Eishin said with a mocking laugh. “Kumakichi this, Kumakichi that, so noisy. My name isn’t Kumakichi. Besides, I can’t see ghosts like Yakumo, so there’s nothing I can do.”

“Is that something to brag about?” Eishin snorted, laughing. It certainly wasn’t something to brag about. Besides, for what reason would he come here if there was nothing he could do—

Still, he couldn’t go home just like that. Even if he had to seek Yakumo’s assistance, he needed to confirm what had actually happened.

Gotou changed his mood and knocked on the door. No answer.

Is no one inside? No, the mother had brought them here, so surely she wasn’t out at the moment.

As the door wasn’t locked, Gotou turned the doorknob and opened it. That instant—

“Hyaa!” A scream could be heard.

Covered in a futon from head to toe, someone was curled up in one corner of the room. She must be Sana.

Gotou intended to enter the room, but immediately halted his legs upon seeing the odd state of the room. Even though it was daytime, the room was dark.

The curtains hanging over the window were completely shut. That wasn’t all. The windows were covered with tape and cardboard. No wonder it was dark.

Gotou felt around the wall, pressing the switch there to turn the lights on. “No! Don’t turn on the lights!” Sana screamed, covered in futon and trembling.

This level of fear was unusual. “Sana-san, right? You can be rest assured. We came to get rid of the ghost,” Eishin gave a friendly greeting as he crouched in front of Sana.

Responding to Eishin’s voice, Sana finally popped her face out of the futon as she trembled. Her complexion was pale and her eyes were bloodshot.

She seemed to have trouble sleeping out of fear. Witnessing the state the girl was in, it made sense that her mother had gone to consult a monk such as Eishin. “I’m a monk named Eishin. The man standing there is a spirit medium named Kumakichi,” Eishin said, pointing at Gotou.

Kumakichi again! Gotou really wanted to protest, but it felt inappropriate to bicker in front of Sana who was so terrified she ended up in that state, so he nodded in silence.

“In order to get rid of the ghost, we’d like to hear the story in detail, is that alright?” asked Eishin, and Sana gave a small nod. Eishin threw a look at Gotou for him to take over.

“There are a few things I’d like to ask,” Gotou began, attempting to imitate Eishin with the use of a gentle tone. “Y-yes,” Sana answered despite looking terrified still.

“When you said the ghost kept coming closer, what was it like exactly?” “She could be seen from that window. At first I only saw a figure that looked like her in the distance. The following day she was already at a distance that made her clearly visible...The next day, she was even closer than before...” Sana explained as she pointed at the bedroom window. The window was facing out to the road in front of the house.

Gotou approached said window, about to open the curtains when Sana let out a high-pitched scream, “Don’t! She might get inside if you open them…” she said with a voice close to tears. Sana seemed to believe that the ghost would enter the home at some point. Terrified at the thought, she remained guarded and shut herself in her room.

“You don’t go outside?” “How could I go out? If I go out, then that ghost will…”

The words that trailed after were vague. Gotou had often been consulted over spiritual cases such as this. Yet, to be honest, most of his clients had merely been mistaken. Fear had taken control of them to the extent that mere everyday things would seem terrifying.

Though, based on the reaction of the girl in front of him, Gotou felt Sana might have really seen a ghost. “When you saw that ghost, did she say anything?” Gotou landed another question, further fueling Sana’s fear.

“......” “Eh?”

Gotou couldn’t grasp her whisper-like voice. “I never wanted that! That’s what she told me!” Sana yelled.

“Do you know the meaning of those words?” Gotou tried asking again, but Sana merely shook her head. Nevermind that, she even covered her face with both hands and started crying, so they could no longer continue the conversation.

Even if they continued to stay here, there wasn’t much more information they could gain. They seemed to have no choice but to involve Yakumo. Gotou discussed the fact with Eishin and decided to retreat home.

Upon leaving the Nakamoto residence, Gotou and Eishin walked, heading to the location where Sana had seen the ghost. On their way there, Gotou stopped and panted.

Although they didn’t walk too far, his forehead was covered in sweat. Walking with a cast and crutch consumed more stamina than he had imagined. It might have been better for him to refuse.

Gotou stared at the distance, watching the surface of the calmly flowing stream of Tama River. On the opposite side of the river, a few white herons were resting their wings.

Gotou was suddenly reminded of the case from way back. It had been the first case he had handled with Ishii when he had still been working in the police force. I wonder how Ishii’s doing now?

He didn’t spend long sinking in his feelings. They had only met each other several days ago. Gotou didn’t need to be missing his ex-subordinate. And yet, why did he feel this way?

Perhaps what Gotou was missing wasn’t Ishii, but the days he had spent as a police officer. When he had caused a scandal, Gotou had been partly carried away by emotions and resigned.

He never regretted the fact. But— At the time he had been so fired up, rushing into things without giving them much thought.

“What’s wrong? Tired already?” said Eishin who walked beside him in a mocking tone. What an irritating bastard of a monk.

“Shut up. Whose fault do you think that I’m like this?” Gotou clicked his tongue and continued walking. “Proper adults don’t throw responsibilities to other people.”

Eishin’s way of speaking annoyed Gotou, but despite saying that, Eishin seemed to be adjusting his pace to match Gotou who was using a crutch. Even despite that, Gotou had no intention to thank him.

As they approached a large Western-style house that seemed old and abandoned, a scream reached their ears. The unusual scream made Gotou stand on guard.

Eishin stopped as well, looking around to find the source of that scream. What was that just now?

Soon after Gotou thought that, the entrance to the large house nearby opened with a bam and someone burst out from within. “Uwaaa!”

Said person screamed whilst running fast at Gotou’s direction. Gotou wanted to dodge, but he couldn’t react the way he wanted as he was still in a cast. Before he knew it, he was being jumped right from the front and crashed on the spot.

“Ow...” Incredible pain spread through his hips.

Not only that, all the injuries he had sustained from being hit by a car felt painful at the same time. Who is it even?

Gotou pushed, shoving away the person who had crushed him from above. Seeing the face of the person rolling to their back, Gotou’s eyes widened instantly.

“Ishii!” “D-Detective Gotou!”

“Why are you here?” His question overlapped with Ishii, wording out the same exact question.

- 9

- A man sat among the grass near the embankment and gazed to the other side of he river—

He could see two men walking there. What they were talking about couldn’t reach his ears, not even their faces could be seen very well.

And yet— He knew they were different from him.

How did it become like this? That question emerged from the depths of his mind.

Said question had appeared over and over all this time. Searching for an answer wouldn’t change the current state he was in, nor could what he had lost return to him.

Nothing would change no matter how much he tried. That fact tortured him endlessly.

Why was he the only one who had to suffer like this? He hadn’t done anything.

That’s right. He hadn’t done anything. That day, suddenly the person he treasured had been cruelly snatched away. Even though he hadn’t done a single crime, his life force was simply extinguished for no reason.

He was angered and saddened by the fact. However—

That had merely been the start. Society was merciless towards the weak. They would relentlessly stomp on those weaker than them as if taking out their day-to-day frustration.

They could casually ridicule those who were suffering, ruining them without pity. Even screams of pain wouldn’t make them stop their actions.

To them, it didn’t matter who. Anyone would do, so long as they were weak. The man had been out of luck, having to face such a thing. If their positions were reversed, he might also do the same.

He shuddered at the thought. Shouldn't those who picked at the aching heart of another without noticing no longer be called humans?

They didn’t realise that fact; this was what made the man’s heart grow heavier. And that wasn’t the only tragedy.

The man tried closing his eyes, covering his ears, distancing himself from those evil deeds carried out unknowingly as he could protect his heart that way. Even so—

That wasn’t the case for some. There were those who would face such malicious actions upfront, blaming themselves, experiencing regret, reminiscing days that would never come back.

And then— As if inevitable, their hearts were destroyed.

Even worse, that destruction didn’t stop at their own hearts. Gradually, it would influence those around them, eventually affecting the man’s life, further escalating over time.

That had taken away his job, his close friends, and the future he was meant to have. Even though he hadn’t done anything, everything was taken away from him as if they were evil people.

The man tightly clenched his fists. Hands that were covered in dust, rough, and bony. Before everything had happened, his hands hadn’t been like this.

Back then his hands hadn’t been dirty in the slightest, and his fingers could even be considered slender. The life of earning an income from doing day labour was now reflecting on his hands. Not even his tears would come out anymore.

Lowering his head as he growled, he took notice of someone standing behind him. Even without turning around, he had an idea on who it was.

That woman. “I can change your fate—” said the woman.

Those words slid right into his ears, sounding incredibly sweet. However, as opposed to what he felt in his ears, the man’s heart ached. The pain gradually spread, like a long needle slowly being pierced in.

He knew. He should’ve stood up, quickly ran away from this woman, forgotten everything, and let himself live this nonsensical life. Despite that—

“Is that really real?” asked the man, still staring at his fists. “Yes. Really. I’m not lying. You might be able to help the person you love.”

“That’s impossible at this point.” The man shook his head. The face of his loved ones flashed inside his mind.

Even though they should’ve had many happier memories, at times like this, what always came to mind was what he saw of them for the final time. “Is it truly impossible?”

“Eh?” He knew that it was impossible, yet he grew surprised at the woman’s tone, asking back full of confidence.

The man eventually turned around to face the woman speaking to him. The woman formed a thin smile on her red lips.

“You saw it, didn’t you? What’s inside the box—” Indeed, he had seen it.

The human head inside the box— And the state it had been in. Even though it should’ve been dead physically, the head had opened its eyes.

As if it had been alive still. Could that have been a trick? Or—he tried thinking about it, though he couldn’t find an answer in the end.

“You can still make it. You can still take back your future.” Those red lips shifted like they breathed a life of their own.

- 10

- “Ah, what about this one?” said Haruka as she showed her phone to Yakumo.

The screen displayed one of the spiritual phenomena that had been gathered through her appeal in social media. It claimed that at Building B wandered the ghost of a male university student who had committed suicide by jumping a few years back.

“Well, it’s possible,” said Yakumo upon reading. For some reason, there was a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Something wrong?” asked Haruka. “About what?” Yakumo asked in response with drowsy eyes.

“You don’t seem too enthusiastic.” “A little, I guess.”

“Why?” “Social media may be efficient for gathering information, but I can’t help doubting their credibility.”

“Is that so?” “People could simply type a few lines and send it out. It’s easy for them to lie.”

Yakumo’s words had some truth to it. When it came to information from the internet, including social media, locating the sources could be difficult, thus decreasing their credibility. But— “Even if we asked directly, we could still get lied to.”

“We could easily tell whether they were lying or not through their expression and movement.” “Well, that’s true,”

It was impossible for someone like Haruka, but someone as sharp as Yakumo should be able to see past a lie with ease. “Well, at least I know that this information is fake,” said Yakumo firmly.

“Why do you think it’s fake?” “The location.”

“Location?” “That’s right. The information stated that the ghost appeared at Building B, right?”

“Yes.” The Movie Research Circle that was Yakumo’s room was located behind Building B. Based on the location, Haruka had instead thought it was likely about the ghost Yakumo had seen.

“Furthermore, it said it was of a student who jumped to his death a few years ago.” “Right,”

Reaching that explanation, Haruka finally understood. If the ghost had been haunting around Building B since a few years back, Yakumo would’ve taken notice a long time ago.

“Besides, the gender was different,” said Yakumo, holding back a yawn. “Ah, you’re right.”

Reading it carefully, the information had stated it to be a male student, while the ghost Yakumo had seen was female. As Yakumo had said, there seemed to be issues with its credibility.

She began to think it would be better for them to ask around directly, when a knock could be heard from the door. When Yakumo spoke, “It’s not locked,” the door opened and a woman appeared.

“Makoto-san!” Haruka exclaimed upon seeing her face. She had gotten to know Makoto, a newspaper journalist, from a previous case. Ever since then, they had been involved in a number of cases together.

The woman might have an intelligent and graceful appearance, yet she also held strong beliefs and conviction as well as being especially proactive in taking action. “Good day. I see Haruka-chan is here too,” said Makoto with a smile.

“Yes.” “So, how are things with Yakumo-kun after that?” Makoto whispered in Haruka’s ears.

It was so sudden, Haruka was at a loss for words. “Ah, no, that...” Seeing Haruka panic, Makoto laughed. “Still more than friends but less than lovers?”

Being told that made Haruka deeply embarrassed and her face turned red. “Makoto-san too, how are things going with Ishii-san on your end?” responded Haruka, dejected. She could vaguely sense that Makoto had feelings for Ishii. On top of that, their relationship seemed to have gotten closer as of late.

“We’re in the same boat, are we,” Makoto shrugged. “You guys aren’t dating yet?”

“Well, we both have a lot going on.” “Busy, huh,”

“That’s why we both have to keep going so we won’t miss the timing.” “Yes...” replied Haruka, laughing bitterly.

Honestly, Haruka felt she had already missed the timing. Leaving things as they were, it felt like her relationship with Yakumo would remain unclear and reach its end. And yet, she didn’t dare to breach this subject.

Keeping this up, she would end up graduating from university, parting ways with Yakumo without anything happening, and regretting it all. “So, what’s the matter today?” Yakumo asked, mixed with a sigh.

He might have gotten fed up watching two women chatting in whispers so his gaze turned cold. “Ah, right. Truth is, there’s something I want to discuss,” Makoto opened the conversation in a formal tone after adjusting her posture.

Reading the situation, the thing Makoto wanted to discuss had to be related to a spiritual phenomenon. “Here,” said Haruka, offering her seat to Makoto and then moving to the chair next to Yakumo.

After waiting for Makoto to sit down, Yakumo asked, “So, what do you want to discuss?” From his expression, Yakumo also seemed to have suspected that this had to do with a spiritual phenomenon.

“Actually, there was a woman who asked for my help, saying that she was being followed by a ghost.” As she began telling her story, Makoto’s face turned more serious than usual.

“The ghost didn’t appear out of nowhere, right? Was there anything that caused it?” asked Yakumo. Makoto nodded firmly. “This woman was doing the work of relocating items from an archival facility to a warehouse, and chanced upon a door in that warehouse.”

“A door?” “Yes. The door wasn’t on the wall, but placed on the floor leading to the basement.”

“Then?” “She went down into the basement with the people that were with her, and discovered a room that looked like an operating theatre.”

An underground operating theatre. The mere idea of it made Haruka uncomfortable. “Almost like in a horror movie,” said Yakumo with a thin smile.

“Right. And then apparently, they found a strange object there.” “What object?”

“A box—” “A box—” Yakumo mumbled as he frowned.

Haruka was the same. Even when called a box, they could come in various shapes and sizes. There were donation boxes, boxes for offering, makeup cases too were boxes, even shoe racks could be considered boxes. It was difficult to imagine what this box could be like.

“It’ll be better for you guys to see it for yourself,” said Makoto, reading their minds. She took out a tablet device from her bag, placing it on the table. A photo was displayed on the screen.

It had been taken in darkness using a flash, and as Makoto had stated, captured in the photo was a box. Something was strange about the box—

Like a coffin, the size was large enough for a human to fit in, yet it wasn’t made out of wood, but metal. The box was fairly old; its surface appeared rusty. Strangest thing of all was how the box had a lot of talismans pasted over it.

The owner seemed to have been afraid of the box’s contents and had sealed it in a hurry. “This is…” Haruka turned towards Yakumo.

Yakumo made a troubled face for some time before sighing. “These talismans are for sealing.”

“Sealing?” “Yes. These are talismans used to seal demons in the teachings of Onmyodo and the like.”

“I see,” Haruka replied as she shivered. It would’ve been better if it had merely been one or two talismans, but what exactly was being sealed inside that it had to have that many talismans pasted onto it?

“Don’t tell me that woman and her friends opened this box?” Yakumo threw a probing look at Makoto. “Yes,” Makoto replied.

“What was inside the box?” Makoto didn’t answer Yakumo’s question immediately.

She drifted her gaze here and there as if searching for something, before looking at them with eyes that had lost their hope. “She didn’t see what was inside.” she shook her head.

“Is that so...” Yakumo mumbled as he stared at the photo of the box. “Apparently someone else opened it—” said Makoto, cutting off her sentence and giving it a pause.

The woman merely went silent for a second or two, yet to Haruka it felt much longer. Moments later, Makoto continued her story. “Once the box was opened, a man appeared in the room.”

“That isn’t just one of their friends?” “No. She said she didn’t recognise the man at all. Besides—”

Makoto cut her sentence in the middle yet again. She seemed to be debating whether she should tell the rest of the story or not.

“What is it?” asked Yakumo, demanding the continuation. Makoto firmly nodded as if hardening her resolve before opening her mouth. “Apparently the eyes of the man that appeared were both red...”

Haruka’s back shivered. Only one person came to mind when talking about a man with two red eyes. Yakumo’s father, Unkai.

He had passed away, yet not only had he continued to wander this earth as a ghost, he was also aiming for Yakumo. He was obsessed with living and wanted to use Yakumo’s body as a replacement for his own, which he had lost.

To think he intended to sacrifice his own flesh and blood so he could stay alive; Haruka felt nauseous just thinking about it. Makoto might have been hesitant to proceed with her story as she had thought the man with two red eyes had an involvement in this case.

“I see—” mumbled Yakumo. Neither his expression nor voice appeared to be shaken. Not because he was hiding the wavering of his heart, he was merely accepting the fact the way it was.

“I’d like to confirm the truth of this woman’s story, but I have a bad feeling… so I thought, could you go there with me?” Makoto dropped her gaze to her feet, feeling apologetic about it. She must be feeling guilty as it was possible that this case might force Yakumo to face his father once again, the man with red eyes.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t resolve a spiritual case alone. On the other hand, Makoto couldn’t abandon someone in trouble either. She must have been conflicted about the fact.

“I understand. We can’t ignore this case, especially when there’s a possibility that man might be involved,” answered Yakumo. Tension left Makoto’s expression in an instant.

“Thank you very much,” Makoto bowed deeply. “So, where is the location?”

“The warehouse across the road from the archival facility of Meisei University.” At Makoto’s answer, Yakumo’s facial muscles quivered.

- 11

- The sun was beginning to set—

This archival facility that had used to be a laboratory didn’t have the appearance of a building that had existed before the war began, thanks to renovation work that had taken place a few times. Even now, renovation was underway, so the building was surrounded by a protective mesh sheet and no human figure could be spotted there.

In contrast, the warehouse located on the other side of the road had an unusual appearance. Walls of the flat concrete-roofed building were cracking here and there, its surroundings were covered in weeds, and overgrown trees lined up as if trying to hide its existence.

The windows were also cracked in multiple places, while the metal door at the front had changed into a reddish brown colour from rust. This warehouse had also used to be a research facility before the war, just like the archival facility, but it must have never been renovated.

“It sure feels terrifying,” mumbled Haruka, standing next to Makoto. Makoto agreed completely.

To clarify the truth of Maki’s testimony, she had come here along with Yakumo and Haruka. Until they have gone inside, she shouldn’t make any prior assumptions, but try as she might, she couldn’t rid herself of the terrible premonition she felt.

Even this building itself gave the impression of a large box. It led Makoto into thinking that this building cast by the reddish sunset was like a box sealing away something awful.

She might have felt that way due to the building’s history. “Haruka-chan, have you been to this place before?” asked Makoto as she stared intently at said building.

Haruka shook her head left and right. “No.” Meisei University itself was massive. The campus grounds too were large in its area, and this place was nearly a kilometre away from the prefabricated building where Yakumo lived. It couldn’t be helped that she had never gone here.

Even if she had, the state of this building was obscured by trees. Haruka would surely miss it if she hadn’t paid closer attention. “Are you guys aware of what the archival facility and warehouse used to be for?” Makoto asked another question as she looked interchangeably between the two buildings.

“Yes. I’ve never been here before, but… if I recall correctly, this place used to be a lab for the army, right? How horrifying, even though it was in the middle of the war…” said Haruka, her voice instantly turning glum. Her response was understandable, considering her knowledge of what had transpired here.

From what she had heard, during the war, Japanese ground forces had been developing and researching weapons of war in this place. Biological weapons as well as poisonous gases hadn’t been an exception. One theory stated that they had also performed human experimentation. A brutal act not permissible by both international laws and humanitarian perspective.

“You’re right,” Makoto replied in agreement. On the other hand, the research findings of the time had also contributed to the subsequent development of science and medicine that followed.

Despite so, the fact that their actions were unforgivable remained unchanged— “Yakumo-kun, have you been here before?” asked Haruka.

Yakumo shook his head. “I knew the existence of this place. But considering its origins, this place is rather dangerous for me,” he said, scratching on his dishevelled hair.  Hearing the man’s words made Haruka exclaim, “Ah!” 

She must’ve thought of the reason why Yakumo wasn’t keen on getting near this place. Makoto was the same.

Without a doubt, many lives must have been lost from the research that had been conducted here. To Yakumo who could see ghosts, casually strolling at such a place was a dangerous thing to do. The ghosts from back then might be wandering about still.

Thinking up to that far, Makoto suddenly felt concerned. Yakumo might be seeing a lot of ghosts at this point in time. “Are you alright?” asked Makoto.

Yakumo laughed bitterly. “Yes. For now—” “Is it alright for you to go in?” asked Haruka, also looking at Yakumo with worry.

“Over seventy years have passed. I don’t think any of them would still be wandering until now.” Hearing Yakumo’s answer made Makoto come up with a question.

“Ghosts will eventually disappear over the years following their death?” If they were to disappear as time passed like melting ice, that would mean all spiritual phenomena would resolve over time.

“I wonder. Honestly, I don’t know that far. Just that, if we were to assume that ghosts are clusters of emotions of the dead, that emotion might change with time.” “So it’s unlikely for them to endlessly hold grudges—is that what you mean?”

“Maybe. But it may not always be the case.” “Since there are people who would keep holding grudges no matter how much time has passed?”

“Yes. In the end it depends on the person. Besides that, the environment can play a factor too.” “Environment?” Makoto tilted her head.

“One’s emotions could never change if they’re continuously left alone at a place with nothing around.” “Right,”

“But this is within campus grounds. Should there be any ghosts wandering after they lost their lives in this research facility, they should realise that the times have changed and the person they hate has also passed.” “So they would give up and accept their own death?”

“Perhaps—I suppose,” said Yakumo with a laugh, as if ridiculing himself. “Could I ask one more thing?”

“What is it?” “Normally we’re unable to sense the presence of ghosts, but as for them—can ghosts sense the presence of living humans?”

Makoto didn’t know why exactly she only became curious about that fact now. No, that wasn’t it. She’d been wanting to know, but hadn't gotten the chance to ask about it before.

She might have avoided the question unknowingly as well. “I think they took notice of our existence. Only thing is, I don’t know how they view us from their end.”

“So we won’t know until we die, huh—” Yakumo may be able to see ghosts, but in the end he was merely a living human being. He had no way to find out what happened after death.

“Thinking about it makes me scared,” said Haruka with a confused look on her face. Makoto understood the emotion Haruka felt.

Instinctually, they felt afraid as it was a realm that no humans or living beings were allowed to enter. “Right,” Makoto replied in agreement.

“Well, what happens after death is better confirmed once we’re dead,” Yakumo joked, turning Haruka’s expression into a serious one. “Stop it. Don’t you dare go and confirm it even if unintentionally,” said Haruka, pouting.

Yakumo then patted Haruka’s head in silence. What a beautiful display, almost like Makoto was watching a youth film. Though, she got rid of the thought right away.

In movies, conversations such as this one were often followed by someone’s death— “Enough talking here. Let’s get inside,” said Yakumo, taking out a key from his pocket and inserting it to the keyhole on the door.

The archival building was closed for renovations, while the warehouse was constantly locked as well, so Yakumo had paid a visit to the educational affairs office and had made up a story of how he’d forgotten his belongings while sorting through the archives yesterday and had borrowed the key. Yakumo then turned the doorknob and opened the door to the warehouse.

- 12

- Haruka entered said building whilst hiding behind Yakumo—.

The interior was spacious; only pillars were present and there were no walls dividing the space into rooms. Boxes were piled messily next to a wall, and parts that seemed to come from old machinery—whatever it might be for—were also scattered about.

Rather than being stored neatly, it gave the impression of piling up unused objects sloppily. Glancing at it like this, she wouldn’t have known that a basement existed.

“Around which area did they find the door?” asked Yakumo. Makoto pointed further into the space. “Apparently it was next to the innermost pillar.”

“Let’s check it out.”  Without hesitation nor fear, Yakumo began walking in the direction Makoto had pointed.

Haruka and Makoto walked alongside each other, following after him. Upon arriving in front of the aforementioned pillar, Yakumo crouched to confirm something.

It didn’t took long for him to mumble, “So this is it—” With closer inspection, one could see a square panel made out of metal installed on the floor. Yakumo slipped his fingers into the gaps of the panel and slowly lifted it upwards.

Following the squeaking sound of metal rubbing against each other, a dark, square shaped hole revealed itself underneath the panel. Yakumo took out the penlight tucked in his pocket, shining it upon the hole.

They had no idea what awaited them at the bottom of the hole, but they were able to see a metal ladder attached leading down to it. This door seemed to be connected to the basement.

Normally, people never would have noticed that there was a hole leading to the basement in a place like this. “Looks like we have to get in to check it out,” muttered Yakumo.

Haruka’s body suddenly tensed up, and her hands began to sweat. Indescribable fear crept up at the thought of them getting in there. “You can stay here if you like,” said Yakumo, who sensed Haruka’s feelings.

It was a bad habit of Haruka’s to double down upon receiving such a treatment. “I’m going too,” she said, making Yakumo let out a bitter laugh.

It might have been obvious how she was forcing herself. Even so, having said that, Haruka couldn’t back down anymore.

Nor did Yakumo say anything afterwards. Biting the penlight on his mouth, he slid his body down the hole before descending the ladder. Makoto was next to step down the ladder. After waiting for Makoto to descend, Haruka held onto said ladder.

The metal ladder was cold and rough, probably from rust. She meant to descend carefully while ensuring her footing didn’t miss, but on the final step of the ladder, her foot placement was off.

Haruka lost her balance and nearly fell, luckily Yakumo managed to support her. “T-thanks,” said Haruka, hurriedly distancing herself from Yakumo afterwards.

Her body had merely been touched, yet her temperature shot up immediately and her face flushed. She desperately tried not to let it show. After adjusting her breathing and calming down her feelings, Haruka took a look around the basement space.

Merely relying on Yakumo’s penlight as the light source, one could say she could hardly see anything at all. She couldn’t even gauge how big this basement space was.

Only thing clear was that the air there was cold. There seemed to be a leak somewhere, as the dripping sound of water echoed. Haruka felt as if they were inside a limestone cave.

“I never would’ve thought a place like this existed...” Haruka mumbled, but her voice reverberated across the room. “Right,” Makoto agreed.

Although Makoto was nearby, Haruka could only vaguely see Makoto’s silhouette because of the darkness. A clack sound like a switch being pressed could be heard, and the lights then turned on.

Hung at the centre of the room ceiling was a small lightbulb emanating an orange light. It was by no means bright, yet sufficient to see the room in its entirety. “The lights are working,” said Haruka.

Standing next to the wall, Yakumo nodded. “Seems so. As the power’s running, it means someone might have used it recently,” he said, patting the side of the switchbox installed on the wall. Now that she could see, Haruka then gazed across the entire room.

Unlike the exterior, both the floor and walls were made out of bricks. There was a bookshelf at one corner of the wall, with books and documents alike shoved messily there. On another corner were steel shelves with rows of what appeared to be medicine bottles in them.

Then, what stood out the most was an old table seemingly made out of stainless steel, placed at the centre of the room. No, that wasn’t it. She had seen it before at the hospital where Hata worked. It was an autopsy table.

Why would an autopsy table be in a place like this? While she was in the middle of thinking, Yakumo slowly walked towards the shelf containing books.

Haruka exchanged glances with Makoto before following suit. Yakumo, standing in front of the bookshelf, traced the spine of the documents with his finger, before taking out one document and flipping through it.

Something might have caught the man’s attention as in the next second he stopped his hand partway, his brows furrowed slightly. Just what could be written there?

As Haruka had such a thought, Yakumo brought said archive and moved in front of the autopsy table. “I see...” Yakumo mumbled after staring at the surface of the autopsy table for some time.

“Did you find something?” asked Haruka. Yakumo made a complicated expression. “I think they probably conducted human experimentation here.”

“Eh?” Haruka doubted her ears.

She knew that this warehouse had been a research facility used to research and develop various weaponry under the leadership of the military. However, she refused to accept that said research had included human experimentation. If that had truly been the case, their actions would be unforgivable.

Conducting experiments using human bodies would be far too inhumane. “It was written in this document.”

“How cruel...” Haruka’s voice trembled without realising.

“I thought so too. But our reason for coming here isn’t to discuss that.” Yakumo tossed the document onto the autopsy table, turning to the further parts of the room.

Haruka followed him and turned her head as well. A black shadow was there.

For some reason, she felt that section appeared especially darker than everywhere else. That wasn’t all.

Amidst that darkness laid a box. “That’s…”

“Yes. Seems like that’s the box,” Makoto nodded towards Haruka. Thinking how a spiritual phenomena might happen once the box was opened, the object felt terrifying to Haruka.

As opposed to Haruka, who shrank completely, Yakumo walked towards the box with no hesitation. “So this is the box in question—” said Yakumo, lightly touching the lid.

Haruka was honestly very frightened, but she couldn’t stay frozen in place. She slowly approached the box Yakumo was touching as well. Just like in the photograph, the surface of the box was pasted with numerous talismans.

Someone must have been terrified by its contents, and had hurriedly closed it off and covered it in talismans. The thought of it made the box appear all the more terrifying. Yakumo felt around the lid with his finger as if checking something.

“You’re going to open it?” said Haruka spontaneously. Yakumo stopped the movement of his hand for a moment, letting out a small sigh.

“We won’t find out anything just by looking at the exterior.” Yakumo’s words had a point.

Besides, they had come here in the first place to open the box and confirm its contents. “I wonder what could be inside the box?”

Makoto’s sentence may be a question, but to Haruka, she sounded as if she was expecting something. “We’ll know once we open it—” Yakumo spoke before slowly lifting the lid of the box.

Haruka felt as if something stifling was rising like smoke through the small gap of the slightly opened lid. What is that?

Haruka’s thoughts were interrupted by an odd smell that intruded her nose. Reflexively, she covered her nose and mouth as a smell that made her choke, like that of rotten meat, wafted in front of her nose.

Makoto turned her face away as well, unable to handle it. Meanwhile, only Yakumo who, despite grimacing, continued exerting his strength to lift the box lid until it was open.

Haruka hesitantly turned to look. The contents weren’t visible as it was dark.

Yakumo seemed to feel the same way. He switched on his penlight, shining the contents of the box. Haruka couldn’t make out what object the illuminated form belonged to at first. 

However— Gradually, she came to understand what object it was.

It was— A human corpse.

Laid within the box was a human corpse that was missing its head—

[yumenoberu]

She’s a Teaser

Kyoya Ootori x fem!reader

summary: It’s a regular Saturday afternoon in the Ootori estate. Y/n and Kyoya, the notorious Ouran Host Club’s very own managers, silently work on the club preparations. Worn out and fatigued after hours of endless calculations and composing, someone gets distracted by a curious scene from the corner of their eye…

word count: 700 words

warnings: none!!

published: 10/18/24

author’s note: my first published fic!! who cares if it’s assessment week its not like all my projects are due and i'm back tracking my tasks— hey! duty calls when ur mind decides to plague u with fluffy OHSHC brain rot yk!! and now, my doves, please enjoy ✨🥳

‘Sitting on the foot of his couch while crunching down an endless flow of numbers and letters till the sunset. Neither of us ever spoke a word, being simply content with the comfortable silence. This was our average weekend. ’

Such was the silent arrangement Y/n and Kyoya developed over time.

The click and clacking of computer buttons overrun the comfortable silence that rang through Kyoya’s living space. The two second-years alternate between buttons on their respective keyboards, typing up an almost rhythmic stream of characters for their shared digital accounting space. Although, for one of the teens in the room, Y/n couldn’t gauge what exactly she was writing—her mind was elsewhere.

The sun was setting on the horizon, painting the monochrome walls of the Ootori estate with contrasting radiant, warm hues. They’ve been working on a proposal for the next upcoming, unequivocally extravagant, Host Club event. Accounting for the lovable, yet ever-impulsive Host King’s whims always proved to be a task of considerable difficulty.

But nothing is impossible, no? Not for the Host Club! Why, their Shadow King irresistible charm is to blame!

Y/n’s grown quite accustomed to arranging for every outlandish fantasy the eternally flamboyant, capricious Ouran Host Club’s President desired to make a reality. But man could she never get used to how exhausting the process could be.

‘We’re gonna be here for another few hours aren’t we…’

She sighs out loud, rubbing a hand on her strained eyes as she looks up from the screen, straightening her back and stretching her arms up, but not without subconsciously stealing a glance at her ‘coworker’.

Kyoya was, as she anticipated, glued to his usual spot on the couch, posture impressively as straight as a knife even after hours of sitting in the same position, and was, similarly, typing away on his computer with tired eyes with an uncharacteristic brow arched, outwardly showing his irritation at whatever was on his screen.

‘The work’s starting to take a toll on him too huh,’ She almost chuckles to herself. There was something about the sight that was so amusing to her. Perhaps witnessing his usually unwavering prim and proper facade, peel off ever so slightly was, for the lack of a better word, endearing, to her.

‘What a look.’ She thought, a playful smirk inching its way up her lips. Opening her mouth to give a teasing remark on his state, she bites her tongue, rethinking her actions.

‘But then, it always seems like more trouble than it’s worth, annoying him.’

Her puckish gaze lingered even as she relaxed the rest of her body after her little stretch. She didn’t realize she was starting to stare—being much too preoccupied by the sudden train of thoughts that cascaded across her mind at the peculiar scene.

‘Nevertheless, he always seems like he’s in a bad mood around me, wonder what his deal is…’

‘Always so condescending and cynical, not a cute look Ootori, not a cute look.’ She teased. Though inwardly, of course, she wasn’t planning on dying just yet.

She internally contemplates for a while longer, exhaling aloud through her nose, exhausted from her own ramblings. Her work, completely abandoned.

‘He’d be annoyed if he sees I’m not working… Can’t the man relax for a bit, why's he always such a grouch. That's the Shadow King for you.’ At the notion, she unintentionally let her face contort into a playful scowl.

Her inner monologue continued on, her mind jumping through hoops of arbitrary thoughts, making all sorts of faces at her disses toward the boy.

To her knowledge, he was too focused on whatever he was doing to notice she was staring at him; however, ever so clueless to the reality of things, little did Y/n know that Kyoya had noticed since the beginning.

But he didn’t mind, not in the slightest. In fact, he finds it quite amusing, cute even. Because as he recalled, just moments before, while she still wasn’t looking at him, he was doing the same thing.

He almost smiles at the thought, nevertheless as stubborn as his nature is, he suppresses it.

Then, they simultaneously fondly think to themselves,

‘What goes on in that head of yours?’

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