#still searching for the owner of this divider i have it in so many of my mbs KJDHF

[i-luvsang]

[theoxenfree]

vampire x crime scene cleaner!reader | 16.1k

you're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; explicit non-con, extreme dubon, sadomasochism, blood play, overstimulation, choking, cigarette burns, smoking, hypnotism, theological themes, exploration of morality, gunshot wounds, extreme & graphic depictions of body horror + gore + grotesque details, graphic depictions of crime scene cleanup, possibly inaccurate depictions of crime scene cleanup (not looking for feedback on it), obsessive & possessive behaviors, heavy prose & details, the entire work is allegorical, murder, vampire is written as a monster bc that's what they are lmao, dividers are used between scenes

reposted from 2kmps; previously proofread by @ceruleansol

I shouldn't have to say it, but I will: nothing in this oneshot is indicative of my personal viewpoints. it is entirely fictitious.

this was a project that took me quite a bit of time to do, so I would be immensely appreciated if you'd please reblog + interact with it!! I'd love to hear your feedback!!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there.

Tonight was a Chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands.

You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you?

He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What–" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose.

You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light.

The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow. No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ༻

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway.

The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight. Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her? Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job by tying off the bag. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood. An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home!" Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach. A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles as Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you. It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body. The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom. These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke. You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself. Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air. The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do. He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself. A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering. "Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon. Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him. "A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes. Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway. You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you. The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't loud enough. He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips. All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that. "Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe. You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing. His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded. Just once. A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that." Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in. The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light. A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead. The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—just like Montague said you would be. And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back. He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

[oweninadaydream]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞) || 𝐀.𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary : Can anybody blame a young lady for indulging in her deepest desires despite suspecting that the end is imminent?

song inspo: Fortnight by Taylor Swift (ft. Post Malone)

pairing : Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

word count : 1564 words

contains : rake!Anthony, unrequited? love, mentions of alcohol and I think that's it!

a/n : I am not the owner of the gif or the dividers ( I don't possess such talents jakjhakjshda). This will have a second part (already working on it). The next chapter of the Feel the rush series will be posted after my exams, sorry :((( Anyway, enjoy !!!

The maid finished working on (Y/N)’s makeup and she turned to look at the final product in the mirror. Her  hair was perfectly held at the back of her neck with a chignon. Her grandmother’s diadem added that sophisticated touch the young woman craved. After taking in the breathtaking shade of her dress in the mirror, she started twirling and giggling around her chamber in a fairy manner. Someone could wonder, what on earth was going on inside the girl’s head? The answer was easy, yet so complicated. Lady (Y/L/N) was simply smitten with someone she knew very well, a lifelong friend that seemed interested in her as well. The problem? That man was no other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, the most infamous rake of the Ton. 

“Your carriage is ready, miss (Y/L/N)” the butler informed the young lady.

At almost the same time, another voice echoed around the house.

“(Y/N) dear, we must go now. Lady Danbury will not let me hear the end of it if we show up late yet again. I’d also like to chat a bit with Violet, I haven’t seen her since the Featherington ball.” her mother urged her from the hall.

“I’m ready, mother” she answered loud enough for the woman to hear.

On her way to the barouch that would transport them, she realized that the burgundy dahlias that had been planted at the beginning of the summer were finally blooming with the arrival of autumn, contributing to the embellishment of the front garden. She stared at them for a second; her mind was searching for something in them but she couldn’t explain what exactly. She shook her head and she got inside the carriage.

Pacing around the ethereal gardens of Aubrey Hall, her mind couldn’t help the quick escapades to the first time they kissed. Sitting under the blossoming tree, Anthony and her were watching the sunset taking with itself the traces of winter, welcoming the first of many spring nights. The two of them were abnormally quiet, as if the sight of the moon had bewitched them both. (Y/N)'s spine could still feel violent shivers traveling down her spine when recalling the way the Viscount had lightly brushed his nose against hers before capturing her lips into a slow deep kiss. His chapped and demanding mouth stole a couple more pecks before laughing airly, rising from their hidden spot and offering his hand to help her on her feet. 

That glorious evening marked the beginning of … Well, she couldn’t quite state what it was. The rest of the summer was filled with fleeting glances, embraces away from prying eyes and laughing, lots of laughing. (Y/N) had never been happier; after all, the Viscount was by her side every other night. Still, a series of dark thoughts anxiously floated around her head whenever he walked away to attend the gentlemen’s club, or whenever he tried to avoid her gaze after implying anything that had to do with love or compromise outside his mattress.  Shaking her head and changing the subject usually did the trick, but for the last few days, Anthony had been acting ever so strange. 

(Y/N) was absent in deep thoughts when she felt a familiar touch on her back. 

“Anthony” It was not a  question, but the most confident of statements.

“How did you know it was me so surely?” he said while flashing her with one of his infamous smiles.

She raised her head so her eyes stared at him directly. “I could recognize you by smell, by the prints you leave when you step on the ground on a rainy day or simply by tracing your features with only one finger, eyes completely closed. You are no mystery to me” her answer was sweet and sincere, with a touch of flirting attitude.

He went quiet, very quiet. Every bit of the playful attitude  he had shown earlier had disappeared, now replaced by a hard expression. “You ignore plenty of things about me, so stop acting like my-”

“What has come over you? Your usually particular temperament has worsened these past two weeks. I do not appreciate that you talk to me in such a way” she abruptly interrupted in hopes of obtaining any kind of answer that would help her understand.

“I cannot bear with this any longer. I just feel like we have gone astray from the path we had established for us. I wish for us to be on the same page, and that implies remembering the casual nature of our… deal. Please tell me you understand” his pleading eyes accompanied the request perfectly.

“Forgive me, Anthony but I can’t wrap my head around what you are saying. I thought we were evolving, like our relationship. I know you are not the most kin on marrying or doing this as everyone else does, but after all we’ve been through, don’t you dare tell me that I have been delusionally imagining all these romantic gestures and moments”

“Mademoiselle Parisot is upstairs waiting for me. I would love to continue to discuss this in another time, unless there’s anything that must be told in this exact moment” Was his voice meant to sound confident? (Y/N) could almost feel some sorrow slipping through the cracks of his quick confession. 

The astounded expression on (Y/N)’s face showed that she did in fact not comprehend any of what Anthony was rambling about. A quick sight that denoted shock and upset preceded the lady’s monologue.

“I love you, Anthony, and it’s ruining my life. I can’t keep sighing like a damsel trapped in the highest tower, as I yearn for a future that my eyes will not behold. I can’t keep masquerading my true desires, in hopes that you will choose to stay. I will not continue to morph into whatever kind of woman you fantasize about at the moment, making all those efforts for a man who could never spare a glance at me in such a way, and losing myself in the process. I always thought my worst misery would originate in a forced, loveless marriage with some old earl at best , that would little by little drain every spark of joy within me. But oh, what fool I have been. This senseless affair we have going on has come to distress me more than the worst of husbands ever could. So, go on, run straight into her arms. I do not care, not one bit, my lord. You have shattered my heart a million times throughout the years, I cannot feel it tearing apart anymore.”

His stupidly handsome face showed an evident feeling of distraughtness ; she had never raised her voice like that, nor had she ever used similar words around (or against) him. He quickly shook  his head to wash away the initial shock, substituting it with his typical stoic mask.

“I have never intended to inflict any kind of pain upon yourself, my lady. But, as my dearest friend, you should have known what you were getting yourself into, (y/n).”

His casual condescending  tone made her sick to the stomach and the loudest of silences entered the scene. After a minute or two, a gentle breeze interrupted (y/n)’s pondering. She then raised her head up in a defying manner. After making sure her voice wouldn't give up on her (even though her lower lip was trembling), she decided to voice her thoughts. 

“That's the thing that bothers me so much about infatuation. It makes humans stupid, it makes them believe it can fix anything, even lost causes such as yourself, Viscount Bridgerton. I do not desire to disturb my lord any longer, so excuse me.” And just like that, she was heading back inside the ballroom.

The sound of her heels furiously hitting the floor with every step matched perfectly with the accelerated heartbeat of the man left stranded in the gardens. Without much thought he decided to return to the chambers where his seemingly perfect mistress awaited for him.

Not very far from the action, a slightly inebriated Benedict was laughing obnoxiously loud with Eloise and Colin. The sight of  (Y/N) crossing the doors so rapidly while trying to contain her sobs and tears made the three Bridgerton siblings turn their heads to follow their friend’s trajectory. 

“Should we-” Benedict was eager to console (Y/N) despite his clouded reasoning.

“I would say that she needs a moment to collect herself, Benedict. Our presence could do more harm to her already poor state.” Colin spoke.

“I will try to approach her later. I wonder what has happened… Wasn’t she talking with Anthony?” Eloise recalled perfectly how Anthony had started to converse with Miss (Y/N) earlier that night, right in front of the thriving gardenias. Everything seemed perfectly normal when she was passing by, but it was obvious that something had happened after she had gone back inside.

Eloise moved rapidly to peek around the corner, followed by the two males whose curiosity was unbearable as well. On the other side of the garden, an obviously tense Anthony was making his way to his chamber with a light emanating from the inside of the room.

Without a second thought, Benedict voiced what the three of them were thinking in that moment.

“I think that is exactly the problem, my dear sister…”

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 4: Caught up in the Country

From: Handiwork Series

Pairing: Mechanic! Farmhand! Curtis x Bartender! Reader

Summary: It’s a long night for both you and Curtis following his capture from the bar

Word count: 3,682

Content/warnings: depictions of light torture (punching, smacking), mentions of blood, bruises, mob themes, mentions of fire and guns, knives, kidnapping, sad vibes, I tried not to make it too graphic, threats, kissing, lil bit of sad vibes, happy ending tho

Author’s Note: it’s been awhile, so go easy on me as I jump back into writing. I’m still trying to figure out Cherry, but I hope you can see her toughness here, as well as how deeply she cares. Takes place at the same times as YCMBWH Ch. 11 and The Rainmaker Ch. 8

I can’t wait to hear your feedback in all forms! Thank you for reading!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Everything felt heavy as Curtis’s head lulled to the side. He was blinking back into consciousness as he awoke from a sleep that was anything but restful. The world was black. His muscles felt tight and sore as he tried to wiggle his fingers for sensation but his wrists were restrained by a familiar burning sensation: rope.

The smell around him was familiar, yet different. There was a rich fertilizer undertone, paired with the apparent moisture in the air. It was crisp, yet toasty almost. He knew this one: barn with a hint of hay, not one of his, but likely local? The only other farm owner around was-

Curtis’s eyes were presented to a searing light as a black veil was pulled away. He tried to blink into adjustment under the lamp that hovered only a few inches above his head as the world slowly became clearer. A dirt floor was under his feet and he was surrounded by four red walls. They weren’t worn like the ones on his family’s farm, though. They seemed new. As his gaze continued to search around, that’s when he finally saw her, the one woman who had been at the bar, and suddenly he knew exactly what was happening.

You bit your nail on one hand, the other wrapped around your torso for comfort, as you paced across the rug in the living room of the farm home. After the fight had been handled and dissipated at the bar, Decks had driven you back to Bee’s house in your truck, in near silence. The whole ride home, you’d have been trembling if it wasn’t for the way she let you hold her hand with a reassuring squeeze, but now she was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps she was out wherever Bucky and Steve were, but you were pulled out of your thoughts about where she or Curtis could have possibly gone as Bee burst through the front door.

“Hey, I’m not sure how to say this, but I think it’s about time for an interrogation? Bucky’s men have Lloyd and Cole in one of the old barns. Weren’t sure if you wanted to be there or not for it.”

Her normally bright voice held a tentative and gloomy tone, as did her eyes. You dropped your arms with a sigh and nodded, following her out the door.

When you got to the barn, you saw it was lined with twice as many guards as the bar earlier in the night. You looked around at the men standing tall and alert, a look on their faces like they weren’t about to make the same mistake twice. Good.

You stopped at the open doors as Bee went in to find Bucky and took a deep breath and a moment to steel yourself.

You walked into the barn, boots scuffing the hay floor, head turning, taking in the sights before you. In two metal chairs, tied up, were the men from the bar: Cole and Lloyd who crossed well, everyone here.

Bucky stood in front of them with a menacing glare, Steve off to the side, leaning back against a stack of hay bales, arms and legs crossed as he watched the scene occurring.

They must’ve been at this for a little while now based off the bruises you could see forming on the mob boss’s hand, but the look on the mustached rival’s face wouldn’t have given that away. He smiled through the grime that physically and metaphorically coated him. Cole looked as scared and unsure as ever, evidently not cut out for this. You weren’t either, if you were honest with yourself, but you’d seen your fair share of things in your day. And you wouldn’t let yourself dare to think if Curtis was going through worse than what you witnessed now.

You calmly made your way over and stood next to Bee, who had leaned next to Steve. Sensing your arrival, Bucky came over and began lowly whispering his strategy.

“I can’t get jack shit with Lloyd here, fucking bastard. I know Cole will squeal as soon as he’s alone, though. We just need to-“

He was cut off by a sound that made you all turn your heads. The rafters of the barn creaked and down swung Decks, before landing onto the soft floor. The action caught the attention of the captives, too, as the watched her stalk over to them. Her shoulders were stiff, unyielding.

Steve made a movement to go towards her, but Bucky barred him with an arm, likely curious to see where this went. You strained your ears to hear her.

“I’ll give you one more shot. I’m sick of watching this dance. Where. Is. Curtis?”

A stuttering voice came out of Cole. “I-I don’t know.”

Smack. In a flash, his head was tossed to the side.

“Wrong answer.”

She took a step to her left, putting herself directly in front of Lloyd.

“Where?”

Her voice was alarmingly even. Calm, yet rage-filled. All you could see was the back of Lloyd’s shaking head, paired with his shoulders that appeared to be raising up and down with laughter. You weren’t sure if he took notice, though, at the way Decks’s fists tightened.

“Oh, come on, Pumpkin. You’re a smartie. Bet you’re a sweet peach just like your friend, too, but I’m not giving up whe-“

Punch. Right to the jaw. It was almost in slow motion as Lloyd fell to the hay floor in a heap with a dull thump and a rustle. She had knocked him out cold.

Her eyes were fixed on Cole again.

“Is that motivation enough for you to help us now?”

Cole furiously nodded and looked back over his shoulder at you. “I’ll talk to her.”

Your eyes went wide. You knew the least here out of everyone. Well, you guessed Decks knew less since she was in the dark for so long, but you were the farthest removed from it all. You were saved, though, when Steve shook his head, this time stepping forward without being stopped.

“No way. You lost your right to negotiate when you let Lloyd cross that line. You talk to me or you don’t have a tongue to talk anymore. Got it?”

You could see Cole swallow even from your distance as he nodded. With that, Bucky tilted his head in reference for you and Bee to leave the barn. When you searched for Decks to follow out, she was already long gone on her way back to the house.

Curtis had been here for hours now, but with the adrenaline running through him, it simultaneously felt like minutes and days. His wrists and ankles were getting sore from the tight restraints, but at least he wasn’t gagged. He guessed that whoever these people were didn’t think they were in for a tongue lashing. Boy, were they wrong. Every ounce of politeness was wrung out of him by now, if not from the torture he faced, then from having to listen to Lillian yell at seemingly incapable henchmen. Bucky would never. Curtis had seen what a tight ship he ran.

After rolling her eyes at a man furiously typing on a computer, she made her way back over to Curtis.

“Do you know where you are?”

Curtis let out a dry, humorless laugh. He’d been sitting here for how long and that was what she had to say to him?

“Not really, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me. I might have a couple guesses, though. But really, thank you for your hospitality for finally getting around to that.”

Lillian continued to circle him like a shark in her red bottom heels, doing her best to blow off his sardonic tone. The floor of this barn wasn’t dirt like the ones on his own farm property. It was wooden, so he heard the obnoxious clunk with every step she took.

She stopped and crouched down in front of him, hands on her knees over the grossly inappropriate pencil skirt she wore on this occasion.

“I thought you were supposed to be a nice, kind country boy. Chivalrous. Polite. Especially to women.”

Curtis tried his best to hold back a scoff.

“Perhaps I’d change my tune if you hadn’t…ya know, kidnapped me. But based on your behavior in general, how you were treating my girl? Calling someone a bitch knows no gender.”

Lilian slapped Curtis across the face at that and he leaned to the side, spitting, lucky to find no blood. At least she hadn’t gone in on him that hard. Yet.

She turned around and strutted to the table where the henchman sat with a computer and leaned back on her hands against it, crossing her ankles.

“When I’m done with you and your little friend group, you’ll be lucky to find yourself in a speaking position at all.”

Curtis’s body wasn’t sure whether to shudder at the coldness or roll his eyes. Maybe if he just kept talking, he’d be able to stall enough until help came.

“I thought Lloyd was supposed to be the unhinged one”

An eerie smirk crossed Lilian’s face at that. “Where do you think he learned his skills? I rarely spent time this far outside the city, but, you know, I’d like to think of myself as somewhat of a cowboy killer.”

Curtis shrugged before he remembered why he was hardly moving due to the jolt of pain that ran through him from the ropes. “While that’s mildly concerning, I do feel compelled to tell you that I’m more of a farmer and less of a cowboy. I’d say the closest thing you know to one of those is your boy Cole.”

Curtis was taking in every detail he could of his surroundings as he kept this conversation going. One of those details, though, included how Lilian’s eyes slightly widened at the mention of the prick Curtis had spent almost his whole life despising.

“Huh, that got something out of you….” Realization took over his features. “Oh my gosh, you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

Her previously cool and deranged demeanor had shifted. “Psh, what? That’s absurd. You’ve known Cole for how long? Why would I want to be with him?”

If he wasn’t careful, he’d say he was almost enjoying seeing someone who seemed like they had it all figured out make such a terrible decision. He had to tread a line, though. Keep talking without fully upsetting her and making the torture worse.

“That’s a great question, but I mean, I didn’t have great taste in romantic partners in my twenties, so I can’t blame you, really. So what’s this all about? You’re attacking Bee because she turned down Cole’s business proposal? No, even he doesn’t have the brain capacity for this sort of a vendetta.” Another moment of realization accompanied a gasp. “Oh my gosh, you used to date Bucky, didn’t you? It’s because of that? You want to take her down because of that? Like, come on. This is a bit much, Lil.”

She scowled at the nickname and accusation. “You’re ridiculous if you think all of this is over a lost lover.”

Curtis cocked his head to the side. “Am I? Am I, though?”

Lilian sighed and threw her hands up at exasperation, not only at being exposed, but at the fact that Curtis wouldn’t believe her fake denial at the situation. “God, you hicks are so dense. Never listen. I’m sure I could say anything to you and it would go in one ear, out the other.”

Curtis droppped his head and shook it. Yeah, okay Lilian. Believe whatever you want. It’s your funeral. He looked back up at her through his eyelashes. So sass only got him more insults, what about compliments?

“You’re right, I think you’re probably the only one with a law degree within 100 miles of this place.”

She nodded. “You bet I am. And one would think tha-“

She was cut off by a henchman coming up behind her and whispering over her shoulder into her ear. Her ruby red lips turned down into a frown as she rolled her eyes once again behind a mask of mascara, eyeliner, and dark eye shadow. The more he looked at her, the more Curtis saw a person. One capable of making mistakes, several, sloppy mistakes, that were hopefully to his advantage. The henchman stepped back, awaiting further instruction.

Lilian groaned. “Ugh, fine. Alright.”

She pointed at Curtis with a menacing squint. “You stay here while I investigate. Move an inch and I’ll pull out the knife. You haven’t seen me yet with one of those.”

You waited anxiously in the farm house, pacing the floor once again before you gasped in alarm, stopped by a hand on the shoulder. When you looked up from your feet, you were met with concerned eyes before you were pulled in for a hug. It was Decks.

Her chin was tucked over your shoulder and she squeezed you close.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. They’re going to find him. I bet they already have.”

You nodded and squeezed her back, holding tight to the baggy flannel shirt she wore. From the smell of it, you could tell it was an old one of Curtis’s. You couldn’t blame her, it was probably way more comfortable than anything she had left.

You pulled away, seeing the sincerity in her gaze.

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I’m not a little on edge, though. Thanks for what you did back there, by the way. I was afraid I was gonna have to jump in and show those guys who’s boss, but you had it covered.” You gave a watery laugh.

Decks gave a shrug. “Eh, anything for a friend. And you’re really the only one here that I’m not upset with right now.”

That brought a rare smile to your face. It was a little funny, but also sadly true. You knew she wasn’t dealing with this all as well as you, but admired her for sticking around. You could see so much honesty in her, probably a quality that drew her so close in her friendship with Curtis. It was comforting and exactly what you needed.

And speaking of comfort, a welcoming smell began to waft in from the kitchen. Bee was cooking, which didn’t seem super appropriate for the moment, until you looked at the clock above the stove.

It was early morning by now. Though the curtains were all pulled tight, through the seam in the middle, you could see the beginnings of daylight peeking through. It was then that you realized you’d been running for nearly twelve hours on sheer adrenaline and a need to stay strong until Curtis returned. It seemed like you should keep fighting, keep pushing for him to come back, but it was out of your hands now. Bucky’s men were on the job. All you could do was wait at this point. Hopefully this good meal could hold you over until then.

It was an ambush. All Curtis heard was a light shuffling inside his shielding of the barn, followed by dampened swift blows and brief screams. That must’ve been Bucky’s men.

The closed barn doors allowed him little room to see what was going on, but the scattered gunshots were enough to sense that something was coming closer. Only Lilian’s men were fools enough to cause that much of a scene.

As the sounds died down, the barn door slid open, and Curtis squinted at the morning light that was directed right towards his eyes. A shadow quickly covered it, though. Curtis couldn’t make out the face, darkened by the rays of sun that framed it, but he knew the outline of that build. It was similar to the one that was in his farm fields for weeks, but the waist was slimmer. It carried itself with just a little more proper posture and grace.

“Steve?”

The figure approached and his face was lit up by the overhead barn lights. A crooked, apologetic smile was there under a pair of sincere blue eyes. It was Steve. Curtis wasn’t sure whether to scowl or smile at his savior.

“Hey there, partner. I’m here for retrieval service.”

Steve walked around behind Curtis and crouched down, pulling the knife out of his breast pocket, flicking it open, and cutting the ropes from his wrists. Curtis immediately brought his hands to his front, rubbing the tender area.

“Did you get Lilian? She was outside. And all the guards? Is everyone else okay? How’s Cherry? Decks? Bee?”

Steve walked around to Curtis’s front, crouching once again to begin sawing at the ropes that held his ankles.

“The girls are good. Safe on the farm being guarded, but I think they can handle themselves. Your girl has taken this quite well all things considered.”

Steve broke through the ankle restraints and looked up at Curtis’s face. There was a cut on his cheek that appeared to be bruising slowly.

“Lilian got you pretty good, huh? Don’t worry, we’ve got her now. And Lloyd and Cole. They’re getting delivered back to an old friend in the city as we speak. Probably won’t have to see their faces ever again. That’s a blessing.”

Curtis nodded in assent. “You could say that again.”

Steve looked Curtis once over. “Can you walk?”

Curtis nodded and groaned as he threw his hands to his knees and pressed out of the uncomfortable metal chair.

“Yeah…you never really answered all of my questions, though, city boy, at least not fully….”

Steve walked with Curtis up to the edge of the barn, peeking out to check if the coast was clear and speaking into an ear piece. He nodded with confirmation and his shoulders relaxed a little, although Steve grabbed the gun from the holster on his hip just in case, keeping it low as they shuffled out into the open field.

When Curtis looked around, he could see it was one of the Turners farms, but not the original one. A newer one: one that had been taken over. Scattered all around him were other, smaller barns on fire. When he looked back behind him to where he had just been moments ago, that one was too, flames ripping through it like a warm knife in butter.

Once Curtis turned back to him as they approached a black SUV, Steve looked at him with his eyebrows pinched inwards.

Curtis got up in the driver’s seat despite the way Steve was very evidently guiding him towards the passenger side and held his hand out for the keys.

“Come on. While I drive home, you’re gonna walk me through your plan to get Decks back. If the next time I see her, she’s as mopey as she’s been this weekend, or worse yet, this hardens her, you’ll have hell to pay.”

Steve sighed as he settled into his seat. “Okay, okay. But I think I’m gonna need a lot of your input. Just be nice about it.”

Curtis raised a skeptical brow at Steve as he pulled out onto the country road, leaving the burning farm behind them and Bucky and his men to finish up.

You had finished you meal and sat back on the couch, leg bouncing as you worked out a plan. Curtis needed to get back safely. He had to. You didn’t know what you’d do if he didn’t. Probably beat up Bucky first for getting you all in this mess, then move. Far, far away. Run like you always needed to, even if this was the first place you really felt like you belonged. That would be easiest, your truck could probably handle it, right?

You were startled by the sound of the front door clicking and in an act of self defense, you grabbed your empty coffee mug off the table and threw it at the front entryway. As the door opened, it shut just as quickly from the startle of the ceramic shattering against the wall. From the outside, you could hear, “Holy cow. Um, good arm? But it’s me, darlin’…”

Your shoulders dropped in relief. “Curtis!?”

You ran to the front door, socked feet gliding on the wood, and you pulled the handle and whipped it open. He was standing there, Steve behind him. You threw yourself into his arms, hands wrapped around his neck as he squeezed around your torso.

“It’s me. Hi sweet girl. I’m okay.”

You pulled away with a smile on your face. Your hands ran along his beard and you leaned in for a deep kiss. When you looked at him, your eyes roamed over his face, bruised and slightly wincing at the gentle circles of your thumb. You moved to pull away and apologize, but he grabbed your wrist to keep you there. I’ll never let you go.

You simply nodded and smiled, before looking over his shoulder at the dark-haired mob boss walking up the driveway. His car had just pulled in.

Your eyes narrowed to slits as you gave Curtis a quick peck on the nose.

“You go on ahead and get in there. I think some people will be very happy to see you.”

Curtis nodded, sensing what was about to go down, and gave you a kiss on the top of your head as his hand rubbed your waist before walking through the threshold, and Steve followed behind him.

As Bucky scaled the front porch steps, about to take the same path as the other two men inside, he was stopped by your pointer finger to his chest. Your voice was threatening and low. “You, mister. If you ever let another threat like this, or one of your crazy ex girlfriends near us again, no one is coming out that unscathed. Am I understood?”

His eyebrows raised as he gave you a salute. “Yes ma’am. You have my word.”

You gave him a curt nod of agreement and went inside.

Next >

Bonus A/N: sorry for the dark vibes, but go Curtis and Cherry! Two badasses even in a hard situation imo, although she’s not so forward with it because she doesn’t have the direct threat. What do you think?

Taglist: @evelineangel66 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles

[caelwynn]

Caelwynn's Mod List for Stardew 1.6.9+ - Gameplay/Quality of Life (pg 2)

Last Updated: 11/26/24

Page 1. Page 2. Page 3.

No Fence Decay Redux — never worry about needing to fix fences ever again.

NPC Map Locations — another must-have mod. Shows you the locations of NPC in real time on your map.

Part of the Community — gives small friendship bonuses based on your relationships with NPCs' friends/families, times they've witnessed you talking to/giving gifts to others, and whether you're buying at their shops.

Platonic Partners and Friendships — for if you wish you could have an NPC room with you without the all that icky marriage stuff

Polyamory Sweet — for if you wish to keep a harem and/or have a roommate in addition to your spouse and/or have a commune of nothing but friends.

Quest Time Limits - Continued — a configurable mod that allows you to extend the amount of time that quests last for.

UI Info Suite 2 — overhauls the game's user interface.

Wear More Rings — lets you wear more than two rings. I'm greedy.

Little Red School House — adds a quest line to restore a school house so that Penny no longer teaches in the library.

Yet Another (Balanced) Quality Goods Mod — adjusts the quality of artisan goods based on the quality of ingredients as well as adjusting the profit accordingly.

Blue Eggs and Golden Mayo — allows you to make blue eggs/blue mayo from blue chickens, and golden mayo and ostrich mayo.

Ferngill Fashion Festival for 1.6 — adds in a series of heart events for Emily and a new festival.

Farmhouse Visits — allows you to set a configurable chance for NPCs to decide to visit your farmer.

Nondestructive NPCS (Unofficial update) — prevents NPCs from destroying your decor/items if they're blocking the NPC's path.

Brown Cows Give Chocolate Milk — Exactly what it says. Also allows you to make chocolate bars from chocolate milk.

Mako's Spam Mail — adds in a plethora of spam mail/advertisements/chain mail that you can receive each day. It makes me cackle at least once each play sessions.

Better Junimos — allows Junimos to automatically plant crops, fertilize, water plants, harvest forage, clear dead crops, and NOT harvest your flowers.

Starfruits Will Regrow — turns starfruits into a plant that produces throughout the season ala tomatoes or grapes.

No Soil Decay — prevents tilled soil from reverting if it doesn't have a plant in it overnight.

Self Serve for 1.6 — allows you to buy from shops even when their owner is away at aerobics or otherwise unavailable.

Waterproof Items — items that fall from trees float in the water instead of sinking, allowing you to collect them.

Lovely Digspot — changes the appearance of digspots to make them easier to see. I'm blind as a bat and this is INCREDIBLY helpful.

Greenhouse Sprinklers — allows you to eventually purchase overhead sprinklers from Robin so that you can maximize your growing space.

Better Crafting — an extensive overhaul of the crafting system. I mostly use it for the ability to bulk craft.

Better Chests — allows for better organization and search/filtering capabilities for your chests.

Bigger Backpack — allows you to purchase an additional row of storage space in your backpack.

Event Limiter — limits the number of events you can see in a day, plus how many you can see back-to-back. Configurable.

Relocate Farm Animals — allows you to easily reassign what barn/coop/hutch animals are in.

Colored Seeds for 1.6 — changes the color of seed packets to reflect what season(s) they grow in.

Social Page Order Redux — gives a filter function to the social page so you can see them divided out in different ways.

Schedule Viewer — pulls from game files to show you where NPCs are going throughout the day and at what time.

It's Still You — the mirror in the bathhouse quotes an iconic line from Undertale.

What Do You Want — provides in-game lists of requirements to complete different parts of the game, excluding what you've already completed. Lists include the community center, Grandpa's evaluation, golden walnuts, and various achievements.

Mail Services Mod — gives you the capability to mail gifts to NPCs, as well as mail off your tools for upgrade and receive them from Clint once they're done.

The Masterpost for all of the mods is located here.

[lildevyl]

FebuWhump Day 7:

DSMP Mafia/Superpower AU

Summary:  Tommy's parents are visited by the Syndicate, the biggest and most powerful Mafia Crime Family in all of L’Manburg.

TW: Violence, Mention of Guns, Minor Characters Death.

L’Manburg was a country built on Truth, Justice and Freedom.  Freedom for those who were used, abused, osteria size, outed, shunned, shamed for being different, being a hybrid, having hybrid powers but not the hybrid traits, for being able to do magic.  From the time that the Founders were able to gain their independence and establish their own country.  Many “Outsiders” quickly flocked to L’Manburg to start over again with a brand new clean slate.  Over the centuries, L’Manburg flourished into something so grand that not even the Founders of this great country could have dreamed of.

But like all dreams, many things change over time and soon a dream can turn into a nightmare.  That is what happened with L’Manburg.  Many people came to L’Manburg and search of a home and being able to start a business or looking for a job.  As the country itself grew, the lines in itself started to be drawn.  You have Upper Districts that are closer to the center of the country where places like Las Nevadas, Pogtopia, and the Esempi are.  Where the rich and wealthy flourish with so much that it’s impossible for any of the business owners up there to be where they are without some kind of shady to borderline illegal type of business deals.

Then you have Lower Districts where places like Logstedshire (the Slums) and the Badlands reside.  The place where the “common folk” and the “poor people” live.  It’s also where so much crime is that it’s utterly ridiculous!  If it weren’t for the Vigilantes then the crime rates wouldn’t be so bad.  Except for one particular reason.  The Syndicate.  The Syndicate is said to be the family of the most powerful Villains in the Underground World.  

Oh, I’m sorry did I forget to mention the Heroes and Villains?  OOPS!  Let me backtrack a bit.  See remember when I mention that back during L’Manburg’s Founder’s Years, where we had people that are hybrids, have hybrid powers but not the hybrid traits, people that can do magic?  Well, over the years, people have been born with what people call superpowers, powers or enhancements.  Some even still have their hybrid traits and talents, others, well they look human but have the hybrid powers, others just never have been a hybrid or any family member but they did wind up with some sort of power or enhancement.

As you can imagine with all that going in the country and with the divide between the Social Economy becoming the normal and being the who’s who.  You can see that many people will either result in some people have decided to try and to actually do some good with the gift that they were born with.  And try to make a difference in the world.  Become a Hero for all to see and aspire to be.

Or they rather go down a different path, doing shady deals to get to the top and stay at the top.  To get rid of their lying cheating husband, to make sure that their daughter married the “perfect man.”  This is where the Syndicate comes to play in this story.

The Syndicate is a  Mafia family like business.  Their Headquarters is the upper part of the Lower Districts where they can easily get business for all kinds of jobs.  What kinds of jobs you may ask?  Anything from needed to get rid of someone, staging an accident, to auditioning illegal items and/or people for service, to lending out business loans for those who want to start their own business and most important of all.  They offer protection to any business that will pay their fees from any crime.

All you have to do is agree to their terms and make sure to pay on time.  Otherwise, they will have no problem in showing up to collect their debts.  This is where our story begins.

(Actias House, The Garden)

It was Tommy’s birthday today but instead of celebrating it with his family he’s out here in the Garden with his Keeper Sam and all of his toy friends!  Having a blast with a birthday tea party.  It was a good day!  The sun was out, there was a nice breeze, Tommy saw a few birds (Tommy giggled when he saw a Raven!) and the nice lady Niki even baked some cookies for Tommy and let Tommy decorate a few cupcakes for his birthday!

Tommy was a little sad that his parents couldn’t be here celebrating with him.  They were stuck in that boring meeting with the mean business guy Charon and his two sons Orpheus and Ares.  Tommy’s not sure how he feels about them.  His parents and his Aunt say they were on their side and that they were here to protect them.  But why would his family need all the extra protection?  Tommy’s got Sam, his parents have a couple of guards as well that look after them.  Tommy didn’t get it, and might never get it.  But right now it’s not time for sad thoughts, it's time for having fun!

“Oh, what do we have here?”  A voice that Tommy didn’t recognize said.  Tommy turned his head to where the voice came and saw him.  He was extremely tall, with curly brown hair that had a white streak in it, he was wearing an ocean style dress shirt, a black trench coat, ripped jeans and what Tommy could only call it.  A Music Style Mask that Tommy had seen his parents wear during the Holidays when they go to those fancy adult parties.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said.  “May I join you, little one?”

Tommy scuffed.  “I’m not little!  I’m a big kid now!”  Tommy said proudly.  And he’s right, he is a big kid now!  He just turned six!  Which means that he’s going to be starting Primary School in the Fall!

“Oh, may I ask how old you are?”  The man asked nicely.  Well Tommy thinks he asked nicely.  He’s not sure there was something really weird with his voice.

“Six!  I just turned six today!  It’s my birthday and I’m having a birthday Tea Party!  You want to join, Mister?”

“I love, too.”  The man sat down on the bench on the other side of the table across from Tommy and Sam.  Tommy noticed that the man didn’t answer his question or maybe he didn’t realize that Tommy was asking the man for his name?  Yeah, that had to be it!  Tommy poured the man some tea and gave him a couple of cookies.

“So, it’s your birthday today?”  The man asked.  Tommy nodded.  “How come your parents are out here?”

“They’re in a boring adult meeting with that mean Sharon guy.”

“Charon,” the man corrected.  “How’s he mean?”

“Mommy and Daddy couldn’t re - re - re-ah-ange the meeting.  So, that’s why this Charon guy is mean!  It’s my birthday!  He could have had it any other day!”  Tommy sulked.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to schedule it on your birthday,” the man said.

“You never told me your name,” Tommy pointed out.

“No, I haven’t.  How about this, we both introduce each other.  I’ll go first.  I’m Orpheus.”

“Tommy.  Wait, your Or-fee-sus?”

The man - Orpheus just busted out laughing.  “Orpheus.  But close enough.”

“How about I call you something that’s a lot easier to say?”  Tommy offered.

“Okay, what do you suggest?”

“I don’t know.  Mommy said you have ‘Mind Control’ powers like the Sirens.  Hey!  That’s what I’ll call you!  Siren!”

“Siren,” Orpheus - Siren says like he’s trying the name out.  “Okay, you can call me Siren.”

“Tommy!”

“Hi, Mommy!”  Tommy waved.  “We’re having a Tea Party!”

Tommy’s Mother darts her eyes at Siren and then back to Tommy with a strange kind of smile on her face.  Why’s his Mother scared?  She said Siren and his family were protecting them?

“Oh, that good dear!  Um, Mister Orpheus, your father wants to talk to you,” Tommy’s Mom said.

“Thanks for the tea and cookie.  And Happy Birthday!”  Siren got up and followed Tommy’s Mother back inside.  

Tommy shrugged and went back to enjoying his tea party.  Not knowing that this would be the last tea party he would have in a very long time.

(Several Months Later)

Clara and Timothy Actias were on their hands and knees begging for their lives.  Siren scuffed at how predictable these welps are.

“Mister and Misses Actias, kindly restate what our deal is?”  Charon asked in a calming tone.  His midnight black wings tucked perfectly behind his back.  Talons tapping on his cane, while looking down at the couple through his Wither Skull Mask.

“Re-repay the loan that you lent us for our real estate business and for your protection against any criminals and other villains or heroes with twenty percent more.”  Misses Actias recited.

“Glad to know we’re on the same page.  Now, kindly tell us why you thought it was a good idea to ghost us for nearly an entire year when we gave you a specific deadline to return the money?”

“Sir, I request that you give us just a week!  That’s all!  I can give all the money by then!  We didn’t realize that we - we spent the money!”  Mister Actias said.

“You think that we are fools?”  Siren demanded.  “We know the minute that we give that extra time you’ll just flee the country!  Why else would you not return our calls?”

“Sire,” Charon lightly chastises.  “Let’s be professional shall we?”  Siren nodded and back down a bit.  “Let’s settle this like professionals that we are.  I’ll make you an offer, a deal if you will.”

Both Mister and Misses Actias' heads popped up with that.  Hope in their eyes that they might be able to get out of this.

“You have a son don’t you?  He would be about this tall?  Blond hair that looks like gold in the sunlight, blue eyes that look like gems?  Loves animals and from what hear tea parties?”

“What?!  What are - you can not - this is - that is” Mister Actias sputtered incoherently.

“He died!”  Misses Actias said.  Shocking everyone including her husband.

“Oh, how did he die?”  Siren asked skeptically.

“Swimming accident!  Out by the pond near our backyard.  It happened this past weekend.  We didn’t - we didn’t know that we accidentally took the money out for his funeral was the money that we needed to pay you back.  We swear it was an accident!”  Misses Actias said, her voice trembling.

“Oh, my apologies.  May you both rest in peace with your son,” Charon said tapping his cane on the wooden floor.

Just like that Siren and Ares raised their guns and fired.

(Clementine’s House)

Clementine was having a blast.  She finally got to have a weekend with her nephew.  She managed to get Tommy to bed and now is as good a time as any to start getting some of the cleaning done.  Clementin just finished washing the dishes and putting them on the drying rack when a knock came from her front door.

Clementine came to the front and flipped on the porch lights and peaked out the side windows next the door.  What was the police doing here?

“Can I help you?”  Clementine asked as she opened the door.

“Ma’am I think it’s best that we come inside,” One the officers said.  “It’s about your brother and sister in law.”

****

Tagging: @weirdmixofweirdness @febuwhump @a-humble-narcissus, @tracobuttons

[jacks-tracks]

oaxaca wacka

Posada Chapulin, room 5 of 8, 300 pesos, private room with bathroom, hot water 7 till 8, am and pm, 50 meters down a corridor form a noisy street, so it's relatively quiet, The double bed is stuffed with rocks,and the pillows with gravel, but it's clean, safe, good lights, opening window,and fan ,a good value. Adrian, the owner speaks some english and his wife is nice. They get short stays, so my 6 nights is exceptional. Of course I paid cash up front, so they like me and I am friendly in my broken Spanish. Good location only 3 blocks from the zocalo, reccomended by Gordon and Maru.

As gordon said, without the traffic, the streets look just as they did 100 years ago, lined with 2 storey buildings, wrought iron balconies, stone block construction. Signage is minimal, flat to walls, street signs are plaques mounted up high(when there are any). Vendors clog the streets and sidewalks with stands selling a plen titude of stuff, and wandering pedlars hawk a great variety with seemingly little success. Nowadays there is a rush hour, not help by double parking. Andadors(pedestrian only streets) area bonus. There are a zillion stores catering to tourists, and a million tourists to fill the frequent high end restaurants. For the more economical there are lots of hole in the wall eaterys, or the big food market. Tourists seem to be equally divided between gringos and Mexicans.

Posada el Chapulin (the grasshopper) is 1 block from the big markets, one of which is clothes and dry goods, the other all eaterys .Aisles in the stuff market are clogged by overflows from the stalls, and further impeded by independant sellers flogging odds and sods. Sidewalks too are filled to impassable by tiny stalls and more sellers. How many people buy wooden bookmarkers? there are lots of beggars sitting against shady walls holding out cups for coins.Yes I give to them , usually 5 pesos, mostly to women with little kids or elderly women, more for cripples. As usual in Mexico I see very few elderly people. either they are at home doing child care, or they just don't get out. Banner in the zocalo calls for more pensions and better health care. that will not apply to the Venuzuelians begging. I saw a side street plugged with tarp covered tents, but did not intrude.

I rise from my rocky bed at 7, eat granola after a wash and shave and plan my day. Morning are for exploring, following sketchy tourist maps to museums, which are hard to find. in 2 days I,ve gone to 5 , lots of walking and searching. Lucked out by finding one next to a church which had great displays. A square block 2 storey building, former nunnery, with 3 big empty courtyards. Down stair a series of dim rooms were filled with a dog display, wonderful pottery dogs from all over the country, fat dogs, happy dogs, dogs with pups, dogs at funerals, dogs in tiny ceramic houses, ranging from crude figures to beautiful art glossy ceramics.

Upstairs was the horde of Monte Alban, which I,ve seen before. Still enthralled by the gold work, elaborate necklaces, plaques,rings.the sheer volume was impressive as was the level of artistic achievement. i dodged the pokey tour groups and the 50 well behaved children all dressed in red t shirts. for 90 pesos it was the best museum.

A nearby corner tienda sold rugs for shocking prices. I do want to buy a couple, but may not unless I can get better prices from the creators in Teohuacan. Ii'll go there tommorrow and to Mitla ruins, by collectivo.

Frankly the museums have been a disappointment, with few piecs or poor quality art . The 2 I especially wanted to see are closed, one for adminstrative problems(?) and the other for no reason given.Oh well, i got plenty of exercise looking.

By noon it's sunny and hot(it rained showers 2 nights at 6pm) with clear air and light breezes. i retreat to El Chapulin for a siesta with perhaps a juice or bun along the way Siesta, regroup, read. by late afternoon it,s time to eat and the big, square block covered food market is next. 100+ food stalls, busy. I had a tamale mole Oaxacano, and caldo de pollo. Mole is chocolate without sugar and a caldo is

soup.

Skipping backwards, my very first stop in town was the Oaxaca lending library, a surprisingly big place, well lit , memberships, cafe, and very helpful staff. I,d heard they had an orientation hour, but it's Monday, the day before I leave. I,d hoped to get a map, but there,s were a scan download beyond me.Happily an elderly gringo(like my age) took my phone and rearranged my screen aps. ian was a salmon troller in the 70,s and knew Lasqueti. Small world department.

Friday was the Dia de Samaritana, and shops and stores give away drinks of Jamaica. I was in the Oaxaca Art institute having a rest and saw the volunteers set up a 5 gallon ceramic olla on a table decorated with bouganvillea flowers in an arch.more interestingly, they had a tub of lime gelatto. the artists gathered, and gave me drinks and ice cream. Across the street the taxi drivers association had a table of juice for the eager public, and up the Andador were dozens of tables doing the same. It was delicious and refreshing.

Evening in the zocalo. tourists and locals filled the benches under the big old trees, kids played, friends visited,and vendors circulated. Ladies sold beautiful shawls . Marimbas kept a nice beat, out of tune singers hollered through amplifiers, and the diners under the porticos had a fine view. Panhandler heaven! They varied from the silent stare, to the beligerant demanders. All move on if unsuccesful. One vagrant showed me his ulcerated legs, crusted black and oozing, looked burnt. There are some dodgy characters, but nobody tried to pick my pocket. Perhaps because there are tons of police everywhere, more than I,ve ever seen. Not sure how machine guns will effective, but I guess it,s a deterent.

A covered stage faced a sea of folding chairs and an orchestra set up. I got ringside and had a clear shot for pictures of the chicken dancers. That,s what i call them , though there probably is a more dignified term. The huipile clad women spin flaring their colourful skirts, while the men in peasant dress stamp behind them appearing to try and kiss them, but the flirts just swirl away. The visual is that of a rooster rushing a hen, and it goes on far too long. The youth orchestra supplied the music, then once the dancers left the band moved to the stage platform and honked out some brassy tunes. Sounded OK live, but when i played back the video I shot it was all sharps and flats. The crowd loved it! I left for home while they were still trying.

Next blog will be from a day trip down the valley...

[itsuki-minamy]

GROUND ZERO: FRAGMENTS

CHAPTER 4: THIS SUMMER BEGINS

* List of Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Many people remember "that day" in 1999 as a special moment.

For some, a shocking disaster that suddenly hit them. For others, the moment when an extraordinary catastrophe was felt through distant rumors.

The sun shining from above. A cicada screech they can't even talk about. Sweat running down the cheeks. Some will remember such a scene.

But that was a little further.

The temperature had already started to rise every day, but it was still far from summer production.

In a fate similar to high pressure magma that swallows everything and burns it, the daily life of thin skin remained, that is the history of that time.

++++++++++

It was awkward getting on the train after a tough event.

A black suit with holes here and there and fraying. Burning smell. A soot-smeared face floated on a crowded station platform.

Just a few hours ago, "Purgatory" was attacking a gangster headquarters, a few miles away from the area where it was approved to live.

Number 2 splitting the plan, what Soma calls "room hunting". At a minimum, to get a place to live in the land where the infrastructure is alive, he said, "I have a star in the correct yakuza", but in reality, there may be strategic reasons such as expanding the territory of control, threatening the security system and secure a bridgehead.

However, such a "room search" failed due to the outburst of the "Red King" Kagutsu Genji, and ended in vain enough to destroy the unlucky gangsters.

The large car used on the outward route was also wrecked, so clan members procured their return journeys locally. Specifically, it was decided to divide into several vehicles and motorcycles that were stolen from the owners through threats, but it happened that two young people were run over by the number of members.

The baby-faced boy Kyoji and Takuya Choya. They didn't care if they had a license or not, but they didn't know how to drive either.

"No, Jibun and the others are going back by train."

In response to Soma's amused instructions, the boy was in a bad mood and Choya bought the ticket with a nihilistic mood. At that time, the transportation IC card service had not yet started.

"It's better to go home... than stay and die today."

As he waited for the train, Choya said that.

"Why, will we live long? No way."

And, the boy answered that on the train platform.

In the battle that day, some members of "Purgatory" also died.

Most of them were influenced by the power of the "Red King", and their bodies exploded due to a leak of different abilities, but there was only one man who died when he was hit by a yakuza's ammunition.

Yusuke Kadota. He looked to be in his early thirties, but he still looked like he was in his early twenties due to his baby face and hip attitude.

About a month ago he had entered "Purgatory". Immediately before, he killed 13 members of the antisocial organization he belonged to and got out. The case was registered as a normal criminal case, not an extraordinary case. Before the installation and manifestation of dysphoria, the man caused a mass murder with a single gun.

"Uh, I don't think he shot. The yakuza and the police often shot, bang bang."

The boy liked the "newcomer" Kadota. Unlike other members of the clan, he did not treat children lightly due to their age and appearance.

"Hey, how does it feel to shoot and kill a person compared to doing it with extraordinary power?"

Faced with such an unscrupulous question, Kadota did not seem offended and replied politely.

"Here we go… what's up? I haven't had a chance to compare. I've never killed a person with this power."

Kadota extended his right hand and showed it. His index finger was missing and the cross section glowed red like a flare.

"I can't shoot with this finger anymore."

As you could see, Kadota's stigma was that he was "missing his right index finger," probably because one of the guns was traumatic. The power of extraordinary power was the "bullet" emitted from the missing finger, but the extraordinary power of the bullet was rarely used after only a few test shots.

"Then let's shoot the yakuza in that area the next time we go in and out."

"No, that's a bit… what do you think?"

"I don't care. He who hits and dies is bad!"

Kadota smiled a little embarrassed at the boy's laughter, and today he was hit by a bullet and died. He wasn't killed by the power of an extraordinary skill, he died like a normal man by mere ammunition.

"He could have shot, but he didn't. He didn't prevent it, even though he could prevent it. That was suicide... I think he chose to die like a normal person. I'm sure that's what he wanted."

"What is that? I don't understand the meaning."

The boy had a sharp mouth. Every time he was told a complicated story, he was in a bad mood. And...

"I think that old man was a bit tough, maybe he was too nice."

He said it lightly.

"That's right. I'm sure his personality was calm."

"Whatever way you hit the weapons, which way, the guys above will disappear the weak guys."

"Well, that's right. I'm sure that's correct. The train has arrived."

Choya tried to round off the topic by saying that.

“Most of all, that old man was…”

The boy was eating even more.

Miscellaneous words about Kadota continued for many train stations after that. He was feeling a little upset, but he knew it was a shame for a child.

In everyday life, the children sometimes talked about people close to them and sometimes said mean things.

Mothers who couldn't live with them, grandmothers who raised them, local childhood friends, etc. None of them were in the world now.

According to them, they were bulls. They were angry. She was a careless woman. She was a messed up slap. It was heartless shit, and the fight was weak. In this way, the children enumerated the reasons why they had to die. This is how he was trying to convince himself.

Choya's idea was different. The outlook on life was simpler.

There was no meaning to life or death.

― So you don't have to say bad things to someone you like.

He thought would say that, but he stopped himself.

Emotions, souls, life, life that has no meaning, he believed that it was not correct to think like that. In that way, he who lived as a zombie was meaningless and unnatural. That's what he thought.

The boy lived in a slightly better world than himself as a dead person. He just stared through the glass at his sparkling emotional displays.

When five train stations passed after the criticism of Kadota began, the topic broke and she was supposed to be the grandmother of a child.

That grandma, she put a candy ball in her pocket and walked over to her and gave it to a kid in her neighborhood. That's why the kid could lick it and also look at the bad guys. Even though she said that, he couldn't hear it.

The train stopped at the station and a large number of students entered. It was the closest station to a famous private high school. Boys and girls in English-style blazer-style uniforms filled the seats, chatting like a flock of birds.

― It is bad.

Choya wondered about the boy's situation.

Student, rich, nice guy. The boy hated "hanging out together and seeing their own faces".

It was a complete alienation; it would be a source of fire if the stalemate turned out to be extreme.

"Smells like burnt?"

"Funeral... Coming back from the crematorium?"

"No, he's a yakuza."

He heard such whispers that they were exchanged.

"Kyoji... do you want to move to another platform?"

Although he tries to say that calmly so as not to irritate him, the boy's line of sight was already fixed on a point ahead.

"Hey!"

The boy screamed. It was a loud voice that echoed throughout the vehicle.

"Sorry! You're sitting there!"

Several male students sitting in the priority seats at the front of the vehicle looked at each other.

"Give your seat to the elders!"

"Uh..."

Choya finally caught on. An elderly woman, in her 80s, boarded through the vehicle entrance. Her waist was bent and she used a cane. The step was small and she was swaying a bit.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Please, Grandma."

The students who hurriedly stood up bowed their heads to the boy and urged the old woman to sit down. There was no need to shout. It was easy.

Rather, the old lady suddenly made a noise and attracted attention, and she stood still.

It would be a problem if she was told to sit cross-legged in the middle of that situation.

The door closed and the train began to move while the situation was awkward and stuck.

"Hmm... I'll be by your side."

"Uh..."

At least if they were out of sight, the old woman would be able to sit down and the students would be quiet.

That was the world of ordinary people, and they were the obstacles. He was aware of that.

When the children were about to start walking...

"Uhahahaha! What is it?! What is it?!"

From behind, he heard crazy laughter.

Looking back, there was a strange girl there.

The girls in the vehicle were all girls who were wearing uniforms from prestigious private high schools and seemed refined. It wasn't just about appearance, but behavior. They were elegant creatures carefully bred in a greenhouse.

On the other hand, the one in front of them was a completely wild species. Poor pedigree or poor growth, short, old-fashioned body shape. Her skin was dark, her hair was coarse and she laughed with bad makeup like a dark circle. The teething was also terribly bad. Her clothes were the same as the students, but she was also poorly dressed. She loosened her collar, tucked her skirt in, and loosened her stockings on one side. It was almost a costume from a fairy tale.

In a word, she was like a raccoon dog that failed to become a young girl.

"Mika-chan, you can't do it. It's rude if you suddenly laugh."

"And they're a little scary. They might get mad."

From among the animal-like girls who were worried and whispering, the raccoon dog took an open step and stood in front of the boy. She was even smaller than a toddler.

"Fufufu, you're weird. Aren't you the kind of person who secretly picks up a kitten on a rainy day?"

"What... what the hell are you saying?!"

"It's a waste to make a loud voice. I don't know if you're a good guy."

"Ku..."

"She's not your grandmother, right?"

"What did you say?!"

― If he thinks she's just a stupid woman, he'll be looking at her unexpectedly. No, were she listening to the conversation?

"You..."

Choya intervened.

"No matter what this guy and Grandma are, it's not something that others should make fun of."

The Tanuki laughed with a "Hehehe." unafraid, and she put her hand in the pocket of her uniform.

"Sorry, do you want candy?"

Her palm, which was filled with individually wrapped sweets, was presented in front of the boy.

"Hm... I don't need such a thing!"

"Hahaha, don't hesitate."

The Tanuki leaned towards the boy and put a piece of candy in the pocket of his black suit.

"What... what are you doing?!"

When the boy tried to push her away, the Tanuki quickly reached down, sat in the priority seat and touched the empty seat next to her.

"Bah, come on, it's free here! Come on, sit down!"

It was a strange behavior, but when he noticed it, the tense air inside the vehicle was loose.

"Thank you..."

The old lady bowed to the boy and the boy gave up his seat, and with the help of the raccoon dog, she slowly sat down.

"I'll get off next station, Taku."

"It's not the station to get off yet..."

"We can get on another train."

When Koji and Choya spoke in a whisper...

"Haha, it's a TV store!"

The Tanuki pointed at him.

Finally, when the train stopped and the door opened, a loud voice was heard from the back of the two descending.

"Bye, Kyoji, Taku, bye! Take care of yourselves! Stay together! Bye!"

Even after the train left the platform, the reverberation remained for a while.

After that, the two of them walked out onto the street from the station. They had to walk for more than an hour to the base of "Purgatory", but they did not complain, they chose to go home on foot. It was so awkward that they couldn't wait a few minutes for the next train.

"Hmm... who the hell is that woman?"

"I don't care. We won't see her anymore."

"She's like a raccoon dog."

"Oh, I thought that too."

"She asked me if I wanted a candy? Damn."

The boy reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of candy, and handed it to Choya.

"Eh?"

"Look, I'll give you half."

Saying that, he peels off the packaging and throw it in his mouth.

― Oh, you eat it...

"Eh?"

When she noticed Choya's line of sight, the boy looked intimidating and...

"I can't turn it into a poor morsel!"

"That's how it is."

Choya also put the candy in his mouth. He couldn't turn candy into food. He thought so, even if he said that, the boy would not be convinced. On the contrary, he would think it rude to refuse the food served.

"I see, Grandma..."

"Oh?! Grandma doesn't matter!"

The boy was poisoned again. However, since he had the candy in his mouth, he didn't spit it out.

++++++++++

The two met the "Tanuki" a few days later when they went out into the city as messengers for Soma.

In the post-processing of the gang attack case, there were some things that he had to talk about "Tokijikuin". As a return to that, he delivers the documents to the nearest branch.

Order and deviation to "Tokijikuin" which represents law and order. Soma from "Purgatory" was always kept in the gray zone and as a result behaved freely without social or anti-social restraints. It was just a devilish twist.

"Wow, it was easy, right? I'm just a middle manager. My general and my junior boss, and the politicians and citizens, somehow, while they push me here and there, I managed to put him in a circle. I'm on his side. I am working for everyone. You can get a salary from your country."

It was a man holding a poker card in his left hand, lighting a bomb detonator in his right hand, smiling a bottomless smile, and distorting his mouth.

Contact with "Tokijikuin" was often made by the boy and Choya. Among the mischief makers in "Purgatory", he had an appearance that was exceptionally close to the general public and was rarely noticed in the city. He was a rare human resource in "Purgatory", who could act as a courier without causing any trouble.

"I really don't like this kind of use of children."

That day there was no driver, so it was a train movement. As they headed to the nearest station, on the way, Koji told Choya.

"Soma-san says that he believes in us and leaves it to us. We have to live up to expectations."

"No... that person wouldn't wait for others. If we were wrong, we would just use it as a source to move another plan."

"Huh? You're like that."

 At that moment,

"Oh, Kyoji! Kyoji!"

A loud voice came from behind.

"Eh?"

Looking back, some kind of raccoon was constantly running and stopped in front of them. It was the raccoon dog from the other day.

"Oh, Kyoji and Taku!"

"You... don't disrespect people."

"Oh, sorry, Kyoji and Taku."

"I'm telling you to put the "kun" on it."

"Hahaha."

"You were called "Mika-chan" by your friends."

Choya yelled from the side.

"Looks like the uniform is different today."

"Oh, that's right. Taku-kun, are you a person who knows about this kind of thing?"

That day, the Tanuki was wearing a uniform from a local public school. She wasn't as floaty as the prestigious private uniform from the other day, but after all, she was in disguise somewhere.

"What is that? What do you mean?"

Choya answered the boy's question.

"Maybe she's walking around in another school's uniform. I don't know if it's private or public, but I don't know if she's actually enrolled..."

"I will hit you!"

When the Tanuki said that without being afraid,

"Hey, Somekichi."

Across the street, high school students in the same uniform and various men and women waved their hands.

"What are you doing?" "Are you going to karaoke?"

Thereafter,

"Oh, right~"

The Tanuki turned to the students as she said…

"I'm going to work part time!"

"Oh, I'm sorry." "I'll call you later." "Do your best at the part-time job."

The students started walking again.

"Part time job?"

"What is Somekichi?"

When Koji and Choya asked her...

"Huh, are you interested in that? It's me."

Saying that, the Tanuki smiled. As usual, the alignment of her front teeth was poor.

"Somekichi Mikako, part-time worker, 17 years old.", the Tanuki called to herself.

Although she did not go to high school, she wore a uniform and went in and out of various schools, and she had many friends.

"Are you a fake student?"

"Well, it's the value of the Joshi Kose, that's why it's in demand. Fufufu."

"No way, you're doing suspicious work."

Before the boy, Tanuki-Mikako slammed the palm of her hand against the large cardboard box that had been strapped to the mamachari's loading platform.

(Note: Mamachari is the shortened expression in Japanese for mama no charinko (mom's bike). These types of bikes are equipped with a basket in front or behind, and a special seat can be placed on them to carry a child and circulate safely.)

"Fufufu...money to watch? It's my job."

The contents of the box were tightly packed pocket tissues. The phone number was printed on the package.

"Tissues distribution?"

Looking around him, there was a part-time job handing out similar tissues in front of the busy station. She will take a long time to complete the quota for a large box, as passersby often ignore her.

"Well, it's okay to work seriously, but... it's a normal job for a while."

"Although my work is futuristic, "Puri" is different, "Puri"."

"What is "Puri"?"

"Fufufu, look at me, look at me."

Perhaps it was a part-time job uniform, Mikako put on a fluorescent cap that shone on her uniform, reached into the box, and held a bunch of tissues in her left and right hands. And...

"Love & Peace!"

"Eh?"

As she ran through the crowd in front of the station at full speed, she hugged the waist of a middle-aged office worker in front of her.

"What?!"

Several tissues swirled in the suit pocket of a salaryman who made a strange voice and stiffened.

"Uhahahaha! Uhahahaha!"

"Hey, peace, peace! Thanks!"

Mikako ran towards the children as she one-sidedly thanked the clerk who took it away.

"How about? A part-time job I thought up."

"No... no matter what you say."

"What is this "part time job"?"

"I call it "Aggressive Free Hug". Fufufu... With this trick, the tissues will be sold 10 times faster and there will be no conflict in the world. Imagine..."

"It's far from a Tsukkomi."

"It's a technique or an eccentricity, it's almost the work of a youkai, that's all."

"Oh? I don't know either."

Mikako filled her hands with tissues again and...

"Fufufu, there is a secret in the low pass when tackle."

"Don't ask. She just said tackle. It's not a hug."

"So, next time I'm targeting that onichan, take a closer look."

The target was a tanned young man in a tank top. He maybe he went to the gym, he had a good physique and was muscular.

"Come on! Love & Peace!"

Mikako ran towards the man and...

"Gak!"

The next moment, she rolled onto his back.

"Eh?!"

The boy hurried.

"Hey, Mikako, are you alright?! Wow, there's blood coming out!"

"Uh..."

Mikako pointed at the man.

"I was able to adjust my knees to the tackle..."

"Hey, hey!"

"Wait."

Choya stopped the boy who was about to activate his fire power towards a man.

Then, turning back to the confused man, he said…

"I was watching. Do you practice martial arts too? Something jumped out like a strange animal, so I tried to lift my leg and stop it. It came running out of his face."

"Oh, yeah... Hey, Mikako, show me where did you hit... Oh, your front teeth are messed up!"

"That... isn't that..."

"Oh, this is a row of teeth. Did you hit your nose? The nose isn't crushed either. Does it originally look like this? You just had a nosebleed."

"Sorry, I got involved in something strange. It's okay, go away."

Choya urged him to do so, but the man left at least 5,000 bills for medical expenses.

 And...

"Hehehe, I made a profit."

Mikako, who covered her nose with a tissues, looked at the boy and Choya.

"I have cash, maybe I'll have some tea. I'll treat you!"

"Tea… what about your part-time job?"

"Well, it might not be a job if her nose bleeds..."

Mikako paced back and forth with a large box as the boy and Taku said so. And when she hit the side of the box and draw the attention of passersby...

"Hey, hey! Attention, free tissues! Free tissues! Take them away!"

She left the box in the middle of the street and came back.

"It's finished. Let's go!"

"It's not finished. I'm going to get sick when I do technical work."

"First of all, I'm not saying I'll find you."

"Hehehe. Don't hesitate."

While saying that, when she tries to pick up the mamachari parked on the side of the street, the ringtone of the mobile phone sounded from the pocket of Mikako's uniform.

"Oh, the phone."

The clamshell mobile phone was a type of clamshell that was common before PDAs. Many pets were hanging in the leash hole.

"Hello, this is Some-san. Eh, Nanisore, really? Ah... yeah, that's fine. Thanks for helping me out. Hahaha. See you soon."

She closed the mobile phone.

"Sorry, I have another part-time job. Maybe next time we'll go for tea!"

"You don't have to apologize. Go on your own."

"Hmm...?"

Mikako stopped and looked at the boy's expression.

"That's right. Well, I'm glad Kyoji has recovered."

"Ah? What are you saying all of a sudden?"

"Actually, I was a bit worried. When I met him on the train, he surprised me."

― She look closely.

Choya thought.

It is true that the boy that day was depressed about Kadota's death. That's why he constantly said bad things about Kadota and his dead family.

"Shut up...! What are you saying?"

Mikako suddenly hugged the boy who turned red and denied it.

"No..."

"If you feel sad again... wipe your tears with this."

"You..."

The boy grabbed Mikako's shoulder and pulled her away from him.

"That's how you put your used tissues in the pocket! Also, you got a little blood from your nose! It's dirty!"

"Uhahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Mikako jumped on the bike and ran off.

"Love & Peace!"

After that, on the train back, the boy was slandering Mikako.

Later...

"What's wrong with that chibi?"

"Raccoon dog."

"Gnashing teeth and laughing."

"I don't know... I can't forgive her, a woman without manners."

― Oh, this is... a lovable boy every time. If you are a little nice, you can understand immediately.

Choya thought that.

― I wonder why.

He also thought the same.

In a life where you see a dead body three times a week, how can this guy not be dead?

How can he grieve over people, get angry over irrationality, and people like him?

How can the light of the soul be kept forever as a tiny spark?

"Well, we won't find her anymore."

The boy leaned against the exit door and looked at the scenery outside the window. The setting sun shone red on his cheeks.

"I could be dead tomorrow… right, Taku?"

"Come on...what was that?"

Choya looked away with a dazzling sensation and at the same time a small backlash.

"Hey, what are you asking with that?"

This time, the point was directed at Choya. The boy said, narrowing his mouth as if he was sulking.

"Oh, you know, that guy is crazy, really crazy."

++++++++++

Boys meet girls.

This is that summer story. It is the story of three children who shone and disappeared like sparks that summer.

One of the three did not wait for "the day." The other was right in the whirlwind of "the day."

And the last one is...

[jay-and-dean]

Stolen Crown  Chapter 1 : Under the hood

By @roonyxx​ and @jay-and-dean​

Pairings : Dean x reader ? Kight!Dean x reader ?

Summary :  What happens when she is sent in a world that isn’t hers, but with very familiar faces ?

This, as much as it looks like it, is not ‘technically’ an AU, because your Dean, our Dean, exists too...

Serie Warnings : Smut (please be 18+), Fluff, Angst, Swearing. Mention of physical pain. Each Chapter will have detailled warnings.

Chapter warnings : Swearing for now.

Chapter Wordcound : 3230

Note : This is a collaboration beetween both of us. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like for Firefly.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

Text divider by the awesome @talesmaniac89​

Want to read more:

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

Whistling. 

Only a shrill whistling in her ears, and her heart pounding hard in her temples…

She holds her head and tries to get up, but the ground seems unsure of where it is supposed to be.

“Dean ?” she tries with a weak voice but, even with the high-pitched sound fading quickly, she can’t hear any answer. “Dean !”

She opens her eyes and they widen right away.

The seedy warehouse is gone, the smell of gasoline and the night are too… But above all, he is gone. Dean is nowhere to be seen. 

Instead : A sunny beautiful forest. Shiny rays of lights come through the radiant, high trees and birds are signing. So many birds.

“Shit” she grunts, looking around. “DEAN ! SAMMY !”

But her voice echoes and dies in the woods, only making a few rodents run through the bushes, themselves moving some butterflies and bees. Nothing else. 

Where was she sent ? Is it witchcraft or some stupid God ? She had told them that this case seemed more complicated than what they said ! And here she is, probably miles from home.

“Please, tell me I’m still in the United states” she whimpers, taking her phone from her jeans shorts pocket. “No come on ! No signal now ?”

After pacing around to try and find any sign of signal, she gives up and puts the useless phone back in her pocket, regretting her morning choice to wear only a t-shirt and shorts, because if she has to walk miles to find a road, the night might be here before she finds her friends again, and nights are colder out there.

“DEAN ! DEAN !” she tries again.

But he is obviously not with her.

What if he had been sent far too ? What if he was in an indian market now ? Or in a boat on the australian seas ? 

“Sammy you have to find us” she mutters, looking around to gather clues.

This forest is not tropical or northern, it’s a temperate one, and it’s obviously still early summer…

Suddenly, hooves disturb the forest’s calm in the distance, rapidly approaching her. The metal clattering with every step the big animal -probably a horse- takes, says it’s not alone…

She quickly moves in the bushes and stills behind a large tree to hide herself from whoever is coming. 

“Your highness ?” a deep, oddly familiar, voice calls.

Her back flat against the tree, she turns her head a little to be able to see beyond the thick bark, holding her breath and reaching for the knife in her boot. 

A beautiful, massive shiny black horse is nervously stepping on the ground while the owner of the mare pats it on the neck.

“Easy girl” the man says. 

She frowns, keeping the dagger in her hand, ‘that voice… I know it.’ When she dares to look between the leaves, her eyes widen.

“Dean?” she says with a confused smile, putting the knife back in her boot, as she steps from out of the bushes.

“My Queen !” he throws his leg over the majestic black horse and steps off, right away going down on one knee in front of her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I have been looking for you, my Queen” he says towards the ground, not looking up to her once.

“Queen ?” she huffs, still a little dizzy. “Where the Hell are we, Dean ? And what the fuck are you wearing, is that... a freaking armor?” she asks, pointing at his weird clothes.

Dean finally tilts his head upwards. And when he sees her, his eyes nearly fall out of his head, his mouth is open but no words leave his lips. The more he stares at her like she was naked, the more she starts to feel a little self conscious.

His eyes slowly travel up her bare legs, a confused expression on his face, when she bends a little to make eye contact with him he quickly adverts his gaze.

“Your Majesty, what happened to your robes ? Are you harmed ?” he asks, obviously worried. 

“Cut the crap, Dean, what’s happening ? Where are we ?” she asks, annoyed.

“We are in the…” he looks around a little, apparently wondering what to answer. “In the woods… Not far from the Castle, my Queen” he says.

She stares at him, mouth agape, a deep feeling of confusion replacing the annoyance totally. Her tone changes to something colder, more distant.

“Why do you keep calling me ‘queen’ ?” she asks. “And what’s up with the stupid clothes ?”

He dares looking up at her again, a sorry frown on his face. 

“My apologies, your Highness. I do not understand… Is there something wrong with my apparel ?” he stands up, his eyes searching her face. “Did you hit your head or have you fallen maybe ? You disappeared, my Queen. I have been so worried” he turns to his horse to retrieve a big grey fur cloak. “What happened to your gown, did someone attack you ?” 

His head low, he comes closer to carefully drape the very heavy cape around her shoulders.

“I obviously failed at my duty” his eyes are dark and she clearly recognizes that crushing guilt on his features

She touches the floor length fur coat he put around her with a frown. It’s pleasantly warm outside, there is no need for this... 

Everything he does is weird, and why does he look so different ? Was he hit by a spell of some weird stuff like that time he was losing his memory ? 

Unless… 

She takes in his appearance. He looks exactly like him but he has more scruff, and his hair is a little longer, his clothes are very strange too. 

The closer she looks, through the fading cloud in her mind, the more this costume he is wearing really doesn’t look like one. All the layers of leather and metal make him look like he was ready for war, and his shoulders are even more broad under the armor he is wearing. 

Everything about him seems heavy and powerful : Between the metal on his chest, the big belt holding several weapons, including the scabbard of that seems to hold a very authentic sword, the real huge grey fur around his shoulder, like he had killed a wolf…

She shivers at how impressive he looks, at how she realizes she doesn’t know anything about him..

“Shit…” she mutters realizing this is not her Dean at all. 

This is not the United states of America, and this is probably not even her world… But if the Dean from around here is willing to protect her, that might be her best chance of survival.

She clears her throat, nodding to encourage herself to play along.

“No... I’m…” she suddenly has no idea how to use her voice. “I’m okay and I am your queen, because you are my…?” she leaves the sentence open, hoping he’ll answer it.

“Your knight” he says, uncertain.

Knight, right… She nods and looks around once more.

If this is some kind of fucked up middle age alternate universe, there is a big chance that the forest is going for miles and miles, and an even bigger chance that she starves to death before Sammy finds a way to bring her back to the Instagram century. And dressed like that, she might have to fear more than wolves…

She stares at him for a minute and he seems to be just waiting for orders, his green eyes on the floor.

“Kneel” she says with a corner smile and he just does, with no question, comment or delay.

Dean Winchester obeying her to the letter… If that is not a good side of this whole crap !

“You can get up” she chuckles, letting him stand on his feet again.

But her amusement quickly fades. 

Royalty is not really the easiest undercover, and the discretion will be impossible. She wants to ask for help but, even if her whole body and soul tell her she can trust Dean -for it is still Dean-, her eyes travel the thick leather covering his forearms and she remembers she doesn’t know him.

So maybe she better stay silent for now, and follow his lead until she decides if he is an ally.

“Your Majesty” he speaks, with a deference she never heard from him. “If the news of your disparition comes to the Council, there undoubtedly will be trouble. We should head back now. Please.”

“Y-yes” she nods, a lump growing in her throat.

Council ? Trouble ? Castle ? How is she supposed to deal with all that ? People close to the queen will know she isn’t her in a minute…

The knight offers his hand, and she follows, frowning when he joins his wrists to help her get on the horse. 

“This is not the best comfort for travel, your Majesty, for that I am sorry” he apologizes again.

“It’s okay Dean” at her words, he frowns again, but she puts her feet on his wrists and jumps on the tall horse, quickly understanding, by the look on his face, that she is not supposed to ride “like a man”.

Her eyes can’t decide where to look, and her hands can’t decide where to hold him.

Gripping his belt tight in this uncomfortable position, she takes in the unbelievable landscapes before her : Untouched forests and large lakes, small villages down in the valley, with all those wood houses that remember her of Braveheart. 

All she can think of is when she is going to tell the boys about everything she saw… If she ever goes back to them.

“Put on your hood, my Queen” the knight asks, so she does. 

Her unsure hands grasp the heavy hood of the animal fur around her and she hides her face in the huge hood. He probably needs her to not be recognized.

“What animal is it ?” she asks, touching the hair with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

“Animal, your Majesty ?”

“The hood ?” she asks, quickly grasping his belt again when the horse half jumps above a root.

“My coat is made of a bear” he answers. 

“Poor animal…”

He lets a silence and clears his throat slightly. 

“I had never thought of it that way, my Queen. Your empathy for the creatures of this world is godly.”

But she stopped listening.

Her breath stuck in her lungs, she discovers the huge, beautiful castle coming in her sight. 

A gigantic wall surrounds a little city, itself surrounding a huge, elegant castle. The light stone walls seem to be touching the clouds from here, and a vibrant living noise comes from it.

“Wow” she murmurs, looking up the thin sharp towers surrounded by birds.

“My breath gets cut short each time I see your home in sight too, your Highness” he says with a soft voice. 

Inside the walls of the city, everything is different. 

People are busy, all dressed like they came from a movie, carrying vegetables and raw pieces of meat, sheeps and baskets of fabric… Each and everyone turning their head at the sound of the huge horse’s steps on the stone pavements. 

“Sir Winchester !” a kid exclaims.

She keeps her hood low, suddenly very aware of the trouble that could come from the crowd recognizing their queen. 

The knight version of Dean stays unfazed, guiding them to the stables where several horsemen are waiting for him. 

He gets off of the horse, helping her and closing his coat neatly on her.

“Keep your head down” he murmurs next to the hood and she just nods, determined to let him guide her. “You” he says louder to one of the men here. “Go tell the guards that the wolf hunt is done. My men can gather again peacefully, nothing is to fear.”

She can’t help but very quickly look up at the man giving orders next to her, his remarkable charisma making her feel so small. 

She always looked up at Dean with an infinite admiration, but at least, she knows him… This stranger is different. 

“Allow me to touch you” he says under his breath and she just nods again while he wraps his strong arm around her.

Under the hood, she can’t see everything precisely, but the little she can distinguish of the inside of the castle he is guiding her in is enough to amaze her. 

Huge corridors and busy servants, carpets that seem to come from a museum, gold and flowers decoration the thick stone walls.

“Sir” a guard comes in their way, bending before Dean in respect. “Your men have been called back. The news never spread outside of the Queen’s guard.”

“Thank you” the knight answers.

“Glory be to the Queen” the guard bows again. 

“To the Queen” Dean answers.

The knight guides her further into the castle and up an infinite number of stairs, a serious look on his face. With every step up, the coat on her shoulders feels heavier and heavier, and her apprehension does too.

Once they reach the top, he walks to the left, his heavy boots echoing in the spacious corridor. Still holding her, his grip both reassuring and oppressing, he stops in front of a big wooden door that she may be supposed to recognize. 

She looks up at the door a little, still not completely daring to stop hiding under the big hood. He opens the door and stands with his back against the wall, his eyes straight ahead.

She hesitates, waiting for him, but when he doesn’t move, she carefully steps inside, not sure what she will meet on the other side of the massive oak door. 

Before her, a large room with thick wooden furniture and rich fabric. In the middle, a queen size bed with wooden bed posts that are near the stone ceiling with wolves carved in each of them. Hanging from the posts, a dark red velvet-like canopy that matches the heavy curtains. A big antique closet stands to the left side of the room.

Taking a cautious step, she looks right. Behind a great arch is another room that holds a big wooden tub covered in a sand-white sheet.

Despite the cold stone everywhere, the many carpets with many different colorful illustrations, the curtains, and candles everywhere makes the room somehow warm. 

She stands in the middle of what she guesses is the queen’s room, unsure of what to do now. Looking back to the door, she sees Dean’s elbow from where he is still standing against the wall, straight and still.

“Dean, come inside please” she states, using the most authoritative voice she has.

A queen has to be, right ?

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The knight steps inside immediately, his hands behind his back, his gaze fixated in front of him.

“What are... my plans for today ?” she asks him, trying to figure out what to do, to convince them, a whole Castle and Kingdom, that she is the damn queen.

“The Council requested a parlay with you when the sun is at its highest, and after you have your usual walk in the garden before you talk to the People. I think, Majesty.” 

“Right, the Council” she says unsure, wondering what the council can be. “Take me to them.” 

She holds her chin high, trying desperately to look like the Hollywood idea she has of how royals act.

His gaze finally finds hers, a small frown is on his face, an expression of confusion growing on his hard but still so beautiful features.

“Do you not wish to be dressed first, my Queen?”

“Oh… yes, I-I do wish that” she nods. 

She walks towards the closet and opens it, checking his face in the corner of her eye to try and find clues of what she is supposed to do, but all she can see there is worry for her, well hidden on his bodyguard face. 

Inside the huge closet, put in color order, are dresses, all of them big and complicated… And on some shelves, smaller white dresses, that may be for inside or summer. She takes them out.

“This will work” she states to herself as she turns around but stops when she hears Dean gasp. 

When she looks up he’s stepping towards the door quickly.

“No wait !” she calls out for him and he stops right in his tracks. “Dean...” 

He turns towards her, his gaze on the floor, jaw clenched.

She doesn’t want him to leave. She is, in fact; terrified of being without him. Although he is a stranger, his face is the only thing she knows in this weird place she knows nothing about.

What will they do once they find out their queen disappeared ? Is there a king she has to sleep with ? Do they torture people ? Kill ? 

She just needs him close.

“I don’t know what to wear” she admits.

Or even how to wear it, she thinks to herself.

“Any gown makes you look divine, my Queen” he says in a husky voice, still watching the floor intensely.

If the circumstances were different her knees would wobble at what he just said… But he is not Dean, and maybe he just says that to not get his throat slit.

“Okay, I will put on this gown” she says as she lifts the small white dress that she is holding, a questioning look on her face.

The knight swallows hard and seems agitated. For a second, she wonders why he is acting so weird.

“What is it ?” she asks him. “Tell me.”

“Pardon me, your Highness, but that is not a gown” he clears his throat and stands up straighter. “That is your undergarment.”

“Undergarment ?” she looks at the little dress, holding it in front of her by the straps. 

Her lips open in an ‘o’ when she understands this is her underwear. She has been flashing him her royal underwear this whole time, of course he was acting weird !

In a quick motion, she hides it behind her back and mutters an apology.

“Yes, my undergarment, of course. I-I will get dressed now” she walks towards her closet to retrieve a big gown in a hum of hesitation.

“Let me just call the maids, your Majesty” he says low. 

“Yes ! Oh and Dean ?” she starts, waiting for his gaze to meet hers before she speaks again. “Thank you” she kindly smiles.

The knight nods, turns slowly and steps towards the bedroom door with a determined gait, closing and locking it by sliding the metal rod in the slot.

She frowns, seeing him lock himself with her. His back still on her, he clears his throat before he talks.

“My Queen...” he starts. 

With that hunter speed her Dean also has, he suddenly unsheaths his sword from his scabbard and holds its sharp end under her chin without touching her 

“Would never have said something like that” he finishes his sentence. “Or call me Dean…”

She searches his face, slowly lifting her hands up in surrender.

“That is because I am not your queen.”

__________

Chapter 2 on @roonyxx​‘s blog 

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[mxrcayong]

part of @nct-writers​’s cafe resonance collab!

genre: fluff, a more UK-based pov of university

summary: jisung, a college student now looking for a job, has decided to apply for a job at the local café. he thought being friends with the manager and its employees has it perks; from unlimited free coffee to whatever pastries haven’t been eaten by the end of the day. needless to say; the perks must end somewhere. 

word count: 2317 words

note: i didn’t make the divider!!

College students practically live by coffee shops. If university was a religion, the on-campus coffee shop would be the bible. Daily, college students’ breath in the coffee beans like oxygen, feel the permanent imprint of coffee mug or a ‘to go’ cup on their lips. They’re surrounded by the smells of different fruity pastries and savory snacks, and the sounds of students either chatting or typing away on their computers. 

It’s no wonder that the university coffee shop was practically a hub of activity. When you sit down to work at Café Resonance, it’s feels like you’re a part of a bigger and collective community, stressing for assessments or just taking a break from their hectic university schedules. It’s especially hectic when you’re a full-time student and work part time.   

“Do I really need to get a job?” Jisung sighed, scratching his head as he leant against the barista’s counter. His six closest friends were working behind the counter: using the coffee machines and decorating the pastries. “Can’t I just use your employee discount on everything?” 

Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows. “You know I want to, my little mouse.” He teased as he placed another order on his tray, “But I can only put the café employee discount on so many things.” He practically sung as he left, heading to a table to bring another set of students their own cups of their own ambrosia.     

From the cash register, Haechan had just finished taking the orders of the last bunch of the line and immediately replaced Jaemin’s place next to Jisung. “You can always just become a sugar baby.” He suggested, coming over to the display case to grab one of the pastries to heat up per the customer’s order. “Or a pole dancer… aren’t you a good dancer?” 

Jisung immediately protested. “Firstly, no. Secondly, is it even legal? I literally only became an adult this year.” 

“Actually…” Haechan started to counter, only to be interrupted by Mark approaching with a raised hand and a dirty mop. 

“Stop telling everyone to become a sugar baby.” Mark chided as he ducked to get back behind the counter, drudging the cleaning supplies with him. “You do realize that if someone does become a sugar baby, they aren’t entitled to paying for your shit either.” In response, Haechan grumbled under his breath as he gave the bewildered customer overhearing the odd conversation their fruity treat. 

Jisung has visited his closest friends enough to know that working at the café is like a beautifully choreographed dance. It moves like clockwork; with the six doing their roles diligently and without question. So, it’s not unusual for his friends to come and go during the conversation – all taking part whilst separating themselves at the same time. 

“Why don’t you just ask Chenle if you could work here?” Renjun suggested, coming out from the back room where he started baking some more pastries – obvious through his powdered apron. “We all work here already, and we can go through the ropes with you.” 

Jeno immediately stepped in and basically rejected the offer. “Do you remember the last time we hosted an event and Jisung wanted to help?” He prompted, before chuckling. “He tried to wash the food with dish soap…and he broke the broom when cleaning!” 

Almost as if the thought of teasing Jisung summons him, Chenle came out of seemingly nowhere. “Didn’t he leave the broken broom on the floor and just started playing video games?” Jeno, Haechan, and Renjun nodded – remembering the mess the 00-line apartment was that night.  

“Not the best party we hosted.” Jaemin commented, going around the counter to make his own drink now that the list of waiting customers is gone. “But, still, Jisung learns fast. I think he could work here.” 

Chenle let out an introspective hum, before leaning over to whisper to Haechan. With a questionable look on their faces, Chenle decided to call Jisung into the back room and in his makeshift ‘managers office’ (a perk of being family with the owner of the university café). “I’ll consider your application, but I can’t do any nepotism.” He started, “so, you must go through the whole application process.” He paused. “You must come up with your own recipe.” 

With a rule to not discuss recipes with his ‘potential future co-workers’ – which Chenle weirdly specified as everyone but Haechan, Jisung had to get straight to work. In all honesty, he had no baking experience nor ever made a drink without a guiding recipe.

While his six closest friends were out of the equation, he had another friend he could reach out to; Y/N. 

You were in his freshmen orientation group earlier this year. Not going to lie, you initially thought of each other as familiar faces who you’d occasionally wave at or nod in acknowledgement when you walk past each other. However, you later found yourself eating in the same hall cafeteria…and then the same hall pantry…and then, it clicked. You two lived only four doors away from each other in your university hall. 

Needless to say, you two ran midnight McDonald trips basically on a weekly basis. You became integral to Jisung’s daily routine; from waking each other up for breakfast to storming into each other rooms, armed with complaints and rants about the shitty professor who made you read 300 pages for one night. Even on your busiest days, you two would always pick each other up for the hall provided breakfasts and dinners. 

So here you were - Jisung was slouching down on your desk chair while you were resting on the bed, your back against the wall and a pillow in your lap as you tried to help Jisung solve his current problem. “Well…did Chenle give you a prompt or anything?” 

Jisung shook his head, groaning back. “It’s not like we have a kitchen to try and bake either! We only have fridges and a microwave and a….” He tried to recall what was on the floor pantry. 

“Just a fridge and a microwave.” You added. “That means pastries are off the table…how about a drink?” 

Jisung groaned again. “I have a hard time making pre-made coffee!” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle; you remembered that day. It was a scary time for you; your credit card company sent you a text about a fraudulent use of your student account. Not only did you end up stressing to the point of crying, but you also learned it was a false alarm. Luckily, while still reeling from the anxiety inducing news, you ran into Jisung as he was leaving his room. He then took you to the pantry to try and cheer you up with coffee…however, a fire alarm went off and practically deafened the whole university housing cohort for hours. 

And poor Jisung…Jisung was just an awkward little mouse, trying to look innocent as he saw his exhausted neighbors clamber out into the park due to his attempt of making pre-made coffee. 

“Well…you have me. This isn’t hopeless.” Climbing off the bed, you pretended to dust yourself off. “So, let’s go to the pantry? Another one of our…”

Jisung quickly furrowed his brows, interjecting while you still spoke “I don’t think this can be considered snacking…”

“Pantry-time dates.” You stuttered, obviously unsure of the title. Usually, you call them ‘cup noodle dates’ or ‘popcorn dates’; a joke that ran through your small group of friends as well as the resident advisors at the university hall. 

No one likes being in the pantry. Especially the second floor. For one, things always get stolen; from cutlery to a six pack of coke. Secondly, the few times people use the microwave to heat up their meals, they tend to leave the leftovers to rot on the windowsill. But you and Jisung sit there together; maybe because something about it feels open and comfortable, despite the terrible smell. Plus…the two of you placed bets on who could be the thief when people awkwardly clamber on by, and if on one of these ‘dates’ you catch the thief obviously taking something that isn’t theirs? Even better. 

But today… you two will have to be the forsaken thieves. 

“So someone put chocolate powder in the fridge…” You commented incredulously, especially as this fridge is known for freezing things into ice in minutes. “There’s some…expired milk.” Jisung watched as you searched through the fridge for any hidden treasures; feeling more and more unsure of himself as you listed more and more ingredients. “Oh, okay, some non-expired milk. That will be useful.” 

“We can make a latte?” Jisung offered, now on his phone searching up popular café drinks. 

“Yes!” You enthused, finally feeling like this trip to the pantry isn’t useless after all. “But…we should probably write an apology note to the people we’re stealing from.” 

It’s been almost five hours in the pantry. Countless of people came in (however, this time you tried not to place bets as you knew who the real thieves were tonight) and would just stare at the two of you, arguing over a kettle of milk. Even your neighbor Victor came in; having sat and watched you two for a good while (which made Jisung extra cautious; he’s had a theory about him being the forsaken pantry thief for a while). Victor, however, said you two should have a cooking show, to which you scoffed while Jisung basked in the compliment. This very same compliment crossed Victor off of Jisung’s “potential criminals” list. 

Eventually, you had a drink in front of you. A chocolate latte that Jisung insisted on putting salt in, as “Modern Family said it was a good idea”. Admittedly, the first ten versions of this drink were absolute failures; making you go to the bathroom numerous times to vomit out the thick and almost flour-like texture.  

So, for your final check, the two of you grabbed the non-eaten pastries Jisung brought home from the café. Hopefully, this will act as a palette cleanser; especially since tasting all of the failed drinks probably have messed with your taste buds and lowered all sorts of expectations. 

After taking bites into the Suh-ndwitch and Henpretzel, you two finally took sips of the drink you attempted to make since 10pm – with Jisung making far too many references to the Powerpuff Girls opening theme. 

Alas – the taste that flooded their senses wasn’t at all bad, no. Nor was it ‘a little bit of sugar and everything ice’, but it was something you’d expect from Starbucks. You two immediately squealed out of excitement, ignoring the fact that you probably woke the neighboring rooms up at three in the morning. Jisung immediately went over to hug your waist, spinning you around as fast as he could; before something unexpected happens. 

You felt his lips on yours; tasting like chocolate and leftover ingredients that were remnants from his palette cleanser of a sandwich. The feeling was foreign; you never expected to kiss Jisung. He was your best friend, your neighbour; but his lips were soft…and something about this felt right. 

But then the door slammed opened. A zombie-like RA came in and you two immediately jumped to different sides of the room. “I know you two always do your pantry dates, but…” The RA started, obviously sluggish from being woken up at 3am. “We got noise complaints.” 

Jisung awkwardly coughed, apologized, and ran away; leaving you confused in the corner of the pantry. 

Café Resonance were never busy Friday evenings. People were most likely out pubbing or preparing for their weekends of antics. So when Jisung stormed in with a recipe in hand, he wasn’t afraid to celebrate as loudly as if he had just won the Olympic World Cup. “I got the recipe! Can I please have the job?” He practically pleaded, dropping the piece of paper with messy handwriting and the sample drink you two whipped up again the night prior. On top of the page with chocolate colored stains were the words; “Hamji Choco Latte” with (served hot or cold)  at the bottom.

“A recipe?” Everyone but Haechan and Chenle looked confused; with the latter two smirking in the corner of the room. But as soon as Haechan cracked and let out a loud laugh, Mark turned around and immediately recognized the culprits of this misunderstanding. 

“Bruh,” Chenle let out throughout his charming ‘dolphin laugh’, “You had the job – I was just messing with you.” 

Haechan pouted, approaching Jisung to ruffle his hair. “My sweet, small, dumb idiot…how much I love you.” He placed a sloppy kiss at the corner of his head, making Jisung immediately try to scrub it off. 

Jisung scowled, upset he let himself get fooled by his best friends. “At least I got a girlfriend from it…” He mumbled, more to himself, but forgetful of how Jeno’s ears can pick up on anything. It was from my ASMR stint, Jeno would say. 

“WHAT!?” He exclaimed, as if Jisung getting a girlfriend would happen the day pigs would fly. 

“I sent you to make a café recipe, not a love potion!” Chenle cackled even more; while his fellow friends made him explain what happened. 

By the time the store closed, Jaemin gave Jisung the ‘talk’ and warned that although they spent nights in each other’s rooms before, Jisung and you must be ‘safe’ and ‘protected’. 

People always say the first people you become friends with at university don’t always stay friends for life. People tend to clash, find their hobbies, and go different ways. But Jisung was lucky. He met you; his best friend and now his other half. And despite the annoying prank Chenle made that wasted hours of your time, Chenle was right; the Hamji Choco Latte was basically a love potion as it brought the hidden infatuation you had for each other to light.  

Now, every time he picks you up from your lecture hall, he brings one extra-large chocolatey drink to share. 

“Email sent out to residents of NCU Hall: 

Dear residents of the second floor, 

The person who has been stealing cultlery and food has been identified. Victor Cho will be coming by to return any items that may have belonged to you.”

Jisung screamed at the top of his lungs when he got this email. “I TOLD YOU SO!” 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Remember, Don't You Miss Us?

Prompt: hey, if you're taking requests for Sanders sides, can I request some angsty human au! familial sides? patton/janus as parents that get/have gotten divorced and (some of) the others move between houses or smth?? idk do what you want as long as its angsty with a happy ending

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: divorced moceit at the start, they fix it, other than that you good

Pairings: parental moceit, errybody else is the kids

Word Count: 3738

The void never used to be as obvious.

Patton and Janus got divorced, their children split between the two houses. They manage to keep up appearances, but the emptiness never really goes away.

The kids decide to do something about it.

The void never used to be as obvious.

There were times when Patton would come downstairs, expecting to see at least someone else awake, perhaps Logan in the corner chair, curled around a mug of coffee and staring out the window, perhaps Roman at the table with his notebook out and his pen flying, or perhaps Virgil, just rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he tried to figure out what to do next. Remus wasn’t an early riser, but perhaps—on very rare occasions—there he would be, sprawled across the floor, playing with his toys.

But now there’s no one to make the coffee for Logan, no one to encourage Roman to write down his ideas, no one to chuckle softly at bleary little Virgil. No one to halfheartedly scold Remus for leaving his toys all over the floor.

Patton still goes to the coffee pot and turns it on, even if there are buttons on the top he doesn’t dare to touch. Logan asked him once why he refuses to change the settings, even if he doesn’t like the kind of coffee it makes. His hands had shaken too much to answer.

He still goes through all the motions of making breakfast, even if the sudden tug in his chest at the worry they won’t have enough eggs goes limp as he realizes there are only three of them in the house now. Roman asked him once why he was staring at the carton of eggs lying there on the counter. He’d shaken his head and said he was counting.

He still hesitates at the door too long when it’s time to take his kiddos to school, expecting a green blur to tug a blob of purple down the stairs so fast he worries they’re going to hurt themselves. Both Roman and Logan look at him confused when he wants to wait a little longer before taking them out to the car.

But mostly…

Mostly he misses the flash of yellow in the corner of his eye. He could never quite pull off the color, something about the way his undertones refused to cooperate or…something like that. His own wardrobe looks…smaller now, simpler. He never used to blend into the walls this much.

Mostly he misses the low voice coming from the other room, up the stairs, just over his shoulder. His own voice is too high, too bubbly to be properly sarcastic and the absence of that voice twisting words around and around and around. Or when it would soften, and oh how much he could drown in the softness.

Mostly he misses the gloved hands on his shoulder, the small of his back, around his waist, on his hips, cupping the nape of his neck. Patton hugs his kiddos all the time, but there was something about the drag of gloves against his clothes that made him tighten his hugs.

Mostly he misses waking up to someone else warm on cold nights.

The bed feels so much bigger.

No.

No, don’t go down that road, it only leads to crying and Roman and Logan trying frantically to fix it.

They couldn’t.

It wasn’t their fault, they’re kids. They didn’t deserve to have to fix these things, these were an adult’s responsibility, these were problems they wouldn’t know how to solve. It wasn’t their fault that Patton never learned when to stop pushing. It wasn’t their fault that Patton could never figure out where the lines were drawn. It wasn’t their fault that Patton could never stop crying, making it all about himself, never wanting to listen.

Patton scrubs a hand under his nose before it can start to drip.

No. No, it wasn’t their fault, it was—it is his.

It’s his fault they can’t see their brothers anymore, not like they used to.

It’s his fault their Papa went away.

It’s his fault that he couldn’t figure out how to love Janus.

But goodness, does he miss him.

———————————————

The room’s never felt this small before.

There were times when Janus would open the door and expect someone, anyone, to barrel into him before he could step over the threshold and words would tumble out, perhaps a new idea Remus had, perhaps something Virgil was worried about, perhaps Logan with a slew of new questions for him, or perhaps—if he was coming home on a night that Roman didn’t have an after-school club—it would be Roman, wrapping his arms tightly around Janus and refusing to let him go.

But now there’s no one to keep Remus supplied with new sketchbook paper, no one to sit quietly and talk through Virgil’s fears with him, no one to go on Wikipedia odysseys with Logan, and no one to beam at Roman.

Janus still walks to the bookshelf and runs his hand along the spine of the books, searching, searching for something to read that he hasn’t read in a while, and unbidden his mind will go directly to what puns he could make from the titles. Remus had looked up at him once as a chuckle forced its way out through his lips and asked him what was so funny. Janus had shaken his head and said something had just crossed his mind.

He still walks into a room and instinctively picks up a pen to toss into the corner, expecting a soft ‘thank you’ or an ‘ow!’ from the chair or the couch or the desk. Virgil had stared at him one time when he’d walked into the room and without thinking, grabbed a pen from the pen pot and chucked it across the room, eyes wide, wondering what was happening. Janus had dropped to the ground and done his very best to comfort the poor dear, saying that no, he wasn’t angry, he did that from a habit, it’s alright, it’s alright…

He still has the urge to buy another beanbag chair, even though the one they have right now fits the three of them perfectly, unable to get the worry of making the twins share for longer than absolutely necessary out of his head. Virgil and Remus had shrugged and said they’d be fine with having their own beanbag chairs, but they look too small all alone in the sea of fabric and small plastic balls. He’d shaken his head and said he prefers seeing them all together.

But mostly…

Mostly he misses the bright, bubbly laughter that would fill the house to bursting, drawing a smile to his lips at how unabashedly happy it was. The siren song would lure him from every corner of the house, even if he were knee-deep in work, just to see what made its owner so deliriously happy.

Mostly he misses the easy words, the sweet nothings, the effortless comfort. He’s a little too rough, too guarded, too intimidating to sound as gentle and kind and reassuring, he can’t be the softer kind of support that his sweeties need sometimes. That loss, the fumbling of his tongue, always makes those sobs sound so much louder.

Mostly he misses the shameless questions. How is he doing today, what can we do to help, you know we love you, right? Such selfless care, emanating from everywhere, unconditional support, that promise, he doesn’t know how anyone could do that. For someone for whom love still fit clumsily on his tongue, he was in danger of dying of thirst after years of feeling like he could drown in it.

Mostly he misses turning around and not seeing an empty space next to him.

Don’t start.

Not again.

You don’t deserve to miss something when you threw it away without caring.

This road only leads to silences, silences Remus tries to fill by being too big, too loud, too much, silences Virgil detests and hides away, waits out, curling around his security stuffie until feels it’s safe to come out again.

It won’t be.

It’s not their fault, they’re kids. They shouldn’t be trained to read every single emotional cue to make sure their worlds won’t be upended again, they shouldn’t have to try and take of their parent, they shouldn’t be worrying about what’s going on with a problem they can’t fix. It isn’t their fault that Janus never learned how to let himself be vulnerable. It isn’t their fault that he never learned how to bite back some of his harsher remarks. It isn’t their fault that Janus could never stop trying to defend himself from someone who would never hurt him, never wanting to listen.

Janus takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

It’s his fault. Of course, it’s his fault.

It’s his fault Remus still looks around for his twin in the mornings.

It’s his fault that the brothers will grow up divided.

It’s his fault that Dad lives separately from them now.

But damn, he misses Patton so much.

———————————————

Logan: So we’re in agreement, this happens this Friday.

emo-nightmare: no need for all the grammar there L

Princey: Yes! This Friday™! It will be glorious and victorious!

living nightmare: we all will shout uproarious?

emo-nightmare: cause life is so euphorious

Logan: That’s not a word, Virgil.

emo-nightmare: if you wanna write to disney and tell em theyre using made up words i can think of better places for u to start

Princey: no virge don’t he’ll actually do it

Logan: Putting that aside, we agree that we’re doing this this Friday, yes?

Princey: Yep. Dad thinks we’re gonna go to the park to hang out after school and he’s meeting us there.

emo-nightmare: papa’s got a photoshoot with that new brand and rem and i suggested the park at 530

living nightmare: I got the fake blood and mannequin heads

Princey: REMSU WHAT THE FUKC

emo-nightmare: wow how is L letting yo make that many typos

Princey: fuck off V

living nightmare: how is Dad letting you get away with swearing that much

Princey: I am disowning you

living nightmare: on what grounds?

Princey: on the grounds that your a douchebag and you swear every two words

emo-nightmare: *you’re are u proud of me L

Logan: Had you not used the ‘u’, I would be

emo-nightmare: smh when will I be enough

Princey: you don’t need to be enough for us to love u now NO MORE SAD TALK IT IS OPERATION GET OUR DADS TO PULL THEIR HEADS OUTTA THEIR ASSES TIME

Logan: Everything is a go?

Princey: Sure is!

emo-nightmare: Roger

living nightmare: so I shouldn’t bring the mannequin heads?

Logan: No.

Princey: NO

emo-nightmare: guess not

living nightmare: :(

———————————————

In the end, it’s surprisingly easy for their kids to do things without them noticing.

Patton doesn’t Roman sneaking a camera into his backpack on the way to school, or the way he nods at Logan as they spilt up upon reaching the gates. He’s too preoccupied with scanning the parking lot, seeing if maybe, just maybe, there’s another familiar car here that he shouldn’t be caught looking at.

He doesn’t notice the way Logan texts him to remind him that they’ll be meeting at the park, across the street from the library, at 5:30 pm sharp, next to the fountain, and says that Patton will be there, not him. He’s too busy remember the last time he was at that fountain.

Janus doesn’t notice the way Remus pouts one more time at Virgil as they get ready to go, sighing and rolling his eyes about how boring the others are getting. He’s too focused on how he still expects to see a different person in the passenger seat as he drops them off a block away from the school.

He doesn’t notice the way Virgil doesn’t ask him to remember that they’re meeting after school in the park so he can help with taking the photos, but tells him, in no uncertain terms, that Janus better be in the park by the fountain at 5:30. He’s…busy remembering why he agreed to have the photoshoot by the fountain in the first place.

“Wait, why don’t you want to do the partner photoshoot?”

Janus sighs, leaning back against the fountain. “Because it has me fake being a couple.”

Patton’s mouth opens and closes and Janus sighs. Patton looks at the ground.

“I don’t believe that kind of bond can be just an arrangement,” he says after a moment, “as if it were a…contract or something. For something that they want but not—not like that.”

The fountain burbles quietly. Janus tips his head back to look at the stars.

“And what do you want?”

Patton turns, straightening as the frustration in his voice drifts away. “What do I want?”

Janus nods.

“What a good question,” he murmurs, looking at him, “what I want…is for you to come closer.”

Janus blinks in shock, his brow furrows just the slightest bit. Patton smiles and beckons.

“Yes,” he encourages when he takes a tentative step, “come closer.”

He stands to his full height as he stops in front of him, still searching his face for a clue as to what is going on. He doesn’t hold his gaze, instead looking at him with such awe that the sweet thing flushes. His hands come up slowly, hovering above his shoulders before carefully, carefully taking hold of his arms.

“This,” he breathes, “is what I want,” he says as his fingers toy with the roughness of his jacket, “this is what I want, what I have always wanted.”

Oh.

Oh.

Janus’s breath catches in his throat but Patton doesn’t stop.

“To have you here in my arms and to know—“ his gaze flashes up to catch Janus’s— “that you feel at home here.”

As his eyes go wide, Patton takes them a step away from the fountain. His gaze searches his face desperately.

“Tell me,” he asks, “do you still feel comfortable here? With me? Is it still home for you?”

It’s too much. The way his gaze threatens to tear his heart from his chest, his words pluck his walls apart, brick by brick, it’s too much. He can be the friend, he can’t—he can’t see Patton like this.

“Please…please…don't turn away from me—look at me.” A hand catches his chin, guiding him back. “Look in my eyes.”

I can’t, he wants to say, it’ll hurt when I have to look away.

“Are you scared?” His face falls. “By what? I won’t hurt you, I’d never hurt you, unless…”

He swallows, and something flickers behind his eyes.

“…you want to go?”

“It’s not that,” he manages, closing his eyes as he shakes his head, “I promise it’s not that.”

“If not, then what?”

“The others—I can’t—“

He doesn’t let him finish, swiftly cutting him off with a shake of his head. “No. No one can tell you that you can’t be here with me. I want you here, as long as you want to be here.”

I can stay? he asks with the furrow between his brows.

You can stay, he replies with the appearance of a smile.

“I know what I want, Janus.” Patton takes the smallest step closer. “Always have. And there was a time when…when you wanted that too.”

Janus chuckles. “You sound ridiculous.”

Patton laughs too. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m happy to be ridiculous if it lets me…”

He trails off and Janus frowns.

“…lets you what?”

“Be yours,” he murmurs as Janus’s heart pounds, “and to hear you be called mine.”

His face contorts as he traces the curve of his cheek again. He follows the trail of warmth, pushing into it with the hesitant desperation of a single trickle of water, halted by a dam in the river.

“You’re still here,” comes the quiet observation, “so clearly you're not afraid…are you?”

“…I don’t know anymore.”

“Then if you didn't trust me…” He swallows. “Then I’d ask you to—to go. Because I don’t want you to be here if you don’t want to be.”

The thought of leaving sends a spike through his ribs, punching a breath out of his lungs. He presses into his hand as much as he dares.

“…but if you do trust me,” he whispers, the fountain still humming behind them, “if you are truly not afraid of my touch as you've shown…close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them,” he repeats, “…please.”

He does as bid, all but thrumming in his hands. The hand on his cheek trembles for barely a moment, as if its owner is suddenly overcome by the realization that they’re here, before he feels a warmth next to his face and a puff of breath that isn’t his own.

“W-wait!”

The air freezes.

His eyes fly open as he struggles to process what just happened.

Patton. Patton. His Patton. He—he loves him. He invited him here tonight because he loves him. He wants to spend time with him because he loves him.

Gods above, he loves him.

He—gods, he just tried to kiss him because he loves him.

He just tried to kiss him.

And he—

—oh, gods, he told him to wait.

“Patton—“ he tries to find him but it’s too late.

The second he meets his eyes, he’s met with a tidal wave of anguish, slammed quickly behind iron doors that fail to banish the hurt from his expression. It breaks his heart.

“I understand,” he says lowly, going to move away, “I understand—“

“No—please, listen to me, I—“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says smoothly, his hand already leaving his face, “I understand. That was an abuse of power, it was not my intention to—“

“I didn’t mean it like that, I don’t want you to think that I—“

“The last thing I want is to pressure you into something you don’t want.”

“You don’t know I don’t want it!”

“I do!” His gaze flares sharply with anger, with hurt, seas of pain buried behind smiles and guarded expressions. He takes a deep breath and tries to force it away. “You told me to wait. And, forgive me, but I won’t wait to have my heart be broken all over again.”

“I’m not trying to break your heart—“ he scrabbles frantically for him— “please, just listen—“

“You don’t need to explain yourself, you never have, I understand that you don’t want me like that.” He lets him grab onto him but does not stop turning away. “But if you could give me a moment to collect myself, I—“

“I don’t know how to kiss!”

He freezes. “…what?”

His cheeks burn with the weight of his embarrassment and his unshed tears. “I don’t know how to kiss,” he repeats at a much more reasonable volume. He twists his hands in front of him. “I…you…I’m sorry, fuck, I’m making a mess of this.”

He buries his head in his hands, willing the tears to stay behind his eyes. As he looks up, he knows he’s going to fail as he spots the red-rimmed eyes staring back at him.

“Don’t ever,” he starts, voice wobbling a little, “don’t you ever believe that I don’t love you.”

His breath leaves him in a rush.

“Of course I love you,” he continues, growing stronger when he lets out a whimper and reaches for him, “of course I love you.”

“Then why—“ he grasps his shoulders, tighter than before, “why did you ask me to wait?”

The fountain bubbles and burbles, the soft smell of their drinks mixing with the sweet smell of the water. It’s warm here, in each other’s arms. It feels like home.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” he confesses softly, “not like…not like that. It scares me.”

Patton shifts, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold Janus closer.

“I don’t know how to speak it.” His eyes fall closed, breathing in the warm smell of safe. “I don’t know what to do with it. And I—“

Patton gives his sides a gentle squeeze.

“…I am terrified of what normally comes after.”

“You don’t have to be,” comes the immediate reassurance, “not here, not with me. I won’t force you to do anything you’re not ready for. I will never ask anything of you that you wouldn’t give. Not until you want to.”

“…and what if I never want to?”

Janus feels his soft smile as he rests his chin on top of his head. “Then we won’t.”

“No?”

“No.” His forehead comes to rest against Janus’s once more. “But kissing doesn’t have to lead to that. It can just be a kiss.”

“It can?”

“Of course.” There’s a pause. “As that is the case…”

His eyes open. Is he…

“…are you asking?”

Patton pulls back just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“May I teach you how to kiss, my love?”

Janus’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Yes.”

They would say that it took a lot of work. And it did; getting back to a place where they could trust each other again, to live together again, was a slow progression. Over a year, at least, but there they were, working together against the problem, not each other.

But really, really it…

Well, Janus turned around, expecting to see Virgil, and saw Patton instead, blinking in confusion.

Patton mumbled something about Roman and Logan saying he should be here, a small smile growing when Janus says that Virgil and Remus did the same.

“…our kids, huh?”

“Our kids.”

Patton cautiously broached the topic of whether he remembered the fountain. Janus had smiled and said that how could he forget?

“…anything else you remember?”

And, well, maybe there was something to be said about the movies that Roman loved so much and everyone else pretended they didn’t.

Because as Janus wraps his hand around Patton’s hoodie and pulls him in, they could swear they could hear cheering and whooping all around them.

In fairness to the kids, they had an excellent reason for why they shouldn’t be grounded for lying about their after-school plans.

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[wayward-dreamer]

Life’s Lessons - Part 1

Title: Life’s Lessons - A Lesson in Settling In

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x Female!Teacher!Reader (eventual)

Word Count: 3,362

Part Summary: Y/N settles into her new house, in a new town. Right off the bat, she meets her gorgeous neighbor, finding an instant connection with him. As she goes to work on Monday, she starts to think that she could get used to Lawrence, Kansas.

Warnings: some swearing, first day of work nerves, Dean being cute (yes, that’s a warning lol)

Music: Lookin’ Out My Back Door, I Heard It Through the Grapevine by Creedence Clearwater Revival (Setting up the house scene).

A/N: The first part is here! I’m so excited for you all to read it! Please let me know what you think, I can’t wait to hear your thoughts and feedback! P.S. I have a full playlist for this series coming soon, just finalising some selections! Happy reading and I hope you guys like it! :)

Dividers by the wonderful @firefly-graphics​! Check her out for all your AU needs!!! 

Y/N leaned against her car, a content smile on her face as she looked up at the house that she was about to call her new home.

The house was clean white, with a grey tiled roof. White wood railings encased the front porch, that had a porch swing in front of one of the windows. The front yard was freshly mowed, with the flower beds on either side of the porch steps. It was a modest, two-bedroom house, with not a whole lot of backyard space, but it was the most rent she could afford with her previous salary. It didn’t matter though; you could make a house a home no matter how big or small it was. Her job as a teacher wasn’t just rewarding when the kids did well, but it was able to put a roof over her head, and that was all she could ask for.

Y/N started with her bags before she opened the large U-Haul trailer attached to her car, and started taking out the boxes. It had been a long journey from Rhinebeck, New York, stopping off overnight in Ohio and then Missouri, but she made it to Lawrence, Kansas that morning, giving her enough time to start unloading her things. Considering it was just her, she knew it was going to take some time, but she was hoping to finish by lunch time so she could explore the town a little.

Luckily for her, complicated things to move like a couch and a bed, weren’t things that she had brought with her. Those things were reminders of what she had done on them with her ex-boyfriend and the last thing she needed in her new house were memories of him. He was the reason she had searched for teaching jobs outside of New York, and luckily, she got the furthest one. She missed her family already, but she needed to get as far away from the memories of him as possible.

Moving her bags and the boxes from the trailer had been the easiest part. It was moving the furniture – dining table and chairs, armchairs, record player, coffee table and two bookshelves – that was going to be the hard task on her own. She started with what she could do on her own, moving all the dining chairs into the house. When she got back to the trailer, she sighed heavily. There were too many things to move.

Y/N stepped into the trailer and started to shift one of the armchairs but growled in frustration as it got stuck on the edge. She couldn’t get the right hold on it to get it off the edge, her legs shaking as she tried to keep it steady.

“Whoa, hey. Let me help you with that” a male voice said behind her. She didn’t turn to see him yet, but watched as he grabbed the other end of the armchair and helped her put it down on the pavement.

“Thanks” she smiled, relieved.

“No problem” he said as he turned to face her.

She almost wished he hadn’t because now her legs were shaking more than they were when she couldn’t hold the damn chair. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, handsome but incredibly hot at the same time. The black and white plaid shirt he was wearing was tight across his arms, and she couldn’t help but get lost in his gorgeous green eyes and sinfully pouty lips.

She smiled politely, keeping the thoughts she was having suddenly, at bay. “No, really, thanks so much. I probably would’ve ended up trapped under this chair if you hadn’t stepped in.”

He laughed, laughter lines appearing near his mouth and crinkles around his eyes. “Well, I would’ve hated to see that happen.”

She smiled, not knowing what else to say to him. This was the first time she had ever been this flustered with a man. The sound of his laugh and the way those lines appeared around the creases of his eyes made her heart flutter.

“Can I help you with rest? I mean, I gotta get to work but I can be a little late” he asked, as he looked between the chair and the rest of her stuff.

She looked at the rest of the things and frowned. “You sure? I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I’m positive. Helps to be the boss, so…” he smirked, as he shrugged.

She nodded, impressed. “What do you do?”

“I’m a mechanic, I own the auto shop on Main street. Winchester’s. I’m Dean, by the way” he said, as he offered his hand.

She took his hand in hers and tried to ignore the spark she felt radiate through her when their skin touched. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Good to meet ya, Y/N” he smiled.

When she smiled in return, Dean was completely floored by her. She was beautiful; dressed in loose boyfriend jeans, a white t-shirt, red converse sneakers and a red bandana around her head with her hair in a messy bun. She really had the girl next door vibe going on. That was dangerous with the situation he was in, so he had to tread lightly. When he saw her from across the street, he was reluctant to help because one look at her, even from a distance and he knew he was in trouble. His mother raised him to be a gentleman though, so he couldn’t hesitate to help a person in need.

With Dean’s help, moving the furniture she did have into the house only took about 20 minutes. She was incredibly thankful for him helping and hoped that it wouldn’t have been too forward to ask if he wanted to grab dinner with her, that night. She straightened out the medium sized, round dining table and chairs with Dean, and sighed in relief once it was done. Her furniture was now in place in all the appropriate rooms. She had to unpack now, which was almost harder than this, but at least she could take her time with it.

Dean looked around her house and nodded, noticing how many boxes had “BOOKS” written on them in black marker. He had only been in this house twice, when the previous owners still lived there before they moved to be closer to their children.

“Big reader?” he gestured towards the boxes.

“Definitely, but I’m a teacher too, so it’s an abundance of books” she laughed, as she looked at them. “It’s a little ridiculous, really.”

Dean laughed quietly to himself, trying to get the teacher fantasies out of his head. She really had to be a teacher.

“Well, I should head out” he said, as he made his way to the door.

She followed behind him and leaned against the doorway. “Thanks for the chivalry.”

“You’re welcome. I guess it’s not dead, after all” he smirked.

She laughed; it felt like the millionth time in the last 20 minutes. He was carefree and had made the tedious process so much easier with his humour.

“I’ll see ya around, Y/N” Dean said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned away from her.

“Thanks again” she called out.

Dean walked down the porch steps and turned back. He gave her wink before he walked across the street. She sighed to herself as she watched him walk away, his dark blue jeans doing wonders for his behind, though the black and white plaid was hiding his back from the looseness. She thought against asking him for dinner just yet, at least not on her first day in town. She would give it a couple of weeks, enough time for her to settle into her new job and into the town.

Y/N closed the door and walked back into the main room. Looking at the boxes, she knew it was better to return the trailer to the Lawrence location and then explore the town a little. Get some lunch, do a little grocery shopping. She picked up her bag and keys, heading out of her new house. She would start on the boxes when she got back.

Before she got in the car, she fired off a quick message to her family, telling them she had gotten there safely. It had been text after text and call after call asking if she was okay when she left Rhineback to drive to Lawrence. She reassured her family that all was well, and then drove into town.

The next day, Y/N was thankful that it was a Saturday. It would give her some more time to set up the house but also start getting ready for the first day of school on Monday. She was nervous about meeting the staff and the students, but she was excited about the new experience. She had walked through town the day before, grabbed the essentials like bedsheets and towels, plus some grocery items for the immediate need. She was already beginning to like Lawrence.

The first thing she did was set up the record player her dad had given to her. Once everything was plugged in where it was supposed to be, she put on one of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s records. She bopped her head along to Lookin’ Out My Back Door as she started to unpack the other records, before starting on the other boxes.

About 15 minutes later, as I Heard It Through The Grapevine played, she stood on the front porch, watching her furniture delivery unload from the truck. Before she even got to Lawrence, she had bought a new bed frame and mattress, couch, office desk and chair online, and thank goodness the place had Saturday delivery. She had made a makeshift bed out her new sheets and pillows last night, and with the way her back clicked and cracked into place when she woke up that morning, she was incredibly fortunate that her new bed was here.

She followed them inside and instructed the delivery guys on where to put the items. As she was helping them, she heard a loud knock on the open door. She turned around and saw a woman, maybe her age or a few years older, standing at the door. Next to her, stood a young boy, probably about 13 years old. Y/N smiled as she walked to the door, seeing a plate of something in the woman’s hands.

“Hi, we saw you moving in and wanted to welcome you. I’m Lisa Braeden, and this is my son, Ben” she introduced themselves, with a bright smile.

Y/N shook her hand and smiled in return. “It’s great to meet you, guys. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“These are for you, I hope you like chocolate chip” Lisa said, handing her the plate of cookies.

“Maybe a little too much” Y/N laughed. “Thanks.”

“Listen, if there’s anything you need, we’re right across the street” Lisa gestured behind her to the house across the street.

Y/N nodded as she looked at the place. It had darker features, but the lawn was equally maintained. “I appreciate that.”

“So, Ben. What grade are you in?” Y/N asked, wanting to engage with Ben a little, who looked quite bored.

“I’m starting 8th on Monday” he mumbled.

Y/N smiled, looking between him and Lisa. “Well, I’m starting work on Monday. Maybe I’ll have you in my English class.”

“Cool.” Ben didn’t seem to care. “Nice choice” he said, gesturing to where the music was coming from before he turned away, walking to the porch stairs and waiting for Lisa.

Lisa looked at him with a “we’ll talk later” look, before she turned to Y/N. “He shouldn’t give you too much trouble, but if he does, you know where I am.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine” Y/N shook her head.

“Anyway, we should go. Welcome to the neighborhood” Lisa said, smiling again.

“Thanks” Y/N smiled.

She watched as Lisa and Ben walked across the street, clearly waiting to be behind closed doors before she talked to him about what just happened. Hopefully she wasn’t too harsh on him; no kid would want to meet their new teacher outside of a school setting. Y/N walked inside the house and saw that the delivery guys were done. She signed off on the delivery and the guys left. She picked up one of the boxes still in her living room and walked to the second bedroom she was using as an office. She was excited to set it up and get started on some work for Monday.

Y/N sat in her car in the parking lot of the school. She had gotten there a little early, just trying to calm herself down before going in to meet the principal. She had spoken to him for her phone interview and again when she got the job, so she was familiar with him. He seemed like a nice man and she just hoped that the rest of the staff were the same way. She was more nervous about the students. Moving schools wasn’t just hard as a kid.

She checked her make-up in the mirror and then got out of the car, walking towards the entrance. She fixed her white top and smoothed down her brown skirt, thankful that she had chosen brown sandals with a small heel instead of something higher. She didn’t need anything to go wrong today. Once inside, she walked over to the administration office, as guided by the signs. At the very first desk, sat a red-headed woman, the name plate on her desk reading: Anna Milton – Receptionist.

When Y/N approached her desk, she looked up from her computer and smiled.

“Hello, how can I help you?” she asked.

“Uh, hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m starting here today and need to meet Mr. Shurley first” Y/N replied, trying her best to keep her nerves at bay.

“Oh of course” she picked up the phone and pressed a number.

Y/N waited a minute or so before a short man with greying hair and a beard, walked out of an office at the back of the room. He saw her and smiled, extending his hand as he approached her.

“Miss Y/L/N, wonderful to meet you” he said, shaking her hand.

“You too, Mr. Shurley” she smiled, as confidently as she could.

“Alright, let me show you around before your first class” he walked ahead of her, not leaving her too far behind.

It took Chuck, as he insisted on being called by his first name when it was a one-on-one basis, a few minutes to show her around the main parts of the school; the staff room, the library, the gym and the cafeteria. After that, he took her to the classroom she’d be using, just before the students came in. They watched as they came in, sitting down at their desks. Ben walked in and she smiled at him, but just received a little twitch of his face back. They all looked scared to see the principal in the room.

“Class, I’d like you meet Miss Y/L/N. Your new English teacher. So, make her feel welcome” he said to them in a commanding voice, before he turned to her. “If any of them give you any trouble, just send them down to my office.”

“I’m sure I won’t need to” Y/N looked between him and the students.

“Alright, take it away” he smiled before he left the room.

As soon as he was gone, the class erupted into loud voices as they began chatting away. Y/N sat on the edge of her desk, her legs and arms crossed as she waited, patiently. She would give them a few seconds before she got their attention. Before she could do that however, Ben looked at her and then at the rest of his classmates.

“Guys” he called out. The noise level didn’t go down.

“Last one to be quiet has to tell their next teacher why they were late” she called out.

The noise level dropped instantly.

Y/N smiled, happy that worked. “Alright. As Mr. Shurley said, I’m Miss Y/L/N. We’re going to start off with the role. As I call out your names, you’re going to tell me what you read over the summer and a short answer about what you liked or didn’t like about it.”

For majority of the class, things went well. Most of the students were well behaved except for one group of three boys who kept talking and disrupting the others around them. They were rude and weren’t listening to her when she asked them to stop several times. She would have to keep an eye on them. To say that her first lesson had been difficult would be an understatement, but she got through it. That’s what mattered.

Y/N had a break in which prepared for her class with the 7th graders. They were a breath of fresh air and exactly what she needed after the previous class. They were much more engaged and a lot softer spoken, so while she would have to get them out of their shells a little bit, they were pretty well behaved.

At lunch, Chuck introduced her to a few more of the teachers. She shook hands with everyone and engaged in conversation. The usual chatter about where she was from and how she got into teaching. As she sat down to eat, she looked over some of her messages. She smiled as she saw one from her sister, sending off a quick reply to tell her she was doing okay.

“Mind if I join you?” a voice asked.

She looked up to see a man with brown short hair and blue eyes smiling at her. He was adorable, looking cute in his white shirt with rolled sleeves, black pants and blue tie to match his eyes.

She smiled in return and nodded. “Sure, of course.”

He sat down across from her with his lunch. “I’m Castiel Novak, history teacher. Everyone calls me Cas, though.”

He offered up his hand and she shook it. “It’s great to meet you.”

Just as he was about to say something, a red-headed woman, not Anna, walked over. “Hey, you must be the new English teacher, I’m Charlie.”

“I’m Y/N” she said, shaking her hand.

“Charlie teaches Math but she’s a computer whiz too. Helps out the I.T. guys every now and then” Cas told her as Charlie settled into the seat next to him.

Y/N smiled approvingly. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

“Thanks. They ask me because I think they secretly know I’m better at it than them. I was in the corporate line for a while, but then I moved back home to help my mom” Charlie explained, between bites of her salad.

Y/N liked her already, her nerdy vibe with colourful plaid shirt and band t-shirt suiting her chirpy personality. Cas was a little quiet, but there was a calm presence to him. Though she had no doubt he had the ability to get kids to listen to him straight away.

“Yeah, we’re all glad she came back and stuck around” Cas smiled at her.

When she smiled in return, Y/N had to ask. “So, you two…?”

They both laughed as they looked at each other and then back at Y/N.

“No, we’ve just been friends for a really long time. I have a girlfriend, Meg. She’s a nurse at Lawrence General. She’s tougher than nails and I don’t know how I got her” Cas replied, laughing slightly.

“Yeah, and I’ve just started dating a few weeks ago. Her name’s Dorothy and she’s a writer for the Kansas City Times. She’s really cool” Charlie smiled softly.

Y/N nodded, understanding. “They both sound amazing. I can’t wait to meet them some time.”

They continued talking over lunch and Y/N couldn’t have been happier to have met them. They were both incredibly kind and lovely people, and she was really starting to get along with them.

As lunch finished and they went their separate ways, Y/N smiled as she walked to her next class.

Hopefully moving to Lawrence, Kansas was going to be the best decision she’d ever made.

-x-

Tags: @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @katehuntington @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict @spngirl05​ @kyjey​ @halesandy​ @440mxs-wife​ @stoneyggirl​ @deanswaywardgirl​ @wonder-cole​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @redbarn1995​ @marianita195​ @babypink224221​ @deans-baby-momma​ @parinarain​ @thoughts-and-funnies​

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[scribble-blog]

Soulmate AU, part 1

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Huge thanks to the Maribat Fandom tumblr chat, without whom I wouldn’t have made this blog or posted this piece (or probably written this at all given that it’s a maribat fanfic)! @the-fusionist and @rebecarojas07 specifically for encouraging me!

*****

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Damian is a week shy of fourteen the day the names appear inked on people’s skin, when he wakes up to ink that doesn’t wash off and the news reports that all around the world people have woken up to find the same phenomenon.

The world accepts it readily enough.

Soulmates.

There are tales of it happening before, every mythology and history and folklore delved into and the proof brought forward, but no one actually can say what triggered it, or why now.

In Paris, Marinette wakes up the day after she becomes Ladybug, a dark inked name of her own blooming vivid across her skin.

“It’s because you’re a true holder, Marinette,” Tikki says almost bouncing in midair. “People can use the Miraculous without being as in tune with them, but when we land in the hands of someone who is not just attuned, but truly meant for us- interesting things happen! Especially with the Ladybug Miraculous! These markings reveal who your Soulmate is!”

Her eyes still skim over the writing, and she has to hold in her almost immediate disappointment when she doesn’t see the two swirling A’s she wanted.

“Damian Wayne.”

*****

Marinette doesn’t let it get to her most days, the fact that the name across the front of her shoulder and the name of the boy she feels she’s lost her heart to aren’t the same.

Adrien, for his part, says nothing about what name he has, and it isn’t visible for anyone to find out.

Marinette keeps her designs modest in the neckline, always layers with her favorite jacket and does not say hers either.

The world divides into those who show them proudly, who build forums and websites and apps where people try desperately to connect with their soulmate, and those who decide that to seek it out would ruin the- destiny of it all.

Marinette doesn’t even google him.

She doesn’t want to think about destiny any more than she has to.

*****

Damian keeps it hidden from his family. Grayson has Kori’s name running down his neck, and though they don’t show them off, he’s aware that Todd and Drake have their own as well. Father’s got “Selina Kyle” trailing from his wrist down to the side of his left thumb.

Grayson asks him, once. He shuts it down immediately, and he doesn’t get asked again.

*****

Lila claims her soulmate is someone rich, reclusive, and far away. She doesn’t give details about who they are, but she can tell you millions of stories about how they met as children, grew up knowing each other, how he’d begged for her to stay by his side but she had sighed and told him she must be free to live her own life! And how he waited for her even now to return once she’d graduated and they could marry and be fabulously wealthy and beautiful and happy together.

The class fawns over it. Each time the elusive soulmate is mentioned, Marinette locks eyes with Adrien and Chloé, unable to voice her annoyance but perfectly able to share it with them.

Alya sneers under her breath sometimes, when Lila is being particularly mouthy with her lies, that Marinette has always refused to show or even talk about her mark. That perhaps she doesn’t have one at all.

Marinette doesn’t ever respond.

Adrien tried his hardest to shut them down when they start moving in towards her or Chloé like sharks. She’d lost her crush on him when he’d told her to let Lila lie, that she wasn’t hurting anyone. And then Chloé had knocked on her door one day and- apologized.

Marinette had accepted.

And then when Chloé found out that Adrien not only knew but had actually allowed Lila to continue spinning her lies, she’d taken the boy to task and explained very clearly that Lila could not be treated the same way as his Father, where staying quiet and giving in was the only way to weather his unsavory bad moods. And while his Father demanded he still associate with Lila and keep her placated, that shouldn’t stop him from standing up and doing something when she started actively going after people the way she’d gone for Marinette.

He’d very quickly apologized to Marinette and started, if not scolding Lila when she targeted Marinette, at least trying to guide her and the rest of the class away from any interactions they might have initiated because of Lila’s words.

And now, even if the hours spent at Francois DuPont were chilly and quietly isolated for the three of them, they could meet up at the bakery for lunch, and more often than not now, they would spend evenings hanging out in either Chloé’s room or Marinette’s and it almost made up for it.

*****

Damian has been dead before.

He watches a girl in his class start screaming as the name splayed across her palm withers, it almost looks like it dissolved into her veins, the ink shrinking and bleeding into normal, unmarked skin.

He goes home and he looks at the long curling script that circles the right side of his chest, sweeping across his ribs. Marinette Dupain-Cheng exists somewhere and he wonders if dying once is enough that his name never showed up on her.

He searches the last names. He finds a small but well known and very well loved bakery in Paris, France, with mentions of the owners, Tom and Sabine, and one daughter.

He closes it out.

*****

Marinette turns 16.

It’s not momentous, as she once thought it would be. It’s another day facing the cold sneers of her classmates, catching Adrien and Chloé’s eyes and waiting until the end of the day when she can go home where her parents will have a cake waiting for her, Chloé, Adrien, Kagami, and Luka over, visits from Nadja and Manon, and hopefully some calls from her great uncle Wang and her pseudo uncle Jagged with Penny. Birthdays in this class used to be extravagant, and they still are- for everyone who Lila allowed it.

But Marinette’s birthday will be a quiet affair, at home with her family and her truest friends, her team, and she can’t help but prefer that.

*****

Damian turns 17. Dick marries Kori. Father and Catwoman continue their game of cat and mouse (who is what in this scenario?) and Todd keeps leaving and coming back, and Drake says nothing but acts as if he still knows everything. Damian is, in almost all ways, more capable than most of the old men that do business with Wayne Enterprises and he still has to sit through school and act like birthday parties matter or mean anything to him.

(They do. They do. He can count on one hand how many birthdays he’s ever actually celebrated.)

He’d like to know why he feels so unsatisfied.

*****

Ms. Bustier calls her aside when they break for lunch.

“Marinette,” she begins, and Marinette sighs internally, bracing for another round of upbeat admonishments.

“As class representative, I need you to start staying after class with me for the next few weeks at least- perhaps we can start tomorrow. The submission you made to the Wayne Enterprises Community Awareness and Support Program won, and we have to start planning for the trip in July.”

Marinette stops short. “Wait, trip?”

Mme. Bustier straightens her papers and selects one, handing it to Marinette. On it is a very formal letter from representatives of Wayne Enterprises, congratulating her and her class on their community outreach and outlining the award money they have been offered to plan their trip to visit Wayne Enterprises in person.

Marinette struggles not to sit there with her jaw dropped to the floor. “I didn’t realize there was any actual- reward. I thought it was just an award or recognition?”

Mme. Bustier gives her the smile she used to give her on a daily basis, back when Marinette had cared about making her teacher that happy with every success their class had. “Well, then it’s just as happy a surprise for you as for the rest of the class! I’ll send a note home with you tonight explaining why you’ll be staying after school for the foreseeable future. I won’t ever keep you longer than an hour.”

Marinette knew that would not be true, but it wasn’t as if she couldn’t make up an excuse to leave when necessary. “Yes. We’ll want the trip to be planned perfectly, especially if we’re going to Gotham. Thank you, Mme. Bustier!”

She skips out to lunch, runs across the street to the bakery to meet her friends and tells them the news.

*****

Damian thinks about her often, even if he doesn’t want to. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the baker’s daughter somewhere in Paris, presumably, who may or may not have his name somewhere scrawled on her body.

He doesn’t search anything about her again. Even that single search that led him to her parents’ patisserie was risky.

Jon can tell him everything he wants to about the happiness between himself and his soulmate. His siblings can tiptoe around the subject, happy themselves and never bringing it up to him again. He watches people at school, wondering which of the couples are bound by the words inked into their skin and which are the ones who decided to forego fate. It takes him a very long time to figure out that despite himself, despite his brothers and his allies and his few friends, he is lonely.

*****

Seven weeks before the trip to Gotham, Marinette’s mother finds the Miracle Box.

Marinette hasn’t had Master Fu to guide her in a very long time. She is, in name and deed, the true Guardian of the Miraculous now.

Marinette breaks down on her mother’s shoulder for the first time in four years, since Hawkmoth started terrorizing Paris. Sabine, terrified and proud and angry, soothes her daughter, holds her and runs her hand over her hair, and asks her daughter what she can do.

Marinette has an idea.

[mlqctranslations]

Lucien 贪恋 SP Date

Reposted from my instagram account, @mlqc_translations!

Chapter 1

The inside of the traditionally styled room was warm and dry.

I changed into a yukata and sat down on the tatami, taking a deep breath as I tapped the news notification on my phone-- "The announcement of the Kelawo award list has been postponed. Can the genius scientist Lucien Xu become the youngest winner in history?" The large bolded words on the news notification were dark and obvious. ......Postponed? I paused, surprised, and then immediately tapped on the notification to find out more. "...Today, the most renowned award of the scientific realm--the Kelawo Life Science Award, is about to release their winners list. This caught many people's attention both nationally and internationally." "Scientist Professor Lucien Xu's innovative work in the neuroscience department has convinced many to clamour for his nomination." "However, according to the information disclosed, the requirements for this year has changed, and there may be strong competitors in the mix." "The Kelawo Award Committee has also recently announced that, since the opinions of the judges were divided, the release of award list will be delayed until this afternoon today..." I swiped through the news article, wrinkling my brow more and more as I scrolled down. I was so focused on my phone that I didn't notice someone walking towards me. ??: Why are you still looking at the news?

Lucien spoke as he covered my bare legs with a blanket, his gaze sweeping over the screen of my phone. Lucien: You said you invited me to go on this vacation so I could relax and forget about my work... Lucien: But you've been staring at your phone this whole time. He paused, and he looked slightly dejected and sad. Lucien: Does the Professor Lucien in the news appeal more to you than the one in real life? I was momentarily dumbfounded, and then quickly turned off my phone. MC: Of course not! I just...coincidentally came across this news article. I accidentally tapped on it. MC: And...I was mostly looking at the weather report anyways. I widened my eyes in an attempt to seem more convincing. MC: Look, it's snowing so much today. The Innkeeper even suggested that we try the hot springs another time... MC: But according to the weather report, it might stop snowing later. So we might still be able to try it out today! Lucien was silent for a second, and then let out a soft chuckle, nodding his head. Lucien: Mn, it looks like I misunderstood. I didn't think you'd be so thoughtful and considerate. MC: Of course I have to be! It's rare that we both have time off. I was looking forwards to this vacation a lot. It was the truth. In the past few days, Lucien and I were both so busy that we didn't even have time to share a meal together. That's why I chose a hot springs resort. I wanted to stay with Lucien in a room together, relaxing and spending our time with each other peacefully. I raised my head and took Lucien's hand. MC: You've been so busy with your research these past few weeks. You haven't been resting well. MC: Leave the traveling planning and arrangements to me. Your only job is to relax and enjoy the vacation. Lucien: Alright. The corners of his mouth turned up in a faint smile. The sunlight streaming through the window landed on him, coating his body in a soft glow. Lucien: Then...I'll leave it all to you? MC: Yep! Leave it to me. I glanced at the time on my phone, and an idea popped into my head. I raised my head and spoke to Lucien. MC: Since the luggage has all been unpacked and put away, you can go change now! Lucien nodded and walked towards the door. I took this opportunity to pick up my phone secretly, planning to finish reading the news article I just closed. Lucien: Oh, and one more thing. MC: W-What is it? I didn't expect Lucien to turn around and scrambled to hide the phone behind my back. Lucien's gaze flicked back and forth between the phone and my face. He seemed to have something to say, but he just gave a soft chuckle. Lucien: Nothing much, I just wanted to tell you...

Lucien: I'm also looking forwards to this vacation with you a lot.

Chapter 2

While Lucien was changing, I quietly sneaked out, waiting by the door. As expected, an attendant came walking in my direction, holding a rectangular wooden box in her hands. Attendant: Miss, the hotel owner's wife asked me to bring this to you. Attendant: As for the other package you ordered...we express our apologies. Since the product has to be made fresh, we tried to send a driver to pick it up just now, but it's snowing too heavily for them to get down the mountain. MC: That's okay. Thank you for your hard work. Please give my thanks to the owner's wife. I took the box from her and returned to the room, my heart overwhelmed with a flurry of complicated emotions. This is the gift I prepared before we even set off for the resort. I had originally planned to surprise Lucien with it when the Kelawo award results are announced. I was not expecting the award requirements to change. The Kelawo Award announcements were postponed, and my carefully devised plan was disrupted. I stared at the box in my hands, and the thought of a result that I've never expected before appeared in my mind. What if...... My heart sank. Now, I wasn't even sure if this celebration could happen at all... Lucien: What are you thinking about? I turned towards the direction of his voice, and then froze. Lucien was wearing a dark-coloured yukata. The loose collar of the clothing exposed his chest and collarbones. He leaned against the doorframe, looking more casual and relaxed compared to his normal state. His gaze found the wooden box in my hands, and I could see a hint of curiosity in his expression. Lucien: What's that? MC: Um, this...... I searched my mind for a proper explanation. Just then, his phone rang and our conversation was interrupted. Lucien looked at the glowing screen of his phone and wrinkled his brow slightly. After a brief pause, he answered the call. Lucien: Hello? Lucien: ......Yes. His tone was light, but his expression grew serious. The news article from before flashed through my head, and I couldn't help feeling a bit anxious. Lucien: My apologies, I'm on vacation right now. I'm afraid I don't have time for that. Lucien: I look forward to working with you next time. His voice was calm and soft, and he immediately hung up after that sentence. I was caught off guard by the swift action. I looked at him quizzically. Before I could say anything else, Lucien spoke up. Lucien: It's from HuanQiu News. I widened my eyes. HuanQiu News is a well-known weekly magazine in China that mainly reports international issues and major events. It has great influence and fame. MC: And they want to work with you? Lucien: Yeah, they want to interview me. MC: Wow, really? That's great! I felt relieved when I heard that it wasn't the bad news I was expecting, and set the box down on the table beside me. MC: It's such an influential magazine. If you accept their invitation, you can let more people know about your research results. Lucien looked at me, surprised, and then the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. Lucien: Why do you want more people to know? MC: Because......I think...for most people, your research results are just a string of boring, meaningless scientific terms. MC: But I know, you put a lot of work and effort into it. MC: Even if you have the title of "Genius Scientist," your determination and perseverance is no less than anyone else. The memories of the time I spent beside him flashed through my head as I spoke. Because of some small data error, he would have to put the papers of his experiment report--that he spent months working on--into the shredder one by one; He would be unable to hide his joy if he got the desired results for his experiment, even suggesting--somewhat childishly--that we go for a movie to celebrate the occasion. I smiled at Lucien and spoke to him in a lighthearted, playful tone. MC: So, I want you to be rewarded for your efforts...that's probably my only wish. My only selfish wish. Lucien stared at me quietly, and a soft, gentle emotion seemed to slowly melt in his eyes. After a while, he gave a quiet laugh and smiled in resignation. Lucien: Dummy. He reached out and gathered me into his arms. Lucien: I declined their invitation. MC: Huh? Why? Lucien didn't answer, and instead, gave a soft chuckle. Lucien: Do you want to know what my selfish wish is? Lucien: You always joke that my time and energy is endless and never used up, but that's not true. They have their limits, too. Lucien: It's just that, I need to save them up and use it all on the person who's most important to me. He paused, gently rubbing the top of my head with his chin. Lucien: This is our vacation. I want to spend it with you, and you alone. I could feel his familiar body temperature on my skin. It felt as if his warmth was slowly seeping into my heart. I couldn't help but wrap my arms around Lucien, wanting to be closer to him and wishing the moment could last longer. MC: Yeah, me too. My gaze landed on the wooden box on the table. I closed my eyes and came to a decision.

MC: Lucien, the belt of your yukata seems to be a little loose. I noticed that the strip of fabric at his waist wasn't tight enough, and subconsciously reached out to help him fix it. MC: Hmm...this doesn't seem to work either...... MC: I'll just help you redo the knot! I untied Lucien's belt, planning to redo it for him. Lucien: It looks like you're very experienced with this. I heard the faint trace of a smile in his voice. I raised my head and met his gaze. Only then did I realize how close and intimate we were. MC: I-I'm not really experienced. It's just that I learned a bit from the attendant when she helped me put my yukata on. MC: Plus, the way girls wear yukata is more complicated than the way guys do. So, tying your belt...it's not very hard for me. I lowered my head, trying to hide my blushing cheeks. Lucien: I see. He nodded and then spread out his arms, allowing me to retie the belt. I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but the breathing at my neck made it hard to focus. The atmosphere was filled with an indescribable feeling. I pressed my lips together, and when I was about to say something, Lucien spoke. Lucien: I didn't notice before now, but there's a few sentences written on that hanging painting over there. MC: Eh? I raised my head and followed his gaze to the wall behind me. A traditionally styled painting was hanging there. Bright red leaves floated down and landed on the clear spring water. They looked like the flames of a raging fire, dyeing the water around it red with warmth and passion. I hadn't paid much attention to it when I first entered the room. Now that I looked at it carefully, I realized that there really were words written there. I was about to examine the sentences, but Lucien beat me to it and read them out loud. Lucien: "The matters of the gods, never concern the humans." Lucien: "The maple dyes the river red, the flowing waters run deep..."

(I’ll leave the original sentence here, since this is a poem and I might have made some translation errors: 悠悠神代事, 黯黯不曾闻, 枫染龙田川, 潺潺流水深)

MC: I think I've seen these phrases before... MC: Is it from that really famous love song? I turned to look at Lucien quizzically, and he nodded. Lucien: Well, it's definitely filled with lots of emotion. Lucien: I think it's probably here to set the mood for Valentine's Day. That's why the wife of the owner put it here. Lucien: And if you look at the writing...it seems it was added not too long ago. I studied the painting again after Lucien's comment. MC: I didn't expect the owner of this hotel to be so considerate and attentive. It looks like a normal painting if you don't examine it carefully... MC: There was a hidden meaning all along... I tried to feel the emotions hidden in the lines and strokes of the painting. This piece of art, originally just used as a normal hanging painting, now had depth and concealed meaning thanks to the added sentences. My attention was all on the painting when I heard a voice by my ear. Lucien: It looks quite beautiful... Lucien: But, aren't you forgetting something? His gaze landed on the belt in my hands. I realized I still didn't finish tying Lucien's yukata. The fabric was draped loosely over his body. The low neckline fell even lower, and more of his chest was exposed. My face grew even warmer. MC: ...I'll finish it now! I tried to ignore my quickening heartbeat and finished tying Lucien's belt. When I was done, I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. I raised my hand to try and fix the low neckline of the yukata, but to my surprise, I discovered that it was just designed that way. MC: Was, was this neckline always so low?

My voice was quiet. Lucien looked down at his yukata, and then a smile of understanding spread across his face. Lucien: Yes, that's how it was when I first put it on. Lucien: I'm pretty sure all men's yukatas here are in this style. MC: That's strange, I think I remember seeing a different type of yukata on the official website... MC: Unless...this is also part of "setting the mood" for Valentine's Day? In order to cover up my flustered feelings, I spoke in a joking tone. Lucien gave a soft laugh, going along with my jokes. Lucien: Yeah, that's possible. He blinked and seemed to think of something. He bent down, leaning close to my ear, and spoke to me in a soft voice. Lucien: I think... Lucien: This counts as setting the mood as well.

Chapter 3

Lucien and I sat opposite to each other on the tatami. He took the sake out of the wooden box and uncorked the bottle, pouring its contents into two cups. Lucien: So this is why you were talking with the owner's wife today... Lucien: Is there a reason for this sudden surprise gift? I answered him calmly, trying to hide my nervousness and anxiety. MC: It's not really sudden, just part of the series of things I planned for this trip... MC: Just think of it as a reward for your past months of hard work! I tried to steer the conversation away from this topic and pointed at the sake cup, gesturing at him invitingly. MC: Apparently, this kind of sake is very popular here. I was afraid that it would be all sold out by the time we arrived, so I ordered it half a month in advance! Lucien's eyes filled with the faint trace of a smile. Lucien: I guess I'd better taste it, then. You worked so hard for it. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip. MC: How is it? Lucien: It has a slightly sweet flavour...quite delicious. MC: That's good! Drinking wine in winter can warm you up. The memories of Lucien drinking wine flashed through my head, and I couldn't help adding to my sentence. MC: ...and its alcohol content isn't very high, so you don't need to worry about getting drunk. He raised an eyebrow. Lucien: It seems like I'm being underestimated. He poured some more sake into the cup, and then sipped at it unhurriedly. Lucien: I've had sake before. I didn't get drunk. MC: I think you've mentioned it to me over the phone before... I felt even more curious after he brought the incident up again. My impression is that he almost never drinks alcohol, but instead, loves tea. MC: Why did you try sake that time? Lucien: Mm...let me think. He set down the cup, propping his head up on one hand, and lifted his gaze to stare at the leaves in the yard behind me. Lucien: It was back when I was still a student. We were celebrating because we won a contest with our project. MC: Huh? Lucien: Didn't expect that, right? His gaze met mine for a split second, and then he continued speaking. Lucien: I had worked with my classmates on a very challenging scientific research project. We finally got our ideal results after a year and a half. He sighed, seeming to remember the scenes of the past. Lucien: They were absolutely overjoyed...dragged me to the tavern to celebrate...... He spoke with resignation, but I could see the corners of his mouth turn up in a small smile. I've almost never seen him celebrate his own achievements. The thought I had suppressed earlier was appearing in my mind again-- I want to stay beside him, celebrate with him, and witness the moment his hard work blossoms and he's rewarded for his efforts. A tangled mess of emotions spread across my chest: anticipation, anxiety, and even a hint of worry... Lucien: You're zoning out again. A light tap landed on my forehead, and I came back to my senses, smiling apologetically at Lucien. He narrowed his eyes, staring at me silently, and then spoke. Lucien: Oh, I remember a game we played back then... MC: A game? Lucien: Here, I'll show you. I watched with interest as Lucien took an empty cup and placed it upside-down on the table. Lucien: It's pretty simple. We take turns, you can either choose to tap the cup with your fingers, or take the cup away. Lucien: If the cup is taken away, the other person has to knock on the table with their knuckles. Touching the cup or tapping the table both count as losing. MC: This game seems to rely heavily on reflexes... Lucien smiled at my slightly confused state. Lucien: Yes, but it isn't very hard. You'll get the hang of it after a round or two. Do you want to give it a try? MC: Sure! I nodded eagerly. A streak of emotion flashed through Lucien's eyes, and a smile appeared on his lips.

MC: ...... MC: That's impossible! I took another sip of sake in frustration. Apparently, the "It isn't very hard" of this game is only directed at Lucien. Aside from having great reflexes, he always seemed to know my thoughts, and predicted my movements ahead of time... MC: It's like you can read my mind... Lucien just smiled in response to my complaint. Lucien: Or maybe it's because I know you so well. Lucien: That's why it's not hard to figure out what you're going to do next. He didn't seem to notice how his words made me flustered and embarrassed. I muttered under my breath. MC: That's not fair... Lucien: Why don't you try putting all of your attention on me as well?

MC: Huh? Lucien tilted his head, supporting his face with one hand. He studied my face curiously. Lucien: Maybe this strategy will be more effective. My heartbeat sped up uncontrollably. For a split second, I couldn't tell if he was teasing me, or being completely serious. I still decided to give it a try. I was losing right now, but this method would give me a chance to turn things around. I have nothing to lose, anyways. We soon started a new round. I followed Lucien's advice and stared at him intently, trying to find loopholes and weak points in his gestures. Lucien was smiling the entire time. He seemed to be in a good mood. It was now my turn to tap the cup. I noticed Lucien wrinkle his brow, and I suddenly decided to change tactics. I grabbed the cup and took it away. MC: ...! Lucien: I lost. He looked at our hands, both touching the top of the cup, and sighed. Lucien: It looks like...I was too careless. Lucien: I shouldn't have told you about that strategy. He looked a little sad and regretful. Lucien took the sake and downed it in one go. MC: Does it really work that well? I was a little surprised by the sudden victory. I wasn't sure if it was just luck or not, but I still grinned and felt excited at finally winning against this flawless person. The game went surprisingly smoothly for me after that. I didn't think I would ever experience such a day, where I was always winning against Lucien. The smile on my face grew wider and wider. It stayed that way until Lucien had to drink another cup of sake as punishment. Looking at his reddish ears and smiling lips, I suddenly realized something. I stopped smiling immediately and walked up to Lucien, looking at him sternly. MC: I nearly fell for your tricks again! His gaze flickered, and he reached out for me. Lucien: What's wrong? He looked at me, blinking innocently. Lucien: Why do you look so angry? Did I do something wrong? I couldn't help but laugh somewhat angrily. He already knew the answer...but he was asking anyways. I squeezed his hand. MC: You're letting me win on purpose, right? Lucien didn't respond, but hooked his fingers around mine, wrapping his palm around my hand. Lucien: Who said I let you win on purpose? Lucien: I'm losing to you willingly. He reached out and brushed his finger against my nose, a smile appearing on his lips once more. Lucien: I can finally see your genuine smile. MC: Eh? Lucien: You've looked worried ever since this morning. Lucien: I had originally thought that I shouldn't pressure you into telling me and wait for you to talk to me yourself, but on second thought, it's not good for you to bear this on your own. Lucien: I'm guessing...the thing that's bothering you... is something concerning me? He looked lost in thought for a second. Lucien: Is it that article from the morning? The determined look in his eyes and his behaviour just now made me suddenly understand. MC: So you wanted to play this game so I could relax more? MC: I should have known...I can't hide anything from you. He laughed and wrapped my hand into his palm, speaking in a teasing tone. Lucien: Tell me, how did the Professor Xu on the article trouble you? I laughed, amused by his words. Since my inner thoughts have already been exposed, I decided to just be honest with him. MC: Well...actually, this bottle of sake was originally a gift for you to celebrate your victory. I didn't expect the list to be postponed... MC: I still want to celebrate with you, but if......the results aren't good, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. MC: ...So, I didn't say anything. I sighed with relief, feeling more at ease after admitting everything to Lucien. MC: But now I think...it's more important to cherish the time we have together. I picked up my phone and turned it off without hesitation, trying to show Lucien my determination. MC: I won't get distracted anymore! The light in Lucien's eyes flickered and, he too, turned his phone off. He wrapped an arm around my waist, and lifted his head. Lucien: Then it's a promise. From now on, don't let anything disturb out time together. Lucien: ...not even humans. I couldn't hold in my laughter when Lucien made another addition to his sentence. MC: ...But it's still my fault for getting distracted before. Now, we can make up for lost time. Lucien: Oh? What do you have in mind? I glanced at the courtyard and raised my eyebrows at Lucien. MC: Didn't you notice? The snow outside is getting smaller. He looked puzzled for a second, but then understood what I was implying. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. The heavy snow storm outside had turned into light, soft snowflakes-- Drifting into the steaming hot springs, and melting away silently.

After having our meal, Lucien and I walked on the stone pathway in the courtyard. The sound of tricking water reached our ears. MC: It looks like the weather report was accurate. The snow is much smaller and lighter than before.

Lucien: Yes, but are you still drunk? We could come back later. MC: Don't worry, I'm totally awake and sober. MC: Plus, I already did my research. According to the internet, the best time to take a soak in the springs is two hours after a meal! Lucien opened his mouth to say something, but then suddenly stopped in his tracks. He stared at the hot springs in front of us, and a streak of shock and surprise flashed through his eyes. I followed his gaze to the outdoor springs, and my eyes widened. MC: This is... To my utter surprise, I realized that this private hot spring didn't have any sort of barrier separating the two sides!

Chapter 4

MC: That's strange...I clearly remember that the pictures on the website had the hot springs separated with wooden boards... I stared at the water, feeling my ear tips turn red. I couldn't help feeling nervous at the thought of two people in the same pool... Just as I was about to say something to break the awkward silence, Lucien spoke up. Lucien: ...I'll just go back to the room. Lucien: I'll come back once you've finished. MC: Huh? I raised my head. Lucien's expression was still calm and gentle, but his eyes avoided mine. Could it be...... ...I'm not the only one who's nervous? Looking at the steaming hot spring, I swallowed and steeled myself. MC: I mean, we've already changed into new clothes and everything...let's just do it together.

Lucien and I sat across from each other in the hot spring. The clear, rippling water came up to our chests. Lucien: Do you think the water temperature is too hot? I raised my head, and my gaze slid disobediently from his bare chest to his collarbones, his Adam's apple, and then his lips...I didn't dare look up any further. MC: No, it's perfect. I shook my head and tried to suppress my rapid heartbeats. I lowered myself a bit more, submerging my shoulders in the warm water, and couldn't help giving a soft sigh. Snowflakes landed on my face, making my skin feel cool and icy, but melted soon after due to the hot air and my warm body. Lucien's hand swept over the surface of the water, making the water splash. He closed his eyes, tilting his head up, and leaned against the rock wall. Lucien: I remember the last time we took a soak in a hot spring. It was snowing...like today. MC: Yeah, I remember that too. My heart warmed as I remembered the last time I celebrated Lucien's birthday. MC: It feels like all of my happy memories about snowy days are spent with you. He slowly opened his eyes. Droplets of water clung to his eyelashes, and the shape of his lips looked attractive and alluring. Lucien: To me, it's not just snowy days. The sound of flowing water overlapped with his voice, reaching my ears through the misty air. The distant memories in my mind seemed to be lit up little by little under Lucien's gentle gaze. My throat felt a little dry after being stared at for so long. My gaze landed on the tray, and I looked over at the wagashi and cups of hot tea. I picked up a cup and took a sip. It wasn't alcohol or sake, but I somehow still felt slightly drunk. I patted my slightly hot face and tried to stretch my body a bit. My foot accidentally touched Lucien's leg. Lucien: ...... MC: ...... My heart skipped a beat and my breathing quickened. The water of the hot spring seemed to make every part of my body more sensitive. I looked up at Lucien. His gaze flickered, and then he looked away. Lucien picked up the other cup on the tray. Lucien: ...The aroma of tea is very strong. MC: Yeah... MC: T-This kind of opportunity is rare, why don't we replace alcohol with tea and give a toast? I bit my tongue in embarrassment as soon as the words were out of my mouth. The hand Lucien was using to hold the cup seemed to shake. He studied my red cheeks for a second, and then couldn't hold in his laughter.

Lucien: Yes, that's a good suggestion, but...... Lucien: Toasts are usually for celebrating. What are we celebrating right now? I was at a loss for words. While I racked my brain for things to say, a thought flashed through my mind. MC: To celebrate- Lucien: I'm going to be very disappointed if you say something like "to celebrate your prizewinning ahead of time" again. MC: Uhm... This man definitely has mind-reading skills! I looked at Lucien's smiling eyes through the white mist, and then couldn't help smiling as well. The snow floated down from the skies, the clear water rippled, but nothing could compare to his shining eyes. Everything in front of me suddenly felt unreal, like a dream. An amazing man was right in front of my eyes, sharing tea and the wonderful snowy view with me. I could see my figure reflect clearly in Lucien's eyes. I suddenly realized that...to me, this moment with him surpasses everything. I instantly spoke without thinking. MC: Then, let's celebrate the moment we share right now. Underneath the water's surface, our touching skin lightly rubbed against each other. The distinct touch made me feel like there were electric currents coursing through my body, the sensation causing ripples in my heart. I no longer avoided his eyes like before, but looked at Lucien quietly. His Adam's apple moved slightly. The pale, warm mist made his dark eyes twinkle with the lights reflecting off the water. I suddenly had the feeling that Lucien could somehow see past the hazy mist and stare straight into my heart. After a while, he gave a soft laugh. Lucien: Only the moment now? MC: What? Lucien didn't answer, but instead, got up and leaned towards me. His chest, originally submerged in the hot spring, was exposed above the water. The temperature of the hot spring made his skin slightly red. The water rippled and splashed, the droplets falling back towards the spring. Slightly nervous, I touched the ground with my foot. I was a little unstable due to the buoyancy of the water, but Lucien grabbed my waist with one hand just in time. I lifted my head, bewildered, and stared at the defined line of Lucien's jaw, my fingertips digging into the tight and strong muscles of his shoulders. His hand slipped over my back and he held me even tighter in his arms. I subconsciously put one hand at his shoulder and pressed the other against his chest. MC: Lucien...... The soft waves of the water lapped against our bodies. Lucien bent down, and his lips moved close to my ears. His voice was slightly hoarse. Lucien: What I want to say is, not only should we celebrate this moment, but also... Lucien: Every single second we have together. A light touch landed on my earlobe, and it felt as if tendrils of fire were lit up there, one by one. The cups collided with a clear, crisp sound. Lucien drank a mouthful of tea, held my chin, and leaned down. I watched his face come closer and closer. I had no time to think, all I could do was close my eyes...... And...experience the numb sensation on my lips and taste the fragrant sweet tea in my mouth.

There was the sound of splashing water as Lucien got up and walked out of the pool. Lucien: Our clothes were left out and now they're wet from the snow. I'll go back to get new clothes. MC: Wait, I'll go with you. I stood up and tried to follow him. Lucien stood frozen in place, and his gaze wavered slightly when he looked at me. I followed his eyes and looked down. The wet towel clung to my body, clearly outlining my figure. Water dripped down from the soaked fabric. A cool breeze blew past, and I suddenly noticed something. I quickly sat back in the hot spring. MC: I-It's so cold... Lucien laughed softly and nodded. Lucien: Yeah, it would be cold for you if you go back like this. Lucien: So, can you wait for me here? I touched my slightly hot face, and nodded at him, smiling. MC: Okay!

When Lucien returned, I was eating the wagashi in the tray. He laughed when he saw me. (Wagashi are traditional Japanese sweets that are typically enjoyed with a cup of green tea. In Chinese, they're called 和果子.)

Lucien: Are you hungry? MC: A little bit. Look, these desserts are all so detailed and beautiful. I pushed the platter towards him. He crouched down and examined them carefully. Lucien: Yeah, you're right. Lucien: I once heard a really skilled pastry chef say that wagashi desserts can express and reflect anything, whether it's from nature or human emotion. MC: Really? I put my arm on the stone edge surrounding the hot spring and started studying the wagashi in the tray curiously. MC: These are made for Valentine's Day. I wonder if they're special in any way. Lucien: I think they are. He leaned down and examined the desserts along with me. Lucien: Maybe...we can use our imagination to take a guess? He smiled and picked up one of the sweets. The shape and design was fairly simple compared to the others. It was round like a small steamed bun, and there was a circular yellow label stamped in the centre. Lucien: I'm sure they made the label yellow for a reason. He looked at it for a while and then handed it to me. Lucien: Can you think of anything? MC: Um...yellow circle...... MC: Like a full moon? I looked up at Lucien. The corners of his mouth turned up, hinting at me to continue on. I stared at the seemingly plain and ordinary wagashi, and suddenly realized something. MC: The moon is a very important symbol of love and can be used to express many different emotions... MC: So, it seems that this wagashi really fits the theme of Valentine's Day. Lucien: Do you want to taste it? I leaned over and bit into the wagashi in his hand. The sweetness melted in my mouth. I was pleasantly surprised to see the red filling underneath the white outside layer. MC: It's red bean paste...! A flash of surprise crossed Lucien's eyes, and after a while, he nodded thoughtfully. Lucien: To choose red filling for the inside... Lucien: That's probably because the person who created it wanted to express the sincere emotions between lovers. MC: So wagashi can really express human emotion... I looked at the emotion-filled dessert, and a warm, gentle feeling grew in my heart. I spoke to Lucien without thinking. MC: You try it too! I remembered something as soon as the words left my mouth, and quickly changed my words. MC: Oh, you don't really like sweets...then I'll take it! I reached out to take the wagashi away from him, but Lucien moved his hand away and out of my reach. MC: Huh? He gave a light laugh at my puzzled look. Lucien: I don't really like sweet things, that's true. Lucien: But...a dessert with such beautiful meaning...I still want to give it a try. MC: But...... Lucien's face appeared in front of mine before I even finished speaking. He put his hand behind my head and leaned down. In the blink of an eye, I felt a sudden warmth on my lips. His hot breath fell on my face, making my skin feel both itchy and numb, dispelling the coolness in the air. The snow on the edge of the pool melted into water and fell into the spring, causing little splashes where they land. After a long time, Lucien finally let go of the hand behind my head and looked at me, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Lucien: Mm, it's sweeter than I imagined.

Chapter 5

After taking a soak in the pool, Lucien and I walked back to the room. We both froze when the door was pushed open. A gaudy “prize cake” was sitting on the table.

The word "AWARD" was written in large block letters using red chocolate, and right underneath it, was a sentence written in black chocolate-- "The Best Scientist Award". Lucien raised an eyebrow, glancing lazily towards me. I coughed awkwardly. MC: Cough cough...would you believe me if I said the attendant sent this to the wrong room? The door was pushed open again, and the attendant came in with two sets of cutlery. Attendant: You're back, Miss. Did you enjoy the hot springs? Attendant: This is the special cake you ordered. The driver was able to get down the mountain to get it since the snow's smaller now. Please enjoy. The attendant gave me a meaningful look, as if saying "I won't disturb you any longer", and then bowed and walked out. After a short silence, a soft chuckle came from behind me. MC: ......Okay, I'll admit it. I prepared this for you...a present to celebrate your victory in winning the award. MC: I think there's more of a celebratory atmosphere if we eat cake. MC: Well...I know the appearance of the cake is sort of...weird and exaggerated, but it probably tastes okay... Lucien nodded, laughing softly. Lucien: Yes, I think this cake will be delicious. And...... Lucien: Now, I'm convinced that you really do care a lot about this topic. He paused, and then took out his phone, turning it on. Lucien: Since you want to know so badly...let's find out together. MC: ......What? Lucien: Didn't you want to know the results? I remember it said in the article you read this morning...it was going to be delayed until the afternoon. Lucien: It should be the right time now. MC: But...! I watched his unhurried movements, my eyes wide. I seemed to be more nervous than he was. Lucien: If I don't let you know now, you'd be worried over it for the entire day. Right after he finished speaking, his phone buzzed continuously for a few minutes, and endless messages flooded the screen. My heartbeat sped up as I stared as his vibrating phone. Lucien also seems somewhat surprised by the amount of notifications. Lucien: ...A Ming, sent fifteen text messages and called me six times. He wrinkled his brow. Lucien: It looks like he didn't take what I said about "focus on the key points" to heart. MC: I'm currently also questioning your ability to "focus on key points"! Finally, his phone calmed down. Lucien lightly tapped the screen, his face expressionless and emotionless. I looked at him with mixed feelings of anticipation and anxiousness. After a few minutes of silence, Lucien suddenly leaned towards me, burying his head in my shoulder, and let out a soft sigh. Lucien: ...... My heart stopped. MC: I-It's okay...... My mind was blank, and I was stumbling over my words. MC: Maybe it's because they changed the requirements for this year, they need to consider other elements, and...... MC: This is their loss! You're so talented and smart, they're going to regret it for sure! Lucien: ...Really? MC: Yes!! I replied instantly and was about to continue on when my ears caught a low laugh. I suddenly realized that something wasn't right. MC: ......You're tricking me again! I immediately straightened up, trying to escape his embrace. He caught my wrist, laughing, and pulled me into his arms again. Lucien: I didn't trick anyone...it's kind of unfair for you to say that. Lucien: I don't think I actually said anything about the results yet? I bit my lip, pouting slightly as I looked at the triumphant smile in his eyes. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. I dove into the blankets on the bed and pretended to be angry. Even though the news of Lucien's success made me smile from ear to ear, I tried to control my expression and spoke in an upset voice. MC: I was so nervous, yet you still tricked me! MC: I had prepared a third gift for you, aside from the cake and the sake...but now I'm going to reconsider if I should give it to you or not! His low laughter immediately stopped, as if someone had pressed the pause button. I secretly giggled to myself and counted down silently. 3, 2, 1...as expected, I felt a pair of hands hug me from behind when I counted the last number. Lucien: I'm sorry. You were so cute...I couldn't help teasing you. Lucien: So, can you tell me what the last gift is? Lucien waited, and when I didn't respond, he started coughing. Lucien: Cough cough... Lucien: I think I caught a cold from staying outside for so long... I listened to Lucien's coughing. At first, I was startled, but then couldn't hold in my laughter. I didn't think he'd resort to such childish tactics. Lucien also started laughing when he heard my laughter. The hands around my waist tightened, and his voice was more serious when he opened his mouth. Lucien: MC. Lucien: Actually, I don't really care about this award that much. My heart skipped a beat. It was the first time I heard him say something like that. Lucien: Because, everything that I wanted to have......I got it when the research results were announced...maybe even earlier than that. Lucien: Any praise from the outside world, to me, is nothing but icing on the cake. He paused, as if suddenly remembering something, and then started laughing softly. Lucien: But, everything that you've done for me today...I'm very happy about it. Lucien: Whether it's the gifts you gave me, or the sincere words you spoke...all of that made me feel how important I am to you. Lucien rubbed his chin over my forehead through the blanket. Lucien: The only one who would feel happy, nervous, or even sad for me from the bottom of their heart... Lucien: It's probably only this silly girl in front of me. His soft, gentle words fell over my heart, splashing up waves of emotion. Lucien: I think...the reason I keep teasing you is because I want to see more of the reactions and feelings...that you only display for me. Lucien: I guess I'm also a "collector", of some sort-- Lucien: It doesn't matter what form of MC...I want to have them all. Lucien: Will you forgive me now? His tone was filled with tenderness and gentleness. I still didn't respond, but instead, answered with my actions-- I threw off the blankets, and kissed Lucien's cheek as he froze in shock. My fingers swept over the strands of his hair, stopping on his face, and  I held on to him tightly, pulling him towards me. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room. As if in a trance, I kissed him over and over, and then pressed my lips against his ear. MC: I'm not angry, you're the silly one here... My lips made their way down the edge of his ear. He gave a sharp intake of breath, and I stopped my kisses and instead, rubbed gently against his ear. After a long time, my eyes met Lucien's, and I finally realized how bold and embarrassing my actions were. I tried to pull away from him. But Lucien didn't allow me to hide. The hand on my waist tightened, and he pressed his forehead against my forehead, his dark eyes staring deep into mine. Lucien: Is this the third gift? Our breaths mingled, both of us breathing hard. I shook my head. MC: ...It's a promise. I tried to calm my breathing, and slowly said the words that had been fermenting in my heart. MC: I was planning to wait until the results were out...no matter if you won or not, I would still say this to you-- MC: In the future, I'm going to stay beside you and spend every memorable moment with you. MC: ...Do you still remember the crystallized flower you gave me? MC: My thoughts are the same as yours. Every single second we spend together is precious and special for me. I don't have a gift as beautiful and romantic as the one you gave me, so I can only express my feelings in words... MC: But this truly is my most genuine and sincere thought. The evening air swept past. Behind Lucien, the flaming red maple leaves fluttered down from the sky. I suddenly had the feeling that Lucien and I were closer than ever. He lowered his gaze, staring at me for a second, and then let out a soft laugh. Lucien: Your romantic sentences have improved a lot since the last time. My face felt hot when I met the mischievous look in his eyes. MC: I was only speaking from the heart! Lucien: Yeah, I know. Lucien: I don't think your words are plain. In fact, I believe the opposite...your words are of great significance and importance to me. Lucien: But, even if I receive such a wonderful vow, there's still one thing... Lucien: Aren't you giving me an empty promise? MC: !... I... I was at a loss for words. Lucien smiled, his gaze traveling down to slightly open lips, emotion wavering in his dark eyes. Lucien: Sometimes...actions speak louder than words. He lifted his arm, brushing his thumb against my lips. Lucien: The sincerity in your promise...maybe I'll understand it better if you express it in a different way. His voice was low, and he lifted his gaze to look at me, lights shimmering in his eyes. Lucien: Are you willing to give it a try? My face turned red, and my thoughts were a mess. The next second, Lucien grabbed my wrist and pressed me to the tatami. MC: Uhf...! His soft tongue pried my teeth open little by little, rubbing against the inside of my mouth gently and delicately, as if trying to rub away all the heat and lingering feelings. I tasted the faint, pleasant flavour of tea in his mouth. It somehow tasted like wine with an incredibly high alcohol content...I felt slightly drunk. He lifted my chin with one hand. Lucien's eyes were half-closed, and he loosened his grip on my hand. His fingers gently caressed the skin of my wrist, slowly and tenderly, making my body gradually relax. The temperature around us rose quickly, and I instinctively threw my arms around his neck, responding to his actions with another kiss. He let go of me just when I started feeling a little dizzy. His familiar soft laugh sounded by my ears. When he saw I was slightly weak from his actions, Lucien held on to my waist and let me sit on his lap. One of my hands were pressed against his sturdy chest, and the other was weakly grasping his already messy and disheveled clothes. MC: Lucien...... I lowered my head and stared into his eyes. I could see some sort of suppressed emotion in his dark eyes, and I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his chin. Lucien: ...... The light reflected in Lucien's eyes seemed to flicker, and then suddenly darkened. The hand Lucien was using to stroke my hair suddenly moved, giving me no time to react, and he pulled me towards him, kissing me once more. Unlike the gentle, tender kiss from before...this one was filled with overwhelming passion and a slight hint of greed. The tingling sensation from my mouth seemed to course through my body like an electrical current. Lucien's warm palm made its way down my back, making me shiver. My senses and emotions were all occupied by him. I could feel the kiss gradually deepen. I felt a slight pain at my collarbone, and I cried out. I could feel a warm, moist touch appear over that area. A layer of fine sweat appeared on our touching skin, and with it, came an intimate, sticky feeling. I ran a hand through the sweat-drenched strands of Lucien's hair and lowered my head to look down at him. His eyes were closed, and his face was slightly red with the colour of maple leaves. I didn't know where to put my eyes, and my face turned hot again. As if feeling my nervousness, the corners of Lucien's mouth turned up slightly. He lifted a hand and covered my eyes. Lucien: Close your eyes. His voice was commanding, but also extremely gentle and tender. I slowly closed my eyes and surrendered myself to him. The last image remaining on my eyes was Lucien's dark, unfathomable eyes... ...And a brilliant red.

- End -