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cherbii · 2 months ago

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BEHIND CLOSED DOORS | Gojo Satoru

summary ➜ you could easy forget your old fling, and boss, but when there’s a new p.a swooning for him, you can’t help but want him back, and want what you two used to have.

warnings ➜ language, smut! dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex, blindfold sex, semi-public sex, office sex, oral (F), cum eating, thigh fucking, praising, multiple orgasms, fingering, mdni

[part 2]

Your fingers nimbly clicked against the keyboard of your computer, eyebrows drawn together, met with a crinkle in focus. You sat in your office, one that matched everyone else's. Though it was more of a small boxed off area, where people could pass by as they pleased.

Your one hand moved swiftly to the mouse before clicking, then your printer began to whir, the green light flashed before it was spurting out inked paper, warm like a fresh loaf of bread. You patiently waited for all pages to be printed before sliding them into a file, kicking yourself off of your office chair and striding towards your bosses office.

Satoru Gojo was your boss, the enigmatic and charismatic head of the department. Though his boss was Nanami Kento, Gojo was the second in command, and he held a commanding presence that demanded both respect and attention.

Your heart skipped a beat as you approached his office, your mind racing with anticipation. You turned the corner to reveal his personal assistant, Mei.

She had tightly curled, blonde hair that framed her face perfectly, and her curvy figure was accentuated by the form-fitting pencil skirt she wore. Mei glanced up from her file as she stood outside the office door, waiting. "Can I help you?"

You cleared your throat, trying to gather your thoughts. "I need to discuss the new project proposal with Gojo. It's urgent." Your tone was strong, firm, and no sense of messing around.

"Of course," Mei replied, giving you an slow nod. "Go right in; he's expecting you." She hummed, and gave you a tight lipped smile, you often got the feeling she didn't like you.

Taking a deep breath, you entered Gojo's office. The room exuded an air of power and authority, with dark wooden furniture and shelves lined with impressive accolades and certificates. Gojo himself was seated behind his large, imposing desk, his piercing blue eyes fixated on the documents before him. His perfectly styled silver hair added to his allure, making it hard to focus on anything else.

"Ah, come in," Gojo said, looking up with a smile that could charm anyone. "What can I do for you?" His eyes pierced through you, through the shades he wore, they were the same eyes that—no, you swore to forget the past.

Summoning your confidence, you began to discuss the project proposal, explaining your ideas and suggestions with passion and clarity. Gojo listened intently, nodding occasionally and asking insightful questions.

As the conversation progressed, you found yourself drawn to his genuine interest in your work and his ability to challenge your ideas, making you see things from different perspectives.

Unbeknownst to you, Mei lingered outside the office, stealing glances through the partially open door. Her heart sank as she observed the undeniable connection between you and Gojo. She knew she had feelings for him, but witnessing your professional rapport filled her with both envy and admiration.

As the meeting came to an end, Gojo complimented your work and encouraged you to move forward with the proposal. With a grateful smile, you thanked him for his support, feeling a sense of accomplishment and validation.

In the days that followed, you found yourself working more closely with Gojo, collaborating on various projects and growing closer as colleagues. The chemistry between you two was undeniable.

Mei couldn't ignore the growing attraction between you and Gojo, and her heartache became evident as she tried to mask her feelings. But she was no stranger to facing challenges head-on, and she wasn't about to let her emotions hinder her professional growth.

Determined to prove her worth and showcase her talents, Mei threw herself into her work with renewed vigor. She took on more responsibilities, impressed Nanami with her efficiency, and showed her mettle as a capable and dependable professional.

As time passed, Mei's dedication and resilience caught Gojo's attention. He began to notice her in a new light, admiring her tenacity and unwavering commitment.

You had always been ambitious and driven, striving to prove yourself in the workplace. But seeing Mei's rapid rise and the attention she garnered from Gojo ignited a competitive streak within you. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards her, and it became clear that the feeling was mutual.

Mei, aware of the growing tension between you, didn't shy away from the challenge. She matched your competitive spirit with unwavering determination, pushing herself even harder to outshine you in Gojo's eyes.

Each achievement she earned, every accolade she received, served as a constant reminder of your own insecurities and shortcomings.

As the rivalry between you and Mei intensified, it began to affect the office dynamics. Colleagues noticed the subtle hostility between you, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere within the team.

However, Gojo remained oblivious to the underlying tension, preoccupied with the demands of his role. At least, that's how it seemed.

On a random Tuesday, as you were engrossed in your work, Mei approached your desk with a triumphant smile on her face. She couldn't resist the urge to gloat about her latest accomplishment, aware of the effect it would have on you.

"Did you hear?" Mei asked, feigning innocence. "Gojo praised my recent presentation. He said it was one of the best he's seen in years."

You clenched your fists, struggling to maintain your composure. "That's great for you, Mei.” You replied curtly, trying to hide the bitterness in your voice.

Mei's smile widened, and she leaned in closer. "It seems Gojo has taken quite an interest in my work. I guess some people just have what it takes."

The words stung, fueling your growing envy. In that moment, you made a silent vow to prove yourself, to show Gojo that you were just as capable—if not more—than Mei. The rivalry had reached its breaking point, and it was time to confront your feelings head-on.

Determined to gain Gojo's attention, you dedicated long hours to perfecting your projects, leaving no room for errors. You poured your heart and soul into your work, channeling your jealousy into a relentless pursuit of excellence.

As weeks turned into months, Gojo noticed your transformation. He recognized the fire in your eyes, the drive that pushed you to go above and beyond. He appreciated your work ethic and the passion you exhibited. But unbeknownst to you, Gojo was also aware of the growing tension between you and Mei.

One day, he called you and Mei into his office for a meeting. As you both entered, the atmosphere was palpable with unspoken animosity. Gojo, ever perceptive, sensed the underlying tension and decided to address it head-on.

"I've noticed the competitive dynamic between the two of you," Gojo began, his voice carrying a hint of sternness. "While I appreciate your dedication and drive, it's crucial to remember that we are a team. Our success lies in our ability to work together, not tear each other down."

You kept silent, not saying a thing, it was true. Very true. But you had a heart made of steel and was too stubborn to back down.

The short meeting was kept curt, Gojo called your name. "Wait, please stay, I have something I need to discuss with you." Gojo's voice rang out as you were about to leave, you didn't miss the nasty snarl Mei sent your way before she left. You went back to your previous chair, hovering before Gojo spoke again. "Come here, I don't bite."

Your eyes widened for a second before you slowly walked around the massive desk, to where Gojo sat, inclined on his seat with a boyish grin, legs spread. His pale hand patted his lap, an invitation. "I don't think I should." You insisted.

"Oh come on. It's not like you haven't sat on my lap before. Hell, you even came all over it—when? Like a year ago. Don't be shy now." He moved his sunglasses down, sending you a wink. His one foot kept the office chair swivelling, side to side, slowly.

You felt warmness creep up your neck and prayed he couldn't tell, suddenly, your shirts collar felt as though it was choking you. "Sir, that's rather unprofessional." You held your walls high.

Gojo chuckled. Laughed. "Oh, but we're far from that. So come. Now." That was an order, and you knew it.

Your legs felt stiff as you walked closer to him, to have his being hand grip your wrist and yank you, chest first onto him. Your hands awkwardly pressed against his shoulders as you straightened your back.

"See?"

"What do you want, Gojo? Last I remembered, you were the one saying that this can't happen again due to your power. What's changed?" After your words, the black in his eyes swelled, shamelessly looking at your lips that held a coating of your favourite lipstick, one he often fantasised being smeared across the both of you, on different parts.

"You've changed,” his thumb went to your lips, collecting the lipstick before dragging his thumb down your chin. His lips were left parted after he spoke, before closing when he took a swallow, eyes momentarily fluttering closed, before his bright eyes shot to yours. "I see you begging for attention, don't think I haven't noticed. I see the look in your eye whenever I'm with Mei."

You pursed your lips, now you knew he noticed though to be quite frank, you thought you were subtle. Gojo let out a chuckle, his body reverberating underneath you. "And what look is that?"

Gojo's tongue darted out, wetting his lips. You watched his tongue's movements, the shine of his lips, mind wondering to what other liquids would make his lips wet. "The same look in your eye now, like you want me to bend you over and fuck you for everyone to know who's cock you belong to."

At Gojo's words, you scoffed. "Who said I belong to you?"

"Alright. Tell me, have you fucked anyone else since out time together?"

"Yes, I have actually." Your chin raised, taking pride in that (for some reason), you felt Gojo's hands move from where it still was on your wrist, to the lower part of your back, where he began to tug free your blouse from your pencil skirt.

"Did they make you cum?"

He pulled the rest of your shirt out, immediately going to pop open the lower buttons, stopping short when it was halfway done before letting his hands fall to the side, limply. Your mouth felt dry as you tried to swallow.

Your head tipped down, and that's all Gojo needed to know. "Use your words."

"No." Your voice was quiet when you spoke, staring at the fingers that toyed with his black tie.

"Ah. Well, have you touched yourself?" You nodded, Gojo did as well, just much slower, "Did you cum then?" Another nod. "When last did you touch yourself?"

Why was the room feeling hot all of a sudden? Gojo's hands were now removing the small blazer you wore, then going back to un-buttoning your shirt. You let him. You'd always. You cleared your throat before speaking. "Last night."

Something in his eyes flashed. "Who did you cum to? Hmm? Who was in your pretty little mind as you fucked your pretty pussy?" His tone didn't hold any playfulness now, it was far more malicious. "Was it Geto? I know you two used to fuck around a lot. Or was it Nanami? You want an older man, huh? Such a slut."

"I-It was you." You blurted, a sense of embarrassment washed over at you. The night sky twinkled from city lights, a beautiful view you could see from the floor to ceiling windows in Gojo's office. "I came, because of you."

Gojo smirked. He knew it was because of him, in some way, he hoped you only came because of him. "I see. Well go on."

"W-What?"

"What were you thinking about? My mouth? Fingers? Cock? Where did this happen? Tell me, baby. Set the scene for me." He slowly removed your blouse, exposing your lace covered tits.

"Um," your skin felt hot to the touch from your immense blushing. You didn't want to tell him, yet you also wanted to. Because it wasn't ordinary vanilla sex, it was a whole lot more spicier. "Your cock, and i-it was in here and...I was—I was uhm..."

"You were what, pretty girl?"

"Your blindfold. The one you used to wear around. Yeah, I had that on." You watched him smirk again before feeling the chair roll back, Gojo's arm moved to open a drawer before retrieving the exact blindfold.

"This one?" You nodded. "Can I put it on you?" Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. You bit your lip before accepting.

Carefully, Gojo placed the fabric over your eyes, now, you were visually impaired. All your other senses spiked.

A gasp fell from your lips when you felt yourself being picked up and placed on the floor, hands flying out to hold onto his arms. Then, you felt your skirt being pulled down, exposing more of your stockings and your panties. Your body got pushed back as you fell onto the desk, messing up piles of paper, yet Gojo didn't care.

A warm body pressed between your legs and a hand cupped your jaw before hot breath that smelt of mint caressed your ear. "Continue your story." Gojo whispered in your ear.

"It was just like this. Y-You fucked me many times, I think I came three times, but someone walked in, I don't know who,” you mumbled. You wanted to rip the blindfold off when you felt him move away, but then your ears caught sound of fabric ruffling before you soon felt warm flesh touch your own. "It actually started with your mouth."

You could recall vivid flashbacks of your dream, how real it felt. How hot and passionate it all was. Instead of your bullet vibrator you used, it was his lips, tongue and teeth lapping away at your cunt.

You felt his hands ball around your stockings, knuckle grazing over your clothes pussy before your stockings got ripped. "Can I?"

His finger brushed over the spot where your leg met your pussy. You hurriedly nodded before blurting out a yes. The cold air hit your puffy clit before anything else, then his even colder fingertip that elicited a gasp from your lips. It rubbed tantalisingly slow circles.

You almost forgot what it was like to have someone else's hands on you. You let out a groan of pleasure when you get his thumb join, pinching your clit that sent your legs into a spasm.

"Fuck, Gojo." You moaned, his fingers flicked, pinched and rubbed away at your clit. You felt a blow of air meet your swelled bundle, legs closing on reflex only to enclose around his head. His hands pried your legs further apart.

"Try again." He mumbled, before he lolled his tongue out, watching saliva dribble onto your clit before he sucked his all up and spat it out again.

"Satoru, oh god." Your hands flew to his hair, with a vice grip as your thighs humped on his face.

Even through the dark fabric, you could feel his eyes watching you, the way your plump lips fell open as he started to suck on your clit, teeth grazing over, adding to the stimulation. You could hear the suckles he made, and the groans that left his lips. You remembered him briefly saying pleasuring a woman turns him on.

His hands were wrapped around your thighs as you ground your pussy onto his face. And that's all it was. You grinding into him while he ate you out like a starved man. It didn't take long for you to squirm under his hold.

"I'm gonna cum." You threw your head back as your legs twitched.

Your lower belly started to bubble and before you knew it, your cum was dribbling down his chin. His lips moved down and slurped your hole, tongue plunging into your pulsing pussy to drink all your juices.

He stood up, your legs still on your shoulders. At this angle, the bottom of his boner wedged between your pussy lips. "How many times did you say you came?"

"We-We're not done?" You shrieked, though you still felt your hole clench and you were sure he could feel in on the shaft of his dick.

You failed to miss the bead of pre-cum that grew on his tip, slowly running down a vein and onto your pussy lip. A high pitched moan left your lips when you felt his hips move back, then your walls stretched open as he thrusted into you at a decent pace.

"How many times did you say you came again?" He snarled, he grabbed both your ankles and drew your legs together, the flesh of your thighs squeezing your pussy which pressed against his cock, he held your legs straight up as he began to piston in and out of you. A beautiful moan left his lips at the new pressure. "Answer me, slut."

"Three! Three times!" You squealed as his thrusts became faster, balls slapping against your ass. Oh how you missed this, his cock splitting you open as you became a mess underneath him.

"Then three times it is,” he bent his body around your legs, his free hand fisting the fabric of your bra before snapping it loose. Your breasts spilt from their confines, jiggling roughly as he fucked you harder. "Fuck, so beautiful. Better than I remember."

"Satoru, too—too fast,” you moaned, fingers clawing at the wooden desk, back arching against it. Short huffs of air left your lips, already so sensitive, you were close. "Gonna cum s-so soon."

"You can take it, I know you can,” he cooed, finger slipping between your thighs and provoking your clit. "You're already taking me so well, your pussy is swallowing me up. Good girl."

Your slick bubbles popped, wet sounds, slapping and moans bounced around in the office. Your hands were making a mess of his papers, now torn or crumpled.

"G-Gonna—!" You didn't get to finish your words before hot liquid squirted onto your thighs, he opened your legs and allowed for your squirting to spray onto him. His name fell from your lips like a mantra.

He quickly pulled out, closing your legs against before fucking your thighs, not a minute later, his cum was spraying onto the front area of your pussy before he dropped your legs, grabbed your hips and turned you around.

"You did so well, baby,” he kissed your shoulder. Hand flattening your sweaty hair. You could feel the wetness you made on him press against your ass. "One more,” he nudged your legs apart, before slowly inserting his cock again. "I know you still have one more for me."

"Gentle, please." You mumbled. Your head was spinning, your body ached yet yearned more. Gojo pressed soft kissed to your neck then moved your head to him. You felt his lips meet your own, you gladly welcomed him. It was slow yet open mouthed and nasty kisses.

He begin to rock his hips again setting another fire to your core. You hadn't even noticed when the blindfold got slipped off.

Even at the awkward angle, he still continued to kiss you, one hand threading through your hair while the other rubbed your throbbing clit.

This time, this round was passionate. It could easily have been mistaken for more than pent up lust. Your stomach rolled, you were closer than you've ever been. Gojo could tell by the way you failed to kiss him back, how your legs wobbled all and you moaned into his mouth.

Before he knew it, he felt your warm liquid run down his cock. He broke the kiss, letting his teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder while you rolled your head back to allow him more space. He moaned your name, his thrusts became short and sloppy.

"In me, please." You begged.

"You on a pill?" He mumbled against your skin.

"No, but I need it in me, I'll take one tomorrow." Your pleas worked, a gasp left your lips when you felt fuller than you ever have.

Your stomach felt warm with the new secretion. Gojo pulled out and watched you drop onto the floor.

"Fuck me," he whispered. "You did so well." He gently made you face him, pressing a kiss to you're forehead. He helped you clean up and dress yourself.

As he was about to walk you to the door, the both of you heard the unmistakable sounds of heavy footsteps. Your eyes widened and your heart dropped.

Well shit.

#cherbii #anime #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x y/n #jujutsu satoru #satoru x you #gojo sensei #gojo satorou

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aismoker · 8 months ago

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Be a GOOD boy

Tucker looked up from his work when his phone buzzed. He had received a message. At first he didn't recognize the sender: GOOD boy #79. The avatar showed a picture of a bald guy wearing a leather uniform with a big cigar in his mouth. His eyes seem to glow red.

Tucker was annoyed. It must be some kind of spam bot. But as he saw the number, he recognized it as the number of Connor, his best friend. As he looked better, he recognized the guy on the picture as his friend. He opened the message. It only said: "be a GOOD boy". Tucker was now very puzzled. Did Connor get some kind of virus on his phone? Was it some kind of joke? Barry was so occupied with the message, that he hadn't noticed that a file had started to download. Once it was finished, his phone shut down. Tucker didn't know what was happening. He started his phone again, but instead of the normal opening screen he saw an image of a red spiral.

"Shit", Tucker thought, he must have downloaded a virus. He tried to shut down his phone again, but nothing seemed to work. As he tapped frantically on the screen, the image started to change. A picture of bald man in a leather uniform, smoking a cigar appeared on the screen and then another and another. Tucker didn't understand anything of all this. What was happening to his phone? He looked at the screen. The images started to change faster and faster. He sometimes thought he recognized some of the guys in the pictures. Wasn't that James? And wasn't that the guy who worked at the gas station? He wasn't sure. By now, the images flashed so rapidly that his consciousness couldn't register. It was, however, in a way quite relaxing to watch the images. The longer he kept looking at the screen, the more he got entranced. He didn't even notice that text started to appear on the screen. He didn't even notice that after a while, he was starting to chant softly: "be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy..."

Several hours later, the doorbell rings. Still entranced, he stands up and goes to the door. He ooens the door. He doesn't expect there to be anyone and indeed, the hallway is empty. He looks down and sees a big bag standing on his doorbell. There is a note attached to the bag. It says: "GOOD boy #137". He smiles. He takes the bag inside and opens it. In it he sees a pile of neatly folded leather clothes. He smiles. His uniform has arrived. He puts it on. He walks towards the bathroom and picks up his razor blade and starts shaving his head. He doesn't question his actions. He just OBEYS. It feels so GOOD to OBEY. Once done with shaving he grabs the bag again and takes out a wooden box. He opens the box. In it, he sees a rows of cigars. He softly caresses them with his fingers and picks one out. As instructed, he cuts the cigar and toasts it. He then sticks it in his mouth. He flicks the lighter and looks in the mirror. In a few seconds, he will be a GOOD boy.

As he takes his first drag and his lungs fill with the thick, creamy smoke, he feels a feeling of euphoria and joy wash over him. He is a GOOD boy! GOOD boy #137 takea another drag. The feeling intensifies. It feels so GOOD to smoke a CIGAR, so GOOD to OBEY.

GOOD boy #137 picks up his phone. The phone seems to work normally again, with the small differences that the red spiral with the cigar-smoking men is non-stop visible, like a transparent film over his screen. He takes a picture of himself and he uses it as his new avatar. He looks at his screen name. It said "Tucker". He frowns, he knew he had heard that name before, but he couldn't recall when. He tried to think, but GOOD boys don't think. He changed the screen name to "GOOD boy #137". He then uploads his photo to the spiral-file. He is a GOOD boy and everyone who sees the file should know it.

He looks through his list of contacts. He sees that besides GOOD boy #79 there are also GOOD boy #89, #103, #107, #117, #118 and #129. He smiles. So many GOOD boys already, but not enough. Everyone should be a GOOD boy, so he sends the file to all the men in his list with the simple message: "be a GOOD boy".

He then texts GOOD boy #137. "I am a GOOD boy now. Thank you!" Half a minute later, he got a reply: "It is so GOOD to be a GOOD boy! Come out and meet me at my place, we need to make more men into GOOD boys." #137 answers: "every man should be a GOOD boy. I'll be there in 5 minutes." He grabs a few extra cigars and walks out of his apartment. He smiles as he takes dep drags of his cigar. It is so GOOD to be a GOOD boy.

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EPILOGUE

Barry Johnson, head scientist at Big Tobacco international, a conglomerate of the largest tobacco producers worldwide, rushes to the director's office. There was no time to lose. He knocks at the door and without waiting, he opened the door and stepped into the office. "We have to stop the GOOD boy project! We have to use the kill-switch!" The director, sitting in his large leather chair didn't answer for a second. He then asked, calmly: "And why should we do that?" Johnson answers hastily: "The program is too powerful! Our estimations showed that it would affect about 200 men in the course of a month, but it has reached that number in a few days. The program's reach seems to grow exponentially!" "No worries, I have increased the production of uniforms already. We cannot have GOOD boys without thwir uniforms. I have also contacted the partners. They have increased their production to the max." Johnson is dumbstruck. "You did WHAT? You don't understand! I have to kill the program before we lose control!" As the director turns his chair slowly around to fave Johnson, he says: "No, you don't understand how GOOD it feels to be a GOOD boy."

The director had now a shaved head and he was wearing a leather uniform. He has a cigar in his mouth, in the other his phone. The phone emits a vague red glow, that is reflected in his eyes. Johnson backed away. "How?", he stammered. "My son Jason shared the file with me. He wanted me to know how GOOD it is to be a GOOD boy. "So, it got to you too," Johnson said, "the there is only one thing that I can do. I have to use the kill-switch" He backed further away from the director, until he hit the wall. "Odd", Johnson thought, he didn't know the office had leather walls. But then he realized he hadn't backed himself into the wall, but into Andrew, the 2.07 m high security guard who was into body building big time. "Andrew, thank God, we have to get out of here!" He looked up and his heart jumped. He saw a large cigar sricking out of Andrew's mouth. Plumes of smoke came out of his nose, covering Johnson. "It got to you too..." Andrew didn't reply to him. He simply mumbled around his cigar "be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy..." Johnson felt the iron muscles of the security guard wrap around him. He was trapped in a smokey embrace. Johnson tried to get out, but the other man simply was too strong. Andrew holding the head scientist with one arm, took out his phone and switched it on. A red spiral appeared. Johnson tried to look away from it, but only a short glance was enough to fix his gaze on the screen. He saw the images of men, wearing leather uniforms and smoking cigars flashing in front of his eyes. Inside his head, a battle was taking place:

"All those guys... all GOOD boys now... victims of the program... MY victims... all GOOD boys now... I have to help them... I have to kill the program... they know how GOOD it is to be a GOOD boy... I have to fight the program... be a GOOD boy... I have to think... GOOD boys don't think... I have to think of a way out now... GOOD boys obey... I have to think... GOOD boys smoke CIGARS... I have to... be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy... be a GOOD boy..."

#smoking men #ai smoke #cigarsmoker #cigar #cigarman #story

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vigilante-3073 · 1 year ago

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Helping Hand

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Putting together a bookshelf becomes a lot more complicated without the help of a super-soldier.

TW: Fluff, girl construction, mild flirting.

Y/N sat on the floor in the middle of the living room. Various wooden pieces were scattered around the floor along with a singular pink bowl filled with screws.

Y/N had bought a bookshelf to put up in the nearly empty apartment that she lived in with Bucky. The place could definitely use some decor in order to start feeling like an actual home.

She sat on the floor in front of the television as it played some overly dramatic reality show that Bucky insisted he loathed, but secretly loved.

Y/N put the screws into the wooden pieces with the backside of a metal nail file as the door opened.

"Doll, you home?" Bucky called, tossing his keys into the dish on the table by the door.

"In the living room!" She called without looking up from her project.

Bucky made his way into the living room, bright eyes finding the chaos that had unfolded while he was out.

"How was therapy?" Y/N asked, tightening one of the screws.

Bucky looked around the room slowly "What the hell are you doing?" Bucky questioned.

Y/N looked up at him, "Building a bookshelf," She stated plainly, turning her attention back to the pieces.

"We don't have any tools. What are you using?" Bucky asked, looking around for evidence of a recent trip to the hardware store.

"This," She said, holding up a nail file proudly.

"What is that?" Bucky asked, making his way over to her.

"My building nail file," Y/N said.

"You're seriously using a nail file to put together a bookshelf?" Bucky asked incredulously.

"Yeah, it's worked out well for me so far," Y/N stated, looking down at the book of instructions.

"Did Steve let you put together stuff with that thing?" Bucky asked.

Y/N dropped her hands to her lap with a huff, "No," She admitted reluctantly.

"He always did it for me, but I swear I can do it myself," Y/N said, looking up at him.

Bucky sighed, squatting down beside her "What kind of screws are they?" He asked.

"I have no idea. They have a little 'x' on top," She said.

"I'm gonna run to the hardware store and them I'll help you put the rest of it together, okay?" Bucky questioned, she nodded.

...

Bucky lifted the bookshelf, sliding it back against the wall of the apartment. He took a step back, standing beside Y/N as they admired their handiwork.

It had taken Bucky under an hour to put together the rest of the shelf with the appropriate tools.

"Now that the shelf is put together, I bought you a little something to put on it. Wait here," She said, rushing out of the room.

She returned quickly with a blue gift bag, white tissue paper sticking out the top.

"You didn't have to buy me anything," He said.

She waved her hand, "It's a gift. Now, c'mon, open it," Y/N said, holding it out to him.

Bucky sighed, taking the bag from her hand and pushing aside the tissue paper. He reached into the bag and pulled out a boxed set of books.

His brow furrowed as he turned the plastic wrapped books in his hand, "This is The Lord of the Rings," He stated.

"Yeah, Sam told me that you read them when they first came out and I thought you might like to have a copy of your own," Y/N said.

Bucky stepped forward, tossing the gift bag onto the couch before placing the boxed set up onto one of the shelves.

He stepped back again, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her body close to his side. Bucky pressed his lips to the crown of her head, "Thank you for thinking of me, doll," He said softly.

"I always think of you," She stated, wrapping her arms around him.

He ran his hand over her back gently, "I do have to say, you did a pretty good job with that nail file," Bucky said.

"That's girl construction, for you," Y/N smiled.

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barns fanfiction

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forhappysake · 4 months ago

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Fluffy Surprise

Author's Note: Not proofread and the first fic I've written in like six months so read if you dareeee

Summary: Reader decides to give Spencer a present when he returns to their new home.

Warnings: People with cat allergies, beware! (?) Fluff ofc.

You moved into the new house two weeks ago. Technically, you moved all your stuff into the new house two weeks ago. In boxes. Lots and lots of heavy boxes.

Spencer had come up with a system, labeling each box with the room it would go into at the new house. You had worked together to pack everything, label each box, and unload the boxes into your new home.

And it seemed like the moment he set the last box down and you were ready to start setting the place up, his phone rang.

Spencer had been gone for one week.

The case was halfway across the country, somewhere in Santa Fe. You couldn’t exactly be mad at him for being gone, but unpacking and trying to organize everything without his input was a nightmare. You were finishing the last box in your shared bedroom, carefully placing his clothes on wooden hangers and organizing them in the closet, when your phone rang.

Spencer’s name lit up the screen. You answered quickly.

“Hi, Spence,” you said, plopping down on the freshly made bed.

You could tell how tired he was from the long pause he took before responding. “Hey, honey. How’s the unpacking?” he asked with a small sigh.

You frowned to yourself, worried about how tired he sounded. “Oh, it’s alright. I’d like you to look through all the rooms when you get home, just to make sure everything is where it should be.” You let out a soft laugh, “I also had a hard time hanging up all the pictures and paintings without you, so we may have to straighten some of them up when you get back.”

Another pause followed, though this time you could envision him nodding to himself. “We can do that,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to do it all by yourself. I promise I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was fine, Spencer. Besides, I’m pretty sure chasing a serial killer or something gives you an excuse.”

He sighed on the other end of the line. “That’s what I wanted to talk about. We caught the unsub this evening. I’m hoping to be home late this evening, but it probably won’t be until after you go to bed.”

You smiled, content with the thought of him coming home to your freshly decorated home. “Oh, I’ll be staying up. I want to see your reaction to the place.”

“Alright,” he said, clearly too tired to urge you to go to bed instead with a list of facts about the health benefits of a good night’s sleep.

You sighed. “As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I’ve got about fifteen more boxes to go.”

“I understand. I should probably get some work done, too. Files, reports, you know how it is,” his voice was barely a whisper now, the exhaustion beginning to get the better of him.

“Don’t work too hard, Spence,” you cautioned. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.”

“I won’t. I love you too,” he answered. The end of his line promptly went dead.

You looked around the bedroom, discarding your phone on the bed. You couldn’t help but wonder if there was something you could do to make Spencer’s return home a bit more special.

You sat up and leaned over, furrowing your brow and resting your head in the palm of your hand as you tried to think of things Spencer liked. Of course, Spencer liked a lot of things. He liked sweet coffee, puzzles, and a classic novel in some foreign language you couldn’t comprehend.

None of those things were overly special, in your mind. As you sat and wracked your brain, a thought finally came to you.

One month ago, walking by a local cat cafe, Spencer spotted the most beautiful calico. She had fluffy hair, one black ear, one orange. Her little paws were white and she was so well mannered. Spencer and yourself had gone in immediately and he had spent your time inside doting on the calico, whose name, you learned, was Calypso.

You bolted up from the bed and out into the living room, finding your purse sitting among the unpacked boxes. You shot out to the car, and without a second thought, drove the ten minutes to the cat cafe.

You said a silent prayer that the cat was still available as you pulled into a parking space across the street. As if on cue, you looked up to see the same cat lounging lazily in the window sill, green eyes poised on you.

The adoption process was quick, quicker than you anticipated. Fifty dollars later, you were on the road with Calypso in the passenger seat, sitting demurely in the carrier the shelter had provided you with to take her home in.

On the way home you had to stop at PetSmart to pick up a litter box, a few toys, and a scratching post with the hope that your new furry friend would not decimate your new furniture. Calypso remained in the carrier, watching quietly from the shopping cart as you agonized over which treats to get.

Soon enough, you were on your way home. The moment you walked through the front door, you set the carrier down and allowed Calypso to wander free. She was tentative at first, gently sniffing the floor and getting the feel for her new surroundings. However, after ten minutes, she perched herself on the kitchen counter, looking quite like the queen of her own castle.

You took this chance to open her new toys and scatter them about the house, as well as find a secluded corner for her litterbox.

For the rest of the day, the cat watched you unpack boxes. Beady green eyes noting your movements until you disappeared from her sight. Occasionally, if you left the room for too long, you would turn to find that she had followed you. In these moments, you would stop to offer her a gentle petting and giggle as she flopped down on the floor, furry belly up to the sky.

It was six hours after his phone call that Spencer arrived at home.

2:19 a.m. was the time on your watch when you heard the lock turn and rose to greet him at the door. Calypso, seated in the corner of the room on a side table, perked her ears up at the new noise coming from the entrance.

Spencer locked the door behind him and turned to face you, reaching out and pulling you in for a long hug.

You rubbed your hands up and down his back. “Are you happy to be home?” you asked, your voice muffled by his shoulder.

“You have no idea,” he said. He pulled away only to examine the living room. Spencer nodded in approval. “It looks really good in here. You did a great job.”

You smiled warmly, nerves settling in your stomach as you realized he’d not yet noticed the cat in the corner of the room, who was still watching him with suspicious eyes.

“Spencer, I have to tell you something,” you said, wanting to explain yourself for doing something as impulsive as adopting a cat while he was away.

His face suddenly became very serious. “What is it? Did something happen while I was gone? Are you alright?”

The questions came quickly and you shook your head to reassure him. “No, Spencer, it’s nothing bad. Here, come look.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him forward until the two of you were standing behind your couch in the middle of the living room.

“Look around,” you said.

Spencer’s tired eyes traversed the room. You watched as they landed on paintings, the television, the clock, and nearly everything but the cat who sat entirely still in the corner.

“I don’t understand,” he said, brow furrowed. “Did you make some major change I don’t know about? If you did, I’m sure that it’s f-”

At that moment Calypso jumped off the side table. The soft thump that accompanied her landing on the floor was enough to stop Spencer in his tracks. Finally, you watched as the feline caught his eye.

“You didn’t,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper. His reaction wasn’t telling you much, and you were afraid that he was not pleased.

You started trying to explain yourself. “Well, I knew that you had a long week. I wanted to do something special. I know how much you enjoyed spending time with her at the cafe and now that we have the space I figured…”

You trailed off. In the time you had spoken, Calypso had crossed the room, climbed the couch, and began butting her head up against Spencer’s hand. Panic was setting in. Why wasn’t he reacting?

Just when you were about to push him to say something, you looked up to see a large grin plastered on his face. Spencer gently wrapped his arms around the cat and picked her up, holding her close and petting in between her ears.

“This is the most thoughtful present ever. I love her,” he said. His excitement reminded you of a little child and pulled at your heartstrings in a way that could have made you cry.

You sighed in relief. “I’m so glad.”

With Calypso still draped over one arm, Spencer reached out for you, pulling you to his side. He planted a soft kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you so much. I love her. I love you,” he said, smile still evident on his face.

“I love you too,” you said, turning to face Calypso, who looked all too content to be wrapped up in Spencer’s arms.

“I think she’s trying to steal my man,” you joked, nudging Spencer on the side.

Spencer laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about that. My heart has room for two lovely ladies.”

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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

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In Silent Screams (1/3)

Chapter word count: 10.3k+ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision Tags: Mentions of Smut (F/M), Cheating, Angst, Gaslighting

Notes: This will follow the events of IFISS (not strictly) but in Wanda's POV. Check the tags, you've been warned. This is not rated M, but feel free to skip parts you feel uncomfortable with.

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Part I

It’s all happening very fast and she’s hardly keeping pace.

You and Wanda have cleared the apartment you've shared for over five years. The boxes are loaded onto the moving truck, while more personal items are safely packed away in the trunk and rear seats. You're in the building's administrative office, addressing the bills and finalizing other necessities before the move, while Wanda waits for you, sitting on the floor in the middle of what used to be the living room.

Sparky darts around the room, the vastness of the deserted space giving him room to play. Every so often, he looks up at Wanda, his tail wagging, perhaps sensing the change that's about to come. Wanda's gaze follows the little dog, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, grateful for his company.

Every corner of this apartment held a memory—from the faded mark on the kitchen wall where Wanda accidentally spilled red wine, to the tiny dent on the living room floor, after Sparky ran into it during a rough playtime with you. Packing up wasn’t just about boxing items; it felt like carefully wrapping up fragments of time, every piece a memory filed away, never to be recovered ever again.

Though the accumulation of belongings over the years had made the space feel a tad cramped, and a move to a larger place seemed the logical next step, Wanda was deeply nostalgic about leaving behind this chapter. It marked the end of an era for you both—the days of being a young, hopeful couple in love. But at the same time, Wanda also held onto the hope that maybe starting anew somewhere would be good, especially since the past few months have been rocky, with her failed attempts to get pregnant and her stagnant career. Maybe a fresh environment would ease some of that pain, she thought.

The trail leading up to this new chapter, however, is characterized by your increasing hours at the office, overshadowing the time spent at the apartment. Yet, it's this very commitment that led to your promotion just two weeks ago, sparking the unexpected decision to move to an unfamiliar town in New Jersey.

As the reality of the situation sinks in, Wanda feels as if life is moving at an almost dizzying pace. Everything is changing so quickly: your recent promotion, the emotional roller-coaster of trying for a baby, and now the looming move. It’s been more than a lot to take in.

Your footsteps, a soft thud against the wooden floor, break the quiet, drawing Wanda from her deep thoughts.

“Ready to go?”

She turns towards you, her eyes slightly misty, and whispers, “Just one more minute.”

Understanding her need to linger, you cross the room and lower yourself beside her. “Are you okay?” you ask.

Nodding, she takes a deep breath, as if trying to inhale every memory, every scent of the place she's called home for so long. “Yeah. I just need a moment to say goodbye.”

Gently, you squeeze her shoulder, drawing her gaze to meet yours. “You know, it's not really goodbye,” you murmur, trying to reassure her. “Scott promised it’s temporary, so there's a good chance we could be back here in Manhattan.”

Wanda turns to face you, her eyes searching yours for any hint that you're merely telling her what she wants to hear. You consistently strive to make her happy, aiming to shield her from distress. It's a trait she adores about you, though it can slightly irritate her at times. But right now—

“You really think we might come back?” she asks.

You nod firmly. “Absolutely. Manhattan is where we built so many of our memories, and it will always be a part of us. Westview is just a chapter, not the whole story.”

—right now she appreciates your ability to ground her with your words.

She laughs a bit, dabbing at her eyes. “God, I've fallen so hard for this place.”

“Me too,” you say, giving in to the urge to kiss her forehead. After all these years, and despite being married for a while, you still constantly seek reasons to be near her, to touch her. “But wherever we’ll go, we’ll make it our own.”

Wanda decides to christen the first day in your new home by making love on the living room floor, and you're as eager to indulge her. It's short and sweet, straightforward in its intensity. You’re both already attuned to each other's bodies, and she knows precisely where to touch, how to curl her fingers to draw out those soft, sultry moans she always finds so enticing.

The shadows created by the fire dance across the walls, mirroring the boxes scattered all around, each labeled and awaiting their turn to be unpacked and settled into this new space. Wanda absentmindedly rakes her fingers through your hair, your head cushioned on her warm, pillowy chest as you sleepily hum a song. Every scratch sends tingles down your spine, adding to the lethargy pulling at your eyelids.

“'Fade Into You' by Mazzy Star,” Wanda says softly, recognizing the tune.

You give a soft, drowsy chuckle. “You always know. Remember that tiny café near your dorm? They played it on a loop. It was drizzling outside, and we had that ridiculously oversized shared umbrella.”

Wanda smiles at the memory. “How could I forget? We sat there for hours, sipping on our lattes and listening to that song. And we weren’t even together then.”

Drawing a deep breath, you let out a contented sigh, murmuring, “Yeah, but I was already so deeply in love with you then.”

Wanda scrunches her nose and smirks, teasingly retorting, “That's really cheesy.”

You grin, nuzzling further into her, feeling her heart's rhythmic beat beneath your ear. “Doesn't make it any less true,” you whisper.

Wanda would later reflect on this memory, wishing she had held onto it more tightly, especially since it marked the true beginning of something withering inside of her.

Westview isn't quite the place Wanda envisioned. Instead of offering an escape from the unresolved threads of both your lives, it feels more like trading one cage for another. The town pulses with its own set of peculiarities, a rhythm and routine foreign to her. She's ambivalent about it. Sees it only as a brief interlude, a temporary concession she's making to support your career endeavors.

The demands of your job appear to be greater than either of you anticipated. As she's finishing up the first dish she's prepared for the evening, you call her midday to say you won't be home for dinner.

It's not the first or even the third instance. She refrains from keeping tally because she doesn't want to be that kind of wife. However, she's certain it's happened more than just a few times. Wanda tries to hide the disappointment from her voice, assuring you it's fine and that she understands. But as she hangs up the phone, a sensation that's become all too familiar washes over her.

She finds herself drifting towards the window, gazing out at the street below, lost in thought. She's never been one to demand all of your time, but this—it's the first time she's felt so small and insignificant. Aside from that first day when you both made love on every possible surface, there hasn't been a moment recently where you've shown interest in being that adventurous again. You both promised never to become that type of couple. Yet now, she's tormented by the thought: maybe you no longer find her as attractive as you used to, or perhaps you've come to realize some latent disappointment in her.

But everytime you come back in the quiet of the night, pulling her close, kissing her neck, and nestling into her hair, you dispel all her doubts. Wanda's only learning now how exhausting and powerless it could feel to need someone this much.

One particular night, mirroring the many late evenings before, you arrive home to find Wanda watching television in the living room. Both of you are thrilled to see each other awake, rather than just you returning to a warm, sleeping body next to your (cold) side of the bed.

Wanda's hair is slightly tousled, eyes glazed from the weariness of the day, but they light up when they meet yours. The corners of her lips curl into a small, sluggish smile. “You're home,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and longing.

You shed your coat, moving towards the couch and sitting down beside her. “I missed you,” you admit, running a gentle hand through her hair.

She leans into your touch, her body molding against yours. “I've been trying to stay awake lately, just hoping I might get to see you before drifting off,” Wanda says. “Tell me about your day.”

You take a deep breath, trying to process the day's events. “Same old, same old,” you say, putting your head on her shoulder. “Tight deadlines. And you won't believe this, but Janet, my secretary, she's going on maternal leave sooner than expected. So the office... well, they decided to throw something together last minute.”

She sits up a bit. “So you weren't held up because of work, but because of a party?”

“Uh, yeah. I think I mentioned it in my text?”

“I didn't get any message about…” Wanda trails off, taking a moment to steady herself. You’ve barely seen each other in the past week. The last thing she wants is to lash out on you.

But instead of noticing her distress and apologizing, or recognizing how your consecutive absences have affected her, you're fixated on pulling out your phone, scrolling through your messages, to… what? To prove to her that you mentioned it in your text?

“I sent you a text. I swear, I mentioned it,” you mumble. After a few more seconds, you let out a sigh of exasperation, showing her the screen where the message lays unsent. “The message failed to send... I thought you knew.”

Wanda looks at the screen and then back at you, her gaze softening slightly. “It happens,” she says with a soft smile.

“I'm sorry, Wanda,” you admit, placing the phone down. “Yes, it was a gathering, and I should've double-checked or called.”

She shakes her head, her fingers brushing against your cheek, just happy to be touching you. “I’m not mad. I just miss you, that's all.”

You take her hand in yours, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I miss you too. So bad.”

Wanda shifts slightly, trying to get more comfortable in the embrace. “Did you have fun, at least?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you reply with an enthusiastic nod. “It was great catching up with everyone, especially Janet. Did you know she only got married a year ago? And they're already expecting. It's amazing how quickly things happen for some people.”

Wanda's expression, which had been soft and open, changes almost imperceptibly. The brightness in her eyes dims a little, and there's a slight tensing of her lips, a subtle sign of the pain you unknowingly inflicted. You love her, yet at times you unintentionally wound her deeply without even realizing it. Wanda doesn't know how that can be, but in this moment, it feels truer than ever.

“She's really excited,” you continue, oblivious to the change in your wife’s demeanor. “They weren't even really trying. It just... happened. I'm happy for her, genuinely.”

Wanda nods, swallowing hard. “That's... that's great for them,” she says, forcing a smile. She withdraws from your hold, rising from the couch. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

This time, you notice the hardened look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It's nothing,” she replies with a faint, unconvincing smile. “Just tired.”

“Wanda—”

“Good night.”

You hold back, not pushing her for answers. She stops briefly at the base of the stairs, shoulders drooping. Then, with a heavy sigh, she slowly makes her way up, each step looking like it takes more effort than the last.

The computer screen shines a relentless blue glow onto her face.

As the weeks pass, she sees fewer and fewer unread emails, fewer blinking notifications. The heart of the art world has always thrummed with in-person interactions, art deals solidified by firm handshakes, cocktail parties filled with patrons looking to be swayed by a charismatic gallery curator, and the intimate closeness that comes from viewing a painting together and discussing its merits. Video calls, as efficient as they are, don't capture the nuance of human emotion and instinct in the same way.

Sometimes she dreams of being back in the thick of it all, surrounded by masterpieces and dizzying energy. Westview, however, is quaint, almost eerily so. It has its charms, its local coffee shops and small art scenes, but it's a far cry from the scenes of the big city.

She feels her importance at the gallery dwindling. She can't fault them; many of the responsibilities demand her physical presence. Currently, she can only manage to send crucial emails and direct calls and messages from essential patrons, sponsors, and others integral to the gallery's ecosystem. Her power of persuasion doesn't translate as effectively one email at a time.

Wanda has always enjoyed playing to her strengths, particularly when meeting artists in person, where she can swiftly adapt her tactics based on the reactions of her audience, all while maintaining her self-assured demeanor, knowing that she carries a natural charm. However, being stuck in this town has taken that from her.

Feeling the stirrings of frustration rise in her gut, Wanda steps away from the table and retrieves her cellphone. She stares at it like it’s her salvation, contemplating whether to make the call. She needs someone to talk to, someone who knows her, someone who won't judge.

She dials Agatha's number.

The phone rings a few times before a familiar voice, which once irked her but now only deepens her homesickness, answers.

“Wanda, dear! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Wanda tries to muster her energy to match Agatha's, but a hint of her distress manages to seep through. “Hi, I'm—I'm doing well. How about you?”

“Great,” Agatha replies cheerfully, but then her voice drops, “What's troubling you?”

“Nothing,” Wanda tells her quickly. A soft “hm” emanates from Agatha's end, followed by a silence that feels hefty, but not oppressive. It's the kind of silence that invites confession, though with a gossip-driven curiosity.

“It's this place,” Wanda starts, “It's not what I expected. I thought being here would give me space to breathe, a fresh start, but instead, I feel... trapped. Isn't it ironic? I have all this open space around me, but I feel more confined than ever.”

Agatha sighs, a knowing lilt in her voice. “Look, we've been in this rat race long enough. New city, new job, new whatever—it's all the same cycle, just different packaging. Maybe this detachment you're feeling? It's a cue. A chance to rethink... everything.”

Wanda arches an eyebrow, though Agatha can't see it. “What are you saying?” Sparky trots towards her, mewling. Wanda briefly flashes him a smile before scratching him behind his ears.

Agatha's voice grows sharper, more incisive. “I’m saying that maybe you haven’t really given your new town a chance because you’re holding on tightly on a rope to the past. I'm saying maybe the gallery, as much as it's been your lifeline, is now your anchor. Dragging you down. Ever thought of cutting the cord?”

Wanda's heart races. “You mean quit? Just like that?”

A snort from Agatha. “Why not? What's it giving you right now? A title? Perks? Or just a nostalgia trip and a daily reminder of what used to be?”

Wanda is silent, grappling with the blunt reality Agatha’s laying out. The realization that maybe she's clinging to a past that doesn't fit her present is daunting.

“Look, Wanda,” Agatha continues, softer now, “it's just business. The gallery won't sink without you, and maybe you'll find a version of yourself you didn't know existed without it. Westview’s a new board. Play it.”

The house is enormous for two people and a small dog. The vastness of the space should thrill her, yet it amplifies her loneliness. Your early departures and late returns leave her lingering in the expanse, waiting for life to unfold. The sparkling countertops, the polished floors—she's cleaned them over twice this week, a feeble attempt to occupy her time, to feel some semblance of accomplishment.

But what's the point when, at the end of it all, it feels like nothing?

Wanda's eyes flutter open as she hears the familiar, albeit late, sound of the front door clicking shut. Recently, her sleep has been light, so even your softest footfalls register in her consciousness. She remains still, her back turned to the bedroom door, her breathing deliberate and even. The sounds of shuffling reach her ears: the rustle of clothes, a muted sigh, the faint creak of a floorboard.

The bed shifts, dips, as you ease yourself beside her. The silence stretches, becoming palpable, thick. And then, a whisper, soft and low, bathed in regret. “Wanda?”

She doesn’t respond, biting back the words she wants to unleash, the lack of purpose and direction she feels these days. The longing in her eyes, if you could see it, would tear right through you.

It's been five nights in a row. Five nights of cool sheets and colder silences.

Moments later, she feels you trace your fingers over the bare curve of her arm. “I'm sorry,” you whisper, every word dripping with the weariness of corporate warfare and personal neglect. “Missed you. Like you wouldn't believe.”

You press a tender kiss to her hair and Wanda holds her breath. “I promise, I'll make it right,” you say, your voice a mere breath against her ear. “We'll find our way back. I just... I need a bit more time.” Nestled against her, the familiar contours of her body will always be your home, and soon the demands of the past days pull you into a deep slumber.

Yet, for Wanda, sleep remains out of reach. Despite your assurances, a gnawing uncertainty has taken root in her heart. She craves your company, but she also harbors a growing resentment that she’s been trying to deny ever since she set foot in this forsaken town.

Not for the first time this year, Wanda wonders if you can really love someone deeply and yet blame them for the things in your life that make you unhappy.

The rain pelts down on Westview’s streets, the usually quiet lanes now slick with water and glistening under the sporadic streetlights. Wanda’s pace quickens, her umbrella slipping from her loose grip when an unforeseen splash from a passing car leaves her utterly soaked.

“Hey!” she shouts out, more from shock than anger. But the car drives on, indifferent to the trail of mess it's left behind. She's in the process of assessing the damage—wet strands of hair plastering to her face and her shirt now ruined – when he appears. A young man with strikingly bleached hair, seeming unaffected by the god-awful weather.

“You look like you're having a day,” he remarks, his voice carrying an amused lilt. With a confident stride, he approaches her. He’s tall—almost a foot taller than her. “Here, this might help,” he says, already moving to the trunk of his parked car nearby.

She watches him, curious and a tad skeptical. It's not every day a stranger offers assistance, especially in pouring rain. But this one is already producing a neatly folded tee from the trunk. “I hit the gym quite a bit. Always have a spare,” he explains, flashing a grin.

Wanda hesitates, her gaze shifting from the shirt to him and back. Up close, he appears younger than she initially perceived. “Thanks,” she murmurs, accepting the shirt. There's an odd sincerity in his eyes that makes her trust him, if only for this fleeting moment.

“How about a drink? To warm you up. And perhaps, as a small token of thanks for letting me play the good samaritan today,” he says. She arches an eyebrow, surprised by his boldness. Most people would've stopped at the shirt. Had this conversation taken place in Manhattan, Wanda would have already left with a sharp remark about his bold attempt to engage her in conversation. But here and now, she can't quite pinpoint why she hasn't brushed him off as she usually would have by this point.

Despite her initial reluctance, she finds herself smiling. You're the only person she's spoken to since arriving in Westview. She's so starved for a bit of normalcy that maybe a chat with a stranger might do the trick. After all, he's just a kid. She could regard him as a nephew or something similar.

“Alright,” she concedes, “just one drink.”

Within the first minute, Wanda learns his name: Victor Shade. However, he prefers the nickname ‘Vision’, which Wanda finds a tad whimsical. They find a cozy booth in a tucked-away corner, shielding them from potential prying eyes passing by the restaurant. While Wanda didn't plan to keep their meeting a secret, Vision naturally guided her to the more discreet spot.

“So, Wanda,” Vision begins, taking a sip of his drink, “What brought you to town? It doesn't seem like the most obvious choice for someone like you.”

Wanda looks at him, intrigued. “Someone like me? What does that mean?”

He chuckles, “Well, from our short interaction, you seem like someone who's seen bigger cities, more happening places. Westview is... charming, but quiet.”

“Same could be said about you. You don't exactly scream 'small town boy' either,” Wanda says.

Vision's eyebrows rise playfully, feigning offense. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Your confidence,” she retorts with a smirk. “It's loud, almost deafening. It echoes big city vibes.”

He laughs, nodding in concession. “Touche.”

As their conversation progresses, Wanda begins to see him less as a kid and more as a well-read, intriguing individual, particularly when Vision reveals he's an art major, his eyes lighting up as he talks about his passion for Renaissance art and postmodernism.“I graduated with a degree in art,” she shares, her own memories of university flooding back. She recounts stories of late-night classes and the exhilaration of her first gallery show. They bond over favorite artists and art movements, finding shared preferences and amusing disagreements. It's a pleasant surprise for Wanda to discover that, out of all the people in Westview, the first one she genuinely converses with is someone with whom she shares so much in common.

Yet, as she's engaging with Vision, a tiny voice at the back of her mind keeps drawing comparisons between him and you. The way you and Wanda communicate is so fundamentally different. You lean heavily on the left, analytical and logical in your thinking. Your conversations with Wanda often revolve around structured debates, dissecting topics with precision and care, always seeking the root cause or solution. Wanda, on the other hand, leans more to the right, driven by creativity and emotion. She loves diving into abstract concepts, weaving narratives and ideas with passion.

You and Wanda did find common interests and topics that you both enjoy. Over the years, you've had countless meaningful moments where you both found yourselves talking for hours on end. But the rapport she's building with Vision is something she hasn't felt in a long while, or perhaps ever, even with you. It's not necessarily better or worse; it's just different, and it takes her by surprise.

At one point, Vision’s gaze falls upon the glint of Wanda's wedding ring, reflecting the ambient light of the restaurant. “You're married,” he observes, not as a question but a statement.

Wanda hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Yes, I am.”

Vision looks at her, searching for something in her eyes. “Does he know you're out with a stranger?”

“She,” Wanda corrects instinctively, her cheeks warming as she notices his eyes sparkle with heightened interest, then she adds, “She probably wouldn't mind. We trust each other. Besides, it's just a drink with a friend, right?”

He smiles, raising his glass. “To friendship.”

For the first time, she arrives home later than you that night. Wanda finds you in the living room, curled up on the couch, a remote in hand, and an empty wine glass on the table beside you.

As the door clicks shut, you turn, and your eyes clouded with surprise as you meet hers. “Hey,” you murmur, the TV's remote paused mid-air, “Wasn't expecting you this late.”

Wanda shrugs, unsure of how to convey the unexpected turn her day had taken. She hangs her coat and moves towards the living room, her shoes making soft tapping noises against the wooden floor. “Ran into someone... from college,” she half-lies, the omission of Vision's identity a deliberate choice. Not out of guilt, but more a protective instinct to keep the evening's serendipitous meeting to herself.

“Oh? How was that?”

“It was... nice. Different,” Wanda replies, picking her words with care. She can sense your gaze on her, trying to piece together the puzzle, and she quickly adds, “We just grabbed a drink, caught up. You know how it is.”

You nod slowly, the lines of your face softening. “Good. You needed that. This move... it's been hard on you.” The acknowledgment feels like a balm, and Wanda gives you a small, appreciative smile. She’s about to head upstairs when your voice stops her in her tracks.

“That's a... unique shirt you've got there,” you comment. She turns around slowly to face you and sees a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Wanda glances down at the shirt she's wearing, an admittedly garish tee that's far from her usual style. “Some idiot in a car decided I looked better drenched,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “This was the only option the nearby store had.”

It's her third lie of the evening, and Wanda can't explain why she keeps doing it.

“Well, I've got to say, it's a look. You're absolutely killing it,” you tease, a bit sarcastically.

Wanda snorts, the tightness in her chest loosening a little. “Oh, shut it.” She can't help but smile. “You're one to talk. Remember that hideous Christmas sweater you insisted on wearing last year?”

Ah, a challenge. You rise from your spot on the couch, taking a deliberate step towards her. “That was festive. This is... rebellious?” you guess, tracing a finger in the air around the outlines of her new shirt. “You pulling a midlife crisis on me, Mrs. Maximoff?”

She blushes, but whether from the memory of the car incident or your close proximity, it's hard to tell. “It's just a shirt,” she retorts, but her voice cracks and the light in her eyes betrays her amusement.

Your fingers itch to brush against the fabric of her shirt, to maybe pull her closer. “You know,” you murmur, voice low, “you could make even a potato sack look sexy.”

Wanda bites her lower lip, her breath catching just slightly. She revels in the banter, the space between yourselves shrinking with every heartbeat. She finds herself lost in the pull, but a gnawing unease lingers, making her wary. Just then, Sparky comes out of nowhere, sprinting and eventually running into Wanda’s leg. His tail wags a mile a minute, pleading for Wanda to shower him with affection. Grateful for the interruption, Wanda quickly shifts her attention, bending down to indulge the spirited pup. “Missed me, did you, Sparks?”

You try to mask your disappointment, but the subtle change in your expression isn't lost on her, even as she pointedly looks away.

Nights following her meeting with Vision find Wanda restless. It isn’t necessarily Vision himself that haunts her thoughts, but rather their impassioned discussion on art (and just about anything). She realizes, with a sharp pang, how deeply she misses the world that served as her refuge for years when she sought to escape her own reality.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she heads to Westview Institute of Arts and Sciences, seeking a place where her passion and expertise could be valuable.

Hours later, she gets an email inviting her for an interview with the dean. Apparently, the school has been looking for an assistant professor for the past several months now.

A week later, they offer her the position, and she talks to you about it shortly after sending them the signed letter of acceptance.

Her first day at the school is all kinds of awkward, likely more so than her first day as a student years ago. The university building looks massive for being in such a remote, out-of-the-way town. All around, there's a crowd of young students bustling about, their laughter and conversations filling the crisp, morning air.

Among them, Wanda stands, momentarily frozen—an outsider looking in. She wears a chic black ensemble: slacks, a blazer, and a turtleneck, hoping to conceal the anxiety that's making it difficult for her to keep her breakfast down. However, as she's introduced to a few of the other professors, her resolve wavers. They're in more casual attire, and she can't help but feel a tad overdressed, sticking out like a meticulously painted stroke on an empty canvas.

She doesn't get to meet her students immediately. Instead, her day is consumed by orientation processes, faculty meetings, and an extensive tour of the sprawling campus. Every time she turns a corner or meets someone new, a mix of excitement and jitters rushes through her. The enormity of the responsibility she's shouldering, coupled with the fact that she's never taught anyone before (not even tutored)—it's both intimidating and thrilling all at once.

It's been a while since she's felt this alive, apart from the rare times when you're home on time, or when she gets to spend an entire day with you. But this? This is the first time in ages that something beyond the comfort of your love has rekindled a spark in her, reminding Wanda of a part of herself she had almost forgotten.

At the end of her first day, Wanda does meet one of her students.

Technically, she has met him before, but it was in the context of a friendly stranger who lent her his shirt when she needed it the most. When Vision told her that he was an art student, she didn't actually expect to find him attending the same university. She had assumed he was from the city and just passing through.

(Perhaps it’s her silliest assumption she's made to date but—it is what it is.)

“Aren't you a pleasant surprise,” Vision says, rolling down the window of his Mustang. When his voice reaches her, it's distinctly out of place, an unexpected ripple in her carefully mapped out day.

She swallows hard, resisting the urge to take a step back, “Vision, I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

He grins, the sunlight catching the edges of his aviator glasses. “It's a small world, or rather, a small university.” He tilts his head playfully, “Wait... are you...?”

Wanda cuts him off, “Let's just say, I'm exploring my options here.”

A pause ensues, both understanding the unsaid implications.

“You know,” Vision starts, leaning against his car, “I'd heard there was a new, 'exceptionally dressed' professor in town. Just didn't piece it together that it would be you.”

“It's a small world,” she murmurs, her face a shade paler.

He seems to sense her discomfort and remarks, “I suppose this changes everything.”

Wanda sighs, “It's just... I need to maintain a certain decorum here. It would be inappropriate if—”

“—If I turned out to be one of your students,” he finishes for her. His smirk is replaced by a milder expression. “Don't worry. Whatever our relationship outside this campus, I respect boundaries. And I expect you do too.”

She nods, appreciative of his maturity. “Thank you, Vision.”

Before she can fully turn away, Vision snaps his fingers together. “Oh, by the way, you left something with me from last time. Your shirt? The shirt you had to change out of?”

Wanda's face reddens slightly at the memory. “I completely forgot about that. Do you have it?”

Vision points with a thumb over his shoulder towards his car. “Wait a second. It's in the back.” He moves to retrieve the shirt, but after rummaging for a few moments, he frowns. “I could have sworn I left it here…”

He removes his sunglasses, allowing his gaze to lift in thought, revealing the unnaturally vibrant blue of his eyes to Wanda. “Ah, I remember now. It's in my laundry bag, which I took to my apartment.”

“It's fine. You can give it back another time,” Wanda says.

But Vision, with that same gleam in his eyes, counters, “Why not just come with me and get it now? It's a short drive.”

She bites her lip, thinking. On one hand, she'd rather not prolong their interaction given the new dynamics. On the other, it might be best to just get it over with. “I'm not sure…”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I promise it's just a shirt, Professor.”

The inclusion of the title almost brings a smile to her face. “Alright,” Wanda gives in, “But only if it’s quick. And remember, as far as the university is concerned, we’re merely acquaintances.”

“Technically, you haven’t met your class yet. And as of now, I’m not your student,” he points out with an innocent shrug.

The logic is sound, though it does little to quell the anxiety bubbling within Wanda. She nods, exhaling deeply. “Let’s go.”

They drive to Vision’s apartment building, the journey marked by fleeting glances and a silence that's not entirely comfortable. He attempts to dispel the tension, “I've washed and ironed the shirt for you. Hope that's alright.”

She looks over, surprised by the gesture. “Thank you, that's... unexpected.”

As she sits in the passenger seat of Vision’s car, Wanda inadvertently starts picking up on the small details surrounding her. She notices the immaculate interior of the car—not a stray piece of litter, every surface gleaming. There's a fresh, clean scent permeating the space, a subtle hint of citrus perhaps. It's not the typical aroma one would expect from a college student's car. She thinks of the younger people she's known and how their vehicles often doubled as chaotic storage spaces, littered with discarded clothes, takeaway containers, and the musty scent of overdue laundry.

When they arrive at his apartment, it further exemplifies this meticulousness. Sketches, paintings, and art supplies are neatly arranged, yet the area feels lived-in, warm, not sterile. It's easy to forget he's just 21. He exudes an aura of maturity that doesn’t align with his years. If they had met under different circumstances, and if she hadn’t known his age, she would have pegged him for someone much older, someone who's seen more, experienced more.

“Your shirt,” Vision says, pulling it out from a cupboard—neatly folded, rather than from the laundry bag he remembered earlier. “As promised.”

As Wanda accepts it, her fingers brush against a freshly painted canvas. The vibrant colors smear slightly under her touch.

“Oh! I'm so sorry,” she exclaims, pulling her hand back.

Vision waves it off, “No worries. Sometimes accidents lead to the best kind of art.”

He then looks contemplative for a moment before posing a question, “You know, Picasso once said, 'Every act of creation is first an act of destruction.' What do you think of that?”

The randomness of it throws her off for a second, before she regards him with a thoughtful look. “Well, in a way, creation and destruction aren't opposing forces. One can be a precursor to the other. To create something new, often something old has to give way.”

Vision's eyes light up, clearly pleased by her response. “Exactly! It's like when you're sketching. Sometimes, you have to erase an entire section just to rework it. And often, the second attempt is much better than the first.”

They continue discussing, each statement leading to another topic, and another. After a while, Vision hesitates before making a bold request, “Wanda, would you... would you mind if I sketched you? Just for practice. You have such unique features, and it'd be a challenge for me.”

“Trying to butter up your professor already?” It comes out a bit flirtatious by accident, and Wanda struggles to retract it.

He nods, a little sheepishly. “Only if you're comfortable. It’s just... our discussion has inspired me.”

Wanda laughs lightly, unable to deny that the notion does flatter her.. “Alright, but only for a bit. I'm not exactly dressed for a portrait.”

“You are…” Vision murmurs almost too quietly to hear, his eyes already fixed on his sketchpad. But Wanda still catches it, and a faint blush tints her cheeks. Vision gets to work. In this moment, she's both his muse and his critic, and for a brief while, a hushed silence envelops the room.

However, as the minutes tick by, Wanda begins to feel increasingly restless beneath his studious, penetrating gaze. She tries to keep her posture, attempting to appear at ease, but her muscles gradually tighten in response to his intent focus. There’s a kind of intimacy in being observed so closely that she wasn’t quite prepared for.

“Can you tilt your head just a bit to the left?” he asks, never lifting his gaze from the page. She obliges. Moments later, “A little to the right now, and chin up. Perfect.”

Wanda obeys, adjusting her position to his liking. But it's a stray strand of hair that falls onto her forehead that really tests her composure. Vision notices it immediately. “Could you brush that hair away, please?” he asks.

She reaches up, trying to tuck it behind her ear, but it stubbornly returns to its original position. Frowning in mild irritation, she tries again but with the same result.

Vision chuckles softly. “Stay still,” he murmurs, placing his sketchpad to the side. He carefully rises from his seat and approaches her, eyes never leaving her face. “I'll fix it.”

Heart inexplicably racing, Wanda can't comprehend why she obeys so willingly, remaining motionless as Vision's fingertips ghost near her face. The distance between them becomes almost negligible as his face hovers mere inches from hers. She can feel the warmth of his breath, see the earnest concentration in his eyes. Slowly, ever so gently, his fingers brush the errant strand away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “There we go,” Vision whispers.

But instead of retreating, he lingers. She watches as Vision's eyes flutter closed, and he begins to lean in. She's teetering at the precipice of something that can't be taken back, and she’s horrified to discover a part of her that wants to give in.

Shaking herself out of the trance, she manages to whisper with a tremble in her voice, “I... I have to go.” Her words cut through the moment like a knife, yet Vision remains close, eyes searching hers as he softly challenges, “Are you sure?”

That simple question, laden with suggestion, irks Wanda. This was more than just an innocent sketching session. Irritation builds as she understands what he might have been attempting. In her haste to distance herself, she stands abruptly, accidentally brushing his face with her head. She doesn't apologize, too focused on gathering her belongings.

Vision, realizing his mistake, scrambles to his feet, “Wanda, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”

But she cuts him off, hand already on the door handle. “I'll see you in class, Mr. Shade.”

Wanda doesn't know how you managed to convince her to shower together one morning.

To be fair, you didn't make much of an effort to persuade her, and she was more than willing to participate. Perhaps it's because life has been an unending whirlwind lately, a blur of responsibilities and ever-mounting pressure. Her fresh endeavor into academia had consumed much of her waking hours, leaving her mentally drained by the end of the day. You, on the other hand, seemed perpetually buried under a mountain of paperwork and late-night calls.

It's not an excuse, of course, but these realities have inadvertently wedged a distance between the two of you. So, on that fateful morning, when you followed her into the bathroom, you were a woman on a mission. But as you wordlessly entered the shower, a certain determination evident in your stride, Wanda felt the need to object. Her protest, however, was cut short. The feel of your lips on hers, possessive and demanding, effectively silenced her. Her knees threatened to give way, and if not for the firm grip you had on her waist, she might have collapsed. Instead, she melted into your arms, letting you take the lead, and well—

That resulted in her losing nearly half of her students for her first class of the day because they believed she wouldn't show up after being nearly twenty minutes late.

“That can’t happen again,” Wanda told you.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

It occurs a few more times before she intentionally begins waking up before your alarm goes off. Wanda misses her wife, but she misses the life you both left behind even more. And despite finding satisfaction in her new career, she can’t seem to stop resenting you for that.

Her period is a week late, but Wanda isn't worried. You both stopped trying to conceive before coming to New Jersey. However, it does remind her of something else she had to let go of and how it felt like you gave up on her too easily for comfort.

The stress from her new job eventually begins to take a toll on her. Stacks of papers sprawl across the table, some marked with red ink, others waiting to be perused. Her hand moves methodically, adjusting her notes, reviewing her questions, ensuring every detail is in place for the impending exam. Her back protests from the hours spent in the same position, her eyes blink away the fatigue, but she's determined to finalize every last bit. It takes a few more moments before she finishes editing her students’ first examination. It's late—far too late for her to still be at the university, but a sense of accomplishment washes over her.

In the middle of soaking up her minor achievement for the day, she suddenly remembers Sparky. He's been left for hours, with just water, and that she's supposed to get groceries for him this afternoon. Shit, Wanda curses breathily, hurrying her movements.

She's about to shut her laptop when she hears a knock on the door. Thinking it's the security guard, she quickly rehearses her plea for just a few more minutes. However, when she opens the door, she's staring into the all-too-familiar blue eyes of Vision.

Wanda takes an involuntary step back, her pulse quickening. “Mr. Shade,” she greets, an uncharacteristic iciness in her voice.

He looks equally surprised, “Wan—Professor Maximoff,” he responds. “I... I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

“Neither was I. What are you still doing here?”

Vision runs a hand through his hair, looking bashful for a change. “I often come to the art room late at night. It helps me think, especially when I feel creatively stuck. I was on my way home and noticed the lights still on in this office.”

Wanda feels a pang of suspicion, even as she tries to remind herself that the university is as much Vision's space as it is hers. Still, she can't help but feel wary. “Well, I'm just leaving,” she says curtly, shouldering her bag. Before she can take another step, Vision's fingers encircle her arm, the unexpected touch of warm skin on skin causing her to pause. She looks down at where his fingers lightly grip her, and then up into his earnest eyes. She can feel the warmth of his hand, the roughness of his fingertips.

“Wait,” he murmurs, his blue eyes locking onto hers, an earnest plea evident in their depths. “We need to talk.”

Wanda instinctively tries to pull her arm away, but Vision's grip tightens, not painfully but enough to keep her there. He steps closer, effectively cutting off her escape route. His height becomes even more pronounced as he leans slightly, bringing his face closer to hers. His presence feels overbearing, almost intimidating, as he places himself between her and the exit. He quietly closes the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the silence, and the room feels much, much smaller now.

Wanda's eyes dart around, looking for a way out, her mind racing. “Vision, this isn't appropriate,” she manages to say.

All he says is, “I know. I'm sorry.”

They find themselves engaged in a staring contest, with only the sound of their breathing serving as a reminder of each other's presence. Several tense seconds pass, with neither willing to break the gaze. Then, slowly, Vision eases the grip on her arm, his fingers lingering for a moment before letting go entirely. He steps back deliberately, emphasizing the space between them, a clear invitation for her to leave if she chooses to.

Her heart pounding loudly in her ears, Wanda takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She wants to leave, to create as much distance as possible between them, especially when she knows what's about to happen if she gives in even the slightest bit.

She takes a shaky breath and, for the briefest moment, her gaze drifts to her work laptop. A flash of silver catches her eye. Her USB, containing the work she's been laboring on for hours. “I-I forgot something” she mutters, panic rising in her voice. “I need that before I go,” she says, pointing to the device.

Vision nods, not saying a word. Wanda cautiously begins to move towards the desk, but before she can reach it, Vision's there, his movements swift and silent. He suddenly wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close. The initial shock has her resisting, pushing against his chest, but it's short-lived. Before she knows it, she's letting out a quiet sigh, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He hoists her up effortlessly, seating her on the edge of the desk.

As she looks up at him, he slides his hands up, disappearing beneath her skirt. The faintest image of your face flickers across Wanda's mind, a ghost of a memory that almost pulls her back to sense and reason. But as Vision's fingers find their wet mark, Wanda's grip tightens on the edge of the desk, her eyes fluttering closed. She can no longer recall the sequence of events that led her to this very moment, nor the myriad reasons why it shouldn't be happening.

Every bit of rationale, every thought of you, all seem to evaporate, leaving only the need to breathe and to feel.

To just be.

Wanda remains in her car without starting the engine for a good thirty minutes. She left the room as soon as she could pull her panties up past her knees. She can feel the residual heat on her skin, how he felt inside of her. She resists the urge to squeeze her thighs together, attempting to disregard the stickiness and discomfort she feels.

She clutches the steering wheel, knuckles white, struggling with the realization of what she's done. She's betrayed you. It wasn't just a lapse in judgment, it was a deliberate decision, a yielding to curiosity, to loneliness, to that inexplicable pull towards someone who isn’t you. But as much as she’s drowning in guilt, she couldn’t deny how her mind keeps going back to Vision’s touch, the way he'd made her feel so alive, so seen, in a way she hadn’t felt in a while. It's maddening, this push and pull. It's like there are two sides of her fighting it out inside—one, the devoted partner who loves you, and the other, a woman who's awakened, yearning for something she can't quite put into words.

She laughs, the sound teetering on the edge of hysteria. It's an unsettling sound in the quiet of the car, an indication of her fraying sanity. How did she get here? How did she become this person? In what manner did she find herself engaging in infidelity despite your presence in her life? You've been the guiding light in her life for so long, making her the best version of herself she's ever known. But still, how can she undo this part of herself she never thought existed?

Tears form in her eyes as she closes them, trying to banish the memories, to shut out the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. But they're too powerful, too raw, too fresh. Too real. And she knows she has to face them, to confront the reality of what she's done and decide where to go from here.

It's just past midnight when Wanda's car pulls into the driveway. She emerges from the vehicle in a daze, her steps slow and disconnected, as if each step leads her inexorably towards her reckoning. The door to the house opens before she can even reach for the knob. There you stand, concern evident in your eyes. Wanda hadn't expected to find you awake, especially not at this hour, waiting for her.

It’s your scent first that reaches her before anything else, the distinct aroma of fresh pine from the sprawling garden surrounding the house, coupled with the distinct smell of Sparky, suggesting that you've held him close most of the night. The protective, almost desperate way your arms encircle her reveals just how much you've been consumed with worry about her whereabouts and safety.

Every time you’re near, every time she gets to hold you, it’s instinctual for her to break into a smile. But tonight, it's ephemeral. A tidal wave of guilt and regret crashes over her. She stiffens in your arms, the realization of her actions making her insides churn.

“Where were you?” you exclaim as you pull away and clasp her shoulder blades hard. “I've been here, pacing, worried out of my mind, and I couldn't reach you.”

It's the questioning, the concern, the love in your voice that breaks something inside her. “My phone died and I forgot to bring my charger. I was writing the final exam that I have to turn in by tomorrow, and got carried away. I’m so sorry,” she says evenly, almost robotically.

You raise an eyebrow, frustration evident. “You could've borrowed a phone or used the school's landline, right?”

She has to remind herself that your words aren't accusations. You're not out to corner her; you genuinely don't know what she's done. And in that moment, she decides that she'll do everything to ensure you will never know.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda resorts to tactics she despises in herself. “Like I said, I was working,” she retorts with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, hoping the hint of condescension in her tone might distract you, even as it tears at her own conscience. “It’s Westview. What’s the worst that could happen to me? Please let it go, I’m so fucking exhausted.”

Your reaction to her words is immediate, a palpable retreat, and she's overcome with the urge to spill every secret, every confession, if only she could be certain you wouldn't walk away.

“Fine,” you say tersely, stepping aside to let her pass. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.” You don’t bother to hide the hurt in your eyes and her resolve almost crumbles.

“Sounds good,” she says and turns abruptly, making her way upstairs, her pace quickening with every step.

In the morning, she offers you kisses as an apology, and you're blissfully unaware of the hundred ways it's steeped in treachery.

It keeps happening with Vision and she starts to waste away. On the surface, she seems to be taking better care of herself: shedding some weight, toning in ways that leave you entranced during the few mornings you catch her making breakfast.

But Wanda is adept at playing it cool, brushing off your hungry gazes as if they're mere figments of her imagination. She longs for you in the same intense way she always has, but she's entangled in this twisted duality now. As she writes names and explanations on the board, she can almost feel the intensity of Vision's stare, a heat on her back that she's come to recognize all too well. Sometimes, during a lecture, she'll turn and catch him staring, and right then, she knows where they'll be once the session ends. She also begins to frequent places she's never been to before, corners of the town she hopes no one will recognize them in. There, they sit side by side, their knees touching underneath the table, talking about everything and nothing.

And you wouldn't, not for a second, entertain suspicions about her hardly ever being at home. Because your love for her is profound, and your trust, even more so. Because she knows you're buried under the weight of your own challenges at work, and capitalizes on this knowledge for the time being. Because whatever this is, whatever she’s doing with Vision, she knows it’s temporary. She swears she’ll clean up after herself, the moment she can purge this from her system.

Because none of it feels as if they're truly happening, and Wanda convinces herself it's just a hazy, erotic dream from which she can wake at any moment she chooses.

“Do you love me?”

The question hits Wanda like a freight train. Of course she does. You’re her… of course she does. And she’s never felt the fear of losing you, the true love of her life, more acutely than now.

“Of course I love you,” Wanda says, fighting to keep her voice steady even as her chin quivers. “What a silly question.”

“I guess I’m just feeling silly. We’ve been working hard, and when we’re together,” you pause, your voice quivering, letting out a mirthless laugh, “We’re still working.”

Her guilt amplifies. She's been so engrossed in her own struggles that she failed to see how it's affecting you. The toll it's taken on your relationship. Your insecurities, your need for validation, all because she's been distant and distracting herself from her own demons. She's grateful the shadows conceal her face from you, or else it would be to easy for you to recognize the truth, and—

“I just miss you,” you confess, and it stings.

“Me too,” she whispers, the words filled with layers of meaning she can't articulate. Wanda tries to find more words, something to reassure you further, but she can't quite comfort as effortlessly as you do for her. You've always been more adept at loving her than she's ever been with you.

“Good night,” you say, and Wanda detects no underlying bitterness in your tone. She almost wishes there were. It'd be easier if you didn't love her so unconditionally; then she wouldn't feel so wretched for the secrets she's keeping just beyond this room's walls.

She goes as far as asking herself if she simply misses having a cock inside of her, the thought nagging at her especially when Vision stays firmly inside her, holding her in place as he spills into a condom. She flutters around him a few more times before she slackens in his hold.

Pushing away the guilt that threatens to engulf her every time they are together, Wanda wonders if this reckless escapade with her student is merely an escape from the monotonous predictability of her life or a deeper reflection of some unmet need. Vision’s bedroom becomes a space of both pleasure and torment for her. When she catches her reflection in the mirror he’s installed in front of the bed, she barely recognizes the woman staring back, eyes clouded with both desire and regret. She clings to the belief that once she figures out what she's truly seeking, she can end it all and return to you, wholly and completely. But the more she thinks about it, the more elusive the answer becomes.

Vision’s bony hips gradually come to a stop, and he finally pulls out of her. She feels the evidence of their recent activities on her skin, and is hit with an overwhelming need to wash it all away.

“I need a shower,” she murmurs, more to herself than to him. He simply nods, watching her intently. There's a question in his eyes, perhaps seeking assurance or simply wondering if she'll return to his bed afterwards. Wanda doesn't give him an answer, nor does she meet his gaze for long. Instead, she wraps herself in whatever piece of clothing she can find and heads towards the bathroom.

When she emerges from the shower, redressed in the clothes she wore earlier, Vision is absent from the bedroom. Instead, the appetizing aroma of food wafts toward her. Following the scent, she discovers him in the kitchen, incongruously clad in a pink apron over his boxers.

As Wanda heads straight for the exit, Vision's voice abruptly stops her.

“Wanda, wait.”

She halts, not turning around, her hand still clutching the handle.

“You act as if I'm luring you back each time, Wanda. Like I'm this puppeteer pulling your strings.” He casually flips whatever he's cooking. “That's not how it is, and you know it.”

Wanda grimaces, his words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. “Vision, it's not that—”

He interrupts her, his tone dripping with feigned innocence, “Have I ever forced you? Pushed you into anything? Or have you willingly come to me every time? You have, haven’t you?”

She turns to face him. “You know it’s more complicated than that—”

“Yet you keep coming back. And every time you do, I think, 'Maybe she sees in me what I see in her.' But then you run, making me out to be the villain.” He finally looks up, his eyes pleading and calculating at the same time.

Tears well up in her eyes. She tries to speak, but he continues, overriding her. “You're an intellectual, Wanda. A brilliant mind. I've learned more from you this semester than years combined. Isn't it natural to be drawn to such brilliance? To want more than just lectures?”

“I'm married,” Wanda states with conviction, even though just an hour ago, that fact held no meaning beneath the sheets. “I've made vows. Promises. Every time I’m with you, I question myself, my integrity. I don't know why I keep letting this happen.” Wanda's voice quivers with frustration and desperation. Vision sees it as a minor victory. He knows he's affecting her.

Disregarding the pan and turning off the stove, he approaches her, his gaze never leaving hers, trying to weave his narrative into her consciousness.

“That's just it, isn't it? There's no betrayal. We're not sneaking around, planning secret getaways. We're two souls who've connected on a level that's rare. Deep, profound. We're just... experiencing it.”

She takes a step back, shaking her head furiously. “It's not right.”

He follows, closing the distance between them. When she’s within his reach, he lifts her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Who defines what's right, Wanda? Why is it wrong for two souls with undeniable connection to explore every facet of it? Does it make us bad people to want to feel alive?"

She tries to pull away, her gaze dropping to the floor, but he tightens his grip on her chin. “Look at me,” he says, his voice soft but insistent. “Tell me you don't feel it. This connection.”

She inhales sharply, her resistance waning. “I do... but I can't understand why.”

He releases her, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. “Because it's natural. And maybe… maybe there's nothing malicious in it. Nothing deceitful. We're just... experiencing.”

Wanda closes her eyes, his words washing over her, causing further confusion. “What do you want from me?”

He smiles, his touch growing bolder as he cradles her face. “I want friendship. Inspiration. You've become my muse, Wanda.”

“She loves me,” she murmurs, a last-ditch effort to wriggle free from his hold.

“And you love her, right?” he challenges, slowly starting to unbutton her blouse.

“Yes, but—”

“But love isn't singular,” he interrupts, his fingers moving deftly, revealing more of her skin with every second. “You can love her and still find something unique with me. Your love for her isn’t lessened because of our connection.”

Wanda bites her lip. With every piece of clothing he peels away, it feels like he’s stripping away her defenses, too. “It's not just about love. It's about commitment, trust.”

He slides her jacket off her shoulders, his hands warm against her bare arms. “And haven't you committed to her in every other aspect of your life? You share a life, a home, memories, and love. What we have... it's different. It's intellectual, spiritual,” he argues, his gaze never leaving hers.

“But there are lines we’ve crossed—”

“Lines society drew for us.”

She swallows hard, tears threatening to spill. “I just don't want to hurt anyone.”

His voice softens, even as his fingers deftly work at the last buttons of her blouse. “Neither do I. But sometimes, in life, we have to listen to our true desires, to understand what our heart and soul really need. It’s not about being selfish; it’s about being true to oneself.”

And is this one of her 'true' desires?

Before she can articulate things further, the last of her defenses and garments are stripped away, and Visions sheds his boxers and draws her near. Their skins meet, a tantalizing sensation of heat and urgency. Wanda's breath catches as Vision's strong arms wrap around her waist, effortlessly lifting her. She instinctively wraps her legs around him, their closeness leaving no room for hesitation or doubt.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #my writing #category: angst #iss #my fic #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n

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writingjourney · 2 years ago

Text

a message from the bulletin board | cardinal copia x gn!reader

summary: the ministry’s bulletin board, ordinarily used for missing items or party announcements, contains a particularly interesting request this week – a lonely hearts ad.

content: 9k words, gn!reader, slightly suggestive at times, first date/first kiss shenanigans, sad lonely awkward cardinal fluff, you know the drill

Masterlist – Ao3 link

You ignore the knot of people in front of the bulletin board.

As much as the whispers and giggles garner your attention, someone else attracts it even more. Cardinal Copia, red cassock, red biretta, arms filled with two boxes worth of files and papers, is trying to push the door to his office open with his hip under a swell of Italian curses. Certainly, his hip swing is impressive on most days, especially on stage, but today it seems more like a helpless, uncoordinated bumping that the door is fighting with every ounce of its wooden strength.

Evidently, he’s struggling.

“Good morning, Cardinal, do you need a hand?”

His eyebrows shoot up when he hears your voice and he stops dead in his tracks, slowly turning his head until he catches you standing right behind him. Despite your announcement, he visibly startles, nearly dropping the boxes in his arms.

“Oh, eh… yes, if you could open the door for me, Sibling?”

“Of course.”

With your hand on the knob, you watch as he hurries inside of his office, wheezing under the weight and dropping the boxes onto his desk with a dull thud that echoes loudly in his mostly bare working space. Apart from books upon books strewn across and around his desk as well as an old weathered couch, there hasn’t been any love put into decorating the space. You wait patiently for him to turn back around to you, a hint of red dusting his cheeks when he finally does.

“Thank you,” he squeezes out, trying very hard to swallow his heavy exhales. “I carried them here all the way from the archives. Long way, you know, even for my…” He holds up his arm, flexing it exaggeratedly. “My strong, powerful muscles.”

You giggle and he perks up in delight, eyes wide and shiny. “No problem, Cardinal, I can imagine they’re very heavy.”

You smile at him and he smiles back, so sweetly, and you’re momentarily at an equal loss for words. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, down the prominent bridge of his nose. He brushes it away with a leather-gloved hand and you can’t help but stare as he wipes it clean on the heavy fabric of his vestments, shaking out his fingers once he’s done. You can’t look away as they flex and release, flex and release. They’re surprisingly long and so… nimble.

Copia’s violent cough startles you awake and you’re not sure if it’s his own nerves that make him clear his throat, if his overexerted lungs are protesting or if he caught you staring. Either way, you feel your own cheeks getting hot now, the moment of hesitant silence slowly transitioning into a gooey sort of awkwardness.

“So, ugh… I better get back to my own duties,” you say. “Lots to do, spring cleaning and all that.”

He nods. “Yes, yes, you are busy, of course. Such a busy little bee. Bzz bzz. Hehe.”

You awkwardly giggle back, trying hard to think of a clever joke. Maybe something that has to do with stinging? But before you can settle on one, the time for a witty come-back has stretched thin and so you just awkwardly wave at him, mutter a “see you later” and close the door.

With your back pressed to the wood, you let out a deep exhale, the butterflies – or bees – in your stomach making it very hard to breathe at a normal pace. Once you’ve recollected your wits, you notice that the hallway is still as busy as before, maybe even busier.

Like lions gathering around an animal carcass after days of starvation, what feels like half the abbey has been flocking to the big rectangular corkboard. You cannot possibly imagine what would warrant such intense interest. The most exciting messages on any given day are unusual sex requests, the invitation to a weirdly themed party or a call for applications to a particularly intricate sex ritual to honour the Dark One.

You push through the crowd to check what’s causing the repeated giggling and excited whispers amongst your peers when you spot a pristine piece of paper on the board. It’s thick, stark-white, shaped like a heart at the top and with pieces to rip off at the bottom that contain a phone number. You squint, move in even closer until you can make out the text – hand-written and in cursive.

I (m, 50) am looking for a partner to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t have any preferences but it would be coolio if we had similar interests, so we can have some fun together.

I like: watching movies, playing video games, going on walks, rigatoni, juice, small animals

I don’t like: coconut flavour, being barefoot, swimming, touching wet dishes, bullies, dentist appointments

If you think we are a good match I would like to take you on a romantic date. Please call or text me. Bye bye!

You smile at the note but quickly find back down to earth when someone rams their elbow into your side. No one has taken one of the numbers yet, so you assume the excitement is more about the fact that there is a lonely hearts ad on the bulletin board at all than any actual interest in the person. You have to admit, it is a bit odd. Most younger clergy members just use dating apps these days or social media. But the lonely heart in question is fifty, so they may not be familiar with modern methods, and it’s oddly endearing that anyone would go through the trouble of creating such an ad. At the same time, it breaks your heart that someone in the abbey is so lonely that they risk the ridicule of half of the clergy members just to have a chance at finding love.

“Well, there are a bunch of people who it could be,” you overhear someone say. “Maybe one of the older Brothers, a bunch of them are single. Could also be that new bishop who just arrived, I heard he’s a cinephile and walks around the gardens quite often.”

You ignore the whispers of speculation, making your way back through the crowd to return to your duties. It’s almost dinner time by now and you need to get two more loads of laundry done before then. But even as you sort through piles of habits, cassocks and veils… you can’t stop thinking about the ad. You sincerely hope the person receives a few serious and not just prank calls. The note did sound endearing and you definitely see similarities. At the same time you’re far too busy nursing your hopeless crush on the Cardinal to actually entertain the thought of dating someone else.

You decide to check on the ad again tomorrow, see if anyone took a number, and if not, you could at least save it to your phone… just in case.

✦ ✧ ✦

Two birds land on his window sill, rubbing their beaks together in a kiss before happily chirping at each other. They’re in love, literal love birds, building a nest on the little protrusion in the wall right below his window. He’s been watching them occasionally, unreasonably envious, as they bring in twig after twig, ready to start their family. From the same window, Copia can make out the spring-filled gardens with their colourful patches of pink and red tulips, bumblebees hurrying from blossom to blossom, drunk on pollen and greedy for more. He can overlook the bright green meadow leading down to the pond, speckled with lush, budding trees. At this time of the day, after everyone finished their daily duties, the grass has almost completely disappeared under a plethora of picnic blankets.

Spring fever, he assumes, has to be the reason why everyone seems to be in love. Couples dozing in each other’s arms in the shade of the trees, feeding their lovers berries or grapes, taking a stroll down to the pond with their joined hands dangling between them, kissing without pause in the archways of the cool stone walkways leading outside. Just now he spots two Sisters rubbing sunscreen on each other’s bare shoulders, one of them kissing the other's head before they fall back onto their blanket, giggling happily at each other.

He feels so incredibly lonely.

This has been going on for weeks now and he’s tired of feeling so shamefully worthless of affection. Instead of the arms of his lover, he sinks into his tattered old desk chair and drowns his sorrows in boring paperwork. Not that that’s going well, but for lack of alternatives, he’d rather do budget calculations than sit in his quarters all alone. Every evening, the spring breeze carries the sound of happy laughter through his windows, usually while he’s playing video games all by himself, but he can’t keep them closed if he doesn’t want to sweat to death. Besides… that same gentle breeze is the only thing caressing his skin as he tries to fall asleep at night and if he closes his eyes, the wind almost feels like fingertips ghosting over his arms.

As he leaves his office that night, he receives another heavy but sadly much expected blow. Almost a week now and still no one has taken one of the numbers from his lonely hearts ad. Of course it doesn’t mean no one saved it to his phone, he tells himself, people are shy or they just don’t want to date an anonymous person. It has nothing to do with him, they don’t even know it’s him. And yet… if his dating streak continues so poorly, he’s not sure if he can stay sane for much longer. There are only so many tears you can cry in bed at night before it starts to take a toll on you.

His heart is especially heavy as he makes his way to his lonely quarters. One more day and then he’s taking it down, he decides. No use in waiting any longer now that surely everyone in the abbey has seen his request and the last thing he wants are pity calls.

✦ ✧ ✦

“So, are you going to call the Cardinal?”

You look up from your breakfast plate. Your friend Lily is sitting opposite of you, chewing on a blueberry muffin, and you narrow your eyes at her. “The Cardinal?”

“The number in the lonely hearts ad,” she says. “It’s still there, I checked earlier.”

“It’s the Cardinal?”

She nods, popping another piece of muffin into her mouth. “Duh.”

You feel your cheeks heating up and set your fork down to hide the sudden tremor in your fingers. “Which Cardinal?”

She gives a soft groan of annoyance. “Babe, there is only one of the Cardinals who would ever hang up such a goofy thing. Now, will you call him?”

Copia. She knows about your… slight infatuation with him. And despite being kind and not teasing you too much, it was just a matter of time until the occasion popped up. If he is looking for a serious partner… maybe it’s too late for you soon. The ad has been up for days and while you’ve been toying with the idea of calling, you just haven’t found the courage yet.

You continue eating, trying to act casual, but it takes you three attempts to pick up a stray piece of cucumber from your plate. “How do you even know it’s his number?”

Lily takes a deep breath, setting the muffin down to ready herself. “Sooo, Michael wanted to call the number to check who it is, right? Well, turns out his girlfriend already knew it’s the Cardinal’s number and his girlfriend is Sister Jill who knows it from Sister Mary who is roommates with Sibling Jessie who works with the treasury and their colleague Brother Paul works as the Cardinal’s assistant two times a week and that’s how he has the Cardinal’s number for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now, will you?”

Eyes on your empty plate, you bite your lip until you can taste blood. It’s Copia’s number, the number of your crush of about six months now, and he’s looking for a partner, unspecified. That’s… big news, intimidating news, news that calls to an action you’re not sure you’re prepared for.

Glancing at Lily, you catch her smirking at you and promptly give her a scowl. “I don’t know. What if he already got better options?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Better than you? I doubt it.”

“You’re biased because you’re my friend.”

A shrug. “You should try. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“He could be disappointed.”

“He’s more disappointed if no one calls,” she counters.

“Yeah but–”

You stop yourself when you see Nora, Lily’s girlfriend, approaching the table. Her arms wrap around Lily from behind as she presses a loud, lingering kiss to her cheek, both of them giggling.

“You scared me,” Lily says, turning around for a proper kiss.

“Sorry, love, but I can’t leave breakfast without my sweet treat.”

You avert your gaze, involuntarily feeling like an intruder. They’ve been together for a few weeks now, sickeningly adorable. Lily had been pining after Nora for months, a little bit like you with the Cardinal, only that she eventually found the courage to ask her out. To see her bravery being rewarded like that makes you incredibly happy for both of them. But at the same time… you have rarely ever felt your loneliness so sharply, the heaviness of your unreciprocated crush such a weight on your shoulders.

You know that if you want this to be you and the Cardinal, then there’s only one real answer to her question: You have to reach out to him.

✦ ✧ ✦

He’s ready to toss this day into the trash bin already and he only just got up.

Last night, after tossing and turning for hours, Copia fell asleep only to promptly land in a hysterically embarrassing dream that made him jolt up whimpering like a kicked dog and hiding his face in the pillow. Bringing himself close to suffocation, he finally realised that he had not actually stumbled right in front of you, spilling juice all over his robes, scrambling to get up only to slip in the puddle by his feet, falling onto his butt with a high-pitched cry. You had been standing there motionless, watching the spectacle unfold until you turned around to leave.

This is the reaction he would expect, should he ever actually find the courage to ask you out. However, this is highly doubtful, because upon walking to his office half an hour later, he catches you with a group of friends. He often sees you with them – attractive young Siblings, evident chemistry between all of you, and every week he suspects a different one to be in love with you. He recognizes the two Sisters he saw from his window earlier this week. One of them presses a loving kiss to the other’s cheek and he wishes he could just walk up to you and do the same.

His heart hurts. No matter how much kindness you extend to him, you’re a beautiful young soul who could never be romantically interested in an aging loner. Copia is not disliked per se, he gets along with pretty much everyone, but he struggles to build meaningful connections. Between working his butt off to satisfy the clergy and spending time on his mostly solitary hobbies, it’s hard to meet people. He had to actively put himself out there but neither online dating nor any of the singles’ events Terzo sent him on brought any results – only what the young Siblings call getting “ghosted” or “benched”.

His ad is his last chance. And even that failed miserably.

As he ponders his options, your eyes suddenly meet his and he swears you’re smiling. Then you lift your hand in a cautious wave. For a second, he’s too scared to wave back because there are people around him, all of which could be your target. Your hand sinks after a moment as your smile slowly straightens and he suddenly knows that you do mean him. He lifts his hand far too excitedly in a reciprocative wave. Your smile returns, a shy one, but before he can even think about possibly approaching you, his knees suddenly give out.

No, they don’t give out, someone rams a trolly filled with supplies for Black Mass into him. Some of the tall candles roll off the top and clatter to the floor, breaking in half just like his dignity.

“Oops, sorry, Cardinal,” the Sibling says, scrambling to help him up. “It’s so hard to steer this thing.”

“It’s fine,” he chokes out, the pain in his knees anything but fine. “It happens.”

“I’m truly so sorry.”

He smiles, a hand on their shoulder now that he’s on his feet again. “It is okay, eh? No worries.”

When his eyes try to find you again, you’re not there anymore and he can’t decide if he’s relieved or sad. He prays to Satan that you didn’t see him fall but there is no way you missed it. His dream, if slightly watered-down, did come true after all and perhaps now you won’t want to–

“Cardinal, are you alright?”

Copia, still dizzy and skittish, spins around so hard he nearly stumbles again. He smooths out his now crumpled cassock, the dust he collected on the floor even more visible on today’s black vestments. In an attempt to retain his dignity, he straightens his spine and looks right into your beautiful eyes. You have a tendency to startle him like that and he wishes he could be more smooth about these encounters.

“Yes, yes, Sibling, thank you. It was… it was nothing, just a little stumble, eh?”

“Are you sure?” You inspect him from head to toe, your brow creased in concern. “It looked painful. Your knees…”

“Oh, my knees are fine!” he lies. “I kneel all the time, Sibling. You know this.” Your eyes widen and he continues to stammer. “I mean in prayer. I pray a lot. On my knees. I am a Cardinal, yes? It’s my job.”

You nod heavily. “Yes, of course.”

“So, ugh… I better just fuck off.” He presses his lips together to keep more silly words from coming out. “I mean I’ll go back to work. ”

As he tries to leave, your hand shoots up, squeezing the muscles in his forearm. He’s not as much startled as enthralled by your touch, so unexpected that he has no time to feel insecure but so welcome that it almost feels natural to have your fingers on his arm. He swears there is a hint of nervousness in your eyes now and despite knowing it’s silly, his heart wants to interpret it as bashfulness.

“Cardinal, please. I… ugh…”

You look beautiful from up close. Even if you weren’t stuttering he’d have a hard time listening to your words. It seems like you stopped breathing, your cheeks now a sweet shade of rosy, and you open your mouth to speak but no words come out. Eventually, you shake your head and run your fingers over the fabric of his sleeve. He thinks he’s about to pass out, his nerves rising until he can feel his heartbeat all the way up to his neck. Your hand is so gentle, so… affectionate.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I don’t mean to keep you. I was just thinking that I really like the black cassock. It suits you.”

A compliment. His mind is racing. This is not what you really wanted to say, he can tell, but he grins anyway. You like his cassock? Well, you should wait until you see him in a suit. Maybe on a date. He should ask, he realises. This is the moment he’s been waiting for for months now. But as he continues to stare at you his tongue becomes too heavy to form the words, and then your hand is suddenly gone and takes his courage right with it.

“Thank you, Sibling,” he says instead. “I also really like your ugh… your outfit.”

Only when the words leave his mouth does he realise it’s the same everyday habit you’re wearing all the time. Somehow, the silly compliment still manages to conjure a smile onto your face and so he stops berating himself because he made you smile. The sight stuns him, butterflies erupting in his already nervous stomach.

“I’ll see you later, Cardinal,” you say then, your eyes leaving his to glance down the hallway where your friends are waiting, beckoning for you to hurry.

Copia nods and he looks down at your hand in silent fascination, staring at your fingers that are dangling by your thigh without any use as if he could magically make them touch his arm again. “Yes, yes. See you,” he mumbles. “Bye bye.”

When he looks back up, you’re already hurrying off. Copia stays frozen, his gaze trailing after you as though his eyes are glued to your form. Even when you’re out of sight it takes him a while to start moving, to start breathing again.

Around him, the hallway slowly empties as everyone starts to tend to their respective duties. Copia can’t help but feel the nagging disappointment about not asking you out. A chance like this won’t suddenly appear again and even if you refused him it would still be less humiliating than the untouched ad at the bulletin board. He should take it off right now, he figures.

Only when he enters the hallway leading to his office, something looks off about the postings. He notices the change from the corner of his eye at first as he walks past the large corkboard. More party flyers have appeared, someone took down the “diamond butt plug set missing” request that had been hanging there since an orgy in the Siblings’ wing went wrong last month. Instead, Copia notices a large poster promoting condom usage that partly covers the request underneath. Which is how he recognises it.

His ad.

And one of the numbers is missing.

Copia nearly lets out a loud squeal as realisation dawns on him like the gentle spring sun rising over the hills every morning, bringing warmth and happiness after a cold, dark night. It seems like Cupid finally answered his prayers, like Aphrodite found sweet mercy for him.

Someone took his number. Someone wants to reach out to him.

For the rest of the day, he feels like he swallowed a swarm of bees, staring at his phone like it’s going to light up any second. Which it could. He could receive the message or call that changes his life any second now. Any second. Any… any second.

Nothing happens. Not in the next hour, not in the next two hours. All day, in fact, his phone stays quiet. His initial happiness deflates like a balloon. As he heads towards his quarters that evening, he observes how everyone piles into the dining hall, their happy laughter and cheerful spirits spoiling his usually solid appetite. He hates the sour feeling of envy in his stomach but he can’t help but suspect that everyone conspired against him.

Copia decides to skip dinner in order to cry into a big bowl of gelato. His nightmare might not have come true but his brain tortures him with pictures of your smiling face instead, with the phantom feeling of your warm hand lingering on his arm, and he can’t help but feel crushed anyway. He’d sell his soul to come home to you, to eat with you, sit with you, watch silly movies with you, fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up with your smile as the first thing he gets to see every day. It becomes increasingly clear to him that every day he misses out on being with you is a day tragically lost.

If only he was brave enough to change that.

✦ ✧ ✦

You’ve been pacing your bedroom for the better part of the evening now, back and forth and back and forth to the point where you’re seriously concerned about wearing down your carpet. The day passed uneventfully apart from your encounter with Copia in the hallway where you made a complete fool of yourself. You would have loved to skip all of the unnecessary fuss of texting back and forth but you barely spoke more than two words to him before you chickened out. Surely, if his interest in you was romantic, he could just ask you out instead of advertising himself on a public corkboard?

In any case, you’ve been typing out messages for over an hour now, deleting every single one of them only to throw your phone onto the bed multiple times before picking it back up to risk another attempt.

The reason you haven’t given up yet is that Lily knows you have his number now. Last night, when you thought everyone was asleep, you snuck out of your dorm feeling like James Bond with your torch and black clothing, tiptoeing down the empty corridors of the abbey. You didn’t want anyone spreading any premature rumors but a part of you was hesitant to take one of the numbers at all. Even if you called him, it wasn’t certain that he’d want to go on a date with you.

Still, you ripped off one of the thumb-sized pieces of paper and headed back – only to promptly run into Lily as she snuck out to meet Nora. You’re never going to forget her self-satisfied grin as she spotted you with the crumpled number between your fingers.

Begging your creative juices to start flowing, you stare at the empty message box. Perhaps you should be funny. You wonder if he knows the Piña Colada song. It is about a lonely hearts ad after all and he’s a musician. You type and type, delete and retype until you end on a rough draft to show Lily when she gets home. But no, upon rethinking, the joke is too silly even for you and there’s probably a better way to phrase this–

“Hey, have you called him yet?”

You jump, your heart rate doubling in shock. Lily appears in the open doorway and her voice startles you so fiercely that you clutch your phone to your chest. To your utter horror, the swishing sound of a sent message reaches your ear as your palm connects with the touchscreen, and when you glance down, the bubble with your typed out message sits at the top of your chat history.

“Oh no,” you whisper.

“What?”

“I sent my stupid silly joke message to him.”

Lily picks your phone from your hands, reading the solitary message from the display. “Well, at least now you’ll know if he shares your weird sense of humour?”

You grasp her shoulder and release a deep, throaty groan. Her words don’t calm you in the slightest, if anything, they only make it worse.

✦ ✧ ✦

Driving Miss Daisy can’t distract him anymore.

Every two minutes Copia reaches for his phone to check for any missed texts or calls only to have the gapingly empty home screen staring back at him. He never figured out how to change the pre-set wallpaper. Perhaps he could try again when he has a cute couple picture of him and his future partner. The thought makes him smile. It’s one of many little things he would change – if they only called.

Despite putting it on vibrate, he doesn’t trust the device to inform him of any news. He even carried it to the toilet twice already, just in case something happens while he’s gone. His ice cream doesn’t satisfy him tonight, everything feels bland and devoid of flavour, but he refills his bowl anyway. One big spoon and a bit of spray cream… and as he walks back over to his bed, he realises that he should definitely check his phone again because this took way longer than two minutes.

Right as he pulls the device out his pocket, it vibrates violently in his hand. For a moment he is so shocked to see a message pop up that he throws it away. It lands on his bed, bouncing a few times, display still lit up with one new notification glaring at him from the centre of his screen.

He takes a deep breath. This is real. He got a message.

No, he can’t look at it, he’s going to lose his nerves. A few more deep inhales and slow exhales, then he can’t fight the suspension any longer.

Hey, stranger :) You don’t like coconut, so you probably don’t like Piña Coladas, but maybe I’m still the love that you look for? I would love to go on a date with you, if you are still looking for one.

It takes him a second, then another one. The ice cream melts in his bowl as it sits forgotten on the floor next to his bed. Suddenly it clicks and he chuckles, in relief as well as amusement, thinking that he knows that song, that he gets the reference. That means this person is funny. They made a joke. He smiles to himself. A funny person wants to go on a date with him.

He types back, deleting, typing again. After five minutes, he comes up with a reply.

Hello, stranger! 👋🏼 I do not like Piña Coladas 🍹 but I have many better things to offer if you want to go on a picnic 🧺 with me tomorrow? I will bring food 🥪 and drinks 🧃 of course. Hopefully we do not get caught in the rain 💦😀

He thinks about how he could sign the message but then his nerves start to kick in. If he tells the person who he is, they may reconsider their choice to go out with him and that’s the last thing he wants. Even if the date doesn’t go well, he wants to try his best, so he shoots another message after the first:

Oh. It will be a blind date, if that is okay with you?

The next minute is the longest of his life. An eternity passes. He thinks he might have stopped breathing with how tight his chest feels. That is, until his phone lights up and shows the same number again, wringing a deep sigh of relief from him.

That’s fine with me. Where do we meet?

The squeal he lets out vibrates in his chest and bounces off the walls.

He’s got a date. Finally.

✦ ✧ ✦

Copia hears his bad conscience somewhere in the back of his mind whispering that blocking the best spot in the gardens all day is selfish. Perhaps it is true, perhaps he feels a little selfish today. And yes, besides feeling selfish he also feels a little guilty. Is it fair to go on a date when he has such a horrible crush on someone else? No. No, it’s not fair. But he can’t let another chance at love run through his fingers like sand on the beach. He simply has to grasp this opportunity.

His red-checked blanket lays untouched underneath the tall chestnut tree, its big, hand-shaped leaves rustling in the soft breeze as he approaches. The head of a rat is stitched into all four corners of the fabric – a gift from Sister for his latest birthday – and it’s been sitting here since nine o’clock when he took the liberty of… reserving… the spot. He picked the north-side of the tree so that the shade falls exactly where he’s going to be sitting with his date in approximately fifteen minutes. If they prefer the sun, he can just pull the blanket over a little, but he’d never forgive himself if they got sunburn because of him.

Copia took the day off, his first day off all year in fact, risking his next employee of the month award to spend all morning in town, running errands. With the end of May and strawberry season starting, he visited every grocery store within walking distance to find the ripest, juiciest ones they offered. He was lucky enough to obtain a small basket filled with the most delicious-looking red fruits and some additional fresh ingredients for his sandwiches. While he was quick-witted enough to ask about his date’s allergies yesterday, he completely forgot to ask them about their favorite snacks and so he’s decided to just bring anything he could think of that wouldn’t melt in the sun.

The basket he packed feels heavy in his hand for that exact reason and when he sets it down on the blanket, he can feel the strain in his arm. The past hour was spent obsessing over his outfit until he decided to just go for the white suit combo. Yes, white fabric near grass and juicy red fruits is not the most brilliant idea, but he wants to look his best and that means going the extra mile, even if he has to wear the tiny, itchy underwear underneath.

His heartbeat is going a mile a minute now. He can’t unpack yet, he doesn’t want the food to be out for too long, and so he sits and waits, his hands sweaty under his black and white leather gloves. The fact that the gardens around him slowly become crowded as the afternoon rolls around does nothing for his nerves. He can feel the curious glances, can hear the hushed whispers, and as the hour nears, he starts sweating even more despite the shade. If the unanswered ad had been embarrassing, being stood up so publicly would be even worse.

And then the most horrifying thing ever happens.

Copia sees you walking along the path, wearing a weather-appropriate, slightly dressed-up outfit that makes his eyes involuntarily roam your whole form. But he can’t fully focus on your loveliness. At first, he’s panicking that you’re meeting your friends somewhere close by where you could see him with his date. He would be so embarrassed, so distracted, so uncomfortable. But you walk straight towards him and that’s even worse. If he has to tell you that he’s busy meeting someone else he might spontaneously combust, explode into tiny particles of humiliation. It would ruin everything, his date and his crush on you. What if his date shows up and sees you with him? What if–

Oh no, you don’t stop approaching, you don’t take a turn, you walk up straight to where he’s waiting – with a hint of hesitation, yes, but very directed steps. Copia jumps up immediately, his black hat nearly falling from his head.

“Oh, Sibling,” he stammers, lifting a trembling hand to adjust his fedora. “Hello, hi. Are you spending some time outside today as well?”

Your mouth opens and you wring your hands before hiding them behind your back. “Hello, Cardinal. I ugh… I’m supposed to meet someone here under the chestnut tree.”

Copia furrows his brow, slowly registering your words. “Meet someone. Under the chestnut tree.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Satan. It’s you?” He stops, stares, comprehends. He sounds incredulous, his voice a higher pitch than usual. “You’re my stranger?”

You nod, big eyes staring into his mismatched ones in silent expectation, hope and fear muddled together in the crease of your brow. He doesn’t know how to react, just rubs his thumb and index finger together as his mind races faster than speed limit.

“Is this… is this bad?” you finally ask, breaking the awkward silence.

“No!” Copia exclaims. “No, no, no. Please, please sit.”

You do, kneeling down on the blanket a little hesitantly. Copia joins you, still not fully trusting his senses. This feels like a hallucination. His disbelief has to be the only reason he hasn’t passed out yet. Is he really on a date with you right now?

After another moment of silence, Copia notices you eyeing the basket and snaps back into reality. His plans, his very detailed plans for how this date is supposed to go, flood his mind and he remembers the first step now. Swallowing his shock, he sits up a little straighter.

“Ah, eh… yes, I got you something.” He reaches behind the basket and procures three deep red roses he stole from Primo’s rose garden on the way here. Their intense smell hits his nose as he whips them past his face and hands them over. “These are for you. I hope you like roses. I know it is a bit cliché but also a classic, no?”

“I love them,” you assure him, holding them up to your nose with a smile. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

He smiles. “Good, good. Yes. So… I thought about what we could do and–”

“Cardinal,” you interrupt then.

“Oh, no. No, call me Copia. Please.” He gives you a shaky smile. “We’re on a date, no?”

“Copia,” you try but feeling his name on your tongue doesn’t make you feel any better. Ever since getting here your bad conscience made it hard to fully settle into this date and with his visible distress upon discovering it’s you, you feel like now is the time to address it. “Before… before we do this, I have a confession to make…”

He hums and wriggles his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Well, I would love to see you in confession soon…”

You blush furiously. “Oh, no. No, that’s not what I meant.”

A flash of concern and you can practically see all of his insecurities mirrored in his eyes. You’re both tiptoeing around the same question, you assume, but it’s on you to take the plunge.

“What… what do you mean then?” he asks.

“About this date…” His lightheartedness completely disappears. You feel bad for ruining the mood but it’s too late now and you need to get it out, you owe him that much. “Copia… It wasn’t a blind date on my part. I… I knew it was you.”

“You knew it was me?” he asks and again his features change, eyes wide now. He really had no idea that people knew the ad was his and suddenly he feels like a fool.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been honest from the start.” You stare at his gloved hand but you’re too scared to take it. “I hope you can forgive me for keeping this from you.”

“You knew it was me and you still… you still wrote to me? You still came?”

You furrow your brow. “I didn’t tell you because then I would have had to admit that it’s me and I was scared that maybe you wouldn’t want to go anymore.”

“Me? Not… not…” He shakes his head so fast that his fedora once again threatens to fly off. “Oh, tesoro, I would have… I would have been on the moon with joy, as they say. Yes, yes, I would have.”

You don’t correct him. Instead, an insecure smile settles on your face. “You know you don’t have to say that, Copia, it’s okay if you were hoping for someone else… That’s the risk of going on a blind date, right?”

He yanks your hand out of your lap, wrapping it up in both of his gloved ones. “Tesoro, can I be very honest with you?”

You nod. “Of course you can. Always.”

“I was hoping it was you.”

Your breath catches and steals your next words. The same incredulity that hit him earlier now settles in your chest and you can’t find it in you to question him.

Copia immediately fills the silence. “I never… I never thought…” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, a nervous swallow, before he wets his lips. “Tesoro, you were always very good to me. I always saw your kindness, you understand this, yes? Don’t get me wrong, I just… I never thought you were interested in me like this. In such a silly old man.”

You have to giggle through your nerves. “I love that you’re a silly old man.”

He smiles shyly. “You are very sweet, tesoro.”

“I’ve actually had this crush for a few months now,” you admit, encouraged by his positive reaction. “And I want you to know that when I saw your ad I thought about calling even before I knew it was you.”

His smile grows impossibly bigger at that. “Did you?”

A nod. Copia squeezes your hand, then brings it to his face for a kiss. You feel his wet lips on your skin and they’re so soft, so gentle. When he sets your hand back down you see a trace of black lipstick on its back and instantly feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Should we start then?” he asks. “I brought a lot of things, let me show you.”

The basket opens to reveal a plethora of food and drink options. Copia sets down a foil-wrapped plate with sandwiches that look a little wonky so you assume he made them himself, then some juice boxes, apple and orange, a box of fresh, delicious-looking strawberries, two bottles of water, reusable plastic cups and plates. At last, he hands you one of many different muffins he must have stolen from the kitchens.

“For my dolcezza,” he says with a smile.

More heat spreads in your cheeks as you take the little treat from him with a thanks. You’re both visibly losing your nervousness now, your postures less cramped, stretching out your limbs on the blanket with your bodies angled towards each other.

“Maybe we should… talk a bit about us?” Copia proposes. “To get to know each other, sì? I would like to learn about you.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds good. Do you want to start?”

He thinks on a good starter question, the pressure clouding his thoughts for a moment but then his silence grows thick and he has to say something. “So, ugh… do you like Star Wars?”

This is not one of the questions on his list of conversation starters. For some reason, every single meaningful thought suddenly leaves him. Luckily, this simple, safe question seems to put you at ease and you relax even more.

“I do,” you say. “I watched all the movies.”

“Oh, good! And what is your favorite?”

You pluck a piece from your muffin, popping it into your mouth. “Hmm… The Empire Strikes Back, I think.”

“Hehehe, sì, sì, I am your daddy.” His eyes widen. “Not that I’m… I don’t mean… you know, the scene with Luke… ugh. So, anyway, yes, that is my favorite as well.”

You giggle and he lights up, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. You reach for one of the sandwiches then. Copia helps, holding the plate up for you.

“So, these are all inspired by Italian foods. I have ugh… caprese. Mozzarella and tomato?”

You reach for the one he showed you. “That sounds great, thank you.”

Copia can’t help but stare as he awaits your reaction. You hum in delight and immediately take another bite of the soft bread. Satisfied, Copia allows himself to grab one as well now. Conversation slows down as you eat but you continue to talk about your interests between bites, finding more and more similarities as the minutes pass.

Your little spot is beautiful, cool enough to sit comfortably but warm enough to feel the reviving effects of spring. The leaves above you rustle every now and then, birds and bees flying past, the odd ant crawling over your blanket in search of some crumbs. Neither one of you is bothered as you sip on your juice boxes in tandem and intuitively increase your proximity.

With your bodies gravitating towards each other like that, you end up sitting very close after a while. Copia reclines against the tree trunk, pulling his hat down to grant him more shade, a little bit like a cowboy leaning against the walls of a saloon. His white suit is an odd contrast to his relaxed pose, not the most comfortable outfit to lounge in. Without thinking too much about it, he pulls you close to him and angles you so you can rest your head in his lap.

You’re only tense for a short moment. Copia gets rid of his gloves and you can feel his bare fingers running over your scalp. The steady pattern he draws calms you and you sigh, closing your eyes for a few minutes as a warm feeling of safety spreads out in you.

Copia can’t help but stare. Despite the initial hiccup, you’re so comfortable around each other that he feels like he’s known you forever. This is a dream come true for him, all his fantasies, his wishes, his longings, they all seem to come together in the lovely face dozing in his lap. You’re the most stunning sight he ever had the pleasure to behold. Every line, every hair, every mole, blemish or scar combines into the most beautifully painted canvas – and to him, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.

“Do you want a strawberry, tesorino?” he asks then.

You open your sparkly eyes and they reflect a speck of sunlight breaking through the canopy. Blinking a few times, you shift in his lap to avoid being blinded. He tenses as your cheek narrowly misses his groin, but then you nod and he distracts himself by reaching for the box of strawberries.

With careful fingers, he grabs one of the shiny heart-shaped fruits, making sure to touch the stem to avoid any stains, and then guides it to your mouth. He can’t help but stare as he sees your lips part for him, the tip of your tongue peeking out to welcome the sweetness. You sink your teeth into the red flesh, so eager, and spatters of juice stain your lips. They appear even more saturated as you lick them clean, wetting them with your tongue, and he so desperately wants to kiss you.

“They’re so sweet already,” you say, taking the rest of the fruit from his hand.

“Yes, I agree.”

You giggle. “Copia, you haven’t even tried one yet.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean the strawberries.”

You huff out a flustered breath, fighting the still evident smile on your face, and hold the half-eaten strawberry up to his mouth. “Try.”

He lets you feed him with burning cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As his teeth meet the flesh, a few droplets of juice fall astray but he doesn’t even care if they ruin his suit anymore. He can’t stop looking at you, thinking about your soft hand so close to his mouth. He wants to kiss it again, desperately, and so he traps it with his when you try to pull away. With his lips pressed to your palm, he closes his eyes, kissing all the way down to your wrist where he lingers.

You gasp softly, lips parting as Copia continues to drag his lips over the delicate skin. Your reaction brings a smirk to his face, another moment that he’s going to think about for days to come.

“I tried, dolcezza,” he says. “And I think you’re still sweeter.”

You blush so prettily at that. Flustering you is easier than he expected and he takes notes of every little thing that draws a reaction from you. You spend another hour like this, eating fruit, drinking juice, chatting about all sorts of things while you exchange soft touches and words of your blossoming affection. At some point, the gentle breeze that carries on throughout the afternoon becomes stronger, and more and more people head back inside to escape a possible weather change.

Neither one of you wants to leave but as you start to shiver more violently, Copia’s worry about you catching a cold wins over his desire to prolong your date. He proposes to head inside as well, running his hands over the goosebumps on your bare arms to warm you up.

When you reluctantly agree, he starts to pile your dishes and the leftover food into the basket. You move to help but he stops you with a tut. “I will pack this up, eh? Don’t worry about it.”

“I could help you, you know.”

“Ah, no no. I invited you, yes? It is my pleasure.”

It only takes him a few minutes to pack everything up. You grab your flowers in the meantime and he watches from the corner of his eye as you sniff them with a growing smile on your face, swaying slightly from left to right. As Copia shakes out the blanket, folding it messily in the middle, you hesitate by the edge of your little picnic spot.

“So, do you want to walk back together?” you ask.

Copia smiles, glad that you don’t want to leave him quite yet. “I would like that a lot, tesoro. Should I carry the roses for you?”

You hand them over and he places them on the lid of the basket before he carefully picks it up. When he’s by your side again, you stop him with a hand on his forearm, the same gentle squeeze you gave him the last time. Only this time you don’t leave. Instead you lean in and press a soft kiss to his reddened cheek, your lips lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary. Copia opens his mouth but he can’t think of anything to say. Instead he uses his unoccupied hand to fish for yours.

Hand in hand, palm against palm, you walk past the leftover groups of Siblings that make use of the last few moments of sun. Neither of you spares anyone else even a glance. Whenever your eyes aren’t focused on the path ahead, they meet each other, giddy, love-sick smiles gracing your lips.

As you finally pass the first archway and enter the cool stone corridors of the abbey, Copia suddenly stops. Your arms slowly extend as you take a few more steps but before your hand can slip from his, he pulls you back. Maybe he used a little bit too much force or maybe he just caught you by surprise, but you practically stumble into his arms. A gasp falls from your lips. You make no attempt at breaking away and so Copia gently guides you against the frame of the archway, setting down the basket in the process so he can place his other hand on your hip.

Big eyes look up into his. He leans in slowly. The rim of his hat catches the stone and it finally slips from his head, dropping somewhere. Copia doesn’t care because he can already feel your sweet strawberry breath on his lips and nothing could stop him from getting a taste. Your hands impatiently grab at his lapels, then, pulling him even closer, and he gasps at the force of your need. With your eyes falling closed, lips slightly parted and your chin tilted up, Copia feels like he’s in a dream.

“Please,” you whisper.

He has to fight a moan, the word resonating somewhere deep inside his belly. Still, he draws out the moment for as long as he can, stalling as the tension crackles in the tiny space that separates you. He starts by nuzzling your nose while he pushes his hand upwards until he can grasp your jaw. As he angles your head just right, he feels your lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He fights off a giggle as they continue to tickle his skin and you shift slightly against him, growing impatient.

“Co–”

His mouth swallows your next syllable. You hum against him as his lips capture yours with gentle adoration. The grip on your waist tightens at the same time as his thumb presses into your cheek. Want, need, trickles into your belly and Copia feels the same way, moving his mouth against yours with slightly more pressure. The kiss is still slow, still tame, but it’s unmistakable how much stowed up desire for the other you both hold inside.

For a while you continue like this, your body trapped between Copia and the cool stone and the world around you a mere shadow. You open your mouth for air and that’s when you can feel his tongue cautiously pushing against yours. The sensation makes you feel even more fuzzy, the need for oxygen forgotten as you tangle your tongue with his. The taste is sweet, residues of fruit and juice, and underneath it all you feel Copia. Copia.

You only break away when you’re both struggling to keep up the pace. He’s a mess, his lipstick gone, black smears covering his chin and cheeks where his eye make-up rubbed off. You lift your hand to wipe some of your mingled spit off of his chin and the blissful expression on his face makes you smile. You love to see his face ruined like this, you decide. And Copia, seeing the lipstick-smears all over your kiss-swollen mouth, unknowingly thinks the same.

“We should do this again sometime,” you say. “The date but also… this. Actually, I think we should do it again right now.”

Copia chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “How about we never stop doing it?”

You nod your approval, wrapping your arms around him to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft, if a little bit sweaty, messy from the loss of his hat. “I would like that a lot, Copia.”

“I mean it, tesoro,” he whispers with a hint of insecurity. “I don’t want to stop spending time with you. Ever. We already wasted enough of it.”

A big smile breaks out on your face. Copia can’t help but return it, squeezing you a little tighter to his body, and you giggle happily as he kisses your nose.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “Let’s not waste another moment.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this silly little story – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

#i dedicate this to all of my awkward cardinal lovers #been dying to write more of him since the christmas fic #cardinal copia #copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia fanfiction #copia fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #copia fluff #cardinal copia fluff #copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader

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siri-ike · 4 days ago

Text

Summer of change

Chapter 5

First prev

For some reason, Steph had insisted on leaving the morgue in a hurry. Not fear, though! She’d specified that.

Danny wouldn't have minded staying. Last time he’d gone with a strange girl to a scary basement, he’d died. So this was certainly an improvement.

"Next we should go to Amusement Mile" Steph suggested.

"Amusement Mile? That's, what,” he joked, “A street full of amusement parks?"

"Yep!" She grinned wickedly. "And they're abandoned."

This girl wants to die.

That's it, that has to be why she's like this, just like Sam, except this girl doesn’t have ghost hunting equipment or a superhero ghost friend. Well, that she knows of.

Danny narrowed his eyes. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"Some say that every inch of it is haunted," she regaled, completely ignoring his accusation question. "Others say that villains rent it to use as headquarters. But I say that there's no reason both can't be true." There was a sparkle in her eye.

Oh, so she does wanna die, good to know. A wiser man would stay away from her, but not Danny Fenton. The guy who once snuck into a creepy hospital that he knew was haunted. Just because his whole school was "infected" with "ghost."

"You never did tell me what you were in for." he questioned.

All Steph did was giggle as she skipped out the door.

OK. That wasn't at all suspicious. With his luck, she's probably an arsonist or a fan of comics.

She was just as cryptic leading him away from the station, down the streets, and through dark alleys. Before long, he had no idea where they were or how to get back.

Why does he keep letting strangers take him to second locations?

Only when he looked thoroughly lost did she start talking.

She swung around and held out her hand, "Stephanie Brown." Emphasizing her last name.

"Danny Pha-aan-ton." He placed his hand in hers. Smooth as sandpaper.

"Faaaan-ton?" She repeated skeptically.

"Fenton." His voice cracked. If he ever managed to actually die, it might just be from embarrassment.

Then, in the distance, he hears faint music.

_______

Either this kid's an idiot, or that was a fake name. Context so far isn't helping.

Steph perks her ears up at the sound of a carousel. "We're almost there." She grins. And the boy immediately looks... excited? Wasn't he against this just a moment ago?

The entrance to the first amusement park was worn down, wooden boards producing a loud creeek with every step. Even daylight couldn't make this place look welcoming. Her parents would hate it.

"Let's check out the haunted castle." Danny suggested.

"Oh? Wanna pull another prank, do you?" She paused. "How'd you do that anyway? You couldn't have been there before, I watched you stare at the filing cabinets for 15 uninterrupted minutes."

_______

Yeah, there's no explaining that. "A prank? No, that was just ghosts. Morgues are full of them, you know," he joked, "And if you want to see more of them, the haunted house would be your best bet." He tried to act cool, which was almost impressive, knowing just how much uncoolness she had so far witnessed from him.

"Would it now? And what makes you the expert?" She teased, already walking towards the shoddy wooden firehazard castle.

Her piercing eyes prying for information. Danny, the sly fox that he is, confessed everything. From his parents being ghost hunters to the age at which he stopped wetting the bed (she didn't ask), he even told her about that time he had a mullet. Somehow, he did keep his powers to himself.

By the time he finally stopped confessing, they had already gotten to the highest part of the castle... and Steph was nowhere to be seen.

Sunlight lit up most of the room through the gaps in the ceiling. Every footstep was accompanied by a subtle creak of the floorboards. She's obviously planning to jump out and scare him, so would it kill her to sneak? He stares intently, knowing exactly where she is.

Would it be nicer to pretend to be scared? Sure. But Jazz always said “Niceness is performative, Danny!” So a fake scare wouldn't be fair.

"Steph?" He calls towards the slightly more shaded hallway, which so happened to be the only exit. "If you're trying to scare me, might I recommend the hall of mirrors," he teases, "Or whatever that building with the giant clown on it was?"

Suddenly, something landed on the floor behind him. On instinct, he turned and shot a blast of ectoplasm at the noise.

"I knew it!" She squeaked from the doorway behind him.

"Wha-?"

"You're a meta, aren't you!?"

Looking closer at the pile of ash on the floor, it looked like it used to be a backpack. His backpack.

"Is that my bag?" He asked, annoyed.

"Don't worry! I took your stuff out, and replaced it with junk I found in here. Didn't think you'd destroy it, though." She said as though it were the most normal thing in the world. "What was that? Some sort of laser? How far can you shoot it? And how big? What's it made of?" She started rambling. “You know, I suspected something was up when your eyes glowed back at the station, but when you gave me a fake name, it was clear you were hiding something. Do you know any other meta humans? She paused, but not long enough for him to answer. “Obviously I don't think all metas know each other or anything, but you must have sought out someone who could relate, right?”

_______

Thank you to @bespoke-nautilus for proofing

@ladyredmoon13 @ryuukthehatter @sonrium @niamcarlin @sunnysolaria @tiffanyhart13 @tkiesai @not-your-average-url @lurukifennecfox @atomicsheepscientist @glowstickia @superbpastanickelzonk @persephonedevoted @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @howtogetblinded101 @ultra-stormsaga @piece-of-pierce @random-fandom-place

What part of an amusement park should they get ambushed at go to next?

It can be anything from any amusement park.

#Spotify #fanfic #danny phantom #danny aint slick #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #stephanie brown #spoiler #batgirl #gotham #platonic

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witch-hazels-musings · 8 months ago

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i'd know the difference

warning -> none, sfw, fluff <3 | happy birthday Diluc

diluc x gn reader | Anthology

His back was tired. Tense muscles ignited by the sunlight pouring through the window. Diluc rolled his shoulder, dug his fingers into his trapezius muscle, and squinted at the sharp pain that ran down his arm.

The forms on his desk hardly dwindled since this morning. He swore they multiplied each time he placed one neatly into an envelope and pressed his seal into the ruby wax.

A knock at his study drew his gaze. "Sir, Diluc, the barrels are ready for inspection." A muffled voice slipped under the doorframe, their movements silenced by the heavy wood.

"I will be there momentarily," Diluc responded as his father's fountain pen glided across the final page of a contract. Another seller from Inazuma. Requests from the sealed-away nation had increased substantially after the Raiden Shogun opened trade routes. While it meant the Winery was bound to see a profitable quarter, he was bound to see many more sleepless nights.

Diluc filed the contract away into a water-sealed container and dropped it into a small, wooden box meant for outgoing correspondence. Three other letters softened the container's fall. He hadn't even made it halfway through.

---

The halls of the Winery were filled with still light, the decorated walls made everything compact but he had grown used to the opulent clutter. As a child, he spent many hours staring at the picture frames. Distant lands he hoped one day to traverse; he did and found that each depiction served little justice to the actual thing. The ornate rug muffled his steps and he moved swiftly toward the stairs. He fussed with his vest until something soft grazed his arm.

A fresh bouquet of flowers was placed on a tall, rounded table near the balcony overlooking the lower floor. A rich, sweet, earthy aroma filled his nose. Shades of royal blue, amber, and honey mixed with lush green. He rubbed a petal with his thumb and index finger, the satin texture unaffected by the roughness of his hand.

The corner of his lips lifted.

---

"There you are," Diluc said from the garden's edge. He had a feeling you'd be out here. Hard at work preparing beautiful arrangements you'd later place in the Winery. If he wasn't careful, he'd be trapped here forever watching you weave through the swaying flowers. He thought to ask a painter to capture the scene, but, in the end, he decided against it - there were some things he preferred to keep to himself.

"Morning," you called out, rising from the flower bed. With the back of your hand, you pushed up your sun hat.

The metal click of the gate rang out as Diluc made his way into the garden, narrow paths made it difficult for him to see where his feet landed while you moved through them with practiced grace. "How long have you been out here?" he asked.

"About as long as you've been cooped up in your study. I figured once you'd ultimately emerged, you'd appreciate being greeted by something lovely," you explained as you shooed a bug away from the ends of his hair.

"So why were you not waiting for me then?" he asked, teasingly, but in his heart he was serious. Your face was the thing he enjoyed most.

You shook your head and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I'll remember that for next time." With ease, you turned down the path and made your way to a sun-bleached table holding several bundles of partially trimmed flowers. He followed after you.

Diluc watched you work. Skilled fingers stripping the stems of their leaves, the soft clipping of prunes as you, one by one, measured the height of each flower. He moved in, drawn to you like the bees to the flowers.

"You smell divine," he professed and reached to steal your hat so he could kiss your head. The sun clung to every strand of your hair and warmed his desperate lips.

"Are you sure it's not just the flowers?" you asked, chuckling softly, your hands busy with bundling a fresh bouquet.

"I'm sure." Diluc stepped closer to you, his chest pressing against your back, his fingers trailing down your arm and fixing the shawl that had fallen off while you worked. He kissed the space below your ear and breathed you in. "I'd know the difference anywhere."

You turned just enough to look into his eyes and the sight of your face made his heart beat wildly. He shielded you with your hat and, with a gentle hand he cupped your throat, his thumb held your chin so he could keep you still and let his lips linger against your own until he was satisfied.

Even in a field of flowers, none of them compared to you - none could ever compare to his favorite.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact musings #diluc x reader #diluc x gn reader #diluc fluff #genshin impact fluff #diluc ragnvindr

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senawashere · 8 months ago

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We're on this together... (Chapter II)

Bradley Bradshaw × fem!wife!reader

Summary: Is it harder for you? Or for Bradley?

Warnings: infertility,mentions of miscarrige,mentions of hospital,mentions of getting pregnant,mentiones of ivf. Mostly angst.

'We are on this journey together and we will never separate. I love you."

January 3, 2023.

Everyone,mostly you, could see how much Bradley loved childrens. Babies, toddlers, teenagers, it didn't matter, he loved them.

Ever since you married, you had admired how he treated them, how he made them laugh, how they played, and how his eyes lit up at the high-pitched squeals they made when he threw them in the air. He would catch them again. And again.

He... was born just for this.

That's why you were trying so hard to give him what he wanted more than anything in the world; a baby,a kid of yours.

He searches hundreds of websites for you on ways to increase your chances of getting pregnant, checks your ovulation time, changes your diet... he does the impossible and you both still can't succeed.

You couldn't make your husband happy. He hated this sentence.

And the worst part is, he's not the only one waiting for you to have his child, everyone is doing it, all of your friends are having their second or third kids and you were still... not pregnant.

One day, you were criticized among your friends for not having a flat stomach. They said something as a joke that you might be pregnant, but it wasn't like that.

Just because you dont have a flat belly doesn't mean you're pregnant, right?

Your tears feel familiar on your skin now and when you were sure Bradley is gone you were crying all over the house, you couldn't let him see you like this, it's not fair when he gave you everything and you couldn't give him something so simple.

It's that simple. Right?

You don't want help, you can do it on your own, you know he can or so he thinks, he keeps busy every day trying not to think about it, but it's inevitable, you can't do that when it's something he wants so badly.

You were doing your usual work on laptop, trying to get rid of the thoughts in your head, even if only a little, you were scrolling through your e-mail box while slow jazz was playing in the background, writing down what you needed to write and dealing with the files you needed to handle.

"A young man fell into the base today! We walked around the hard deck and drank soda's. He was with for a while we had a lot of fun, but I think he misses his aunt y/n. I love you baby.💞"

The text came up with a picture of your husband with Jake's son, three of them smiling and Bradley holding some soda cans in his left arm and the right one is holding the boy's shoulder. It was beautiful and made your heart ache, a small smile appeared on your face,the voices and pain in your head seemed to be over, at least for a mimute, and you replied to the message, "I love you two!! Say hello to Jake for me.💓💓"

You stared at the picture for a few seconds, forgetting about the task in front of you.

The smile on Bradley's face was genuine, and he was holding the little boy with incredible familiarity, as if he already knew how to hold a child even though it wasn't his own.

Your phone hit the wooden table with a loud thud and you brought your hands up to your face, feeling tears of frustration falling from your eyes.

No, you were not jealous of them, in fact, you were very happy that they were pregnant with the third one, but why couldn't you?

This was unfair.

While God gave people the chance to have so many children, why couldn't you even have one?

And the saddest problem was,you.

Bradley was perfectly healthy, he could get a different woman pregnant, but he couldn't get you.

The house was quiet, unlike your head, thousands of things were going on every second.

You left your spot and went upstairs to take another pregnancy test with some hope.

It came out negative. Like always.

January 18, 2023.

You throw the four pregnancy tests you took ten minutes ago into the trash can and you hear Bradley sigh as he sits on the bed, hiding his face with his hands. You sit next to him.

“We just have to try harder.” He said, lifting his head to look at you and placing his hand comfortably on your knee.

“What does 'trying harder' mean?” you asked,with a hint of you wobble voice from the emotions. "We do this every day, especially when I'm ovulating, when I..."

"Baby, calm down." Bradley tells you and he just snorts in annoyance.

"Maybe...we could go to another doctor?" He gets down on one knee as if he's proposing, but you stand up and look at him as if he had three heads.

"Why should I go to the doctor? There is nothing wrong with me, we will have this baby, I know. Sooner or later." you exclaimed.

He stood up and took your hands in his, stroking your wrists.

"Of course we will, I have no doubt about that. But—it's better to know more, you know?"

"We're going to have this baby, Bradley. I am going to."

Uh oh-

I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS CHAPTER BEING SO SHORT😭😭😭 and bad news it is progressively gets more sad.. And there is going to be timeline-

I'm tagging people who might be interested and some mutuals:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @lyn-js @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @hardballoonlove @topguncortez @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @els-marvelvsp @promisingyounglady @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern @promisingyounglady and if you are not comfortable please tell me!!

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babymetaldoll · 10 days ago

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Are you mine - Chapter sixteen: "What do you mean Wheels up?"

Summary: Stephen's death and Emily's kidnapping are a hard blow to the team. Spencer and his wife haven't slept in over 48 hours and fighting is the only way to go, apparently. Word count: 6.074 Warnings: Cursing, spoilers of Criminal Mind Ep S13 01, angst A/N: The Reids need a break from everything. And no matter wht you say, the "wheels up" scene is the cringiest moment in the entire show. Try to prove me wrong.

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(Y/N)’s point of view

We waited for a few minutes in the hospital hall until our friends got there. We had called their family and let them know what was going on. Spencer seemed to be in severe pain, and there were too many reasons: lack of sleep, stress, hospital lighting… the fear our friend had been hurt, Emily was missing and Stephen was dead. My husband was clearly having post-traumatic stress syndrome, with no time to deal with any emotion he might have to face.

It got worse after talking to Rossi. He was refusing treatment until he spoke to Luke, Spencer, and me.

- “First, you, go through my pants pockets and find my keys. There's a little one there in a file cabinet in my office. You following me?”

The man had hit his head, was still bleeding, and looked at us like he was about to give us the secret location of the holy grail.

- “Yes, I’m following.”- Luke said, holding the keys.

- “Inside, there's Chicago Bears season tickets. When you get them, you call Matt Simmons. I promised him those tickets.”

So Rossi hit his head harder than we had anticipated. We tried to convince him he was under any drug effect, but he got so mad he called us “assclowns” and forced us to go to the BAU and do as he asked us. It was the only way he would accept treatment.

- “I can’t arrest him.”- Spencer said as we reached the bullpen. Luke and I turned to him as he covered his eyes with one hand for the hundredth time in the last half hour.

- “What are you talking about?”- Alvez asked him.

- “Scratch.”- my husband explained and made an effort to look at us- “The second I see his face, I am going to kill him.”

- “Reid, come on! No one could blame you, we all wanna end that bastard.”- Luke tried to ease the mood, but I knew Spencer meant it. He wanted to add something, but he covered his eye with one hand with a painful expression. I wanted to hold him and take him away from all that pain, but we needed to help our friends.

- “What's wrong with me?”- Spencer whispered as I kissed his hand. Neither of us had rested a lot, and his crazy hair showed how little time he had had to take care of himself in the last 48 hours.

- “I’m pretty sure it’s PTSS. You’ve been in hyper-vigilant mode for the last 48 hours, we haven’t slept, eaten or rested, and shit keeps going south.”- I replied and rubbed his arms. - “I would suggest you take some time off to deal with this, but we both know…”

- “I don't have time to process my emotional state.”- Spencer added and I just nodded.

- “That's exactly when you make time, right? You ask for help. There's no shame in that.”- Luke tried to help, but Spencer’s attention was lost.

- “Rossi's office.”

- “Yeah. I'll handle that.”- Alvez tried to continue talking, but Spencer stopped him as he started walking away.

- “No. There's someone in Rossi's office.”

My husband was right, Penelope and Agent Simmons were in the room when we walked in, and they immediately gesticulated us not to make a sound and to give them our phones. Once they put them in a little wooden box filled with Cuban cigars Rossi had on his desk, Pen finally explained:

- “Ok. Now that we are secure, I got that for Rossi last year. Not only is it a cigar case, but it's also a Faraday case. It blocks all radio and cell signals. I think Scratch might be listening to us with our cell phones, even when they're off.”

I felt naked as soon as I heard that. What had Scratch heard…

- “That explains why Rossi was so cagey in the hospital.”- Luke added- “All right. Let's find these tickets.”

But as soon as he opened the drawer, all we could see were files about Scratch.

- “What is this?”- I asked as I grabbed one and went through the pages.

- “Stephen was brought on board for one reason. That was to catch Scratch.”- Simmons explained- “That is his entire investigation into him. He kept all his records off-site, updating Prentiss and Rossi through hard copies.”

- “If it's off the cloud, Scratch can't hack it.”- Spencer added, making it sound so obvious it hurt I didn’t realize it sooner.

- “Have you guys read it?”- I asked immediately.

- “No. Prentiss ordered it compartmentalized, eyes-only clearance, but she also felt there should be at least one failsafe who wasn't part of the BAU who knew about it just in case of emergency. That's why Garcia called me.”

Emily fucking Prentiss was the best, no questions asked.

- “All right. Let's dig in. I mean, this may be our only chance at stopping this bastard.”- Luke grabbed a few files and started passing them around. I followed him and got ready to read and find my best friend. We had to bring her back and make Scratch pay for what he had done.

Spencer’s point of view

It wasn’t a good day, let's put it that way. The fact Stephen was dead and that it could have been anyone on the team was too painful to start analyzing. It got real. I had always been, but it reminded us we could go through the same any day on the field.

Monica, Stephen’s wife, called Luke and asked him to go with her to the hospital to see her husband for the last time. It broke my heart to even think that that could be my wife, visiting my corpse.

But I didn’t have time to think about it. We had to find Prentiss.

I knew my wife was trying to focus as well, but tears kept falling down her cheeks as she read the files from Stephen’s investigation. I wanted to comfort her, but again, we had no time to process, to feel sorry, to feel at all. We were against the clock, and every minute Prentiss was away was a minute I knew she was being tortured.

All I could do was read file after file and make a major effort to find a lead.

Until I did.

- “What? Prentiss texted Hotch?”- (Y/N) asked as she read the print I had found. Garcia stood by her side in the conference room and read the paper over and over again, still not believing what I had found.

- “According to Stephen's documentation, yes.”- I replied.

- “It must have been a coordinated attempt to share intel. Would Hotch have exposed himself like this?”- Simmons asked, looking confused.

- “No!”- me and my wife yell at the same time.

- “And neither would she!”- I added and continued talking as I wrote the last message on the board. - “I mean, she wouldn't rely on a hackable app, and she sure as hell wouldn't write, “A.H.,” in a text. That defeats the purpose of compartmentalizing the investigation.”- I rambled, starting to feel very irritated by the slow pace we had figuring out where Prentiss was.

- “It was a smoke screen.”- Garcia whispered, shocked.

- “Prentiss knew they had to triple watch their backs because Scratch has always had eyes and ears everywhere.”- (Y/N) added and crossed her arms on her chest, looking upset and tired as well.

- “Stephen had a background in counterintelligence. He must have designed this. He faked the Hotch side of the conversation to entice Scratch to make a move.”- I nodded at Simmon’s words as I turned and looked at my team.

- “The size and scale of which indicate desperation, a desperation he hasn't shown after a year of hiding, so why now?”

My question hung in the air for a few seconds, until (Y/N) said.

- “It’s clear that the last text hit a note on him. We know Scratch has been obsessed with Hotch ever since the very beginning. He has to be trying to get his location from Em.”- that didn’t help keep me calm at all, but I knew she was right.

- “(Y/N) is right, A.H. is a pretty big red flag. Maybe that's what brought him out.”- Simmons added.

- “Well, they used Hotch's initials in other texts before.”- Garcia suggested- “Maybe that’s not it…”

- “Then they found something else, something they knew would rattle him.”- I turned to read the message again when my wife asked.

- “What’s B-cap?

- “Geography maybe. I mean, it's mentioned in relevance to DC.”- I heard Simmom’s theory, but it didn’t feel right. To make it worse, my eye was still bothering me, I was feeling anxious and I couldn’t focus.

- “Maybe it’s a code name for a partner.”- (Y/N) suggested.

- “I can't see it.”- I whispered, annoyed. That shouldn’t be that hard. There had to be something there to help me decode those letters, and I couldn’t see it. It was so frustrating and irritating I had to deal with it alone before I snapped in front of my team. And my wife.

- “Hey, no. Why don't we kick it over to the team? Maybe they can suss out…”- Penelope was still talking when I started pushing her and Simmons out of the room.

- “No. No time. Get out!”

- “What?”- Garcia looked at me like I had just asked the most random thing on earth, but I kept gently pushing her and Simmons out.

- “Get out. Sorry. You too, chipmunk, please.”

- “What? Why me?”- the way (Y/N) stared at me was both hurt and confused.

- “I'm sorry, but get out.”- I kissed (Y/N)’s forehead as Garcia grabbed her computer, Matt took the folders and I closed the door behind them.

I needed to be alone and focused. I was exhausted, but there was no time to rest. Prentiss was in danger and I had to make an effort and figure out that message as fast as possible.

(Y/N)’s point of view

I stared at Spencer pacing in the conference room for almost an hour. It was killing me because I knew how much he was pushing himself to get the right answer. He felt responsible, he was taking the burden all alone, and it was painful to know he wouldn’t even let us help.

- “Did he even sleep?”- Garcia asked and held my hand, trying to comfort me.

- “No more than an hour. Morgan stopped by with donuts.”

- “Yeah, he told me he wanted to catch up with him.”

- “I didn’t get time to hug him. I really need a hug from Morgan right now.”- I whispered and Pen held my hand tighter.

- “This I might be able to help with.”- Matt Simmons said and pointed at the text on the screen- “Prentiss’ last text had to do with Honduras. Scratch's last known sighting before tonight was Honduras.”

- “Right, and we thought Scratch fled there.”

- “Right. Prentiss asked the IRT to contact our Central American sources just to see if we could find anything. Now, we never did. We also never stopped to ask why Scratch was in Honduras in the first place.”

- “Clearly, not for the baleadas.”- I whispered and stood up. I needed to move to keep my head focused because I was both falling asleep and losing my mind sitting there.

- “Reid will figure this out.”- Garcia said with such conviction I felt hopeful for a second.- “He's really amazing at this kind of thing.”

That was the moment my husband picked to toss a book against the window, shocking us all. He was like a madman inside that room, with crazy hair and crazy weary eyes. I ran over and stormed into the conference room with Matt and Garcia. But before I could ask Spencer what the hell had happened, he started talking:

- “B-cap is short for Banisteriopsis caapi.”

- “What the hell just happened?”- I asked, but he ignored me and continued explaining.

- “It's a plant, specifically a hallucinogen that's found in a tea called ayahuasca.”

- “We worked on a couple of those cases, I think. If I remember, it's like peyote.”- Simmons added and my husband nodded and continued talking.

- “Yeah, in multiple ways. They're similar legally in that taking them is considered a religious practice, and pharmacologically, they're similar in that both drսg cause you to hallucinate intense, geometric patterns and vomit a lot.”

- “Ok. What does this have to do with Scratch?”- Garcia questioned, still looking shaky after the book-throwing scene.

- “Well, Scratch has a cocktail of disassociative drugs to induce delusions, but a mathematical mind like his would always be looking for ways to tweak and improve the formula.”- my husband explained.

- “Ok, so he wanted to get this B- cap and use it against his victims?”- I asked him and he nodded.

- “Exactly.”

- “So he went to Honduras to look for it. He then brought it back to DC to experiment with it. Stephen and Emily came to the same conclusion and tried to pretend like they were hot on his trail.”- Simmons summarized Spencer’s idea as my husband came up with a plan:

- “We need to track down all practitioners of the ceremony in the district... Shamans, gurus, overnight religions that just hung their first shingle. He could be using one of their volunteers as a partner, either witting or unwitting.”

Penelope, Matt, and I nodded, but none of us moved. Spencer frowned and stared at us confused.

- “What?”- he asked us.

- “You threw a book at a window. It was jarring.”- Garcia whispered, still shocked.

- “It took me sixty minutes to deduce what should have taken me sixty seconds, and if Emily dies because I was too slow, I'll be throwing a lot more than books.”

And just like that, my husband stormed out of the conference room. But I wasn’t gonna let him throw a tantrum and make me feel bad about it. So I followed him.

- “Stop it!”- I whispered/yelled and grabbed his hands to force him to turn and look at me, as he reached his desk in the bullpen.

- “What? Working? I don't think it’s a good idea, all things considered.”- Spencer hadn’t snapped at me at work in a very long while, though it didn’t surprise me. He was exhausted, but so was I, and I wasn’t throwing things around.

- “Stop trying to do this on your own, Spencer! We are a fucking team!”- I raised my voice ‘cos I didn’t have any more patience to deal with him.

- “I know we are, but I need to focus! This is the kind of thing I am good at, and I am failing!”- Spencer’s voice was hard, he was almost yelling and I was glad the bullpen was mostly empty.

- “You are failing at being a team member! We are all worried sick about Em, not just you!”

- “Don’t you think I know that?! I am worried about JJ, Rossi, and Tara too! And they are not here to help us solve this case, so it’s just us two, who have barely slept or eaten, plus Garcia and Simmons!”

- “Exactly! Not just you! So fucking let us help!!”

- “I need to do this!”- Spencer argued and I nearly lost it.

- “Why don’t you take a trip to Mexico behind my back again then, maybe that would help!”

- “Oh! you were waiting for a chance to throw that to my face!!”

- “Stop it!”- Penelope grabbed our hands and forced us to stop yelling at each other.- “I love you both, and I know you are not at your best, so please, for your family’s sake, stop arguing right now!”.

- “Can you tell him he is being a jerk?”- I replied and Penelope nearly gasped. - “He is! You know he is!”

- “So are you!”- my husband argued and Garcia was now officially shocked.

- “You are making me act like a jerk!”

- “Time out! Both of you!”- Garcia raised her voice- “You are going to sit in the conference room and fix your problems while me and Simmons are going to find the ayahuasca dealer who is covering Scratch, and we won’t talk to you until you have talked like adults and not the annoying brats you are being!”

- “We don’t have time for this!”- Spencer argued as Garcia started pushing us to the conference room.

- “Then make time for this!”- she said and slammed the door behind us. She locked us there, forgetting (or overlooking) the other door in the room, wide open.

- “This is crazy, we should be after Scratch!”- Spencer complained as I sat at the conference table and stared at him, pacing back and forth the room.

- “We? Don’t you mean you, Spencer?”- I crossed my arms on my chest and stared at him as his face changed.

- “Why are you making such a big deal about it? I am good at figuring things out! Period!”- my husband stared at me, crazy hair, weary eyes, exhausted, and angry. I was sorry I was being mean, but I couldn’t hold it. He was in so much pain he kept covering his right eye with one hand, still struggling with his vision. And yet, he refused to stop and ask for help.

- “I know you are good at it! You are good at fucking everything, Spencer! But that doesn’t mean you have to figure it out all alone! You can’t just throw us out of a room ‘cos you need to think, and you can’t fucking slam books at a window and not expect us to be worried!! What the hell were you thinking?!”

I stood up and waited for his answer. He looked at me and simply raised his arms, like asking me a question.

- “You know this is not our regular case! This is not a normal situation! We are worried, frustrated, and exhausted!”

- “Spencer! I know that!”

- ��Then why are you nagging me?”

- “Because I am tired of feeling you keep pushing me away when things get hard like I can’t handle shit!”- I yell and finally take the anger off my chest- “You don’t ask for my help! You wanna solve everything on your own! I know you wanna keep me safe, but it’s so frustrating ‘cos I know I can help you and you don’t fucking let me! Ever!”

- “You know I trust you! You are an amazing SSA!”- Spencer tries to explain, but I don’t let him go on. I groan in frustration and shake my head.

- “Not here! At home! You are your own island! I know things haven’t been at their best lately! I know having your mom has been challenging and I feel incredibly guilty because I told you it was ok to bring her home with us! But I just want to help! And you never let me in!”

- “(Y/N), I’ve had to deal with my mother alone my entire life!”- Spencer yelled like it was groundbreaking news.

- “Not for the last ten years or more, Spencer!”- I replied and felt almost insulted.- “I’ve supported you, loved you, and helped you with Diana since we were friends! I’ve loved her since we met!”

- “But she is not your mom! She is my problem! My burden!”- Spencer’s voice shook as he finished that sentence, and covered his eyes one more time.

- “We are not married just to fuck and raise our kids! We are married to share the good and bad things! I’ve told you a million times, that we are in this together! Whatever “This” is! Stop pushing me away or I’m actually gonna go away! Is that what you want?”

Spencer stared at me after I finished shouting. He seemed hurt, not angry, not upset, he looked at me as if I had just shot him, and he had never seen it coming.

- “I love you with my life, but we can’t go on like this.”- I whispered and took a few steps closer to him. Enough yelling, we really had to start moving in that conversation and fix things- “This whole situation showed us how much work we still need.”

- “(Y/N), all I’ve ever wanted to do was to protect you.”- my husband sounded so wounded as he said those words, and I felt guilty for having that conversation, though I knew we needed it.

- “I know, but ironically, you keep hurting me in the process.”- I replied and took another few steps closer to him. He held my hands and rested them against his face, cradling his cheeks.

- “I know I’m stupid when it comes to feelings… I’m sorry.”

- “Were you planning to tell me about Mexico or did you actually think you could keep it from me forever?”- I asked him and he took a deep breath before replying.

- “I really wanted to tell you. I've felt like shit since it happened.”

- “Did it just happen once?”

- “Yes. I planned a second trip but never made it.”

- “Why didn’t you? You felt guilty?”

- “That, and the kids got sick that weekend. I could never leave you alone with them.”- Spencer confessed and he closed his eyes as if the thought brought him pain. He looked ashamed. - “I’m so sorry.”

I wrapped my arms around Spencer and he held me so tight against his body, I had trouble breathing for a second.

- “I hate when Cat Adams gets into my head.”- I whispered against his chest and my husband kissed the top of my head.

- “It was my fault, I let her get too close this time.”

- “Fuck yeah you did, she even sat on your lap.”- I looked at him and he caressed my cheeks carefully and slowly as he stared into my eyes.

- “I did what I could to get my mother home safe.” - Spencer’s voice was so apologetic my chest tightened as I heard him.

- “I know… but it doesn’t mean it was nice to hear, or watch.”

- “You know you are the only woman on earth for me.”- he added quickly as he raised my chin with his index finger, forcing me to lock eyes with him.

- “Derek might add other planets to that list as well, Space Boy.”- I teased and Spencer sighed, nodding.

- “True.”- he held me a few more minutes, letting the whole argument sink in.- “I don’t want to push you away.”

- “I know… it comes naturally when you are under pressure. You shut everybody out.”

He didn’t say anything else, I knew what he was thinking. A part of him wanted to apologize, the rest of his brain kept thinking about Emily. I sighed and looked at him, as my hands tried to fix his messy and crazy hair a little.

- “We’ll figure it out. Now let’s bring Em back.”

Spencer’s point of view

(Y/N) and I were still reading some of the files with Scratch’s intel Stephen had collected over the recent months when our cell phone rang. We both read the text, it was an address. Matt and Penelope had a location. They were on their way.

- “We are ten minutes closer.”- I whispered and my wife dropped the file on the table.

- “Hurry!”

We both knew we shouldn’t be doing that, neither of us had slept, I could barely see with one eye and my mental health was… unhealthy, to call it somehow decent. I was ignoring all the signs of burnout, anxiety, and panic attacks because I didn’t have time to deal with it. And my poor wife was unquestionably exhausted.

I kept the AC ice cold, trying to keep (Y/N) awake as she drove. The cold could help her stay focused, because it has a stimulating effect on your body, helping to counteract drowsiness, as well as improve mental clarity and alertness.

- “I’m fucking freezing.”- she whispered.

- “I’m trying to keep you awake, chipmunk.”- I replied and rubbed her leg.

- “I’m about to start singing all the Frozen songs.”- I chuckled remembering Raven would force us to watch that movie at least once a week back then. Even my mother knew some of the songs.

- “Did you double-check your bulletproof vest?”- I knew I had checked it myself, but I had to ask again.

- “Yes, you?”

- “Yes.”- she parked and we basically jumped out of the SUV.

- “You take right, I take left.”- I suggested but my wife shook her head even before I was done talking.

- “We are not splitting. We walk in together and walk out together. Is it clear?”

- “Yes ma'am.”

We rushed inside and less than a minute later, we heard the first gunshot. The place was a three-floor warehouse. We ran toward the sound, in hopes of finding Emily. My wife was right behind me, both our guns pointing around us the entire time.

And then, I saw her, Em, running up the stairs as Scratch tried to catch her.

- “FBI!”- I shouted and pulled the trigger. But I didn’t get him, I couldn’t even focus my gaze. He shot back, and I had to take two steps back, pushing my wife behind me to keep her safe.

- “Are you ok?”- I whispered as she nodded.

- “Are you?”

- “Yes, let’s go, Emily is on the run.”

We went upstairs but didn’t find anything. Instead, we heard Alvez’s voice from the first floor and decided to regroup with him.

- “Prentiss!”- I yelled as soon as I heard another gunshot. I was on edge, ‘cos I knew at the sight of Scratch I wasn’t going to talk to him, I wasn’t hoping for an interrogation or even to see him rot in jail. No. I wanted to be the one to put a bullet in that man’s head. I needed to see him bleed and get cold to be sure no one else in my family was ever going to be threatened by him.

- “Lower your weapon, damn it!”- Prentiss whispered as I found her and Matt behind some boxes on the first floor.

- “Where is Scratch?”- I asked immediately.

- “He is upstairs.”- Em whispered.- “Tag in here, Simmons and Alvez can box him in.”

- “No, I need to go find him.”

- “No, no, no, Spence. Please. I need someone I know is real right now, all right?”- Emily begged me and my wife moved closer to her and wrapped her arms around her. Simmons took his chance and ran away to catch Scratch. When my wife moved from Emily, I wrapped my arms around Prentiss and held her close to me.

- “Are you ok?”- I whispered as Prentiss nodded and tried not to cry.

- “Do you wanna go to the car?”- (Y/N) asked.- “This whole floor is clear. Scratch was alone here. Cocky bastard.”

- “Yeah, I need to get out of here.”- Emily replied. I held her and helped her walk as my wife grabbed her from the other side and supported her weight too,-

- “Scratch is down.”- we heard Alvez’s voice on the monitor a few seconds later.- “I repeat, Scratch is down.”

And though the nightmare was over, I didn’t feel relieved at all.

- “He fell, trying to escape.”- Luke explained to us as we stood next to the body. It made his death real, but it didn’t help with closure. It felt oddly wrong. The bastard was dead but all the pain he had caused was still here, hunting us. Knowing he was gone wasn’t enough to make it go away.

Coming back home to our kids was all we needed. That day, after visiting the team at the hospital, and dragging Emily along for a check-up, we went to Sofia’s and spent the rest of the day with our babies and my mother. Raven was so happy to see us she didn't let either of us go the entire day. Not even for nap time. (Y/N) held Vincent most of the time, she didn’t want to let him go, even when our 22-month-old wasn’t very excited to be stopped from running around.

- “We need time off from work.”- my wife whispered as we both lay on her old bed, holding our sleepy babies close to us.

- “We do.”- I replied and moved my hand from Raven’s back to my wife’s leg, rubbing it carefully a few times.

- “Maybe permanently.”- she added after a few seconds. But I didn't have an answer for those words. Not yet at least. So I just closed my eyes and sighed, ready to fall asleep.

(Y/N)’s point of view

Stephens’ funeral was something I wasn’t ready to deal with. I still felt overwhelmed by everything that had happened, and I didn’t feel prepared to face Monica, his wife. When I saw her sitting with their two kids, I kept seeing myself instead, crying over Spencer’s casket.

I didn’t know how to deal with the angst that that image produced me. I just held my husband’s hand tight as we stood next to Penelope and Simmons. Speeches were said, and people spoke about Stephen’s incredible career, his brilliant mind, and his good heart. All the things we were never going to share with him.

Somehow, Emily was strong enough to say some words at the ceremony. Being in a cemetery wasn't doing any good for anyone’s mental health at the moment, but we loved Stephen too much not to be there to say one last goodbye.

- “We never get to say good-bye the way we want, and when we deal with a loss so sudden and cruel, our emotions can overwhelm us.”

Prentiss’ voice was clear and strong. I bit my lips to stop crying, and Spencer wrapped an arm around me, kissing the top of my head.

- “Stephen Walker was a good agent, but he was a better man. He made the world a better place, and we can honor him by doing the work he never got to do.”

He never got to watch his kids grow. He never got to kiss his wife one more time. He didn’t get to retire, have a life, catch Mr. Scratch, and watch how he made the world a better place. There were too many things Stephen didn’t get to do, and all that ‘cos a psycho killer murdered him. I just sobbed and hid my face in Spencer’s shirt. He held me tight and didn’t let me go during the entire ceremony.

I couldn't even talk to Monica, I was too affected. However, I watched Emily and JJ talking with her, so after they lowered the casket and most people were gone, Spencer whispered in my ear:

- “Ready to go?”- and I just nodded.

- “Prentiss asked us to meet her at the BAU.”- Mat announced to us as we started walking. I didn’t want to go there, I wanted to go home and be with my kids. But I knew if Em wanted us to go to the BAU, it was serious. It wasn’t a meeting at Rossi’s after something had emotionally affected the team, it was formal.

When we walked into the conference room, Emily was waiting for us. She stood alone, like taking the room in. God knows how fucked up she was after being taken by Scratch, we had very little time to talk to her. We had little time for anything and everything at that moment. Rossi stood by her side as we all heard her saying to Matt.

- “I wanted to thank you for all of your help.”

- “Well, it was good to be of help. Ever since the IRT went down, I've been sitting on my hands waiting for a new assignment.”- he replied with a short smile.

- “We should sit down tomorrow. We can talk about that.”- Em suggested with a nod.

- “I'd like that.”

I don’t know why knowing there was a chance Matt joined the team made me feel better about my constant thoughts of leaving. Maybe ‘cos it meant someone else could step in and take our place.

- “So we all need to discuss what Peter Lewis' death means for this team.”- Emily was in full chief-of-department mode. Spencer, who was standing by my side, held my hand and intertwined our fingers as he kept looking at Prentiss.

- “It means that Hotch can come back.”- Penelope suggested, which I hadn’t thought about to be honest. Would he like to come back to this job? A job I didn’t know if I wanted anymore?

- “Yeah. We spoke to him. He was relieved that he and Jack were out of danger. They're out of Witness Protection, but...”- Rossi paused as if he didn’t want to break our hearts with the truth.

- “He's not coming back, is he?- JJ finished his sentence and David just nodded.

- “He loves being a full-time dad.”- Prentiss added- “He never got to do that before, and, let's face it, in this job…”

- “There's always gonna be another Scratch, and he's lost enough.”- Rossi’s words were somber, but filled with honesty. Of us all, Aaron Hotchner was the one person who had been forced to sacrifice too much for the team, for the victims, for the benefit of the Bureau. He deserved a life out of that madness and just be happy. Who knew? Maybe Beth could take him back after all those years.

- “We all have.”- Tara pointed out and looked at me. Of course, she knew I was a mess. But to be fair, we were all destroyed after those last couple of days.

- “Yes. We have, which is why the director has ordered us to take some time off from handling cases.”

At that moment right here, I felt like a whole brick wall had been lifted from my shoulders.

- “But before we all leave, there's one last thing I need to say.”- Prentiss continued talking. - “Scratch got deeper into my head than I care to admit, and the only way I was able to stay sane was by repeating a mantra, two words. You know what those two words were?”

- “Fuck you?”- I asked, but Prentiss shook her head.

- “Wheels up. It saved my life when I wasn't sure I was gonna make it because it reminded me that you were out there fighting, so take your rest... You've earned it. But when we get back, wheels up, Matt.”- Em turned to Simmons and he looked at Rossi for a second before answering:

- “Wheels up, Emily.”

- “Wheels up, Tara.”- Prentiss asked and I closed my eyes for a second, feeling the anxiety filling my body. My friend was about to ask us all one by one if we committed to the team after our weeks off and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life.

- “Wheels up.”- Lewis replied with a short smile.

- “Wheels up.”- JJ said before she was asked to answer,

- “Wheels up.” - Penelope did the same, and her voice cracked slightly.

- “Wheels up.” - Luke added

- “Damn right, wheels up.”- Rossi gave it a twist and then turned to my husband. His hand was still holding mine and I gave it a little squeeze. He looked at me and then at the people around us and finally nodded as he replied.

- “Wheels up.”

And then, they all stared at me. I didn’t know what to answer; I was feeling my peers’ pressure. So I opened my mouth and before I knew it, I heard myself saying.

- “Wheels up.”

And I immediately regretted it.

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Text

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo volume 11 - file 01

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo novel translation

Volume 11 - Worth of a Spirit ( prologue )

file 01 - box

1 -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh?” “He isn’t dead yet,” she said.

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

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

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

2 -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It made Yakumo smile unknowingly. -

3 -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What an obvious display. “Actually, one of the families supporting the temple asked for help. Apparently, their daughter is being disturbed by a spiritual phenomena.”

I knew it. As Gotou had suspected, it appeared that Eishin wanted Gotou to resolve a spiritual phenomena.

After quitting the police force, Gotou had been working as a private detective specialising in spiritual phenomena. Maybe he should listen to Eishin’s story with enthusiasm as it practically meant he was getting a job, nevertheless, he couldn’t feel happy about it.

If an incident were to occur like before, he might actually lose his life this time. “I refuse!” Gotou said harshly.

“You should decide after listening,” “Once I’ve listened to it, I won’t be able to ignore it,” stressed Gotou.

“Right,” Eishin put his hands together. “In that case, I should jump straight into telling it.” “I’m saying…” interrupted Gotou, yet his conversation partner ignored him and began speaking. As it turned out, he had unknowingly said something he shouldn't have.

At this point, he was forced to give in. “She’s called Nakamoto-san. She has a daughter in high school named Sana-san. It seems that Sana-san had seen a ghost.”

“The ghost appeared at home?” “No. She said she had seen it on her way home from school.”

“On her way home?” “That’s right. On the sidewalk alongside Tama River, near the water gates.”

“Ah. Over there...” Gotou knew that water gate.

He’d been there previously due to a case. It was impossible for him to forget that place as he had experienced something troubling there. “Apparently she saw a girl standing there.”

“Was it really a ghost?” Gotou spontaneously displayed his doubts. That kid wasn’t Yakumo. If she had merely seen a girl standing, she shouldn’t have been able to tell whether that had been a ghost or not.

“I had the same thought. That was why I asked about it in more detail.” “Then, how was it?”

“In a season like this, the girl she had seen had been drenched from head to toe, even though it hadn’t been raining—” Certainly, that would be strange.

It didn’t seem plausible for someone to jump into a river in the middle of winter such as now. Even if it was summertime, a girl standing around while drenched would still be odd. However—

“Maybe she had seen her after the girl had just got out of the river after falling in by accident?” “Said daughter who had claimed to see a ghost had thought so too at first. Hence, she had asked the girl, ‘are you alright?’ Something along those lines,”

“And then she had disappeared?” asked Gotou. Eishin shook his head. “She hadn’t disappeared.”

“So, what then?” “After asking her that question, the drenched girl had spoken in a trembling voice.”

“What did she say?” “I never wanted that—she said.”

“Never wanted that? Never wanted what?” “I don’t know either. There was still more to the story, though,”

“More?” Eishin didn’t continue his story immediately.

He added a pause to pique Gotou’s curiosity before opening his mouth. “The events at the time had ended there. But ever since that night, she said the drenched girl had been constantly standing outside her window.” “That’s—”

Scary. The image of a drenched girl came into Gotou’s mind.

“Furthermore, the distance grew lesser over time.” “Is that really the case?”

“At first, she had only seen the figure of a human. After three days, she had come to realise that the figure belonged to that girl,” “......”

“She claimed that the drenched girl had now arrived all the way in front of her home.” “Left the way it is, she might eventually enter her room, is that it?” asked Gotou. Eishin nodded firmly.

A ghost that drew closer with each passing day—simply imagining it was terrifying enough. It made Gotou understand why the family had hoped for a monk’s assistance. Even so—

“What will happen if the ghost enters her room?” asked Gotou. Eishin tilted his head. “I have no idea either.”

In horror movies, she might get dragged into purgatory once the ghost entered her room, but those were merely works of fiction. Following the theory that Yakumo had frequently mentioned, ghosts were clusters of human emotions with no physical influence whatsoever.

Put another way, even if the ghost got inside the room, nothing would happen. Still—

Ignoring her would be too pitiful. The girl must be restless out of fear for the ghost that was closing in day by day. It wouldn’t harm her physically, yet her mental state might be burdened.

“Well, that’s how the story goes. So, why don’t we go over there and hear her out directly at least?” said Eishin, grinning wide. “Fine by me, but will we be able to handle it?”

That was the primary concern. “If the case turns out to be tough, we can just rely on Yakumo as always,” Eishin said with no filter.

Gotou disliked the old man’s trait of constantly throwing the responsibility to someone else. Yet he had no way to deny it, as Gotou had begun work as a private detective specialising in spiritual phenomena with the same idea in mind. “Geez. How carefree,” Gotou grumbled as he sighed.

- 4

- Ishii Yuutarou looked up at the house before him, swallowing his saliva until his throat made an audible sound.

A Western-style building two stories high, with brick walls and ornamental decor on its window frames and doors, the house had to be elegant back in the day. There was a reason to say ‘back in the day’.

According to the information, this house had been empty for about two years. With the windows dirty, its interior wasn’t visible, while the front door and rain gutters had rusted into discoloration. Half-dried vines crept up along its walls. Weeds grew lush in the garden to knee-length height. The olive tree next to the house had grown so uncontrollably that its branches covered the entire house.

The house emanated an aura that those who enter would find themselves cursed. Rustle, rustle—

“Eek—!” The abrupt noise going into his ears made Ishii shriek as he jumped. Then came the caws of a crow.

It had been nothing but the sound of a crow flying away from the garden of that house. “So jumpy,” said his superior next to him, Miyagawa Hideya, poking his head lightly.

While small in stature, Miyagawa had a bald head and a sharp gaze. Witnessing his figure dressed in formalwear, he appeared more like a member of the yakuza instead of the police. This place might not be scary for Miyagawa, but it was different for Ishii.

He had a keen interest in books and everything related to the occult: ghosts, monsters, UFOs, UMAs, legends and the like. There had even been times when he became engrossed in such literature during his pastime. Despite that, he merely enjoyed them as reading materials and nothing more.

Having to experience them first-hand was a completely different story. Ever since he had gotten involved with his former superior Gotou, and the university student who could see ghosts, Yakumo, he had witnessed many spiritual cases and thought he had built up a resistance over it by now, but such wasn’t the case after all.

Scary things would remain scary regardless. “B-b-but… if there’s really a ghost…”

“There’s no way,” said Miyagawa, poking Ishii’s head yet again. Why Miyagawa could be so convinced, Ishii didn’t understand in the slightest.

It had all begun three hours ago— A call had connected to the Unsolved Cases Special Investigations Division, where Ishii and Miyagawa were part of.

They had received consecutive reports of a ghost appearing in the vicinity of a luxury home, so they came onsite to check. Their division was impressive in name alone, as their main workload was to sort the paperwork of old cases, abandoned after they had been left unsolved. Instances where their work had been ridiculed and looked down upon hadn’t been unusual.

As a result, troublesome matters such as this were often handed to them. “Anyway, let’s go check,” said Miyagawa, pushing the metal gates to the house open without minding Ishii’s feelings.

The squeaking noise of rusted metal rubbing against each other sounded unpleasant. Ishii wanted to just wait outside, but doing that would be considered neglect of one’s work. Scraping out all the courage from the depths of his heart, Ishii then walked following Miyagawa.

Weeds brushed against his legs. Upon closer observation, the walls were cracked all over, looking like they might collapse any minute now.

So the saying that houses would turn decrepit in the absence of an inhabitant was really true. However, abandoned buildings such as this weren’t uncommon. In recent times, many houses have become desolate and unmaintained because of inheritance problems or from families choosing to only live with their nuclear family members.

The house Ishii and Miyagawa were about to enter was among those abandoned houses. With a little investigation, they had found out that the woman who had owned the house had passed away about two years ago, and her next-of-kin hadn’t come forward afterwards, so the house had been left as it was.

Strange. Ishii sensed something off.

The old woman used to live here alone. If a ghost were to appear, it should’ve been the ghost of that old woman. Yet the testimonies of witnesses who had seen the ghost had claimed that the ghost had been of a middle school girl.

Thinking in that direction, most likely they had mistaken what they had seen. Ishii convinced himself with said thought to gain his courage. “Let’s go in,” Miyagawa mumbled before reaching for the doorknob of the front door.

He turned the doorknob, pulled it, and the door opened with the creaking sound of something being dragged. The entryway was spacious and across from it extended a long corridor.

It was dark even though it was daytime. Whether the place had been built like this or the overgrown tree branches were in the way of sunlight— Whichever it was, Ishii felt as if time flowed differently inside this house.

“What an eerie place,” Miyagawa grumbled as he went in with his shoes still on. Ishii was briefly on the fence about taking off his shoes, but upon seeing all the dust accumulating on the floor, he immediately went after Miyagawa.

Miyagawa went along the corridor and opened a door to his right. It seemed to be the living room; its floor covered in carpet, along with a sofa, a table, as well as a fireplace.

They must’ve looked luxurious in the past, yet they were all dusty and worn down now. “There’s no one here,” Miyagawa set his eyes across the entire room.

“You’re right. Let’s head back.” “What are you even saying?”

Miyagawa poked his head for the third time. “B-but…”

“No buts. There are still a lot of other rooms. Let’s split up and check them all.” It had been Miyagawa’s strength to maintain his enthusiasm over work despite all the complaints. Unlike Ishii who wanted them to just go home right now.

“I’ll check the second floor. You check the other rooms on the first floor,” ordered Miyagawa before directly ascending the stairs without waiting for Ishii’s reply. Ishii knew it would be more efficient to split up, yet he was afraid of going around the first floor by himself. Still, he doubted he would get away with a mere poke in the head if he continued to stay still at a place like this.

It’s fine! There’s nothing! Reassuring himself that way, he opened the door to the room across the living room.

It was a Japanese-style room with an area of around eight tatami. He would never have imagined there would be a tatami room in a Western-style building such as this. Compared to the living room from earlier, there was nothing here. “Nothing’s here,” said Ishii, closing the door without going inside.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, he walked through the corridor and stood before the door at the end of the hall. He only needed to check this room, afterwards all that was left would be the toilet and bathroom. Ishii slowly pushed the door until it opened.

The creaking noise whenever he opened a door creeped him out every time. The room to which he had pushed the door open was a room ten tatami large. The floor was covered in red carpet, and placed in the middle of the room was a bed that looked like ones used to care for the ill.

Next to it was a wheelchair and a few tools that appeared to be medical equipment, though he had no idea of their exact purpose. The owner of this house had been an old woman. Perhaps she had lived out her final days whilst being looked after in this room.

As he thought that— A strange sound was caught by his ears.

Fu fu fu. He didn’t know what sound it was at first.

Fu fu fu fu. The sound could be heard again.

By this point, Ishii realised what the sound was. It was—

The sound of laughter. He had thought there was a group of people chattering outside at first, but that wasn’t the case. The sound just now had clearly originated from inside the room.

So the stories of a ghost girl appearing around here had been true after all. “Hey—”

In contrast to the laughter from before, this voice sounded crystal clear. I mustn’t look.

That was the command instructed by his brain, yet against the wishes of his thoughts, his body turned in the direction where the voice had come from. “Eek!”

Ishii froze in place. There should’ve been no one just now. Yet he didn’t know how long a girl had been sitting on the bed, staring into Ishii as she swung her legs back and forth.

She was smiling innocently and casually, but Ishii found it extremely terrifying. “Hey, tell me where?” asked the girl with a smile.

Ishii fell sitting down from all the shock. The next second, the girl hopped down from the bed and walked towards Ishii.

I need to run, he thought, yet his body couldn’t move an inch. “Gyaaa!”

Ishii screamed with all his strength. -

5 -

Ozawa Haruka stood in front of the last door on the first floor of the two-storey prefabricated building behind building B. This building was lent out by the university to be used as clubrooms for student circles and organisational activities.

A plate with the words <Movie Research Circle> hung at the door before Haruka. In reality, such a circle didn’t exist.

The owner of this room—a university student named Saitou Yakumo—had filled out some paperwork, tricking the university so that he could turn this room into his place of residence. “Hey—” greeted Haruka as she opened the door.”

“It’s you,” said Yakumo who was sitting on a chair lazily. His face may be good looking, yet his messed up hair and heavily drooping eyelids like someone fresh out of bed made him appear sloppy.

His appearance, paying no heed to the season with the white shirt and jeans, further supported that impression. “You’re so cold even though I came all the way to visit,” grumbled Haruka who then sat on the folding chair in front of Yakumo.

Though Haruka commented on his attitude being cold, there was a vast improvement compared to before. Previously, the words ‘it’s you’ used to be preceded by an unpleasantly said ‘oh’. Yakumo wouldn’t even look at Haruka’s face.

When they had just met, the man had been acting like an unsociable, eccentric character, but he slowly began to change over time. He no longer hid his red left eye with a black contact lens as he had before, and his words towards Haruka had become slightly more amicable.

Especially since the events of the last case, said tendency felt more prominent than ever. On the topic of that case, Haruka had unknowingly said something that resembled a confession towards Yakumo.

After saying such a thing, Yakumo should’ve taken notice of Haruka’s feelings. However, he had yet to give any reply in response.

At some point, Yakumo had seemed to want to express it, though his words had remained vague in the end. Haruka herself didn’t want to forcefully demand an answer.

She was comfortable with the distance they had now: more than friends yet less than lovers. Honestly, though, she was scared of hearing Yakumo's true feelings. If Yakumo were to say he wanted them to remain as friends or that he only saw her like a little sister—Haruka wouldn’t have the confidence to get back on her feet.

“I don’t recall ever asking you to come,” said Yakumo, interrupting Haruka’s daydream. “I don’t recall being asked either,” Haruka puffed out her chest.

Back then she could only quietly endure Yakumo’s insults, but recently she was able to talk back. Perhaps that meant the one who had changed wasn’t Yakumo, but Haruka herself. “You’ve got nothing to do?” asked Yakumo as he held back a yawn.

“Yup. Nothing.” said Haruka straightforwardly. “That’s not something to brag about,” said Yakumo in disbelief, but Haruka felt she had the right to be proud.

She had passed the qualification test to become a teacher and had landed a job that would start in the upcoming April. She had also gained enough academic credits to graduate. Only thing left to be done was to finish her undergraduate thesis. Despite her involvement in various cases, she had proven to carry out her tasks diligently.

When Haruka expressed that with enthusiasm, Yakumo let out a long sigh. “That doesn’t mean you have to come here. You can go on a graduation trip or do part-time work, there are various things you can do.”

Yakumo’s words had a point. Her university days wouldn’t remain for much longer. Spending time with friends was also important. However, to Haruka, the time she spent with Yakumo was just as irreplaceable.

After graduation, she wouldn’t be able to carefreely visit Yakumo like this anymore. While she hadn’t heard of Yakumo’s plans after graduation, whatever it may be, the fact remained that the distance between them would grow wider. This room may be barren with nothing but a table, some chairs, a fridge and a sleeping bag, yet Haruka’s most unforgettable memories throughout her campus life was of this room, where she had met Yakumo for the first time.

If only she hadn’t met Yakumo back then—surely Haruka’s university days would’ve been completely different. And not just her university days. Her life itself would have changed.

Her encounter with Yakumo had led to her involvement in all sorts of cases. Her life had been put in danger more than just once or twice. Yet the truth remained that she had gained a lot from it.

Haruka had also gotten to know people she would never have met, had she led the average university life. Throughout those meetings, she had learned many things and had created memories too many to count.

That was why, as much as possible, Haruka wished to spend what few university days she had left in this room. “Don’t worry, I’ve already got plans to go on a graduation trip. I’ve also been studying in preparation for my job.”

“Good to hear that you have a lot of plans. My bad although you came all the way, but I have things to do as well,” Yakumo held back a yawn as he slowly stood up before putting on the coat that had been hanging over the backrest of the chair. “You’re going somewhere?” said Haruka, to which Yakumo frowned in response.

He appeared to debate whether to talk about it. “I want to investigate something for a bit,” said Yakumo, scratching the tip of his nose.

“Investigate something?” “A spiritual phenomenon.”

Courtesy of Yakumo’s unique ability, he had often received requests in regards to spiritual cases. Haruka too had met Yakumo because she had wanted to ask him to solve a spiritual case.

Ever since then, Haruka had often brought him spiritual cases, earning the label of troublemaker from Yakumo, but lately the number of cases she brought had dropped significantly. “Did Gotou-san ask for your help?”

Aside from Haruka, the person who had often brought spiritual cases to Yakumo was undoubtedly Gotou. “No.”

“Then, was it Ishii-san, or Makoto-san?” “That’s not it either,” Yakumo shook his head.

“So, a new person’s request?” Rumours that Yakumo was an expert in spiritual cases had spread widely enough within and outside the campus.

Someone must have heard about it and had come to seek his assistance. “It’s not a request.”

“Eh?” Yakumo, investigating a spiritual case without being asked? What’s the meaning of this?

Unable to comprehend it, Haruka tilted her head, causing Yakumo to let out a bitter laugh. After going silent for some time, Yakumo scratched his nape and began talking. “Last night, a ghost showed up in my room—”

“The ghost came here?” “That’s right.”

“Who was it?” “The face wasn’t clearly visible. Only thing I know is that it was a female ghost. Just that...”

“What?” “To me, she looked like she was suffering greatly.”

“Suffering...” “Yeah. I don’t know the specifics, but she seemed to be harbouring a deep sorrow—that was how it felt.” Yakumo narrowed his eyes, staring somewhere far.

Maybe he was picturing the image of the ghost that had appeared the night before. “And so you want to do something for her,”

“Well, I might have caught some of your nosiness…” Yakumo turned his face away and ruffled his bedhead hair. Watching the sight of the man before her, the corners of Haruka’s eyes grew hot and without realising, her tears nearly fell.

Is that so— Yakumo could understand the feelings of the ghost he had happened to see and had taken it upon himself to help without being requested by anyone.

All this time Yakumo had always hated his red left eye. He had even deemed his red eye as a curse. That was why he had remained passive over spiritual cases and had refused to be involved. Only after much convincing from the people around him would he reluctantly take action.

Despite so— Now Yakumo was willing to look into a spiritual case without anyone asking him to.

This was a first. During the previous case, Yakumo had called the man with two red eyes, his biological father and subject of hatred this entire time—Unkai—using the word ‘father’.

Perhaps Yakumo might have been able to accept his existence in a positive light ever since. He might have started to believe that his left red eye wasn’t a curse, but rather a power that could bring salvation. Hence, he was willing to face the ghost out of his own volition.

“I’m going too.” Haruka said so without so much as thinking.

- 6

- “Please help…” asked the woman sitting in front of her with a ghastly pale face.

Her hair was unkempt, her eyes bloodshot, and her skin was noticeably dry. She appeared to be exhausted. This woman had reached out to Hijikata Makoto yesterday.

To be more precise, she had sent a message through the enquiry form on the website of the newspaper company Makoto was working for. It contained a request for help over being followed by a ghost.

Normally, a newspaper company wouldn’t have acted upon receiving such a message. They wouldn’t respond or would merely advise the sender to make a police report. Yet for some reason, this case had landed on Makoto’s lap.

The reasoning was obvious. In the office, Makoto had been labelled as an occult lover.

Unfortunately, Makoto hadn’t acquired that label out of love for the occult. She had merely ended up being involved in such cases ever since she had encountered a university student who could see spirits of the dead—Saitou Yakumo.

Because of that, her image at the workplace had become odd, and the person who had seen the message had passed it to Makoto half jokingly. She could’ve just refused, but Makoto had chosen to meet up with the message sender.

It would be easy to dismiss being followed by a ghost as a ridiculous, laughable thing, yet based on her experience so far, such a story could end up becoming an unexpected case. That was the reason she had contacted the message sender and had requested her to come down to her workplace meeting room.

“Could you explain what happened in detail?” asked Makoto, and the woman nodded. Even so, she didn’t speak immediately. Perhaps this woman was still somewhat panicked. At times like this, urging her wouldn’t be a good idea.

Makoto waited until the woman had calmed back down. Some time passed before the woman spoke in a dwindling voice, “I found something strange...”

“Something strange?” “At our university there’s an archival facility that is about to be renovated, so some of the documents stored there are to be relocated to an old warehouse across the road from it,” the woman said in rapid fire out of fear.

But at the sudden mention of ‘our university’ and ‘archival facility’, Makoto couldn’t follow the story at all. She hadn’t even learned the name of this person speaking to her. She might have made a mistake in asking her to talk in detail straight away.

“Wait a minute. I suppose I got the order wrong. First of all, could you introduce yourself?” said Makoto to restart. “Sorry. My name is Yasui Maki. I’m a student at Meisei University majoring in medicine.”

Her voice had grown calmer than before. Meisei University, where Makoto’s acquaintances—Yakumo and Haruka—studied was a university notorious for its difficulty. All the more when it came to its faculty of medicine.

“Majoring in medicine? How impressive,” “Not at all,”

“The archival facility you mentioned, was it the one at the western gate of Meisei University?” Makoto asked, and Maki nodded. Makoto had never set foot at Meisei University’s archival facility, though she knew of the location.

The place had been used as a laboratory by the Japanese ground forces during the war, and according to rumours, weapons and the raw materials used to create them had been discovered there. Among them were objects deemed problematic from the perspective of both humanitarian and international law. Truly a dark relic of the past. Despite that, Meisei University maintained part of the building as an anti-war message for citizens of the future, transforming it into an archival facility.

Aside from the structure that had been made into an archival building, there was another building that had used to be a lab and now became a warehouse. Having been built in the beginning of the Showa era, the building had aged quite a bit. Renovations of the archival facility might have also been planned because the building had weathered from its age.

“So, you were helping to relocate documents from the archival facility to the warehouse for temporary storage, right?” asked Makoto. Maki then gave a nod. It wasn’t uncommon to enlist the help of their own university students to reduce labour costs.

“There were quite a number of items and the work continued until late into the night… That was when someone found a door in the warehouse.” “A door?”

“Yes. Not your typical vertical door on the wall. It was on the floor. Like a basement...” “And then you guys opened that door?” asked Makoto.

Maki’s expression turned worse. “Yes. I was against it, but Shinozaki-kun was insistent…” “Only the two of you went inside?”

Maki shook her head before saying, “No. I think there were six people in total.” “And then?”

“After opening the door, there was a ladder leading down to the basement, and everyone descended there. Down the ladder was a large room.” “What’s the interior like?”

“There were a few shelves on the wall, and aside from documents, there were rows of medicine bottles.” “Like a doctor's examination room?”

“Slightly different from that. There was an old operating table too. It felt like an operating theatre or an autopsy room...” Could it have been one of the facilities used by the Japanese ground forces?

Makoto had that thought initially, but she set the idea aside immediately. If the strange object the woman had mentioned in the beginning had been there since wartime, it had to have been at least eighty years of age. For it to remain there untouched felt unnatural. “I see.”

“Then, there was where we found something peculiar.” “Something peculiar?”

“A box—” said Maki in a trembling voice. “A box?”

Makoto tilted her head in confusion. “Yes. There was a box. It was made out of metal and was rusted here and there, shaped like a coffin.”

“......” “That wasn’t all. The box was covered in lots of talismans.”

A box plastered with many talismans— “Certainly, that would be odd.”

“Furthermore, there were letters carved onto the lid,” said Maki, leaning her body forward. “What sort of letters?”

“Take a look.” Maki took out her phone from inside her bag, and after operating it for some time she handed the phone so that Makoto could see.

The phone screen displayed a single photo. It must’ve been taken using a flash in a dark room. The box Maki had mentioned was captured there with a bluish white light shining over it.

Makoto could also see the countless talismans pasted against the box. Yet the crucial detail that was the engraved letters couldn’t be seen clearly. Maki, seemingly having read Makoto’s mind, operated her phone to zoom into a particular section of the photo.

Indeed, some letters had been carved there.

This box shouldn’t be opened.

The letters had to have been carved using a sharp object. The box was fairly old and the carved area also appeared to have rusted. “Maki-san, did you see the inside of this box?”

Maki grimaced. “I didn’t see what was inside, but…” she said, covering her face with both hands. Just what had she gone through?

The time spent waiting for her answer felt unusually long to Makoto. -

7 -

“So, where do we start?” Haruka asked Yakumo, who was leaving the Movie Research Circle clubroom. Though they intended to investigate the spiritual phenomenon together, Haruka wouldn’t be able to make a move without knowing exactly what she needed to do.

“That’s the troublesome part,” said Yakumo, scratching his head in annoyance. “Troublesome?”

“As I said earlier, I saw the ghost, but her face was unclear. I could predict her age, but that was all.” “So, you wanted to look into the ghost’s identity, but you don’t have enough clues to do so,” said Haruka, and Yakumo laughed.

“What’s so funny?” “You can finally use your head a little,“ said Yakumo as he placed a hand on top of Haruka’s head.

His words just now were implying as if Haruka had never used her head all this time. Though annoyed, Haruka set aside her desire to retaliate. After all, that had indeed been the case from time to time.

There was a part of her that didn’t try to think for herself, always relying on Yakumo to find the answer. However, they’ve investigated many cases together, so she could more or less read Yakumo’s mind.

“So, what are we going to do?” asked Haruka, returning from her thoughts. The main problem was how they were going to find out the ghost’s identity despite not knowing her face—

“Firstly, we can request Ishii-san to show us a list of people who were murdered, got into an accident, or went missing, and then search within that list.” They’ve used that method countless times until now.

Ghosts were spirits who wander from some form of lingering attachment to this world. They often weren’t people who had died naturally from illness or age, but had experienced unnatural deaths related to cases and the like. Murder victims, accidents, and missing persons cases were a good category to begin the search.

“The thing is...” “What is it?”

“I’ve tried calling Ishii-san’s phone, but there was no answer.” Yakumo’s voice sounded disappointed.

Haruka understood how he felt, but it couldn’t be helped. Ishii was a police officer on duty. He didn’t have the sort of free time university students do. “He’ll call back eventually.”

“Right,” said Yakumo with a shrug. Ishii was a meticulous person. As long as nothing was in the way, he wouldn’t simply let their call go unanswered. They just had to wait until Ishii had the time to call them back.

Haruka then felt something was off. “Even if Ishii-san showed us that list, wouldn’t it still be difficult to identify who the person is?”

Yakumo hadn’t seen the ghost’s face clearly. The number of murder victims may not be a lot, but when combined with accident victims and missing persons, it would surely add up to a high number of people.

Over eighty thousand people went missing every year. With simple calculation, there would be eight hundred thousand missing people over the span of ten years. Even if they narrowed them based on gender and age range, it would still amount to a lot. Furthermore, even if they scanned through the list, comparing it to the ghost that had appeared in front of Yakumo felt like it would be difficult.

“As for that, I have a way to narrow down the list, so no need to worry,” said Yakumo with a smile. “How do you plan on doing that?”

“The ghost showed up in my room. What do you think that means?” asked Yakumo. Normally Haruka would have immediately asked, ‘what do you mean?’ without thinking it through, but this time was different.

Even she knew what Yakumo was trying to say. “This is within the campus grounds. It would be unnatural for a ghost that has nothing to do with this university to come to your room.”

Yakumo nodded in satisfaction. “I thought so too. Even if she just happened to come to my room, it feels unlikely for her to be wandering around the campus for no reason.” “So that means the ghost is someone with a connection with this university,”

“Precisely,” Yakumo snapped his fingers. If they were to narrow the list down to that of students, instructors, and staff at Meisei University, then the total number should become fairly limited.

Identifying the ghost Yakumo had seen would no longer be an impossible task. “So we can only wait for Ishii-san to call back for the time being…”

“I don’t want to just sit around and wait,” said Yakumo firmly. “Do you have some other method?��

“Yeah.” “What are you planning to do?”

“Don’t you know?” “I don’t, so I asked.”

“Simple enough. We’ll just ask.” “Ask? As in we go around and ask people who that woman is?”

“Not like that. Before coming to my place, it’s possible she was already wandering within the campus grounds.” At that point, Haruka finally understood what Yakumo was trying to say.

“So there could be other people who have seen that ghost—is that it?” “Basically,” Yakumo said, full of confidence, yet it felt overly reckless to Haruka.

“Don’t tell me you plan to go around and ask the next person you see?” “That’s just how information gathering works,” said Yakumo, as if implying ‘what are you talking about?’— to Haruka.

Gathering information by means of asking around may be effective for larger organisations such as the police, but it felt impossible to gather witness accounts with the two of them alone. Meisei University was a large-scale institution. The total number of students combined could easily reach thirty thousand people. Even the campus grounds were vast in size; there were many buildings Haruka had never been into.

Unfortunately, this method could hardly be considered efficient. Yakumo has a bright mind and he was an expert at making analysis based on what little information was gathered, yet on the contrary, his way of gathering information was often inefficient.

Previously, while investigating a certain spiritual case, he had also retrieved a list of students’ names, and at the time he too had intended to look through them manually one by one. Even though it would’ve been faster to search through the database, he hadn’t thought that far.

“There’s no need to go around and ask, I think it’ll be faster to gather information through social media,” Haruka suggested. Yakumo made a clearly displeased look. “It’s the same as going around and asking, right.”

“It’s completely different. We could ask people to spread it and gather information efficiently.” “Spread… what are you saying?”

Yakumo frowned. What a rigid-minded person, not grasping how convenient the internet could be despite being a youngster himself.

Haruka felt as if she’d discovered Yakumo’s weakness and unknowingly burst into laughter. She sensed a glare aimed at her—

Yet Haruka wasn’t scared at all. Rather, she felt it was adorable. Even so, as Yakumo might get cranky from being continuously made fun of, Haruka eventually cleared her throat and held back her laugh.

“Anyway, let’s try spreading through Twitter that we’re appealing for information. If anyone knows of such a story, we’ll meet them and ask about it, how does that sound?” said Haruka. Yakumo sighed a little as he went back to sit on his chair. While he didn’t give a reply, he seemed to agree with Haruka’s suggestion.

Haruka typed ‘please share’, stating that she was looking for anyone who had seen a female ghost around Meisei University grounds and made a post on Twitter. Aside from that, she also sent the same message in her club and seminar LINE groups. This way, a decent number of people on campus should see it.

“What a boring era,” mumbled Yakumo. -

8 -

Gotou and Eishin visited the residence of Nakamoto Sana, who had claimed to experience a spiritual phenomenon. The house was located within one row of similarly designed ready-to-move houses at a newly built residential area near the Tama River.

From the outside, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The roads within the residential area were neatly paved and the buildings were designed without fences between them, giving it a sense of openness.

It made Gotou doubt whether a ghost had truly appeared in such a place. Well, standing around here wouldn’t solve anything. They first needed to meet the girl who had seen said ghost.

Eishin sounded the intercom and the mother who had sought their assistance soon greeted them. As usual, Eishin introduced Gotou with the strange name ‘Kumakichi’. Gotou wanted to protest, but held himself back as arguing here would only be a waste of time.

The mother spoke, “My apologies for consulting about something strange despite your busy schedule,” as she bowed over and over. They were being ushered up the staircase, and walked all the way until they reached in front of her daughter Sana’s room on the second floor.

“Just this far is alright. Leave the rest to me and Kumakichi—” said Eishin. The mother appeared a little puzzled, though she simply said, “I’ll be in your care,” before excusing herself and went down the stairs.

“Well then. It’s time to show off your ability, Kumakichi,” Eishin said with a mocking laugh. “Kumakichi this, Kumakichi that, so noisy. My name isn’t Kumakichi. Besides, I can’t see ghosts like Yakumo, so there’s nothing I can do.”

“Is that something to brag about?” Eishin snorted, laughing. It certainly wasn’t something to brag about. Besides, for what reason would he come here if there was nothing he could do—

Still, he couldn’t go home just like that. Even if he had to seek Yakumo’s assistance, he needed to confirm what had actually happened.

Gotou changed his mood and knocked on the door. No answer.

Is no one inside? No, the mother had brought them here, so surely she wasn’t out at the moment.

As the door wasn’t locked, Gotou turned the doorknob and opened it. That instant—

“Hyaa!” A scream could be heard.

Covered in a futon from head to toe, someone was curled up in one corner of the room. She must be Sana.

Gotou intended to enter the room, but immediately halted his legs upon seeing the odd state of the room. Even though it was daytime, the room was dark.

The curtains hanging over the window were completely shut. That wasn’t all. The windows were covered with tape and cardboard. No wonder it was dark.

Gotou felt around the wall, pressing the switch there to turn the lights on. “No! Don’t turn on the lights!” Sana screamed, covered in futon and trembling.

This level of fear was unusual. “Sana-san, right? You can be rest assured. We came to get rid of the ghost,” Eishin gave a friendly greeting as he crouched in front of Sana.

Responding to Eishin’s voice, Sana finally popped her face out of the futon as she trembled. Her complexion was pale and her eyes were bloodshot.

She seemed to have trouble sleeping out of fear. Witnessing the state the girl was in, it made sense that her mother had gone to consult a monk such as Eishin. “I’m a monk named Eishin. The man standing there is a spirit medium named Kumakichi,” Eishin said, pointing at Gotou.

Kumakichi again! Gotou really wanted to protest, but it felt inappropriate to bicker in front of Sana who was so terrified she ended up in that state, so he nodded in silence.

“In order to get rid of the ghost, we’d like to hear the story in detail, is that alright?” asked Eishin, and Sana gave a small nod. Eishin threw a look at Gotou for him to take over.

“There are a few things I’d like to ask,” Gotou began, attempting to imitate Eishin with the use of a gentle tone. “Y-yes,” Sana answered despite looking terrified still.

“When you said the ghost kept coming closer, what was it like exactly?” “She could be seen from that window. At first I only saw a figure that looked like her in the distance. The following day she was already at a distance that made her clearly visible...The next day, she was even closer than before...” Sana explained as she pointed at the bedroom window. The window was facing out to the road in front of the house.

Gotou approached said window, about to open the curtains when Sana let out a high-pitched scream, “Don’t! She might get inside if you open them…” she said with a voice close to tears. Sana seemed to believe that the ghost would enter the home at some point. Terrified at the thought, she remained guarded and shut herself in her room.

“You don’t go outside?” “How could I go out? If I go out, then that ghost will…”

The words that trailed after were vague. Gotou had often been consulted over spiritual cases such as this. Yet, to be honest, most of his clients had merely been mistaken. Fear had taken control of them to the extent that mere everyday things would seem terrifying.

Though, based on the reaction of the girl in front of him, Gotou felt Sana might have really seen a ghost. “When you saw that ghost, did she say anything?” Gotou landed another question, further fueling Sana’s fear.

“......” “Eh?”

Gotou couldn’t grasp her whisper-like voice. “I never wanted that! That’s what she told me!” Sana yelled.

“Do you know the meaning of those words?” Gotou tried asking again, but Sana merely shook her head. Nevermind that, she even covered her face with both hands and started crying, so they could no longer continue the conversation.

Even if they continued to stay here, there wasn’t much more information they could gain. They seemed to have no choice but to involve Yakumo. Gotou discussed the fact with Eishin and decided to retreat home.

Upon leaving the Nakamoto residence, Gotou and Eishin walked, heading to the location where Sana had seen the ghost. On their way there, Gotou stopped and panted.

Although they didn’t walk too far, his forehead was covered in sweat. Walking with a cast and crutch consumed more stamina than he had imagined. It might have been better for him to refuse.

Gotou stared at the distance, watching the surface of the calmly flowing stream of Tama River. On the opposite side of the river, a few white herons were resting their wings.

Gotou was suddenly reminded of the case from way back. It had been the first case he had handled with Ishii when he had still been working in the police force. I wonder how Ishii’s doing now?

He didn’t spend long sinking in his feelings. They had only met each other several days ago. Gotou didn’t need to be missing his ex-subordinate. And yet, why did he feel this way?

Perhaps what Gotou was missing wasn’t Ishii, but the days he had spent as a police officer. When he had caused a scandal, Gotou had been partly carried away by emotions and resigned.

He never regretted the fact. But— At the time he had been so fired up, rushing into things without giving them much thought.

“What’s wrong? Tired already?” said Eishin who walked beside him in a mocking tone. What an irritating bastard of a monk.

“Shut up. Whose fault do you think that I’m like this?” Gotou clicked his tongue and continued walking. “Proper adults don’t throw responsibilities to other people.”

Eishin’s way of speaking annoyed Gotou, but despite saying that, Eishin seemed to be adjusting his pace to match Gotou who was using a crutch. Even despite that, Gotou had no intention to thank him.

As they approached a large Western-style house that seemed old and abandoned, a scream reached their ears. The unusual scream made Gotou stand on guard.

Eishin stopped as well, looking around to find the source of that scream. What was that just now?

Soon after Gotou thought that, the entrance to the large house nearby opened with a bam and someone burst out from within. “Uwaaa!”

Said person screamed whilst running fast at Gotou’s direction. Gotou wanted to dodge, but he couldn’t react the way he wanted as he was still in a cast. Before he knew it, he was being jumped right from the front and crashed on the spot.

“Ow...” Incredible pain spread through his hips.

Not only that, all the injuries he had sustained from being hit by a car felt painful at the same time. Who is it even?

Gotou pushed, shoving away the person who had crushed him from above. Seeing the face of the person rolling to their back, Gotou’s eyes widened instantly.

“Ishii!” “D-Detective Gotou!”

“Why are you here?” His question overlapped with Ishii, wording out the same exact question.

- 9

- A man sat among the grass near the embankment and gazed to the other side of he river—

He could see two men walking there. What they were talking about couldn’t reach his ears, not even their faces could be seen very well.

And yet— He knew they were different from him.

How did it become like this? That question emerged from the depths of his mind.

Said question had appeared over and over all this time. Searching for an answer wouldn’t change the current state he was in, nor could what he had lost return to him.

Nothing would change no matter how much he tried. That fact tortured him endlessly.

Why was he the only one who had to suffer like this? He hadn’t done anything.

That’s right. He hadn’t done anything. That day, suddenly the person he treasured had been cruelly snatched away. Even though he hadn’t done a single crime, his life force was simply extinguished for no reason.

He was angered and saddened by the fact. However—

That had merely been the start. Society was merciless towards the weak. They would relentlessly stomp on those weaker than them as if taking out their day-to-day frustration.

They could casually ridicule those who were suffering, ruining them without pity. Even screams of pain wouldn’t make them stop their actions.

To them, it didn’t matter who. Anyone would do, so long as they were weak. The man had been out of luck, having to face such a thing. If their positions were reversed, he might also do the same.

He shuddered at the thought. Shouldn't those who picked at the aching heart of another without noticing no longer be called humans?

They didn’t realise that fact; this was what made the man’s heart grow heavier. And that wasn’t the only tragedy.

The man tried closing his eyes, covering his ears, distancing himself from those evil deeds carried out unknowingly as he could protect his heart that way. Even so—

That wasn’t the case for some. There were those who would face such malicious actions upfront, blaming themselves, experiencing regret, reminiscing days that would never come back.

And then— As if inevitable, their hearts were destroyed.

Even worse, that destruction didn’t stop at their own hearts. Gradually, it would influence those around them, eventually affecting the man’s life, further escalating over time.

That had taken away his job, his close friends, and the future he was meant to have. Even though he hadn’t done anything, everything was taken away from him as if they were evil people.

The man tightly clenched his fists. Hands that were covered in dust, rough, and bony. Before everything had happened, his hands hadn’t been like this.

Back then his hands hadn’t been dirty in the slightest, and his fingers could even be considered slender. The life of earning an income from doing day labour was now reflecting on his hands. Not even his tears would come out anymore.

Lowering his head as he growled, he took notice of someone standing behind him. Even without turning around, he had an idea on who it was.

That woman. “I can change your fate—” said the woman.

Those words slid right into his ears, sounding incredibly sweet. However, as opposed to what he felt in his ears, the man’s heart ached. The pain gradually spread, like a long needle slowly being pierced in.

He knew. He should’ve stood up, quickly ran away from this woman, forgotten everything, and let himself live this nonsensical life. Despite that—

“Is that really real?” asked the man, still staring at his fists. “Yes. Really. I’m not lying. You might be able to help the person you love.”

“That’s impossible at this point.” The man shook his head. The face of his loved ones flashed inside his mind.

Even though they should’ve had many happier memories, at times like this, what always came to mind was what he saw of them for the final time. “Is it truly impossible?”

“Eh?” He knew that it was impossible, yet he grew surprised at the woman’s tone, asking back full of confidence.

The man eventually turned around to face the woman speaking to him. The woman formed a thin smile on her red lips.

“You saw it, didn’t you? What’s inside the box—” Indeed, he had seen it.

The human head inside the box— And the state it had been in. Even though it should’ve been dead physically, the head had opened its eyes.

As if it had been alive still. Could that have been a trick? Or—he tried thinking about it, though he couldn’t find an answer in the end.

“You can still make it. You can still take back your future.” Those red lips shifted like they breathed a life of their own.

- 10

- “Ah, what about this one?” said Haruka as she showed her phone to Yakumo.

The screen displayed one of the spiritual phenomena that had been gathered through her appeal in social media. It claimed that at Building B wandered the ghost of a male university student who had committed suicide by jumping a few years back.

“Well, it’s possible,” said Yakumo upon reading. For some reason, there was a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Something wrong?” asked Haruka. “About what?” Yakumo asked in response with drowsy eyes.

“You don’t seem too enthusiastic.” “A little, I guess.”

“Why?” “Social media may be efficient for gathering information, but I can’t help doubting their credibility.”

“Is that so?” “People could simply type a few lines and send it out. It’s easy for them to lie.”

Yakumo’s words had some truth to it. When it came to information from the internet, including social media, locating the sources could be difficult, thus decreasing their credibility. But— “Even if we asked directly, we could still get lied to.”

“We could easily tell whether they were lying or not through their expression and movement.” “Well, that’s true,”

It was impossible for someone like Haruka, but someone as sharp as Yakumo should be able to see past a lie with ease. “Well, at least I know that this information is fake,” said Yakumo firmly.

“Why do you think it’s fake?” “The location.”

“Location?” “That’s right. The information stated that the ghost appeared at Building B, right?”

“Yes.” The Movie Research Circle that was Yakumo’s room was located behind Building B. Based on the location, Haruka had instead thought it was likely about the ghost Yakumo had seen.

“Furthermore, it said it was of a student who jumped to his death a few years ago.” “Right,”

Reaching that explanation, Haruka finally understood. If the ghost had been haunting around Building B since a few years back, Yakumo would’ve taken notice a long time ago.

“Besides, the gender was different,” said Yakumo, holding back a yawn. “Ah, you’re right.”

Reading it carefully, the information had stated it to be a male student, while the ghost Yakumo had seen was female. As Yakumo had said, there seemed to be issues with its credibility.

She began to think it would be better for them to ask around directly, when a knock could be heard from the door. When Yakumo spoke, “It’s not locked,” the door opened and a woman appeared.

“Makoto-san!” Haruka exclaimed upon seeing her face. She had gotten to know Makoto, a newspaper journalist, from a previous case. Ever since then, they had been involved in a number of cases together.

The woman might have an intelligent and graceful appearance, yet she also held strong beliefs and conviction as well as being especially proactive in taking action. “Good day. I see Haruka-chan is here too,” said Makoto with a smile.

“Yes.” “So, how are things with Yakumo-kun after that?” Makoto whispered in Haruka’s ears.

It was so sudden, Haruka was at a loss for words. “Ah, no, that...” Seeing Haruka panic, Makoto laughed. “Still more than friends but less than lovers?”

Being told that made Haruka deeply embarrassed and her face turned red. “Makoto-san too, how are things going with Ishii-san on your end?” responded Haruka, dejected. She could vaguely sense that Makoto had feelings for Ishii. On top of that, their relationship seemed to have gotten closer as of late.

“We’re in the same boat, are we,” Makoto shrugged. “You guys aren’t dating yet?”

“Well, we both have a lot going on.” “Busy, huh,”

“That’s why we both have to keep going so we won’t miss the timing.” “Yes...” replied Haruka, laughing bitterly.

Honestly, Haruka felt she had already missed the timing. Leaving things as they were, it felt like her relationship with Yakumo would remain unclear and reach its end. And yet, she didn’t dare to breach this subject.

Keeping this up, she would end up graduating from university, parting ways with Yakumo without anything happening, and regretting it all. “So, what’s the matter today?” Yakumo asked, mixed with a sigh.

He might have gotten fed up watching two women chatting in whispers so his gaze turned cold. “Ah, right. Truth is, there’s something I want to discuss,” Makoto opened the conversation in a formal tone after adjusting her posture.

Reading the situation, the thing Makoto wanted to discuss had to be related to a spiritual phenomenon. “Here,” said Haruka, offering her seat to Makoto and then moving to the chair next to Yakumo.

After waiting for Makoto to sit down, Yakumo asked, “So, what do you want to discuss?” From his expression, Yakumo also seemed to have suspected that this had to do with a spiritual phenomenon.

“Actually, there was a woman who asked for my help, saying that she was being followed by a ghost.” As she began telling her story, Makoto’s face turned more serious than usual.

“The ghost didn’t appear out of nowhere, right? Was there anything that caused it?” asked Yakumo. Makoto nodded firmly. “This woman was doing the work of relocating items from an archival facility to a warehouse, and chanced upon a door in that warehouse.”

“A door?” “Yes. The door wasn’t on the wall, but placed on the floor leading to the basement.”

“Then?” “She went down into the basement with the people that were with her, and discovered a room that looked like an operating theatre.”

An underground operating theatre. The mere idea of it made Haruka uncomfortable. “Almost like in a horror movie,” said Yakumo with a thin smile.

“Right. And then apparently, they found a strange object there.” “What object?”

“A box—” “A box—” Yakumo mumbled as he frowned.

Haruka was the same. Even when called a box, they could come in various shapes and sizes. There were donation boxes, boxes for offering, makeup cases too were boxes, even shoe racks could be considered boxes. It was difficult to imagine what this box could be like.

“It’ll be better for you guys to see it for yourself,” said Makoto, reading their minds. She took out a tablet device from her bag, placing it on the table. A photo was displayed on the screen.

It had been taken in darkness using a flash, and as Makoto had stated, captured in the photo was a box. Something was strange about the box—

Like a coffin, the size was large enough for a human to fit in, yet it wasn’t made out of wood, but metal. The box was fairly old; its surface appeared rusty. Strangest thing of all was how the box had a lot of talismans pasted over it.

The owner seemed to have been afraid of the box’s contents and had sealed it in a hurry. “This is…” Haruka turned towards Yakumo.

Yakumo made a troubled face for some time before sighing. “These talismans are for sealing.”

“Sealing?” “Yes. These are talismans used to seal demons in the teachings of Onmyodo and the like.”

“I see,” Haruka replied as she shivered. It would’ve been better if it had merely been one or two talismans, but what exactly was being sealed inside that it had to have that many talismans pasted onto it?

“Don’t tell me that woman and her friends opened this box?” Yakumo threw a probing look at Makoto. “Yes,” Makoto replied.

“What was inside the box?” Makoto didn’t answer Yakumo’s question immediately.

She drifted her gaze here and there as if searching for something, before looking at them with eyes that had lost their hope. “She didn’t see what was inside.” she shook her head.

“Is that so...” Yakumo mumbled as he stared at the photo of the box. “Apparently someone else opened it—” said Makoto, cutting off her sentence and giving it a pause.

The woman merely went silent for a second or two, yet to Haruka it felt much longer. Moments later, Makoto continued her story. “Once the box was opened, a man appeared in the room.”

“That isn’t just one of their friends?” “No. She said she didn’t recognise the man at all. Besides—”

Makoto cut her sentence in the middle yet again. She seemed to be debating whether she should tell the rest of the story or not.

“What is it?” asked Yakumo, demanding the continuation. Makoto firmly nodded as if hardening her resolve before opening her mouth. “Apparently the eyes of the man that appeared were both red...”

Haruka’s back shivered. Only one person came to mind when talking about a man with two red eyes. Yakumo’s father, Unkai.

He had passed away, yet not only had he continued to wander this earth as a ghost, he was also aiming for Yakumo. He was obsessed with living and wanted to use Yakumo’s body as a replacement for his own, which he had lost.

To think he intended to sacrifice his own flesh and blood so he could stay alive; Haruka felt nauseous just thinking about it. Makoto might have been hesitant to proceed with her story as she had thought the man with two red eyes had an involvement in this case.

“I see—” mumbled Yakumo. Neither his expression nor voice appeared to be shaken. Not because he was hiding the wavering of his heart, he was merely accepting the fact the way it was.

“I’d like to confirm the truth of this woman’s story, but I have a bad feeling… so I thought, could you go there with me?” Makoto dropped her gaze to her feet, feeling apologetic about it. She must be feeling guilty as it was possible that this case might force Yakumo to face his father once again, the man with red eyes.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t resolve a spiritual case alone. On the other hand, Makoto couldn’t abandon someone in trouble either. She must have been conflicted about the fact.

“I understand. We can’t ignore this case, especially when there’s a possibility that man might be involved,” answered Yakumo. Tension left Makoto’s expression in an instant.

“Thank you very much,” Makoto bowed deeply. “So, where is the location?”

“The warehouse across the road from the archival facility of Meisei University.” At Makoto’s answer, Yakumo’s facial muscles quivered.

- 11

- The sun was beginning to set—

This archival facility that had used to be a laboratory didn’t have the appearance of a building that had existed before the war began, thanks to renovation work that had taken place a few times. Even now, renovation was underway, so the building was surrounded by a protective mesh sheet and no human figure could be spotted there.

In contrast, the warehouse located on the other side of the road had an unusual appearance. Walls of the flat concrete-roofed building were cracking here and there, its surroundings were covered in weeds, and overgrown trees lined up as if trying to hide its existence.

The windows were also cracked in multiple places, while the metal door at the front had changed into a reddish brown colour from rust. This warehouse had also used to be a research facility before the war, just like the archival facility, but it must have never been renovated.

“It sure feels terrifying,” mumbled Haruka, standing next to Makoto. Makoto agreed completely.

To clarify the truth of Maki’s testimony, she had come here along with Yakumo and Haruka. Until they have gone inside, she shouldn’t make any prior assumptions, but try as she might, she couldn’t rid herself of the terrible premonition she felt.

Even this building itself gave the impression of a large box. It led Makoto into thinking that this building cast by the reddish sunset was like a box sealing away something awful.

She might have felt that way due to the building’s history. “Haruka-chan, have you been to this place before?” asked Makoto as she stared intently at said building.

Haruka shook her head left and right. “No.” Meisei University itself was massive. The campus grounds too were large in its area, and this place was nearly a kilometre away from the prefabricated building where Yakumo lived. It couldn’t be helped that she had never gone here.

Even if she had, the state of this building was obscured by trees. Haruka would surely miss it if she hadn’t paid closer attention. “Are you guys aware of what the archival facility and warehouse used to be for?” Makoto asked another question as she looked interchangeably between the two buildings.

“Yes. I’ve never been here before, but… if I recall correctly, this place used to be a lab for the army, right? How horrifying, even though it was in the middle of the war…” said Haruka, her voice instantly turning glum. Her response was understandable, considering her knowledge of what had transpired here.

From what she had heard, during the war, Japanese ground forces had been developing and researching weapons of war in this place. Biological weapons as well as poisonous gases hadn’t been an exception. One theory stated that they had also performed human experimentation. A brutal act not permissible by both international laws and humanitarian perspective.

“You’re right,” Makoto replied in agreement. On the other hand, the research findings of the time had also contributed to the subsequent development of science and medicine that followed.

Despite so, the fact that their actions were unforgivable remained unchanged— “Yakumo-kun, have you been here before?” asked Haruka.

Yakumo shook his head. “I knew the existence of this place. But considering its origins, this place is rather dangerous for me,” he said, scratching on his dishevelled hair. Hearing the man’s words made Haruka exclaim, “Ah!”

She must’ve thought of the reason why Yakumo wasn’t keen on getting near this place. Makoto was the same.

Without a doubt, many lives must have been lost from the research that had been conducted here. To Yakumo who could see ghosts, casually strolling at such a place was a dangerous thing to do. The ghosts from back then might be wandering about still.

Thinking up to that far, Makoto suddenly felt concerned. Yakumo might be seeing a lot of ghosts at this point in time. “Are you alright?” asked Makoto.

Yakumo laughed bitterly. “Yes. For now—” “Is it alright for you to go in?” asked Haruka, also looking at Yakumo with worry.

“Over seventy years have passed. I don’t think any of them would still be wandering until now.” Hearing Yakumo’s answer made Makoto come up with a question.

“Ghosts will eventually disappear over the years following their death?” If they were to disappear as time passed like melting ice, that would mean all spiritual phenomena would resolve over time.

“I wonder. Honestly, I don’t know that far. Just that, if we were to assume that ghosts are clusters of emotions of the dead, that emotion might change with time.” “So it’s unlikely for them to endlessly hold grudges—is that what you mean?”

“Maybe. But it may not always be the case.” “Since there are people who would keep holding grudges no matter how much time has passed?”

“Yes. In the end it depends on the person. Besides that, the environment can play a factor too.” “Environment?” Makoto tilted her head.

“One’s emotions could never change if they’re continuously left alone at a place with nothing around.” “Right,”

“But this is within campus grounds. Should there be any ghosts wandering after they lost their lives in this research facility, they should realise that the times have changed and the person they hate has also passed.” “So they would give up and accept their own death?”

“Perhaps—I suppose,” said Yakumo with a laugh, as if ridiculing himself. “Could I ask one more thing?”

“What is it?” “Normally we’re unable to sense the presence of ghosts, but as for them—can ghosts sense the presence of living humans?”

Makoto didn’t know why exactly she only became curious about that fact now. No, that wasn’t it. She’d been wanting to know, but hadn't gotten the chance to ask about it before.

She might have avoided the question unknowingly as well. “I think they took notice of our existence. Only thing is, I don’t know how they view us from their end.”

“So we won’t know until we die, huh—” Yakumo may be able to see ghosts, but in the end he was merely a living human being. He had no way to find out what happened after death.

“Thinking about it makes me scared,” said Haruka with a confused look on her face. Makoto understood the emotion Haruka felt.

Instinctually, they felt afraid as it was a realm that no humans or living beings were allowed to enter. “Right,” Makoto replied in agreement.

“Well, what happens after death is better confirmed once we’re dead,” Yakumo joked, turning Haruka’s expression into a serious one. “Stop it. Don’t you dare go and confirm it even if unintentionally,” said Haruka, pouting.

Yakumo then patted Haruka’s head in silence. What a beautiful display, almost like Makoto was watching a youth film. Though, she got rid of the thought right away.

In movies, conversations such as this one were often followed by someone’s death— “Enough talking here. Let’s get inside,” said Yakumo, taking out a key from his pocket and inserting it to the keyhole on the door.

The archival building was closed for renovations, while the warehouse was constantly locked as well, so Yakumo had paid a visit to the educational affairs office and had made up a story of how he’d forgotten his belongings while sorting through the archives yesterday and had borrowed the key. Yakumo then turned the doorknob and opened the door to the warehouse.

- 12

- Haruka entered said building whilst hiding behind Yakumo—.

The interior was spacious; only pillars were present and there were no walls dividing the space into rooms. Boxes were piled messily next to a wall, and parts that seemed to come from old machinery—whatever it might be for—were also scattered about.

Rather than being stored neatly, it gave the impression of piling up unused objects sloppily. Glancing at it like this, she wouldn’t have known that a basement existed.

“Around which area did they find the door?” asked Yakumo. Makoto pointed further into the space. “Apparently it was next to the innermost pillar.”

“Let’s check it out.” Without hesitation nor fear, Yakumo began walking in the direction Makoto had pointed.

Haruka and Makoto walked alongside each other, following after him. Upon arriving in front of the aforementioned pillar, Yakumo crouched to confirm something.

It didn’t took long for him to mumble, “So this is it—” With closer inspection, one could see a square panel made out of metal installed on the floor. Yakumo slipped his fingers into the gaps of the panel and slowly lifted it upwards.

Following the squeaking sound of metal rubbing against each other, a dark, square shaped hole revealed itself underneath the panel. Yakumo took out the penlight tucked in his pocket, shining it upon the hole.

They had no idea what awaited them at the bottom of the hole, but they were able to see a metal ladder attached leading down to it. This door seemed to be connected to the basement.

Normally, people never would have noticed that there was a hole leading to the basement in a place like this. “Looks like we have to get in to check it out,” muttered Yakumo.

Haruka’s body suddenly tensed up, and her hands began to sweat. Indescribable fear crept up at the thought of them getting in there. “You can stay here if you like,” said Yakumo, who sensed Haruka’s feelings.

It was a bad habit of Haruka’s to double down upon receiving such a treatment. “I’m going too,” she said, making Yakumo let out a bitter laugh.

It might have been obvious how she was forcing herself. Even so, having said that, Haruka couldn’t back down anymore.

Nor did Yakumo say anything afterwards. Biting the penlight on his mouth, he slid his body down the hole before descending the ladder. Makoto was next to step down the ladder. After waiting for Makoto to descend, Haruka held onto said ladder.

The metal ladder was cold and rough, probably from rust. She meant to descend carefully while ensuring her footing didn’t miss, but on the final step of the ladder, her foot placement was off.

Haruka lost her balance and nearly fell, luckily Yakumo managed to support her. “T-thanks,” said Haruka, hurriedly distancing herself from Yakumo afterwards.

Her body had merely been touched, yet her temperature shot up immediately and her face flushed. She desperately tried not to let it show. After adjusting her breathing and calming down her feelings, Haruka took a look around the basement space.

Merely relying on Yakumo’s penlight as the light source, one could say she could hardly see anything at all. She couldn’t even gauge how big this basement space was.

Only thing clear was that the air there was cold. There seemed to be a leak somewhere, as the dripping sound of water echoed. Haruka felt as if they were inside a limestone cave.

“I never would’ve thought a place like this existed...” Haruka mumbled, but her voice reverberated across the room. “Right,” Makoto agreed.

Although Makoto was nearby, Haruka could only vaguely see Makoto’s silhouette because of the darkness. A clack sound like a switch being pressed could be heard, and the lights then turned on.

Hung at the centre of the room ceiling was a small lightbulb emanating an orange light. It was by no means bright, yet sufficient to see the room in its entirety. “The lights are working,” said Haruka.

Standing next to the wall, Yakumo nodded. “Seems so. As the power’s running, it means someone might have used it recently,” he said, patting the side of the switchbox installed on the wall. Now that she could see, Haruka then gazed across the entire room.

Unlike the exterior, both the floor and walls were made out of bricks. There was a bookshelf at one corner of the wall, with books and documents alike shoved messily there. On another corner were steel shelves with rows of what appeared to be medicine bottles in them.

Then, what stood out the most was an old table seemingly made out of stainless steel, placed at the centre of the room. No, that wasn’t it. She had seen it before at the hospital where Hata worked. It was an autopsy table.

Why would an autopsy table be in a place like this? While she was in the middle of thinking, Yakumo slowly walked towards the shelf containing books.

Haruka exchanged glances with Makoto before following suit. Yakumo, standing in front of the bookshelf, traced the spine of the documents with his finger, before taking out one document and flipping through it.

Something might have caught the man’s attention as in the next second he stopped his hand partway, his brows furrowed slightly. Just what could be written there?

As Haruka had such a thought, Yakumo brought said archive and moved in front of the autopsy table. “I see...” Yakumo mumbled after staring at the surface of the autopsy table for some time.

“Did you find something?” asked Haruka. Yakumo made a complicated expression. “I think they probably conducted human experimentation here.”

“Eh?” Haruka doubted her ears.

She knew that this warehouse had been a research facility used to research and develop various weaponry under the leadership of the military. However, she refused to accept that said research had included human experimentation. If that had truly been the case, their actions would be unforgivable.

Conducting experiments using human bodies would be far too inhumane. “It was written in this document.”

“How cruel...” Haruka’s voice trembled without realising.

“I thought so too. But our reason for coming here isn’t to discuss that.” Yakumo tossed the document onto the autopsy table, turning to the further parts of the room.

Haruka followed him and turned her head as well. A black shadow was there.

For some reason, she felt that section appeared especially darker than everywhere else. That wasn’t all.

Amidst that darkness laid a box. “That’s…”

“Yes. Seems like that’s the box,” Makoto nodded towards Haruka. Thinking how a spiritual phenomena might happen once the box was opened, the object felt terrifying to Haruka.

As opposed to Haruka, who shrank completely, Yakumo walked towards the box with no hesitation. “So this is the box in question—” said Yakumo, lightly touching the lid.

Haruka was honestly very frightened, but she couldn’t stay frozen in place. She slowly approached the box Yakumo was touching as well. Just like in the photograph, the surface of the box was pasted with numerous talismans.

Someone must have been terrified by its contents, and had hurriedly closed it off and covered it in talismans. The thought of it made the box appear all the more terrifying. Yakumo felt around the lid with his finger as if checking something.

“You’re going to open it?” said Haruka spontaneously. Yakumo stopped the movement of his hand for a moment, letting out a small sigh.

“We won’t find out anything just by looking at the exterior.” Yakumo’s words had a point.

Besides, they had come here in the first place to open the box and confirm its contents. “I wonder what could be inside the box?”

Makoto’s sentence may be a question, but to Haruka, she sounded as if she was expecting something. “We’ll know once we open it—” Yakumo spoke before slowly lifting the lid of the box.

Haruka felt as if something stifling was rising like smoke through the small gap of the slightly opened lid. What is that?

Haruka’s thoughts were interrupted by an odd smell that intruded her nose. Reflexively, she covered her nose and mouth as a smell that made her choke, like that of rotten meat, wafted in front of her nose.

Makoto turned her face away as well, unable to handle it. Meanwhile, only Yakumo who, despite grimacing, continued exerting his strength to lift the box lid until it was open.

Haruka hesitantly turned to look. The contents weren’t visible as it was dark.

Yakumo seemed to feel the same way. He switched on his penlight, shining the contents of the box. Haruka couldn’t make out what object the illuminated form belonged to at first.

However— Gradually, she came to understand what object it was.

It was— A human corpse.

Laid within the box was a human corpse that was missing its head—

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