#if there’s a fic like this please point me towards it. I need more punk rock boyfriends mungrove.

[toxicrevolver]

Okay but Billy and Eddie being in rival bands.

Eddie plays lead guitar and does lead vocals for his band. Billy plays bass or drums for his band and does backing vocals. The rivalry starts bcs Eddie loses his Friday night gig at a local bar to the new local group (Billy’s band) bcs the lead singer is related to the bar owner or paid for the slot (legit just a random character I’m not thinking much about who’s in Billy’s band). This rivalry goes on for like 6 months before Eddie even sees/listens to the band. The rivalry is purely based on the premise of stealing their best gig in town so most of the beef is with the leader of the band.

Fast forward like another handful of months and they both end up in a battle of the bands and end up taking 2nd and 3rd place (Eddie’s band in second and Billy’s in third). Both bands decide to go out drinking (seperately) to celebrate and end up running into each other at the same bar. Billy ends up chatting to Eddie about hair care bcs they have similar hair types and Billy needs some tips bcs the water in Hawkins is fucking with his terribly and nothing he’s used so far has helped. Billy knows nothing of this rivalry and only recognizes Eddie as the lead guitarist/vocalist from the 2nd place band. So Billy ends up getting pissy bcs he doesn’t understand why Eddie is being crass and short with him. Billy ends up asking Eddie why he’s being a bitch when he just wants some help with his hair. Eddie explains how Billy’s band stole his best gig (Friday nights) and with that most of his income. This leads to Billy exposing the leader of the band as a fraud who paid his way into getting gigs and that the band is actually shit without Billy. Billy ends up joining Eddie’s band bcs their drummer does something (idk what and idc I’m just thinking thoughts). Obviously they end up leaving Hawkins for a bigger music scene and end up falling in love and stuff.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

HOBIE BROWN | SPIDER-PUNK (atsv)

─────────────────

─────────────────

“Pizza Time” (Hobie Brown & Gn!Reader)

| You, Hobie, and crew get called out to deal with a canon disturbance.

| SFW, canon typical action, team fic™️, my attempts at humor, one original spider variant, -gn!reader

| H/n=Hero name (Pic source: Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023) movie)

| PART ONE

| 2k+ words

The sounds of an argument bounce off the walls of the hall leading to the transport station and Miguel’s office - if you wanted to call a floating platform and boundless walls of unfeeling shifting metal an “office” that was.

Hobie walks in, hands in his pockets and gait steady, already heaving a sigh.

“Level one! You’re sending us - me! - on a mission for a goddamn level one disturbance?”

A platform above you, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, Miguel groans. The sound borders on growl but you don’t buck an inch.

Hobie would totally be admiring the show of grit right now if he didn’t have something waaaaay better to do, but alas he does so he needed you to shush sooner rather than later.

“Are you crazy? I can do so much better than respond to some villain of the week!”

“Ay, dios mío, I can assure you I’m perfectly sane-”

“Huh,” Hobie scoffs. He’d sure like to hold a microscope up to that claim.

He swings his guitar ‘round to his front and leans against the wall otherwise silently, doing nothing but waving when Miguel’s sharp eyes snap to him. He does want to laugh at the way just his presence is causing the ever present crease in their - not their as in ‘his’ but their as in ‘everyone else’s’ - leader’s forehead but that’s something he’d have done last week and he rather liked his inconsistencies to stay just that; messing with Miguel was more fun that way.

So today he keeps mum. To an extent. Just feeling the way the headquarters’ walls hum with power against his back and watching with lidded eyes as you bark up Miguel’s tree.

Miguel averts his attention back to you and you’re clearly still giving him a nasty look if his eye roll means anything.

“You’re going. That’s not me asking, this isn’t up for debate. You want to work so bad, here you go.”

“Work? This is a glorified playdate at best-”

Alright. Time to cut and run. Hobie pushes off the wall, walking over to tug you back with the pads off his fingers. Grabbing onto skintight spandex isn’t some easy task so he sticks to you instead.

You stumble away with an irritated huff but Hobie talks over the barrage you’re likely about to release.

“Oi, cut the argy bargy! Don’t we got somethin’ to do?

Miguel turns with a nearly slackened expression - look at that he almost did something that wasn’t a scowl! - but gestures towards Hobie regardless.

When you do the same, turning to him like he’s gone and betrayed your whole bloodline, Hobie shrugs your gaze off and lets go of you. For the time being he needs you to be sated enough that he can get from under the security cameras he knows are up his knickers and nipping at his balls right now.

“For once we agree,” Miguel intones.

In response Hobie flips him off and right on cue that scowl makes its reappearance.

“Just go,” the man sighs.

Nearly in tandem you and Hobie give Miguel mock salutes. Hobie can tell you’re rolling your eyes under the mask but opts not to comment as Pavitr finally enters the room.

Miguel’s tense voice follows you all into the bright energy field that makes up the dimensional portal when you guys finally mobilize.

“Your mission parameters will be on your watches when you get there. H/n and Hobie you’ll be taking point. The Spider of the universe you’re being sent to is already on standby.” He heaves a sigh and you can just hear the way he’s attempting to rub out the halos in his vision. “And please try not to destroy another national monument.”

“No promises!”

The way Hobie’s words ring out into the spacious room is capped off by your raucous laughter as you both walk through the portal.

A blinding light flashes and then you’re traveling through a technicolor cavern, shot forward to your chosen destination by an invisible and unwavering current.

In almost no time at all you meet the timid air of Earth-159, the home of the self proclaimed:

SPECTACULAR SPIDER ╸MAID!

You breathe in cool damp air, taking a moment to ground yourself in the feel of yet another alternate New York before twisting around to confront your partner.

“Since when are you such a follower?”

You grumble the words with a no doubt demur turn of your lips and Hobie shrugs, shaking the stability back into his legs.

“Nah I ain’t never been that, don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth. It just so ‘appens that ‘is usual utilitarian act matched up with my plans for today, is all.”

“You? Plotting? What a surprise,” you chuckle and flip around - walking backwards - so you can watch him as y’all walk out on the other side of the portal. “I want in.”

He side eyes you, “You plan on keeping that big mouth shut anytime soon then? No usin’ what I tell you as ammunition against Miguel, and all that.”

Still walking backwards you chuckle lowly and press your lips together. Your pinched fingers come up to pantomime a zipper closing across the seam of your lips, you make a show of breaking then showing off the invisible zipper key, and finally toss the imaginary zipper away.

“Alright then,” he hums. “Keep your schedule open for tomorrow and I’ll spill.”

“Great.” You shove your hand in your pocket as you and him both catch up to a buzzing in place Pavitr.

He turns to you, shiney hair bouncing almost sadly to the left.

“Shouldn’t Maid be here already? What’s taking her so long?”

Before either of you can answer Pavitr the telltale thwip of a web-shooter meets y’all’s ears from a short distance and then a flash of red and yellow head to toe spandex catches everyone’s eye.

Spider-Maid lands in front of you all - after a series of well timed flips - with her hands on her hips. She flips springy curls over her shoulder.

“I swear I would’ve been here sooner, but there was a minor incident with Dr. Conners and she was shedding everywhere!” She lands in front of you three, hands flailing every which way. “Like, I’m talking huge slabs. And everything was slimy-!”

“Spider-Maid,” you cut her off and she goes stock still, head ducking.

“Sorry.”

Before you can reassure her yourself Hobie’s already laughing her apology off. He walks over, swinging an arm over her shoulder.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, Mad Maid! Things goin’ as good as they sound?”

“Oh yeah!” She laughs and when Hobie shakes his hand out and holds his fist out for her to dap him up she happily fist pumps him. “Everything’s great! You know? Despite the dimensional disturbance in my world apparently. Do you guys have eyes on that by the way?”

You shrug, “Honestly? I was hoping you did. You know Miguel prefers the ‘throw the baby in the deep end and let them figure it out’ method of learning.”

“Yeahhhh,” she nods. “Swim or die sounds about his speed.”

“Oh it is definitely his speed,” Pav says.

The sigh you let out comes from your bones. Pavitr is barely out of his superhero teething phase and he’s already picked up on how much of a hardass Miguel is, and Maid isn’t too far behind him either.

God the Spider Society was a mess.

A rush of people running from behind a pizzeria halts any further conversation. You all tense in unison, a cluster of fine tuned spiders ready to jump headfirst into danger. Hobie and you glance at one another.

A series of head tilts and hidden eyebrow raises commences before Hobie finally sighs and clears his throat.

“Alright, here’s how we’ll do things! I’ll go check whatever that was out and the rest of you look for any more signs of the disturbance, yeh?”

“Form a parameter and then scour it,” you add and he nods his agreement.

Everyone else then acknowledges the plan and y’all break up with you officially on spider-sitting duty by yourself.

For the first couple minutes things go smoothly enough. There’s no sign of the disturbance but there’s no more screaming people either, and Hobie seems pretty nonplussed - if a little humorous - at what it is he finds.

Barely enough time passes for you to start giving the two Spiders with you secondary instructions on what to look for when tracking someone before Hobie’s voice cuts through the calm.

“Ow! Shit!”

From the roof beside the one you're on Pav stops in his tracks and Maid - sticking to the side of the same building - slips. She clips her chin a little bit you’re too preoccupied to address it. Or catch the sigh of relief she lets out at that.

Your brows furrow beneath your mask and you eventually turn away from the now tense teens, glancing at the building Hobie disappeared behind.

“Hobie? Status?”

“There’s these fuckin - Ow!’” He yelps, still over coms. “Pudgy horned animal…things round the corner - shit! - and they are not as cute as I first thought!”

“Shit,” you grunt.

Maid waves to get your attention, crawling over the edge of your roof and running up to you.

“Can I?”

Maid and you turn to give each other a look. You shrug at her.

The brunette spider makes a jerky motion towards where Hobie’s run off to. From behind your mask you raise a brow and she catches on surprisingly fast for someone who isn’t used to hanging around other capes 24-7. For instance you can also tell that her eyes are saucer wide behind her mask.

“Do you think I should…go?”

“Somebody should!” Hobie yells, bordering on shrill even with his low timbre, and you start shoving at the girl to leave.

“I- yeah I think you should go. You’ll do fine. Me and Spider-man #2 over here can handle the main anomaly on our own.”

“Hey! Why am I number two?”

A call of Pav’s, Maid’s, and then your moniker comes from your wayward member, and Maid raises a hand to shoot off a web.

“Are you-?”

“We got this,” Pav cuts in. His tone is nearly melodic and you chuckle. “We’ll just split up like that old cartoon from the 70’s!”

Maid nods, leaving you two alone in just a few swings.

You turn to Pavitr as you both jump down to the street for a new vantage point. “You talking about Scooby-Doo?”

“What?” He laughs with a shake of his head. “Oh no I was talking about the Groovy Detective Crew-”

A high pitched scream ends that line of conversation. Instantly you and Pavitr are back to back, fighting stances coming naturally to you both.

“Guys! What was that?”

Your eyes track over the low roofs of the buildings surrounding the square you’re in, heart hammering in your chest.

“Yeah, that was definitely Hobie! I’ve got eyes on him now and there's something holding onto him, but I got it!”

Hobie starts yelling again, clearly being jerked around if the way his voice is cutting in and out means what you think it does.

“Bloody ‘ell it’s got my fuckin’ arm!”

Then Maid’s voice is added to the mix.

“Oh that’s just- that’s freaking disgusting.”

The question is on the tip of your tongue when you catch a glimpse of something not quite right banking the opposite corner from your teammates.

“Wait Pav.”

You point out a pair of little black boots rounding a corner, the disturbance cackling as it goes, and you and Pav are in pursuit seconds later.

“Hey guys! I think we found the main anomaly, we’re going after it now!”

The moment you and Pavitr swing past the corner you're met with the…thing? It’s already squaring up to you, that much is clear, its feet firmly planted as it stares you down from the other end of the street.

You scowl, planting your own feet even as your mind stalls.

Problem is you can’t really make sense of what you’re seeing. Subconsciously your head tilts as well, and beside you Pavitr makes a small incensed noise. There’s a lot of red but you can’t be sure if it’s blood or…or sauce(?), and there's just an absurd amount of glinting toppings stuck to the thing.

Hobie’s voice cracks through your stupor.

“H/n! You lot find the issue yet? What is it?”

“Well it’s- uh…is a-” your head tilts the other way, mouth going agape with your scowl. “Um…”

“Well spit it out already!” Over the line Hobie grunts, breathing out a curse as something presumably hits him. Maid’s higher grunt of impact follows.

Honestly there’s no good way to describe what you're looking at. You’re not even entirely convinced it isn’t a hallucination.

“It’s- it’s a…pizza?”

“Pizza? What the bloody fuck are you going on about? Pav, help me out here mate.”

Problem is Pavitr’s still just as confused as you. The boy’s so perplexed that it’s like he hasn’t even heard Hobie by the time he next speaks.

“Is that…sanitary?” Pavitr questions.

Yeah, you're kind of wondering that too. Regardless of that though - you shake your head - you still had a job to do.

Clearing your throat you straighten, projecting your voice a good couple of feet beyond you. “Who are you?”

The thing, all wet plops of itself falling to the floor and wafting garlicky scent, looks up at Pav and you slowly. You can’t tell if the two sharp points at what appears to be the top of it, even covered in a lion’s mane of fur, would be considered its shoulders or not.

It gives a hearty chuckle.

“After today - when you Spiders’ heads are skewered on the tip of my mighty spear - I’ll be the most dangerous of them all.”

TBC…

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

Let’s say Gwen was on another mission or something and that’s why she’s not in this. Idk, I just didn’t want to write a whole bunch of characters. I’ll introduce Gwen later. I’m not very confident in everyone’s portrayal here either but I’m giving it a try so bare with me.

Also, funnily enough, I decided to name Earth-159's Spider-Woman Spider-Maid because Earth-159 in DC comics is an alt universe where Lois Lane was sent from the dying planet of Earth to Krypton (in the reverse of Clark) where she then becomes that worlds version of Superman, Supermaid. Apparently.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

[littleredwritinghoodsclub]

Moody Monday I

🌹Hello Campers! Here are the responses we got for our first activity for camp NaNoWriMo. Thank you everyone who participated, if you still wanted to submit a response please do so- it's never too late to join in one of our activities. If you're not part of the club and still want to answer these questions, then reblog this post with your answers.

🌹Also huge thank you to @caveatscriptor for creating the graphic

🌹 Member responses below the cut:

🌹 @jay-avian

1. Honestly, a little bit of both. I do a general outline of the main plot, as well as any worldbuilding needed. And once I start writing, I let the pacing flow naturally and the characters flesh themselves out 2. Current WIP - "The Court Magician": Forest man on house arrest must save the world from the fae 3. (not sure, will come back) 4. Fantasy, Adventure 5. Reluctant Chosen One

🌹 @mayonayys

1. I'm definitely a planner! I enjoy a bit of chaos, but need structure for most things, and that includes writing. An example of my most extreme planner moment: I was writing up fake advertisements for my in world D&D newspaper, had to give the businesses addresses... So I stopped halfway through and had to plan out most of a market district map, which will probably never be used again 2. Aura Sighted: Gifted-kid burnout syndrome mage has to figure out how to save her sister from a psychotic King, while staying out of the way of the Prince with daddy issues. 3. Keywords: (I'll come back to this one) 4. Genres: Fantasy, Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance 5. Favorite Tropes: Found Family, Eventual Idiots to Lovers, with a hint of Enemies to Lovers Bonus: My Camp goal this year is just to get some writing done; shooting for 15k words!

🌹 @becausethecat

1. Planning: Generally it depends. I don’t outline Fic usually, or random ideas that just jump out, but I do like having vague-to-solid roadmap on other ideas 2. WIP that i think I’m gonna try to do: A pirate loses his ship and crew to his creditors and makes a drastic attempt to pay them off by promising to produce a rare magical artifact—a weather violin that specifically calls moody weather when played—and he isn’t prepared for his quest to dump him on a small island, inhabited by one other person; the violinist who found his treasure first. 3. Key Words: Broody Boi, Dislike to Love (think animated Anastasia/Dimitri), reformed pickpocket, identity, violin + The sound of rain on a tin roof while a sad viloin plays, deserted island, survival, persons of debatable charm, BLORBOS 4. Genre is uhhhh.... Pirate Captain on a deserted island with a Moody Violinist ..... idk if it will be humor or romance or survival but it’s def Fantasy with Magic and whatnot 5. Tropes: Pirate on Deserted Island, Survival, is Learning to Communicate Effectively a trope? And uhhhh I’m not sure how the Only One Bed will turn out that’s the one I pulled out of a hat (what quantifies Idiots to Lovers bc they might be that too)

🌹 @fanged-writer

1. former pantser, trying to plan now. don't think my previous method was working for me, so I'll see how this goes! 2. sentence: an average human is suddenly gifted 'divine' knowledge, transporting them from one dismal situation to another. 3. will need to figure these key words out, i think. 'wasps, red, gods, superstition, summer'. 4. not too sure, but got some fantasy in there... 5. rivals and rivals and more rivals. also deceit.

🌹 @inkspellangel

1. A little of both. I plan a bit and then hope I don't pants my way too far away from that vague outline :'D 2. SSP: Grumpy punk with wolf companion has to arrest his childhood friend because of reasons he can't believe. 3. Keywords: Mad scientist, childhood friends to lovers, grumpy/sunshine friend dynamic, cave system, more vibes than plot at this point 4. Subterranean sci-fi, I think 5. 100% sunshine/grumpy friends

🌹 @fleurtygurl

1. I think I lean more towards a pantser. Ideas come to me as I write that I would never have thought of in the planning stages of my wip. But I'm doing my best to find a way to give myself more structure. 2. Filipina in San Francisco meets cyborg private investigator, and they solve some murders. 3. Keywords: tomboy, trauma, sapphic, straight people being friends, siblings-centered 4. Sci-fi and mystery? ( i know there are technical differences between mystery and thriller, but i dont want to try and think about it.) 5. my favorite dynamic? Close sisters who can depend on one another

[ilovecupcakesandtea]

Chapter one Chapter four My master list

Title: Chapter three

Word Count: 1397

Archive Warnings: Smut in future chapters. Slight angst. Alcohol misuse.

Rating: E

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham

Character(s): Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Benny, Uncle Wayne & The Party

Tags: Smut. Angst. Steddie. Buckingham. Steve Harrington. Eddie Munson. Robin Buckley. Chrissy Cunningham. Band AU. TW Alcohol use.

Summary (optional): Two different styles of music, two boys that really don't like each other. What could possibly go wrong?

Beta Reader: Thank you so much to my beautiful beta readers @slippy-slip @ladydarklord & @dontwasteyourchances

Art link and credit: Art is by the wonderfully talented @pink-luna-moth (as is the banner)

Fic link and credit: Ao3 Link

AN: First off thank you to Alex for the art and being just amazing to work alongside. Thank you to Slip for dragging me back from the edge so many times over this. I really am so excited to have this out here!!

I wrote this for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang event and had a lot of fun doing so!!

Divider links: reblog and music notes

A week later saw Eddie and Chrissy in her garage moving boxes around and laying a huge blanket over a couch to make the space bigger and more comfortable. Both of them had brought their own amps and set them up too. They had even found an old mini fridge and stocked it with chocolate, cans of soda, and bottles of water ready for practice. 

"Hey bunny" Robin greeted Chrissy with a kiss as soon as she stepped into the garage later that evening, 

"Stop being so gross and put each other down." Eddie grumbled at the pair. 

"No need to be so homophobic, Munson" came the response of Steve as he also walked to the garage. 

"Yes, me, a bit of a whore in the local gay scene, homophobic, that checks out." Eddie rolled his eyes before he walked away and picked his guitar up and made sure it was in tune.

"Chrissy, where did you want me to set this up?" Steve asked Chrissy, pointing down at the big bag he had brought in with him.  

"Towards the back, kind of centre if you want, makes the most sense," Chrissy answered, pointing at a vague space towards the middle of the garage. 

“So Robin, this is the first time we’ve properly spoken since you started dating my little Chrissy, she won’t tell me so I know it’s got to be embarrassing, how did you and Chrissy get talking enough for you to end up together a few weeks later.” Eddie quizzed, noting Chrissy blushing out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, there’s not really a lot to tell to be honest, she sat next to me on the bus, asked me what I was listening to, I said The Clash, she said she loves them, we listened together and then switched between our styles of music” Robin shrugged as Chrissy got redder and redder. 

“Fuck off did she, what a lying little bitch. Christina Cunningham, why would you tell such a lie? You hate The Clash, always have .” Eddie cackled, turning to look at Chrissy who was bright red and trying to hide behind her hair. 

“I just wanted to listen to music with the cute girl from band, ok? so sue me.” She replied, sighing, his reaction was exactly why she hadn’t told Eddie the full story when he asked weeks ago. “Can we just play something now please?”

Five minutes later and the band was ready to start playing together. Steve sat behind his drums and everyone else picked up their instruments.

"Chrissy, you want to start a beat on the bass? Steve, try not to sound like shit ok, we all know punk drums are a mess and don't hold a rhythm." Eddie said, getting himself comfortable with his guitar.

Chrissy started with a beat that Steve apparently knew the drums to, and soon enough Eddie was leaning into the mic and singing. 

"I sit around and watch the tube But nothing's on I change the channels for an hour or two Twiddle my thumbs just for a bit I'm sick of all the same old shit In a house with unlocked doors and I'm fuckin' lazy" Eddie sang as he started to play the guitar with it. 

"Bite my lip and close my eyes Take me away to paradise I'm so damn bored, I'm going blind And I smell like shit" Robin joined in the singing and playing her own guitar with him. 

The four of them played the whole song and didn't miss a beat, ending with all four of them laughing. 

Steve and Eddie caught each other's eyes and stopped laughing straight away.

"I guess for a couple punks you two can play well enough" Eddie sniffed, putting his guitar down and heading to the mini-fridge. 

"The fuck is your problem, Munson?" Steve asked defensively. 

"I just don't want us sounding just like noise, bad noise at that when we play." Eddie replied, whilst drinking his water.

"So what? All punk is just bad noise to you?" Steve questioned, standing up from his drums clearly unimpressed.

"Yeah, it is. Just bad drums, bad guitar, bad vocals. I guess it’s good that most punk songs are really short." Eddie shrugged. 

"Fuck you, punk is more than the music, more than the drums, guitar, and vocals. It's about the people, the lyrics, the message behind the songs." Steve seethed, moving towards Eddie. 

"Oh yeah, because metal isn't political at all?" Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"It's really not," Steve responded, clearly pissed off at the other brunette.

"Alright princess, sit down and let me play a few songs for you that show you that a song can be both political and actually good." Eddie rolled his eyes and grabbed his phone. 

"No, enough of this dick-measuring contest, ok. Either shut the fuck up so we can continue to play or take this tension to a bedroom, giving you 5 seconds to decide." Chrissy said loudly, pointing between the two of them.

"Chris, baby, we both know they aren't going to fuck just yet. They need to pretend to hate each other first before it happens" Robin laughed. 

Both boys stepped away from each other. Eddie drank more of his water and Steve went to grab his own, throwing one to Robin who caught it without looking.

"I'm down to play more if Munson can stop being a bitch and play something that isn't just loud guitar and screaming." Steve shrugged, sitting down behind the drums again.

"I give it 3 weeks before they're fucking" Robin giggled, earning her a death glare from Steve.

“Well that was fun,” Robin said sitting in the passenger seat of Steve’s car. “It was really nice to spend more time with Chrissy. I still haven’t asked her to be my girlfriend by the way. Do you think she’ll say yes? I’m not sure she wants that.” she continued to ramble. 

“It was something, I really hope he gets that stick out of his ass before next practice, I can't be bothered with that each time. But yes, she will say yes if you ask her out.” Steve said, sounding exasperated. 

“You just want the stick out of his ass so you can stick…”

“You can walk home if you finish that sentence,” Steve interrupted her. 

Robin laughed, buckled her belt, and sat back in her seat. Steve sighed, started the car, and drove her home. Neither of them talked about how right she was.

“Eddie, can you play nicely with Steve next time we have practice? I’d really like this band thing to work, ok? Even if it doesn't really go anywhere I want to have fun and enjoy this.” Chrissy pleaded. 

“Fine I’ll play with the punk jock so you can have fun with your girlfriend” Eddie replied dodging a half-empty bottle Chrissy threw at him before falling over dramatically. “Tell my mother I love her,” he said, throwing himself to the ground clutching his arm.

“Lord help me” Chrissy laughed.

The following week after the first practice found them all sat around in Chrissy’s garage talking about the band and the music they should play. 

“We write enough songs between us, we could just do original stuff. I will say this isn't bad, Munson” Steve commented, reading through Eddie’s finished songs and notes for other songs. 

“Approval from Harrington, just what I've always wanted” Eddie replied, rolling his eyes. 

“Eddie for fuck’s sake, that's enough. He was being nice and you were a peanut head! That wasn't nice at all.” Chrissy snapped, punching his arm lightly. 

“Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry” Eddie mumbled in the direction of Steve. 

“Shall we talk about band names?” Robin put in, trying to change the subject. 

“ My list for names so far is this,” Eddie said, turning to a page in his notebook and turning it so everyone could read.

Corroded Coffin 

Be My Coffin

Your Coffin

Six Feet Under

Corroding My Coffin

Distort Mission

“They all suck to various degrees” Chrissy replied, pushing the notebook back towards Eddie. 

The four of them sat around for another 20 minutes or so discussing band names before Robin finally suggested The Spitfires. 

“Yes, I love it,” Chrissy said excitedly. 

“Of course you love the only one Robin suggests” Steve commented, rolling his eyes, earning him a laugh from Eddie.

[buffalochickenwing]

Harvey Headcanons! ☕️🛩📚

He grew up in a decently wealthy household. He always had new clothes and a clean haircut, and he was often made fun of for it at school. He just wore whatever his mother picked out for him because he didn't know any better. He wasn't exactly encouraged to explore his personal style as a teenager, and it shows.

He has a very rocky relationship with his mother, who has always been controlling over his life (particularly his love life) and is the main reason for him becoming a doctor (she's also a major reason for his anxiety/insecurities). Harvey considered a variety of options when he accepted that he couldn’t be a pilot, but his mother practically forced him into the medical field. She still tends to project her dreams onto him.

His dad is just... there. He's the type of man that simply agrees with his wife, hardly sharing his own opinions or true emotions in an attempt to appear "manly." He was rather cold toward Harvey as a child and was typically busy with work (I believe he was the CEO of something), but they've grown closer as Harvey has gotten older.

His older sister Hannah is a lot like him, but a super hipster lesbian that’s a bit more on the adventurous side. Their mother is not supportive of her at all, and it’s something that infuriates him (he loves his sister to death). He takes her to a pride parade every year so that she feels loved and accepted by at least one member of her family. She lives in the city and they meet up often, usually on a monthly basis. They both love to read and often exchange books with each other once they've finished them. He considers her to be his best friend.

He played the violin growing up (his mother's idea). He was in orchestra all throughout school, though he was never very good. He enjoyed the music, but he didn't actually like playing very much, and he *hated* being on stage.

He loves dream pop. I just know that this little hipster man gets down to some Cocteau Twins, Lush, or Slowdive. I think he also probably likes The Smiths (they're so relatable to him), but he’s not really into any post-punk beyond that. I also think he likes 70s dad rock a little bit, stuff like Eagles and America- just the classics.

He isn’t really the type to get bored easily. He didn't have a large social circle growing up, so he learned to entertain himself. When he lived in the city he used to go to the movies by himself, and sometimes even to restaurants that he wanted to try. He is painfully lonely at the end of the day, but he does enjoy his own company.

He’s a cat person, 100%. Dogs tend to need too much attention and playtime for his liking. I imagine that his partner's cat loves to rub their head on his mustache and sit on his lap while he reads. I also imagine that they tend to knock his model plane parts onto the floor while he's building them. It annoys him, but he's very patient with his furry friend!

He isn't disturbed or scared by horror movies at all. He doesn't bat an eye, especially at gore- he has a stomach of steel from his days of working at the hospital. He enjoys watching them from time to time simply to critique the medical inaccuracies.

He secretly *loves* Hallmark Christmas movies. He watches them every year from the moment they start airing. He's an absolute sucker for cheesy romance. He cries during them sometimes if he's had a little too much wine.

Okay that was long and way too deep, I'm so incredibly sorry!

I'm just jotting these down as reference points for my fan fic tbh, I thought I'd post it though? Oof ya'll, please bear with me. I'm trying to be more creative in my daily life and this is just my way of forcing myself to actually do it.

[iridecsense]

𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 - 𝘮.

⤷ summary: “You’re blue, I'm red, I wanna kiss your neck and make you purple all over.”

ꕥ word count: 33.7k ꕥ pairing: credence barebone | fem!reader  ꕥ genre: fluff, angst, smut ꕥ rating: 18+ ꕥ warnings: mentions of physical and religious abuse, mild violence and angst ꕥ kinks: femdom, masturbation ꕥ author’s note:  Credence’s first time requested by anonymous. Experimenting a new writing style with this one, I hope you still like it! This is very soft, but also sinful. I always suggest using Interactive Fics extension on Google Chrome and Firefox when reading my fics. Enjoy. ;) ꕥ key: (y/n) - first name (l/n) - last name (e/c) - eye color (h/c) - hair color (s/c) - skin color

There are very few moments in life worth living for. Most things in life are mundane and repetitive. Humans aren’t as complex as they like to think. Humans are simple. Without realizing, it they put themselves into a routine. Eat, work, sleep, repeat. Eat, sleep, work, repeat. Eat, sleep, work, repeat.

Albert Einstein once said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.” And yet, most humans never fall into insanity. How is it humanity survives such a dreary existence? The answer itself is simple. It is because despite living simple, tedious, monotonous lives, they still have those few moments.

Credence wanted nothing more than to experience one of these moments. Life for Credence was human. It repeated on an infinite loop, no matter how much he prayed for it to stop. Unlike most people’s lives, Credence’s routine wasn’t something to accept comfortably. There was no eat, sleep, work, repeat for him. His day started with an unsavory meal. It was usually porridge or stale bread. Then he would go out and hand out his “mother’s” flyers while she ranted in the streets. After that, they’d return to the orphanage where he’d surely get beat for doing something wrong. After being denied dinner, he would return to his room and cry silently in his bed, trying to dream of a life better than the one he lived. Then repeat.

Today was supposed to be no different. Today, Credence would have to hand out flyers around Times Square until nightfall. He hated handing out flyers in Times Square. It was bright, loud, and crowded, and the rich people from The Eggs always came down to shop and attend the cinema.

Rich people are assholes.

For the most part, Credence was invisible amidst the hustle and bustle of the square. People were too busy chatting amongst themselves or rushing to the nearest store or restaurant to even bat an eye at him. He didn’t mind it. He welcomed invisibility with open arms. Being seen usually ended with new bruises and scars. That's what happens when you’re an outsider, and Credence was an outsider in every sense of the word. He was an outsider to the rich people that pushed past him on the sidewalk, an outsider to the orphanage, and an outsider to himself. 

So, the lowly outsider stood hunched over in the middle of the sidewalk next to a cinema. Above him was a large marquee lit up by five hundred flashing bulbous lights. Mobs of people dappered up in evening dresses and suits, tipping their fedoras and clutching their mink coats excitedly entered the theatre. Credence looked at the flyers in his hands. Mary Lou gave him three hundred flyers to give out, and he barely gave out thirty. Most of the ones he did manage to force into someone’s hand ended up on the ground not ten feet away from him. They couldn't even bother to find a trash can. He wouldn’t dare return home with such a disappointing turnout.

The sun had long since set. The roar of the night became corrupted with wealthy party-goers. The Square was alive with chatter and street music. The streets were filled with intoxicated drivers flashing their fancy topless automobiles and the pretty women that shouted inside them. It was rather scenic, and Credence often found himself staring longingly at all the people whose lives seemed much happier than his own. It was one of the few ways he could pass the time.

He would watch couples walk the street hand in hand, seemingly in love. The woman would occasionally point out something on display she fancied and sweetly coherence her partner to buy it for her—to which they always did. He would observe a gang of college gentlemen around his age hop from bar to bar, obnoxiously laughing and roughhousing in the streets, cat-calling passing dames. In his mind, he was one of them. He pretended he lived in a world where he wasn’t an orphan and grew up in a wealthy family. He would have a mother who loved him and a father who was proud of him. He would go to college and make friends with other boys. Maybe he’d fall in love with a girl along the way. Someone sweet to please the folks back home. Then it would be him parading down the streets with a pretty girl around his arms in Times Square, and some other poor guy would be miserable in his place.

As his eyes wandered the streets, watching the snippets of other people's lives and inserting himself in them, his eyes landed on her across the street. She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of a boutique. Her hair fell around her shoulders in waves, neatly placed under a velvet green beret. She had on a slim fitting wool coat with mink trim over a lace-covered silk dress that shined in the night’s light. When she began to walk, his eyes followed her down the street like magnets. The way she seemed to carry herself was unlike the others around her. She wasn’t pink with liquor, stumbling in her heels on the pavement. Each step she took was one of elegance and confidence. He couldn't look away.

“Hey, watch it, punk!”

Credence found himself shoved to his hands and knees on the ground, the flyers in his hands dispersing in the air around him. He winced in pain and looked up to see a man angrily peering down at him.

“Watch where you’re goin’, freak!” The man cursed at him.

Credence kept his head down. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The man sucked his teeth and purposely stepped on some flyers in front of him as he walked by, pressing them into the wet sidewalk. Only when he was sure the man had gone did he find it safe to move. He ignored the soreness in the palms of his hands and tried his best to salvage as many flyers as he could. Passersby couldn't have cared less about the papers they ripped and crumpled under their perfectly pointed shoes. He picked up what little there was left unscathed—about a hundred at least. He was lucky most of them were still stacked together. He went to collect the last salvageable stack across from him when another pair of (s/c) dainty hands reached for them.

Credence’s eyes landed on a pair of green pumps pointed at him. His eyes trailed up past long legs shielded from the cold by nude stockings, green silk, and tawny fur until they met painted red lips and glossy (e/c) eyes. Up close, she was much more captivating. He could now make out her soft, round features and see how her (h/c) curls perfectly framed her face. Her cheeks were dusted a lush red. Whether it was from the early winter chill, or a detail of her makeup was unknown. Either way, she was stunning. It took him longer than it should have for him to notice the flyers she was holding out for him to take.

Credence awkwardly stumbled to his feet, keeping his eyes trained on the tips of her shoes to avoid her gaze. Even in his slouched state, he towered over her, but somehow he still appeared small.

“I saw that.” Her warm voice filled his ears, catching him off guard.

He lifted his head to look at her once more. “What?”

The girl looked in the direction the man from earlier had left and frowned.  “The prick who knocked you over was half-seas over! He could barely tell his left foot from his right! If he had, he would have seen that it was his fault knocking you to the ground like that.”

Credence didn’t know what to say. That was the most anyone had ever said to him without spewing insults his way. Even more peculiar was that the strange girl talking to him was trying to defend him. His awkward speechlessness didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest. Instead, her targeted vexed expression relaxed into a warm smile.

She urged the flyers towards him once more. “Sorry about your papers. I don’t think there’s much left to save.”

He carefully took the papers from her hands, noting how perfectly manicured her nails were. “It’s okay... thank you.”

“No need to thank me. No sense in being praised for common decency, right?”

Credence found himself speechless. He wasn't sure how to respond to such a statement. It was definitely something he should be grateful for. Most people wouldn’t look twice at him struggling on the street, let alone go out of their way to help.

The girl spoke through his silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?” She chuckled.

He shamefully bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she quickly assured him. “Sometimes, I think people talk too much. I don’t think people should say things they don’t need to, otherwise, words lose all valuable meaning. You know what I mean?”

He nodded slowly. “I think so.”

She seemed pleased with his answer, her smile growing ever so slightly. It wasn’t long before it was replaced with another frown. Unlike before, this wasn’t a frown of annoyance, but concern. Her brows turned upward and her red lips parted to let out a sharp gasp. She looked at him clearly for the first time, her eyes wandered over his slender form and taking in his appearance.

“Goodness! Aren’t you cold?” She asked, her voice laced with worry.

Credence shrugged half-heartedly. He was used to the cold by now. He only had a handful of clothes to begin with. He didn't have the luxury of having clothes that match the changing weather, he could only wear whatever clothes fit him from the donation pile. The warmest garment he obtained this winter was an old navy blue suit best designed for autumn’s chill, but useless against winter’s cold. She found it hard to believe he stayed in the cold for so long without freezing to death. Credence thought that was a bit of an exaggeration. It was a particularly cold November night, enough to keep the patches of ice and snow that had been shoveled to the gutters intact. With every shaky breath he took, a puff of white mist would follow. His nose and the tips of his ears were permanently colored red and, given his natural pale complexion, made him look rather sickly. But, he bore through it because he had experienced far worse.

Without warning, the girl took the liberty of placing her palms on the back of his hands. The gentle action was so alien, he flinched when he felt her warm skin.

“Your hands are like ice!” She gasped. “They’re two degrees short from falling off!”

It must have been true because the feeling of her hands was enough to send a fiery warmth throughout his body. Such affection was so foreign to him, he began to doubt it really happened. It wouldn't have been the first time his mind played tricks on him. Perhaps he was home in his bed, lucidly dreaming about a chance encounter with a pretty woman. In a moment, he would wake up, and the warm feeling of a woman’s touch would turn cold, and he’d find himself alone in his room again.

His theory was swiftly disproven when he felt her hands gently squeeze his. As if she had the brightest idea of the decade, the woman’s face lit up.

She took a step closer. “Say, why don’t I get you some tea to warm you up? There’s a coffee shop still open a few blocks away—I could drive you in my Ford!”

Credence blushed and swallowed. His eyes darted around nervously. “I’m not sure I should...” He mumbled.

“We can stand here in the streets like a couple of gulls if you’d like, but I’m not going to leave you out here to freeze, so you might as well say yes,” she smirked.

He wanted to say yes. But there was a voice inside him that warned him not to go. It was the same nagging tone Mary Lou barked in his ear. His mind spiraled, spewing scenarios of his adopted mother’s fury. He should be home by now. She never liked it when he returned home late. She would beat him again. She might even ice him—something she did when she was truly furious with him. The thought of it made his blood run cold.

“I-I can’t,” he stammered. “M-Mother is expecting me home—she’ll be wondering where I am.”

The woman’s once playful expression slowly faded. Her brows gathered at the center of her forehead and her smile faded. Credence was trembling and stuttering, helplessly trying to explain why he had to return home. His words slurred together into a tremulous speech. Passing pedestrians gave patronizing stares, actively avoiding the pair and whispering amongst themselves. The woman placed a comforting hand on Credence’s shoulder, silencing him almost immediately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” She said softly. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to upset you by it.”

She looked him in his eyes and offered a kind smile. There was a skip of his heart. A strange feeling weighed in his chest he had never felt before.

“Why don’t I drive you?” She suggested. “That way you can be home twice as fast!”

Credence took a moment to think about it. He found it increasingly impossible to say no. Against his better judgment, he found himself wanting to extend their encounter, if even just for a minute. He had the smallest inference that if he said no, it would disappoint her. The thought of disappointing her was something he didn't want to do. He felt obligated to appease her. She had shown him a kindness that he may never get again. He thought he could at least keep her pleased.

“Okay,” he relented.

The girl grinned up at him and linked her arm around his. His cheeks grew warm, and he tucked his chin to his chest to hide his blush. Not that she would notice either way. She gingerly led him down the street, trying to engage him with small talk. He tried to listen, but he would get distracted whenever he felt her chest brush up against him. She was so close and so warm. Her touch burned through the thin material of his jacket and made his skin tingle. He could smell her perfume, like lavender and vanilla.

Such an alluring scent it was. It smelled familiar and sweet in its flowery nature. It reminded him of the transition from spring to summer, when the flowers became the most vibrant and fruit ripened to perfect sweetness. He wished he could smell it every day. It would be a refreshing change from the stench of mildew and boiled cabbage he often smelled. He wondered if she always smelled so sweet.

“So, what’s with the pamphlets? Are you a part of that Second Salemers organization?” she asked, pulling him out of his fantasies. He looked down at her and saw her looking up at him expectedly. He couldn’t help but grow hot with embarrassment.

“Y-yes,” he answered.

“Really? So, you believe in witches?” She teasingly wiggled her fingers in his face.

"My mother does,” He answered.

“How interesting,” she thought aloud. “I can’t say that I believe in witches, but if they do exist I wouldn’t mind.”

“You wouldn’t?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, they’re human like us, right? People tend to demonize things they don’t understand. Just because they’re different doesn't mean we have to fear or prosecute them. I think we should embrace each other’s differences and learn to appreciate them, rather than forcing everyone to assimilate to one idea of normalcy. If we do that, then no one would be unique. We’d all be the same.”

He listened closely as she spoke. He was absolutely fascinated by her. It was rather profound, the way she thought. Most people would disagree with her sentiments, especially his mother. The world Credence knew was built on a system of separation. A system that separated classes, races, sexes, and the able-bodied—a system he was a victim to. Never once had he met someone who desired to rid of it just as much as he did, and he certainly didn’t expect to hear such scrutiny from someone who seemed to benefit from it.

When she finished her societal criticism, she stopped in her tracks and craned her neck up to face Credence.

“Excuse my rambling,” she flushed. “I talk nonsense when I go deep in thought. Don’t mind me, I probably sound crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Credence spoke up. “I wish everyone thought the way you think.”

Their eyes locked in a moment of tenderness. His bold sentiments were enough to make her heart skip a beat; unbeknownst to him. Their intimate trance was broken when a passing car flashed its blinding lights in their eyes, causing the girl to release her grip around Credence’s arm. The loss of contact made his arm feel too light; as if someone had taken a piece of his arm away.

The girl let out a sheepish chuckle. “Well, this is it,” she said as she walked over to the luxurious motor car parked on the side of the street. Luxurious seemed like an insult of a descriptor for the magnificent opulence of the machine. The streetlight illuminated the pearl-colored metal that matched the white-rimmed tires. Gold embellishments lined the rim. Tawny leather seats contrasted the exterior and matched the fabric roof. It was something Credence had only seen in advertisements.

“She’s a bit much, right?”

Credence hadn’t realized how apparent the astonishment written on his face was. He expected the girl to laugh at him, but the girl didn’t find joy in his culture shock. She was nervous, as if she were ashamed of her possession, like he had just discovered her most shameful secret.

“She was a gift from my father,” she felt the need to explain. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything, I truly am. It’s just that I would never have bought something so ritzy for myself.”

“I like it,” said Credence.

His words seemed to relax her otherwise tense demeanor. “I’m glad you do,” she smiled as she opened the door. He watched her slide into the driver's seat. He approached the machine cautiously, eyeing the foreign object skeptically. The girl watched him closely, an amused smirk curling her lips.

“You’ve never ridden in a car before, have you?” She asked. Credence shook his head.

“I promise there’s nothing to worry about,” she chuckled. “I happen to be an excellent driver. My father wouldn’t have given me one so expensive if I wasn’t.”

This was true. Such a beautiful car wouldn’t be gifted to someone who would evidently wreck it. The girl pats the empty passenger seat invitingly, urging him to get inside.

Credence slid into the passenger seat, the cool leather seeping through the thin fabric of his suit, sending shivers down his spine.

“Here.” The girl reached in the back seat of the car and pulled out a large grey blanket. “The car will get warmer as we drive, but this should be good for now.”

Credence placed his papers on his lap and reached for the blanket.

“Wait,” she stopped him, a small frown appearing on her features. “You’re bleeding.”

Credence followed her stare to his left hand. He turned his palm upward to find the healing wounds on his palms had reopened. He didn’t notice the sting of the cuts before, but now his hand burned with the slightest movement. He couldn’t help but feel exposed. He hated his hands. They were ugly. Permanently blemished with raised scars that formed from healing and reopening and healing and reopening at contact with his mother's belt. It was unsightly. He shied away from her, mortified. She must’ve found them just as repulsive.

But the girl didn’t seem phased by his calloused and scarred hands at all. She didn’t hesitate to reach inside her breast pocket and pull out a pink handkerchief to wrap around Credence’s hand. Again he could feel her warmth. Her soft hands caressed his skin, pulling him closer. She handled him gently, delicately folding and wrapping the silk fabric around his cuts. She glanced at him as she did so, only to find him avoiding her gaze with his chin tucked into his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered as she tended to him.

“You’re sorry?” She let out a breathy chuckle. “And what are you sorry for, exactly?”

“I-I don’t know,” he stammered. “For making you drive me home. For ruining your handkerchief,” he said.

The girl sighed as she tightened the cloth around his hand and tied it into a bow to keep it in place. “Bunny, you’re not making me do anything. I insisted, remember?” She reminded him. Credence felt the entirety of his face grow hot. He turned to face her again, only to be met with the same (e/c) eyes and kind smile she had before. His heart felt as though it were beating a mile a minute.

“And don’t worry about my handkerchief,” she adds. “I have dozens of them. They’re more for looks anyway, I never use them.”

Credence nodded and silently thanked her. She gave his hand another squeeze before leaning back in her seat and starting the car. The car made a sound like a lion and roared to life. The seats trembled beneath them, and the headlights lit the road ahead. When the car jerked into drive, Credence felt uneasy. She drove the car well, and he suspected that she was driving at a slower rate for his benefit, but the feeling of the car moving made his stomach churn with excitement and fear. He walked everywhere he went. He’d taken the subway once before when he was younger, but somehow this was different. He fidgeted in his seat, finding anything to distract himself from the tight feeling in his stomach. His eyes fixated on his hands, brushing his fingers against the smooth fabric of the handkerchief. It was colorfully embroidered with flowers and lacey patterns. He followed the design with his eyes until they came upon two scripted letters embroidered in gold on the corner that wasn’t tied into a knot.

“Are these your initials?” He asked to distract himself with small talk.

The girl gasped dramatically. “I never introduced myself, did I? How rude of me! I’m practically a stranger and here I am driving you around Manhattan without giving you a proper introduction.”

The girl took one hand off the wheel and held it out in front of him. “My name’s (y/n) (l/n).”

Credence took her hand and shook it lightly. “I’m Credence. Credence Barebone.”

“Credence. What an odd name. I like it,” she grinned before pulling her hand back. “So, where am I taking you, Credence?”

He told her he lived in the old chapel on Pike Street. She fell flustered while trying to explain she didn’t know exactly where that was. Credence then told her she was going the right way, and if she kept going straight, he would tell her when to turn. While they drove, she did her best to get to know Credence. He answered every question she asked with a short and vague response. She didn’t ask him many questions to begin with. She mostly talked about herself or the people she knew, like her family and friends. Almost everything reminded her of them.

He figured she did it to make him feel more comfortable. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed hearing her talk. While driving, she saw a dress in a boutique and mentioned that her friend, Darla, would love to have a dress just like it. When they passed a tea shop, it reminded of her mother, who only drank earl grey tea; which, to her, is the most boring of teas. On the sidewalk, there was a stray cat running into an alleyway. She told him how much she wanted a pet cat as a child, but she couldn’t get one because her father was allergic.

He couldn’t help but be enthralled by her. The more she talked, the more relaxed he became. He stole glances at her when she wasn’t looking. Watching her lips move as she talked, outlining the bridge of her nose and the curve of her cheek. He had been staring so intently he hadn’t even realized she’d asked him a question.

“Credence?” Her voice filled his ears.

“Yes?” He answered.

“I asked if I turn here.”

Credence turned to look out the window and saw that they had stopped at the corner of Pike Street. It was a quiet neighborhood filled with old apartments that had dim windows and unfriendly doors. Sticking out like a tabby cat among tigers was the Church of the Second Salemers. A rickety thing dwarfed by the buildings that surrounded it. Credence’s heart sank. If only the ride was a little longer.

“I can get out here,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

Her lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. “Alright,” she simpered. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” He said truthfully.

There was a beat of silence. The two sat awkwardly, not really knowing how to say goodbye. Credence stared at his hands in his lap and began to untie the handkerchief.

“Keep it,” she stopped him before he could. “To remember me by.”

Would this really be the last time? He knew that she meant nothing by it, but hoped he didn't have to remember her. He wanted to see her again. He didn’t want it to end.

He gripped the cloth tightly in his hand. “Thank you.”

He reluctantly opened the car door and stepped onto the slushy street, closing the door behind him. She waved at him through the window, to which he returned in a less enthusiastic manner. He took a step back onto the sidewalk and watched as she drove down the street until she disappeared around the corner.

“Goodbye... (y/n),” he whispered.

It had been weeks since Credence’s chance encounter, and ever since his mind was consumed with thoughts and fantasies of (y/n) (l/n). Everything reminded him of her. The melting snow on the ground, the smell of flowers that mimicked her perfume when he passed the floristry, passing women in mink coats and tea shops; they all emulated her.

He often thought about how different things would have been if he did what he wanted that night. Would she be with him now had he gone to the café when she’d offered? Would she have liked to know him? Would she have enjoyed his company? The more he thought about it, the more he wished he’d taken the risk—his mother be damned.

Now all he had were memories and theories of what could have been. Though, fantasizing became his new favorite pass time. Reminiscing about her was one of the only things that gave light to his otherwise dark, mundane life. Like right now, he was thinking of what it would be like to make her laugh while scooping porridge into bowls for the orphans to eat.

He thought her laugh would sound feathery and jovial; the kind of laugh that makes you want to smile and laugh with her.

“You’re smiling.”

Credence was pulled from his thoughts by his sister, Chastity. He looked to the side and saw her smirking into the pot. “What?”

“It’s not just today,” she says. “You’ve been... different lately. Happier, I think. Always smiling to yourself. Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Did you meet someone or something?” She persisted.

Credence scoffed. “How could I have met someone?” He refuted.

Chastity she glimpsed at Credence skeptically. “I guess not,” she hummed, much to his relief.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re blushing, though,” she smirked.

Credence’s cheeks burst into flames as he attempted to sputter an explanation. Chastity giggled to herself, finding amusement in teasing him.

“What’s going on, children?”

The sickeningly sweet voice was enough to raise the hair on the back of their necks and shudder their hearts. They turned around, craning their necks up to the banister. Mary Lou Barebone towered over them just as menacingly as she could in her own prim and proper way.

“Nothing, mother,” Chastity answered for them. “Credence was just telling me a joke.”

“This is no time to be joking,” she scolded. “We have a very important meeting today with Father Blackwell, and I will not allow distractions. We can't lose focus. This is our chance to spread our message to the church— to the city! You should be preparing, not laughing.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” Credence apologized.

“Don’t let it happen again,” she warned, before sauntering away.

Even in her absence, Credence couldn’t find the will to relax the rest of the morning. The threat of her looming presence was far too great. After the orphans had finished their meal and left, Chastity washed all the dishes while he cleaned the dining hall. Once they finished their menial tasks, Modesty came downstairs to tell them Mary Lou wanted them to hurry and dress in their best attire for Father Blackwell.

Father Blackwell was the priest of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He was the most famous priest in New York City and the priest of the mayor. Mary Lou was very anxious to present her case to him. According to her, once Father Blackwell hears her pleas and shares it with the church, the city would finally begin to take her seriously and put a stop to the heresy festering right under their noses.

So she believed.

It was Sunday. Today they would attend a mid-day service and attempt to get counsel with the priest. Though, Credence doubted Father Blackwell would even see them. As he got dressed, he looked himself over in the mirror. His ‘best’ attire was a dark plum suit so dark it looked black if you weren't paying attention. It made his already pale skin look even fairer and darkened the color of his raven hair and russet eyes. It was the only suit that fit him perfectly and had few blemishes. He’d probably look like a proper gentleman if his mahogany shoes weren't so terribly worn due to them being the only pair he owned.  

He took the matching hat off his dresser and put it on. Hidden underneath it was the pink handkerchief. He took the piece of fabric in his hands and held it up to his nose. It smelled like her. Remnants of her perfume still lingered between its stitches. He was grateful she allowed him to keep her handkerchief. He felt foolish for ever trying to part with it. It was the only proof he had that she existed; that their brief night encounter had truly happened.

“What are you doing?”

Credence instinctively hid the cloth behind his back, turning around to see Mary Lou standing in his doorway.

“I was straightening my tie,” he says, his voice wavering slightly.

Mary Lou looked him over for a moment, trying to find something out of place. “Come now,” she orders, having found no reason to torment the boy. “We’re leaving.”

She walked away. The sound of her heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs was Credence’s signal to breathe again. He pulled the handkerchief from his back and folded it neatly before hiding it underneath his pillow.

On their way to the cathedral, Mary Lou gave each of them a stack of flyers. She wanted them to hand out flyers to the congregation once the service ended while she talked with Father Blackwell. If there was one thing about Mary Lou, she was passionate and determined. When she set her sights on something, she will do everything in her power to execute it. She’d been planning this meeting for weeks. She readied herself in the only way she knew how: through constant prayer and tedious preparation. In a way, Credence was thankful for it. When Mary Lou became enlightened on an alternative approach, she was far too busy focusing on it to bother him. It was one of the few windows of relative freedom he had, and they came once in a blue moon. This meeting could mark the end, or the beginning, of this liberation.

Sitting in the pews during service, he could hardly concentrate. St. Patrick’s was a magnificent building, an authentic replica of the renaissance with its high, arched ceiling, stone engravings, and vibrant stained glass windows. It was the epitome of class and beauty. So, naturally, it would be the one church favorited by the high society. Wealthy families filled the better half of the sanctuary. While Credence and his family sat in the back with the rest of the commoners, they filled the front pews with tailored suits, mink coats, and Sunday hats. As Father Blackwell preached to the congregation, Credence searched the pews for a familiar face.

He knew his chances of seeing her were low, but he couldn't help but hope one of those Sunday hats would turn around and reveal those sparkling (e/c) eyes. His leg shook nervously, his eyes darting from one aisle of pews to another. It only stopped when a firm hand tightly gripped his thigh.

“Pay attention,” Mary Lou whispered, malice laced in her tone.

Credence swallowed, his body tensing immediately, afraid of even moving an inch in her presence. He turned his attention from the pews to the altar. Father Blackwell was standing in front of his pedestal, reading a scripture.

“We are living in a godless time,” He said. “Satan parades in the streets, preying on our sons and daughters! When the night comes, our children leave and venture into the streets. The devil and his minions tell them to wear promiscuous evening attire, commit sodomy, and fornication! Tempting them into Speakeasies to drink the Devil’s urine and feast on the bodies of Lilith’s daughters! Our city has become the devil’s playground. There is no God out there. Only sin.”

Flashes of her face imprinted in his mind. Credence frowned and tried to push it from his thoughts, but he couldn’t. His thoughts became consumed by her. As Father Blackwell spoke, he began to envision things he knew he shouldn’t.

“‘The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body.’” Father Blackwell reads. “Don’t you see? It isn’t ‘fashion’ or ‘modernity’. The devil has infested the media to infect our minds. He wants to taint our bodies to further stray us from God. ‘Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body’... and therefore, is a sin against God.”

His cheeks burned, and he prayed nobody would notice. He’d never thought of her like this before. Yet, somehow, the sermon unlocked one of his most shameful desires. He imagined the feeling of her warm body pressed against his. He reminisced about the feel of her soft skin. He pictured the curves of her lips, chest, and hips. He wondered how they would feel on his lips. Would they be just as soft?

“Brothers and Sisters, we must rid ourselves of all sin. Protect your children, for the devil, has his eyes set on them. The greatest sin against God is the polluting of our holy bodies. We must practice modesty and chastity. Only then can we be saved... Let us pray."

The congregation bowed their heads and listened as Father Blackwell lead the closing prayer.

The priest’s words echoed in the back of his mind. Even as he and his sisters handed flyers to those exiting the church, his mind would drift back to the sermon. Mary Lou had left him and his sisters to talk with Father Blackwell. He watched as she walked down the aisle to meet him at the altar. Father Blackwell was already conversing with a member of the church, a stocky man wearing a cream-colored suit and matching hat.

She nearly approached him before another man stopped her. Credence recognized him as Deacon Ripley. Deacon Ripley was as galling as his face would suggest. His face was pointed and far too wrinkled for his age. Deacon Ripley had a habit of sticking his unusually large nose into other people’s business. He reminded Credence of a sewer rat, just as unsightly and full of shit.

He couldn’t make out what was being said, but from the looks of it, Deacon Ripley was reprimanding Mary Lou. Mary Lou did her best to get Father Blackwell’s attention, but he and the mustachioed gentleman ignored her calls. Mary Lou was never really one to lose her composure, but in her desperation, she attempted to divert Deacon from obstructing her access to Father Blackwell. She rushed to the altar, calling Father Blackwell. She began stating her case, catching the attention of those still left in the church.  

“There are evil forces at work, Father!” She shouted. “Heretics walk freely amongst us, doing the devil's work!”

Deacon Ripley came behind Mary Lou. “Pay no mind to her, Father Blackwell, she speaks fabrications.”

“This is not fiction, Father, I can assure you,” she says. “I have seen them with my own eyes. The devil’s concubine.”

“What is this you speak of?” Father Blackwell demands.

“Witches, Father. There are witches here in New York, working right under our noses—”

“I told you, Father, she’s insane,” Deacon Ripley cuts in.

“I am not crazy,” Mary Lou snarks. “And if we don’t stop them now, there will be hell to pay!”

“Enough, Ms. Barebone,” says Father Blackwell. “I will hear no more of these fairytales. Please, have decency.”

Father Blackwell turned to the gentleman and guided him to a back door where they disappeared from the sanctuary. Mary Lou, still determined to be heard, began shouting after them, preaching her testimony of witches infiltrating New York. This resulted in her being handled by a few clergymen and escorted off the premises. People whispered and gossiped as the Barebones walked by. It wasn’t hard to tell Mary Lou was humiliated. She put on a brave face, clenching her jaw and holding her head high. She grabbed Modesty by the hand and walked away. Credence and Chastity followed close behind with their heads down.  

It had been about a week since the church incident. Mary Lou hadn’t left her room since. The only one to see her was Modesty. Mary Lou always had a soft spot for the younger sibling. In any other circumstance, Credence would have taken such behavior as a blessing. Whatever wrath Mary Lou was feeling wasn’t being directed at him. But the looming threat of her presence left him little to no space to relax.

Credence was helping Chastity make pamphlets in the dining hall when the sound of Mary Lou’s door opening and closing halted their process. Small footsteps trotted down the stairs and into the hall.

“Credence,” Modesty called. Credence stood from his seat and walked to Modesty, who handed him a stack of flyers once he was close enough. “Mother wants you to pass out these flyers around town. She said not to come back until they’re all gone.”

Credence took the flyers in his hands and reluctantly walked to the door. It was snowing today. It wasn’t cold enough for it to stick, but it was cold nonetheless. He already wore his warmest clothes, which happened to be an old navy sweater vest, grey wool suit jacket, and matching trousers. He threw on a grey fedora and ventured into the streets.

He didn’t mind handing out flyers. Anything to get out of that awful place was enough for him. It was just about noon when he left. He thought it best to head towards the inner city. It was Saturday, so there were sure to be people bustling in and out of shops today. It usually wasn’t a long walk, Credence was used to walking long distances. However, the nipping cold slowed his pace a bit.

In the first hour, he spent walking around midtown and passing flyers around the park. Handing out flyers in winter rarely yields any results. People are far too cold and miserable to bother pulling their hands from their pockets to grab a piece of paper. After a very unsuccessful hour, he migrated further north, closer to Times Square.

“Credence?”

Credence stopped in his tracks, his heart jumping wildly in his chest. He slowly turned around to where the voice had come from. There, in all her grace, was the last person he expected to see. He could see her even more clearly than the last night he saw her. This time, she wore a large, white fur coat that stopped at her ankles and a matching fur hat. In her gloved hands, she carried a small beaded purse that glittered when light reflected off it.  In the day’s light, her skin radiantly glowed, much like her purse. Her eyes seemed bigger than what he remembered, mimicking that of a doll’s. They were enhanced by the brown eyeshadow that darkened her lids and the mascara that elongated her lashes. Today, her lips were raspberry pink instead of the deep red he remembered. Snowflakes nestled in the nooks of her curled (h/c) hair, making her appear even more angelic.

“Mi-Miss (l/n)?”

He hadn’t a moment to process her appearance before she rushed into his arms, catching him by surprise. She threw her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his broad shoulder. His hands instinctively gravitated to her waist, holding her steady as she stood on the tips of her toes. She felt lush in his arms, the heat from her body sent warmth spreading throughout his center. The expanse of his neck and cheeks blossomed into a dusty shade of rose. His mind raced as he tried to collect his thoughts. He was almost sure she could feel the rapid beating of his chest.

If she did, she didn’t seem to mind. She held onto him, squealing excitedly. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you!” She said between giggles. “I was hoping you’d be here!”

Credence raised his brows, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You... You were hoping?” he repeated.

She pulled away, falling back on her heels to look him in the eye. Her hands still held onto his arms. “Well, I wasn’t sure if I’d see you,” she says. “But every time I come down, I hope I do.”

“You visit often?” He asked.

“As much as I can,” she admits. “I live in Kings Point. Do you know where that is?”

He nodded. Kings Point was a village up North by the bay in an area commonly referred to as West Egg. Many wealthy families live there in their ritzy mansions, throwing parties, boating, and golfing.

“Yes, well, I can only visit on weekends. Mainly with friends. But, lately, I’ve made a habit of coming down on my own, since I met you.”

She had said it so casually he thought she must’ve not realized how it sounded. Had she been purposely coming to the city, hoping to cross paths again? A small smile formed on his lips.

Her hands slipped from his arms and returned to her side, much to his disappointment.

Just then, a man behind her coughed, drawing their attention. (y/n) looked back and gasped. “Oh! I’m sorry, Eddy. How rude of me! I completely forgot to introduce you.”

She stepped back to the man’s side. “Eddy, this is my friend Credence Barebone. I met him a few weeks ago in Town Square. Credence, this is Edmund Tully.”

Credence and the man made eye contact. The man, Edmund, was tall; even taller than him. He was built, with wide shoulders to match his thick neck and strong, clean-shaven jawline. His rectangular face was undeniably handsome, with strong, straight features Credence had only seen before on statues and hooded green eyes. His blond hair was almost completely hidden underneath his grey newsboy hat that matched the tailored grey suit he wore underneath a thick, black, fur-lined ulster.

Credence was already intimidated by the man. He was older, around his late twenties. If it wasn’t his overall overwhelming appearance that intimidated him, then it was definitely the pointed glower directed at him. (y/n) didn’t notice it. Her eyes were focused on him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Credence, bravely offering his hand.

Edmund looked down at Credence’s outstretched hand. “Yes, and you as well,” he said indifferently, reluctantly taking his hand and forcing a smile. (y/n)’s brows wrinkled slightly at the interaction as she looked between the two men.

When they stopped shaking hands, Edmund turned to (y/n). It was almost comical how drastically his expression changed when he looked at her. His face softened and his phony, tight-lipped smile became genuine.

“(y/n), darling, I’m afraid I have to go now,” He said.

“So soon?” She asked.

“Yes, actually. Your brother and I have a meeting with your father and Mr. Finnegan around lunch,” he explains.

“Oh, I see,” she hums in understanding. “Well, you better get going.”

“You’re right, I must.” He took a step closer to her. “It was lovely running into you today, (y/n).”

Credence watched as he bent down and placed a large hand on her waist. She too reached around to wrap your arm around his torso. He watched as the man kissed her right cheek before moving to kiss the other. This didn’t phase her at all. Instead, she smiled as if it happened all the time. Credence felt looked away, upset by the display. Why did he feel upset?

The two pulled apart, and Edmund began to walk away. “I’ll tell your brother you said hello, shall I?” He yelled.

“Yes! And tell him that mother wants him home by ten o’clock tonight!” (y/n) responded as she waved goodbye.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Credence spoke up.

(y/n) looked back to face Credence. “I have two older brothers, actually,” she told him. “Aaron and Channing. Eddy is Aaron’s friend. They met at Oxford University. He and my brother both work for my father now, so he’s around often. He can be a bit... overbearing sometimes, but he means well.”

“And your other brother?”

“Channing is only a year older than me, so he’s twenty. He’s my best friend,” she revealed. “He isn’t here, though—in New York, I mean. He’s currently studying abroad in Japan.”

“Japan?”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Between you and me, I think he’s only there to follow this Japanese girl he met. And I don’t blame him! I met her before and she’s very beautiful, sweet too! Though, I do miss him a lot. Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone with him when I had the chance.”

Credence looked down at his feet as he listened. For some reason, the thought saddened him. Did she miss her brother so much that she would end up leaving for Japan one day? Would he never see her again? Would she miss him if she did? He didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay so they could keep meeting like this. So he could see her face and have her smile at him so kindly, like she always did. Her brother might miss her, but he needed her.

Credence felt so selfish for thinking such things. How could he possibly think he deserved her time? If he told her what he truly thought, how would she react?

As if she could read his thoughts, (y/n) took a step closer to him. He picked his head up to face her and saw that she was smiling up at him.

“But, if I had done that, then I wouldn’t have met you,” she says.

Just as quickly as his deprecating thoughts had come, they left once her words reached his ears. Credence could only stare at her in disbelief.

“And he sends me letters every month, so, I guess it's all right,” she chuckled. “So, how have you been?” She asked, bringing him out of his daze.

“I...I’ve been well,” he says.

“I’m glad,” she smiles. Her eyes travel down his form. A small crease forms in the middle of her brows as she tilts her head to the side. “You still haven’t gotten yourself a coat, I see.”

Credence looked down at his clothes as though he had forgotten what he had on. “No, I haven’t.”

She cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brows. “I suppose I could just buy you one.”

Credence shook his head, not wanting to inconvenience her for a second time. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“I wasn’t really asking,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Really.”

She stared at him for a moment, squinting her eyes slightly. “Fine, then.” She began unbuttoning her coat. Credence watched her, confused by the sudden action.

“W-What are you doing?” He asked.

“If you won't let me buy you a coat, then I won't wear one either,” she says simply.

Credence furrowed his brows. “But you’ll be cold.”

She scoffed. “And you’re not?”

Credence was rendered speechless. A small smirk curled on her painted lips. “Either you let me buy you a coat, or I won’t wear one at all. I can’t walk with you knowing you’re freezing and I’m perfectly comfortable.”

She was impossible. No matter what he says, she would always find a way to make him give in.

“O-Okay,” he concedes.

(y/n) grinned brightly, fixing her coat back over her shoulders and hooking her arm around his as she had once before.

“This will be fun!” She beamed.

She led him back in the direction she had come while eagerly telling him about the boutique she knew would have the best selection for him. He increasingly became more comfortable in her presence. He even properly engaged in conversation, much to her delight. And whenever she smiled up at him, he found himself smiling too.

The boutique wasn’t far—about three blocks away to be exact. It was a small blue shop with gold painted windows. Through them, Credence could see posed mannequins dressed in all kinds of fancy coats, dresses, and suits. Written above the entrance in the scripted font was a sign that read: Vendicci’s.

Upon entering the store, their ears were filled with Italian opera. The shop appeared to be empty. There were no other shoppers, and the front counter was left unattended. Credence followed her to the counter. On its surface was a small golden bell that she tapped lightly. The bell rang, signaling their presence.

Shuffling could be heard from the back of the shop, catching their attention. From the back of the shop, they could hear harsh whispers and unintelligible curses. A short, thin man came stumbling in. He had dark olive skin and chestnut brown curls that fell around his Grecian face. He was disheveled—the first three buttons of his pink dress shirt were unbuttoned, and the fabric of his pressed white pants were creased. Without looking, the man made his way to the back of the counter, mumbling in a language he couldn’t make out.

Following behind him was a woman equally disheveled in appearance. Her short black hair stuck up in odd places, and she had missed one button of her blouse. She wandered the shop, to mind some clothes on the rack as the man drew near to the front counter.

“Stupidi Americani... Sorry, we are closed for now. You can come back later when—,” The man stopped when his eyes landed on her.

(y/n) smirked. “Hello, Raül,” she waved.

“Bella!” He gasped and hurried towards her with open arms. “How wonderful to see you!” He said in a thick Mediterranean accent. He placed hands on her shoulders and pulled her in to kiss both of her cheeks. “You look even more lovely since the last I saw you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Raül,” she chuckled.

“Where have you been?” He pouts. “It’s been so long I’ve barely been able to survive without you.”

“I’m sorry, Raül, I’ve been trying to be more mindful of how I spend my money,” she explains.

“Mind your money here! I have so many new items you would look molto bella in. I saved them just for you,” he winked.

“That’s sweet of you, Raül. I promise I will come by and try them on at another time.”

Suddenly, the man became aware of Credence’s presence in the room. He looked at him like something had left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Raül raised a skeptical brow and asked with pursed lips, “Is this man with you?”

“Yes, he is,” she says as a matter-of-fact. “We’d like to buy a coat. Something thick for the winter.”

Raül nodded and hummed, turning back to face her. “You’re just in luck,” he says. “Early this week I got a shipment straight from Italia: a fine selection of winter coats designed by Feliciano Romano himself.”

(y/n) gasped, clasping her hands together. “That’s fantastic! We’ll try those first!”

She took Credence by the arm and they followed him through the shop where they came upon a round archway covered by red velvet curtains. Raül pulled back the heavy curtains to reveal a separate room. It was small. The carpet was also red to match the curtains and the loveseats and chairs that decorated the room. In the center of the floor, was a circular platform. Above it was a circular ring of white drapes that had been pulled up. Across from the platform was a wall of mirrors, reflecting the room from different angles.

The woman from earlier had come in as well. With her, she brought along a rack filled with many expensive coats. She pulled it to the side of the room, right next to the platform. Raül thanked the woman with a playful pat on her buttcheek.

Credence blushed, having put two-and-two together about what was going on between the two co-workers before he and (y/n) had shown up. (y/n) was unfazed at all by the promiscuous interaction. Instead, she took off her coat and hat and threw them on one of the sofas facing the platform before taking a seat.

“Let’s begin!” Raül said excitedly.

“Stand up there, Credence.” (y/n) pointed to the platform. Credence did as he was told, and stepped onto the raised surface, awkwardly awaiting more instruction.

The dark-haired woman came up to Credence with a large coat in her arms. He didn’t need to put it on to know it wasn’t something that would suit him. She stood behind him and slipped the sleeves of the coat over his arms and shoulders. The coat itself was heavy enough to make him slouch slightly and tense his leg muscles to carry the added weight. The warm fabric engulfed his lanky form. It was made of strange, thick fur—not mink, but from another animal, he couldn’t guess. It was dark brown, and in some areas, it looked black. The length of the coat ended just above his ankles and the sleeves practically covered his hands, the tips of his fingers were all that were visible.

It was definitely a coat well suited for a more muscular type of man. It was the kind of coat that would be perfect for a large Russian mobster. However, on his lanky form, it just looked plain silly. (y/n) looked at him in the mirror, catching his eye.

“Do you like it?” She asks. “Be honest. I won’t buy you something you don’t like.”

“It’s fine,” he lied.

“Absolutely not!” Raül said as he took a step onto the platform and stood in front of Credence, looking him over intently. “I never thought I would say this to anyone, but, my dear, sable is not for you.”

“You don’t think so?” (y/n) chimed in.

“Miss (l/n)!” He gasped. “You are my most fashionable client! Tell me you don’t think this works for him!”

She looked him up and down, a smile stretching across her lips. “I think he looks cute,” she says. “like a cuddly bear.”

Credence blushed and shied away from her gaze. Raül tuts his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Well, he must be the skinniest bear in the forest,” he mutters as he pulls the coat off Credence’s shoulders.

“Want to try another one?” She asked. Credence nodded.

Raül went through the rack before pulling out another coat for him to try. He found one he thought might look best and took it off its hook before helping Credence try it on.

After he helped him slip his arms in, he took a step back to look him over. “How's this?”

It was a slim-fitting burnt orange fox fur coat that stopped halfway. It had a low collar and large brown buttons that trailed from his chest to the hem. He noticed how it was tighter around his waist and made his hips look bigger than he’d like. He thought it was a coat he would see on a woman. 

“It’s a bit bright for winter, don’t you think?” She pointed out.

“Nothing is ever too bright,” Raül argued.

She squinted at Credence’s reflection in the mirror, pondering the look. His face burned red and he silently pleaded she disliked the coat as well. His flustered expression made her stifle a fit of giggles. “I think we’ll try another one,” she smirked.

Raül sighs and slips the coat off Credence’s shoulders, much to his relief. The next coat was a black and white trench with large black buttons and a belt. Credence stood uncomfortably in front of the critical pair.

Raül crossed his arms, a small approving smile plastered on his lips. “Now this, I like!”

“I don’t know...” She hummed. “What do you think, Credence?”

“It’s itchy,” he says.

“It’s tweed,” Raül said, as though it made it better.

She giggled and looked at Raül. “Another?”

They went through several different coats, most of which were unflattering or uncomfortable. Credence thought the others were doing it on purpose — at least, he felt like she was. There was something about the playful smirk that curled the corners of her lips whenever he was dressed in a seemingly ridiculous or feminine coat that made him feel as though she had taken joy in dressing him up and watching his cheeks turn red from embarrassment whenever she expressed how ‘cute’ he looked. While there may have been no initial mal-intent when she initially insisted on buying him a coat, he was starting to feel like she was toying with him; teasing him for her own pleasure. 

Raül pulled another unsatisfying coat off of his shoulders only to replace it with another. The weighted coat comfortably slipped onto his shoulders. When Raül properly fit the coat onto him, he took a step back, a small smile gracing his features. Credence turned his neck to look back at (y/n) who had a similar expression of approval.

“Wow.” She whispered.

The coat was indeed impressive in a simplistic kind of way. It wasn’t too flashy or extraordinary. Just a simple black trench that fell to his knees. It was a sharp, angular cut, one that seemed to broaden his shoulders to imitate a somewhat muscular appearance. The shade of black complimented his pale skin and matched his raven locks, making him appear more porcelain than before. 

“Magnifico! So handsome, like a dark prince!” Raül cheered. His assistant then too voiced her agreement.

(y/n) moved from the sofa to the platform where Credence stood. She eyed him closely, circling him before stopping in his eye-view. She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the material under her skin. She dragged them up and across his shoulders, before stopping at his chest. Credence’s heart drummed against his chest, excited by her touch. He wondered if she could feel it through the coat.

“Do you like it?” she asked him.

“I do,” he says, truthfully this time.

She smiled and turned to face Raül. “We’ll take it!”

(y/n) left with Raül and the woman from earlier to pay for the dashing coat, leaving Credence alone in the dressing room. He looked himself over in the mirror, admiring how he looked in the black material. He couldn’t deny how good he looked in it. For the first time he looked, normal. Better than normal—he looked like a proper gentleman. Sure, a real ritz could snuff him out in a heartbeat, but to the average New Yorker, he could pass for someone on the same caliber as (y/n). It was like looking at the version of him he always wanted to be.

It wasn’t long before the fleeting fantasy soured. The rational part of his brain picked at the flaws of this entire interaction. How would he explain to his mother where he got such an expensive coat? If she saw him wearing it, she would definitely ask questions he was afraid to answer. Either way, he knew he couldn’t be seen with it on while she was around. But he couldn’t throw it away; not when she went through all the trouble of buying it for him. And it was such a nice coat... Credence shook the worries from his mind. He couldn’t think about it now. 

After (y/n) paid for the coat, the two bid Raül goodbye and ventured back out into the cold. Already, Credence noticed a stark difference of the cold with the coat protecting his skin. It dulled the nipping chill that never left during the winter months. 

“Much better, isn’t it? ‘Not cold’ my ass,” she snarked playfully. She fished around her coat pocket and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. “Take these.”

Credence eyed the gloves questionably. (y/n) sighed and took his hand from his side, sliding the gloves on before doing the same with the other. “There,” she grinned. “I wasn’t sure if these were gonna be the right size, but look! They’re perfect!”

“But... you didn’t have to buy these for me,” said Credence.

“I didn’t buy them,” she says. “Raül gave them to me—well, to you. He says those gloves must go with that coat. I have to say I agree; they really complete the look.” She began walking down the street again, prompting him to follow her. “And don’t worry about the coat, okay? Like I said before, it’s on me,” she reminded him.

Credence still felt couldn’t accept something so valuable without thanking her. She bought him a coat because she cared about how he was feeling, just like when she helped him off the street all those weeks ago. He felt indebted to her—grateful to her. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he returned the favor tenfold. 

To her, this was obvious. She could tell buying the coat bothered him. He was so tense. He probably would never relax around her unless he somehow proved that he deserved to. Perhaps she can help him see. She glanced at the taller boy from the corner of her eye.

“But,” she sighed. “If you’re still looking for some way to repay me, I can think of something I’d like you to do.”

Credence perked up. “Really? What is it?”

She grins up at him, showing her pearly white teeth. “Go on a date with me.”

Credence’s eyes widened. “W-What?”

(y/n) chuckled. “If you don’t want to go on a date with me, that’s fine.”

“No!” He said all too desperately. He blushed at his own excitement. “I mean... Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“It’s why I suggested it, isn’t it?”

Credence blushed. A date? He’d imagined taking her on a date in his head about a hundred times. He thought of what he might say and do on the chance he got to be alone with her again. Maybe this time he’ll follow through.

“Okay,” he gave in. “Where do you want to go?”

“How eager are you!” She laughed. “I didn’t even say when and you’re already trying to sweep me off my feet, huh? Either that or you’re just trying to get rid of me.”

“T-That’s not how I meant it!” he stammered.

(y/n) giggled at his demise. “I’m just teasing you, Bunny. No need to turn so red,” she smirked.

She didn’t help his case when she slipped her arm between his to link their arms. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to her being so close to him. No matter how many times she touched him, he always managed to get flustered. It’s probably why she did it so much, just to see him blush.

“Now is as good a time as any,” she said while smiling up at him. “Are you hungry? I’m starving!”

They walked through the city together, arm in arm. Unlike last time, Credence attempted to be more interactive with her. (y/n) was definitely the more dominant converser, but his attempts to be more engaging with her didn’t go unnoticed. He asked her the questions that have been collecting in his head since they met.

He asked her what she did in her spare time (paint) and what her favorite food was (chocolate). He learned that she was a Columbia scholar currently on break and that she recently adopted a hairless cat named Onyx (it was the only cat her father wasn’t allergic to). Talking with her became easy. He even made her laugh a few times.

While they walked, Credence felt like they passed about twenty different restaurants and cafés he thought she would like. But whenever he thought they were about to stop, she kept going. He was wondering where exactly she was taking him. 

“Are we eating somewhere in particular?” He asked discreetly.

(y/n) nodded and hummed. “I’m taking you to one of the best places on earth. Salone’s! It’s not that far from here. It’s been a while since I’ve been, but I’m really craving it. Have you ever been there before?” She asked.

Credence shook his head. “Never,” he said, causing her to gasp dramatically.

“Oh, now we definitely have to go! What kind of person would I be if I let you go on living without experiencing God’s gift to man? And by ‘God’ I mean Dixie Salone, the owner.”

When they turned the corner, there was a small restaurant named Salone’s across the street. Taking precautious measures, (y/n) gingerly led Credence across the street and to the restaurant. When they opened the door, the smell of grease and peanuts filled the air. The place was reasonably packed, with average looking people all looking at them as they entered the room. (y/n) looked out of place in her rather extravagant attire, though now—with her on his arm and his new coat—he probably looked just as pretentious as she.

If (y/n) noticed the leering eyes of the other customers, she didn’t show it. Instead, she scoured the area for a place to sit, before landing on a booth tucked away in the back. They claimed the booth for themselves. Credence took the booth facing the door, shedding his outer attire and tucking it away in the seat corner. (y/n) slid into the seat across from him, shrugging off her coat and hat, revealing her clothes underneath.

Underneath the mound of fur, was a matching white dress. Unaccommodating to the weather, the dress underneath hung off her shoulders. It had long sleeves, but the upper half of her chest and her shoulders were exposed. Though, Credence figured when you have fur to wear over your clothes, it doesn’t matter much what you wear under it. The fabric was velvet, which must have also helped. From what he could see, it hugged her body well. Credence looked down at his hands on his lap, realizing he had been staring a bit too long. Lucky for him, she hadn’t noticed.

On the table were two menus placed before them. He looked down at the large printed sheet. Credence had never been to a restaurant before. He had eaten nowhere else but the church. He ate once a day (if he ate at all) and it was the same thing almost every time: porridge and stale bread. But on the menu before him, there was no porridge or stale bread at all. There was soup, steak, chicken, and almost every kind of pie. He felt his mouth watering just thinking about it. 

“Don’t bother looking at the menu,” (y/n) told him, gaining his attention. “I’m going to order for you. This place is really only good for two things, everything else is subpar, trust me.”

He looked at the menu again, mildly disappointed. He was looking forward to trying fried chicken. He took a moment to look around the diner. Most of the people there looked like working classmen: factory workers or nannies. Some still wore their uniforms under layers of sweaters and scarves. Others wore regular everyday clothes. Many of those who eyed them upon their entry returned their attention to their food and prior conversations. Though, there were a few that still snuck looks at their table in the back. Some were harmless, like the little girl who was staring at (y/n) in awe. Some were more menacing, like the rugged-looking man sitting on a stool by the counter who seemed annoyed by their presence.

(y/n) noticed that Credence’s eyes were shifting around the room pointedly. “Is something the matter?” She asked.

“It’s just...” He began. “I never thought you would be the type to eat at a place like this.”

“I guess it does seem a bit funny, huh? I look like someone who’d frequent an uptown steakhouse, right?” She chuckled. “Truth is, I’ve never had a big part in that lifestyle. Banquets and fine dining, I mean. It’s all fake and pretentious. But this—” she gestured to the room around them. “This is real. The food is real. The people are real. Do you know what I mean?”

Credence nodded. “I think so.”

“Some of my favorite memories take place here. My father would take me here when I was little on his days off. It was one of the happiest times of my life. I guess I wanted to relive that with you today.”

Credence took notice in the look in her eyes. He could tell that recalling such memories saddened her. He didn’t like seeing her upset, but, at the same time, he was glad she wanted to share something so important to her with him. One day, he hoped to do the same.

Not long after that, a young woman dressed in a red dress and a white apron with a stitched red S on the bottom corner walked up to their table with a notepad in hand.

“Hello and welcome to Salone’s, what can I get the lovely couple today?” The waitress asked. Credence couldn’t help but blush after being referred to as a couple.

“Yes,” (y/n) said happily. “Today we’ll—” she stopped mid-sentence before glancing at Credence across the table. She smirked and waved the waitress down to her.

The waitress smiled and got down on her knees next to her. (y/n) grabbed a menu and held it in front of their faces so Credence couldn’t tell what she was whispering. He watched in confusion as (y/n) whispered their order to the waitress.

The waitress nodded, and every once in a while he heard her giggle. “Yes, alright... okay... got it!”

The woman stood back up on her feet and smiled down at the two diners. “If you two just wait here, I will be right back with your orders,” she said cheerfully before trotting off.

“What did you get?” Credence asked once she had left.

(y/n) shook her head and held her fingers to her lips to imitate the motion of closing a zipper. “It’s a surprise,” she winked.

Credence nodded, having decided to trust her decision. In the meantime, while they waited for their food, (y/n) engaged in another conversation with him. It was a continuation of their earlier conversation about pets. (y/n) wanted to know if Credence had any pets. When he told her he never had a pet, she asked him what kinds of animals he likes. He told her that he never met many other animals before. He’d seen many rats in his life, but that just came with the joys of living in New York City. But he thought it appropriate to mention he once made a bond with a stray cat when he was younger.

It was a black skinny thing, with a chewed off ear, and part of its tail was missing. One day, when he’d been left out on the streets as a punishment (he told her he was walking home), the cat came up to him and was begging for food. Lucky for the cat, he had a piece of bread in his pocket. He gave it to the sad creature, and it ate it from his hand. He’d never pet a cat before then, but he liked how it’s fur felt when he brushed it, and the sounds of the cat’s meows. After he told her that story, he stated that he probably liked cats the best.

“We’re just alike! Maybe one day I can take you to meet Onyx,” she suggested.

The corners of Credence’s lips curled up softly. “I’d like that,” he said.

Just then, the woman from earlier came up to them with their order on a large silver platter. The waitress placed the hot food onto the table, along with their drinks before leaving them to enjoy their meal. Credence looked down at the plate of food in front of him.

“Burgers?”

“Burgers,” she repeated excitedly. “If there’s one thing this place can make, it’s a damn good burger. Well, that and a mean vanilla milkshake! The fries aren’t half bad either,” she says as she pops one in her mouth.

Meat and fried potatoes filled his nostrils. The burger was as big as the plate it came on. The sesame bun was soft and round, and the edges appeared to be lightly toasted. Crunchy lettuce, cheese, and two slices of bacon coated in mayonnaise and ketchup poked out from the sides on top of a thick beef patty. (y/n) smiled in amusement as she watched Credence carefully take the burger in his hands. His eyes were practically sparkling with excitement.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “Take your first bite! I want to see the look on your face when the juicy meat hits your tongue.”

Credence glanced at her across the table, before opening his mouth and taking a generous bite out of the hefty burger. Various flavors overstimulated his senses. The beef and pork collided with the onions, lettuce, cheese, and condiments to create an unfamiliar taste he’d never experienced before. The meat was succulent and juicy, just as she said it would be. The cut of the beef was thick and chewy, and the bacon was crispy and flavorful. The bun was soft and crunchy and tasted as though it was toasted with butter. It wasn’t stale at all! It was like it came fresh out of the bakery just before it wound up on his plate. 

It was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Well?”

Credence hadn’t even realized he closed his eyes, but when he opened them, (y/n) was looking at him expectantly. He swallowed the delicious food and licked his lips greedily, chuckling softly.

“It’s good,” he smiled.

A wide grin stretched across her painted lips. It was the first time he’d laughed around her.

“You have a pretty smile, you know that?” She told him.

Credence’s cheeks reddened for the thirtieth time that day, and he lowered his head to hide it from her.

(y/n) chuckled softly before taking his basket of fries. “Here.” She took the red ketchup bottle from the side of the table and drizzled the condiment over the fries in a zig-zag pattern before sliding the basket back towards him.

“Thank you,” he muttered bashfully through a mouth full of food.

“You’ve got ketchup on the side of your mouth,” she told him.

Without thinking, he stuck his tongue out to lick the spot clean. (y/n) smirked in amusement, watching him do so, finding it cute.

“Did I get it?” He asked.

She snickered and reached her hand across the table to the side of his face. Her thumb gently swiped the corner of his mouth. The action took him by surprise. He sat tensely as she did it. It was a quick moment— a gentle touch, and yet his entire body burned with heat at the contact. When she pulled away and leaned back in her seat, the warmth still lingered. She looked him in the eyes, not breaking contact as she brought her thumb to her lips. The pink flesh of her tongue darted out and lewdly flattened against the pad of her thumb, cleaning it of the ketchup.

Credence felt his body ache at the simple action, the tips of his ears burning incredibly hot. (y/n), who was by no means ignorant to the effect she had on him, could only smirk and marvel at the rosy tint of his cheeks. Credence was grateful she didn’t draw attention to it. It was easier to hide how flustered she made him when they were outside, and he could blame his feverishness on the cold. Now that they were inside and it was warm, it made it harder to deny. He couldn’t bear being teased by her further, he felt like he might explode. She must have sensed it too, because she made no other moves to make him blush after that. She acted as though it didn’t happen and continued to eat her food. Credence then too returned to eating, praying that the ache he felt went away. 

It did, with the help of other distractions. (y/n) continued innocent conversation as they ate to keep the peace. As they talked she could tell that her earlier display still hindered his interaction. While they talked, she’d notice his eyes would linger on her lips rather than her eyes; and whenever they did lock eyes, he would trip over his words and look away.

It was cute, she thought.

Before she could decide to tease him further, the waitress had returned to their table, having noticed that their plates had practically been licked clean. She asked if they were finished with their plates, and they both nodded.

As she collected their dishes she asked, “Can I interest you two in some dessert?”

(y/n) pursed her lips and turned to Credence. “What do you think? Still have room for more, pretty boy?”

Credence flushed.  “I-I’ve never had a milkshake before,” he stammered, referring to the claim she made earlier.

She smiled, before gingerly holding up a finger to the waitress. “We’ll have one large vanilla milkshake with extra cherries, please!”

The waitress returned her smile and winked. “Coming right up!”

It wasn’t long before she came back with the milkshake. It came in a large glass cup filled with vanilla milkshake and topped off with a generous swirl of whipped cream. It was decorated with a cherry, but the extra cherries (y/n) asked for layered the bottom of the glass. The waitress placed the glass on the center of the table between the two. She handed them two big, red and white striped straws before leaving them once more. They both took one and put it into the glass.

(y/n) smiled eagerly at Credence across the table. “You get the first sip,” she said.

He thanked her as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around his straw. He sucked on it how he normally would without realizing how thick the milkshake was. (y/n) watched him struggle for a moment as he nearly ran out of breath trying to suck the ice cream up the straw. He got it eventually, the cool, sweet, vanilla filling his mouth. It wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really, but he just knew that the taste surprised him. He never had sweets before. Sugar is a gluttonous indulgence that Mary Lou found sinful. But as the sticky sweet cream slid down his throat, he wondered if all sin was just pleasures he was being denied.

He didn’t have to tell her he liked it. It was written all over his face. It was probably the most relaxed she’s ever seen him. She enjoyed seeing him that way, with a small smile on his face and flushed cheeks. Credence was so invested in the milkshake, (y/n) was sure he would drink it all if she didn’t get her sips in. Credence nearly choked when he looked up and saw her face mere inches from his own, sipping on the other straw in the glass.

She didn’t seem to mind at all, being so close to him. Her eyes were closed as she sipped. Her curled lashes brushed against her full cheeks and her glossy lips circled the straw delicately. This close, he could see the texture of her (s/c) skin, seeing the few freckles and moles that decorated her features he hadn’t noticed before.

When she did open her eyes, he didn't look away. This time he looked in her eyes and saw for the first time that her eyes weren’t just one shade of (e/c), but a combination of different shades and colors to make the color that was distinctly her’s. Similarly, she saw that his eyes were a deep brown, almost black if it weren't for the few streaks of chocolate brown and burgundy that reflected in the light.

(y/n)’s lips curled into a smile. She bashfully looked away from his eyes and into the glass. The two drank in comfortable silence, savoring both the milkshake and the tender moment. They drank the contents of the glass, leaving nothing but the leftover cream and cherries at the bottom. They wouldn’t go to waste. Cherries must have been (y/n)’s favorite because ate most of them. She did however offer one to Credence for him to try. She held the cherry by the stem and encouraged him to take a bite. He thought it was a bit embarrassing that she insisted on feeding it to him, but he took the cream covered fruit into his mouth and found it just as sweet—if not sweeter—than the milkshake itself.

She let him eat the remaining cherries himself. While he was eating, he watched (y/n) gather her things, putting on her coat before sliding out of the booth.

“I’m going to go pay while you finish,” she told him as she got up.

She walked over to the front counter where the waitress was counting money from the cash register. Credence watched as the two women talked. (y/n) smiled at the waitress and said something that made her laugh. She reached into her purse and pulled out several bills. She handed it to the waitress, who looked at the cash in her hands with wide eyes.

“For me?” He overheard the waitress ask. When (y/n) nodded, the young girl squealed in excitement and rushed from the counter to hug her. The two stumbled due to the unexpected force, but (y/n) didn’t seem to mind. She laughed and hugged the waitress back, patting her back in a friendly manner. Credence, having finished his cherries, got up to stand by (y/n)’s side.

“Thank you so much, miss!” Credence heard the waitress gush as he came up.

“It’s nothing, you deserve it,” (y/n) insisted. (y/n) turned her attention from the young girl to Credence beside her when she felt his presence. She looked up at him with a smile. “Are you ready to go?” She asked him. He nodded.

The waitress looked between the two and grinned softly. “You two make a sweet couple,” she said.

(y/n) returned the grin, hooking her arm around Credence and leaning her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, playing into the waitress’s assumptions.

“You two have a blessed day!” The waitress left to tend to a waiting customer leaving him victim to (y/n)’s smug grin. At this point, even his neck was red. (y/n) couldn’t help but find  it amusing. No matter how flustered he got, he wouldn’t protest.

She lightly squeezed his arm, making him look down at her. “Are you ready to go, pretty boy?” She asked him.

It was the second time she called him that, and it was just as startling as the first time. The pet name made his heart swell in his chest and his brain stutter. But again, he didn’t protest. He just nodded his head and turned his face away to hide his reddened cheeks. (y/n) giggled, satisfied with the reaction she got, and they both walked out of the restaurant and back into the cold.

Outside, the snow had stopped falling, but the sidewalks were still slick with slush and ice. (y/n) took a deep breath, breathing in the crisp air as she looked up at the sky.

“Is it that late all ready?” She muttered to herself, her happy features falling slightly. Despite the heavy, grey clouds blanketing the sky, they could still see the sun shining brightly behind them. Credence too looked up at the sky. From what he could tell, it was around three in the afternoon..

He turned to (y/n). “Do you have to go now?” He asked her regrettably.

Her eyes fell down from the sky to his own. Her lips pressed into a small smile and shook her head. “Not just yet,” she said.

“Why don’t you walk with me to the park.” She demanded more than asked and pulled him off down the sidewalk.

He walked with (y/n) a little while longer, back towards the park. Along the way, (y/n) would stop outside shops and look at the items displayed in the windows. Some things of the things she expressed an interest in were for her, sometimes she would see an item and would say something along the lines of “Mom would love this” or “Aaron has something like this”. But sometimes she would stop and turn to Credence and ask, “Do you like this?”

He had to talk her out of buying him things multiple times. She seemed so eager to spoil him. She wanted to buy him a new pair of shoes and a watch she’d seen on display. There was an expensive-looking suit outside of a tailor’s shop, and her eyes practically sparkled upon seeing it. She tried to convince him to go in and try it on, but he knew if he did, she would end up buying it for him. How he deterred her from the idea was a miracle in itself. But eventually, she dropped the idea, and the two continued on their walk. 

The two reached the park without buying a single thing. When they reached the entrance of the park, (y/n) stopped, and pulled away from his side. Credence halted in his tracks, turning around to face her. He looked down at her as she smiled up at him.

“Do you have anywhere to go after this?” She asked him.

Credence shook his head. His mother wouldn’t be expecting him until dark.

She pursed her lips and tilted her as if in thought as she sighed.

“Should I just kidnap you?”

The question took him by surprise. (y/n) laughed at the perturbed look on his face. “I’m joking, Credence,” she said between snorts. “I won’t kidnap you. Not unless you want me to.”

Credence smiled softly, letting out a soft chuckle of his own. This made (y/n) smile even bigger than before. She took a coy step closer to him, taking one of his gloved hands in her own and swinging it playfully.

“I had fun today, Credence,” she told him. “As first dates go, this is probably the best one I’ve ever been on.”

“Just probably?” Credence mumbled jokingly.

(y/n) smirked, amused by the sudden remark. “Yeah, just probably.”

Credence looked down at their hands, admiring how small her hands were compared to his. Somehow he hadn’t realized just how much shorter than him she was. He always felt smaller than her. He didn’t mind it: feeling small. It was different from how other people made him feel small; like his mother or strangers on the street. They made him feel tiny, like a bug— like something disgusting and inconvenient. To them, he was something they could easily step on. But with her, it was different.

With her, he felt small, like a flower. And to him, she was the sun. She was so big and so bright. Whenever she was around, he felt alive. And whenever she wasn’t, he felt like he might die. He didn’t mind feeling small around her, because, at least when he’s with her, he is consumed by light. 

“I had fun too,” Credence spoke up. “I really enjoy spending time with you, Miss (l/n).”

“Are you always this formal?” She teases despite her obvious blushing. “I enjoy spending time with you too, Mister Barebone.”

She gave his hand one last gentle squeeze before letting go. She brushed past him, striding down the street. Credence watched her as she walked, his heart sinking just a little.

As though she could sense it, (y/n) looked at him over her shoulder as she walked and grinned. “Don’t look so sad,” she yelled to him. “I’ll find you again.”

With a chaste wink, she disappeared around the corner and away from his line of vision, leaving him with a full stomach and an even fuller heart.

That night, Credence returned home alone. He reluctantly walked back to the crooked chapel. His mind was fogged with thoughts of her. When he came to the front of what he, unfortunately, called ‘home’, he hesitated to go in. He looked through each window. It was dark inside. Could everyone have fallen asleep already?

He looked down at the coat on his body. He quickly shrugged the heavy material off of his shoulders and folded it in his arms before quietly entering the house. The house seemed empty, and it was almost too quiet. He pushed his way through the dark and carefully made his way up the stairs as to not make a sound. He’d gotten good at being quiet in the house. He memorized each squeaky board and mastered the art of moving in silence despite his height. 

He crept up the stairs as he’d done many times and tip-toed to his bedroom, where he then quietly shut his door. Once he heard the door click softly, he released his breath and sighed in relief.

His room wasn’t much. It was small and comprised a bed with an old iron frame, an armoire, a sink, and a metal tub that he uses to bathe. He looked down at the coat in his hands. He moved to the armoire by his bed and opened its doors. There wasn’t much inside; he had little to put in it, anyway. But today, he would be thankful for that. 

The armoire was a rather fancy piece of furniture. It stood out in his otherwise destitute room. The armoire was just as old and worn out as the rest of the room, but it wasn’t hard to tell it was an ornamental relic of the 19th century. It had enough space to fill two weeks’ worth of clothes. It was almost offensive how little there was inside it. One detail about it was its hollow bottom. Credence could slide the bottom plank of wood to reveal a cubbyhole. Its original purpose must have been for shoes or winter blankets, but now it would serve a new purpose. 

Credence kneeled on the ground and packed the coat neatly into the cubby before throwing his new gloves on top. They fit perfectly inside and he was allowed to slide the wooden plank back on with ease. With that accomplished, he rose to his feet and closed the armoire doors. He began undressing, stripping his clothes until he was left in nothing but his boxers.

It was as cold in the house as it was outside, but credence had no pajamas that would keep him warm. He had but one pair of old satin pajamas that were too small for him. He decided not to wear them tonight. The naturally cool material wouldn’t provide him warmth or comfort.

After putting away his dirtied clothes, Credence fell back on his bed and stared up at the rotting ceiling above him. As he lay there, his mind would drift to the memories of his ‘date’. Just thinking about her made his heart beat faster. He pictured her in his mind, reliving the time he spent with her.

It was the most surreal thing. Being with her made him feel things he never felt before. She made his heart flutter and his cheeks warm in a pleasantly addicting way. When he was with her, he forgot everything bad. There was no anxiety, no judgment, no harsh words, or abuse. He was just a normal man with a normal woman. He wished he could feel that way all the time.

His hand reached behind his head and slipped under his pillow to retrieve the soft pink piece of fabric he kept there. He held it up in front of him, rubbing it between his fingers. The moonlight from his window reflected on its threads, and he could read the stitched initials in the corner.

“(y/n)...” He whispered her name so tenderly. Just saying her name aloud made his lips tingle. He loved saying her name for the simple reason that it was her name. He would say it a thousand times aloud if he could.

He brought the cloth down to his nose and inhaled its scent. Her fragrance still lingered on the soft fabric, clouding his senses. Credence felt a familiar stirring rise in his stomach. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he pressed his legs together. His mind flashed to the other day in the church, remembering the lewd images of her he had fantasized about. A part of him was ashamed. Sexual desire was a sin he shouldn’t act upon. It was a vile, disgusting act. That’s what the church told him, at least. And his mother would have no part of it either.

Mary Lou made sure to reprimand him whenever she suspected him of sexual temptation, so much so he shied away from girls all together. Yet recently, he’s felt a bumbling desire well up inside of him. He knew what it was; he felt it before. Only once before had he fallen victim to his lusty desire. It had been in his adolescence. He was sleeping when he had a dream about a red-haired woman he’d seen on the street. She was most likely in her twenties at the time, but she was so captivating he remembered her face for a week. He dreamed of that red-haired woman touching and caressing him. She’d even kissed him like he’d seen couples on the street kiss. This mild fantasy woke him from his sleep with a shameful mess on his bed.

He was so humiliated and ashamed he rushed to confess to Mary Lou, who punished him greatly for his lasciviousness. He didn’t dream of the red-haired woman or any woman at all after that. That is, until he met her.

At first, his thoughts of her were innocent. He would fantasize about holding her hand and laying on her chest as he slept. She would caress his face and run her fingers through his hair.  He would give her chaste kisses on her cheek, and she would giggle and laugh, returning the favor. But that changed that day he went to church and listened to Father Blackwell’s sermon. That was the first time he thought of her in such an erotic way.

It was because of this he felt particularly suffocated by her presence today. He became even more aware of her touches. His eyes would stare at her lips more often and glance at the curves of her chest. He thought about how she held on to his arm; How warm and soft she was; Her small hands. He thought about how her finger felt brushing against his lip. About how her tongue darted between her plump lips to lap at her thumb.

Credence bit his lip to keep his whimpers from escaping. His thoughts were filled with images of her, his body reacted on its own. He curled on his side and pressed his legs together to relieve himself of his growing hardness. Instead of discouraging his growing lust, it seemed to only spur it on. The feeling of his thighs pressing against his length brushed an itch he desperately desired to scratch.

He wanted her by his side so terribly. If only he were as confident and manly as the men he saw on the street, she would be. If he were as confident as the man she was with today, then he could call her by her name. He too could take her by her delicate waist and kiss her cheeks. And, oh, did he wish to kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her many times today. He wanted to kiss her the moment he saw her. He wanted to kiss her again in the boutique when she pressed her hands on his chest, and again when she asked him to go on a date with her. He wanted to kiss her multiple times in the restaurant for teasing him so viciously, and he wanted to kiss her deeply before they said goodbye.

He imagined what it would be like to be that kind of man; what it would be like to have her with him now, and what he would do if she was. If she was there on his bed laying next to him, he would want to kiss her now as well. He would have her under him, staring up at him with her beautiful (e/c) eyes. He would brush the hair away from her face and stroke her cheek. Her hands would hold his sides and pull him closer so their bodies lay flat against each other. He would feel her and she would feel him. Her warmth would consume him, and their bodies would mold together.

Credence closed his eyes and smelled her pink handkerchief. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend she was there.

“(y/n)...” He whispered her name once more. His hips rocked hesitantly, the undeniable bulge in his boxers was now too evident to ignore. Rocking his hips caused a pleasurable sensation in his stomach. It felt so good, he did it again... and again... and again; rocking his hips as he held her handkerchief to his nose and imagined her.

He thought of kissing her soft lips as he pressed into her, feeling her hands run up and down his sides as they had done before. He wanted to rock his hips against her like he was doing now. Would it feel as good for her as it felt for him? Would she breathe as heavy as he was now? Would she pant and whisper his name?

“A-ah...”

He panted lewdly, pleasuring himself with these thoughts. But it wasn't enough. He needed more.

He laid on his back on the bed. His body seemed to know what to do without thinking about it. He kept his eyes closed as his free hand snaked down his body to palm himself over his boxers. He rubbed himself through the fabric, his shallow breaths filling his ears. But to him it wasn't his hands, but hers; her soft, small hands touching him gently.

It was her delicate hands that slipped past the waistband of his boxers and gripped his length. It was her hands that stroked him slowly. She was there, whispering his name while he whispered hers. The more she stroked him, the shorter his breaths became. Each breath he took was filled with her scent. She consumed him, wrapping her essence around him, and filling his body with heat.

She stroked him faster as they kissed. He kissed her deeply, slipping his tongue past her lips as he’d seen couples do before. He could taste the cherries and vanilla on her tongue, as sweet as they were in the milkshake they’d shared. She moaned his name in her mouth, driving him crazy.

“Ha..-ahh. ahaa...”

More, he thought. All he could think about was how he wanted more. More of her scent, more of her touch, more of her.

Her hands became wet with his slick, gliding up and down his length with vigor. His body was overtaken with a foreign sensation, buzzing through his body, collecting where he wanted to be touched the most. The faster she stroked him, the better he felt. She felt good, so so good.

“H-Ha...-haaaa...(y/n)...”

He wanted to say her name over and over. He wanted to shout it, loud enough for the heavens to hear. He didn’t care if God heard him. He wanted God and the angels to hear so they would know how she made him feel. He was overwhelmed by love and lust for her. He wanted them to know that his body was hers and he willingly gave it to her. He wanted to touch her, please her, feel her.

His eyes clenched shut. Her hands pumped his twitching length excitedly, the buzzing heat collecting at his center. His legs began to shake, his back arching from the bed. Lavender and vanilla, that’s what he smelled as his vision blurred and the buzzing heat tingling in his core burst and was replaced with a cool wave of overwhelming pleasure.

His body trembled, somehow coated in a thin layer of sweat despite the room being cold. He stayed still, laying in silence as he let his body calm. When he finally opened his eyes, he half expected to see her hovering over him with that playful smile on her face, only to be met with the rotting rafters of his ceiling.

He sighed through his nose. Once the euphoric cloud in his mind cleared, shame and regret replacing his lusty desire, he moved from his bed to the sink across the room. He turned the knob and a low stream of water fell from the faucet. Taking the dingy rag that rested on the sink’s bowl, he wet it, using it to clean up his mess. As he wiped himself, he wondered if that was what sex was like. He never touched himself like that before, though he wanted to many times. Now that he had, the answer to his question was clear. Sins were just pleasures he was being denied. 

He returned to his bed, burying himself beneath the covers. He took the handkerchief back into his hand and held it by his face as he slept on his side. His eyes grew heavy, the scent of lavender slowly drifting him to sleep. A passing thought in his mind wondered if this is what it would feel like to sleep by her side. He would do anything to just hold her once, to lie on her chest and listen to the sounds of her breathing.

That was his last thought before falling asleep.

Several days would pass since the last time he saw her. They would be long, dreary days spent in the chapel. It snowed relentlessly for three days, making it impossible to venture out. During that time, he would clean and help Chastity serve meals to the orphans that sought refuge from the streets. The day when the snow finally ceased to fall, Mary Lou tasked him with shoveling the street in front of the chapel while she took Modesty and Chastity into town.

It was once he finished shoveling that he realized he had the rest of the day for himself. He pondered staying in the house for a moment, but quickly threw the idea. He couldn’t bear another minute in that house. Instead, he went on a walk. It wasn’t unusual for him to do this when he had the time. He would walk aimlessly just to get away. He only could afford to when his mother left him alone.

Today, Credence found himself at Central Park. It was no surprise that the park was packed. The low temperatures of the past week allowed the lake to freeze over, thick enough for people to skate on. Men, women, and children scattered across the area. Carolers were singing Christmas songs and street vendors peddled treats. It was a pleasant and lively scene.

He had almost forgotten that Christmas was so soon. He’d been so caught up with his duties it had slipped his mind. He liked Christmas, even though he didn’t celebrate it the way most people do. His mother forced him and his siblings to attend church on Christmas Day. But he could appreciate what others did on Christmas. He liked seeing the kids play in the snow, showing off their new toys. He liked the idea of parents spending time with their children by the fire. He even liked listening to Christmas songs that would play on repeat outside the record store.

Credence watched the people as he walked through the park. He liked to imagine himself in their place. Sometimes he was a kid playing fetch with his dog. Sometimes he was a woman making snow angels, or a man building a snowman. Right now, he was the man of a couple skating on the ice, holding hands with his partner. The pair laughed as they spun in circles, occasionally grasping at each other’s arms when they slipped.

He was too busy projecting he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. Like any other creature, he was susceptible to attack. He flinched as he felt icy-cold pellets burst against the back of his head. He heard a sharp gasp not far behind him, followed by a heap of childish giggles. Credence turned around, expecting to see a group of devious looking children. Imagine his surprise when he saw her standing ten feet away from him with a group of children looking incredibly guilty.

“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry, Bunny! I was aiming for your shoulder, I swear!”

“(y/n)?” He muttered in disbelief.

How did she always appear in the least expected places? He stared her down as she rushed towards him. Today she was wearing a heavy, brown fur-lined coat and a green cloche hat that matched her boots. When she reached him, her hands immediately reached behind his head to dust the remaining remnants of her snowball from his hair.

She looked at him apologetically. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I feel like a total gink,” she pouted.

His cheeks burst into flames. The position she put him in had her chest brushing pressing against his as her hands brushed through his hair. At this angle he could see how neatly curled her hair was under her cap, falling in styled swirls around her face. Her swollen nose was red from the cold. Her breath that smelled distinctly of coffee beans warmed his cheeks.

Credence’s expression softened, a faint smile ghosting his lips. She was still apologizing to him, frantically brushing snow from his hair and shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said in hopes to calm her. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. Her head lulled forward, hiding her face in his chest. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” He heard her muffled voice say.

Credence swallowed the lump in his throat and nervously licked his lips. This was the closest she’d ever been to him. He reached a dithering hand to grasp hers and rubbed the back of her gloved hand with his thumb.

“I’m not angry,” he assured her.

(y/n) lifted her head from his shoulders to meet his eyes, searching for any sign of irritation. “Are you sure? You can get me back, if you want.”

Credence nodded his head. “I’m sure.”

She believed him this time, her relief washing over her face. “I really am sorry,” she said one final time. “I just saw you walking past by chance and I wanted to surprise you.”

“I was surprised!” He said a bit too excitedly.

This made her laugh and playfully push his shoulder. Her laugh alone was enough to put a smile on his face, one that made dimples appear on his cheeks. He felt her hand firmly grasp his, holding it properly.

“Why aren’t you wearing your new coat and gloves?” She asked. “Don’t you like them?”

Credence had forgotten he wasn’t wearing the coat you got him. He couldn’t, not without his mother seeing it. If she knew about the coat—if she knew about him seeing you—she would be furious. He kept the coat (y/n) had given him hidden with the rest of the precious things she gave him. He wore the old navy blue coat out that Mary Lou had recently acquired and given to him. It wasn’t nearly as warm or stylish as the coat (y/n)  had gotten for him, but it was enough for the winter, and it was the only thing he could wear in front of his mother.

“I do like them,” he answered. “I was afraid of ruining it. I don’t want to wear it out too much.”

It was the best excuse he could think of at the time, and after mulling over it for a brief moment, she seemed to accept it. She then told him that, if he did end up damaging his new coat, she would simply buy him another, and spoke no more of it.

She nodded towards the lake behind him. “Did you come here to skate?”

Credence looked back to the lake. “Oh, no,” he said. “I never learned.”

Another gasp left her lips. “You’ve never been ice-skating before?”

He shook his head.

“Then we’ve got to fix that, now don’t we?” She reckoned.

Before he could ask what she meant, she’d already left his side. He looked in all directions until he saw her talking to an older couple sitting on a mess of picnic blankets under a tree. It appeared she’d asked him a question because their answer was a shake of their head. She waved goodbye to them before walking off to pursue another person, who gave the same answer. He watched her do this a few times around a small area of the park with no luck. At one point, she stood in the middle of the snow pondering while she scanned the area. Curious, Credence walked up to her.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Looking,” she replied simply.

Her squinted eyes panned across the park, her lips pursed as though she were thinking very hard about something.

“Ah!” She shouted, a triumphant smile stretching across her lips. She turned to Credence and winked. “Follow my lead.”

She walked down a small hill towards a small group of children who were playing in the snow at the bottom. Credence followed a few steps behind.

“Hey, kiddos,” She waved.

The kids stopped what they were doing to look up at her. She waved her hands towards her, beckoning them over. The children shared confused looks, before cautiously making their way towards her. She squatted down Asian style to meet their eyes. Credence stayed a couple of feet away, but he could still make out what was being said.

“Can you keep a secret?” He heard (y/n) ask the children.

The kids nodded and hummed in confirmation. (y/n) grinned.

“You see my friend over there?” She pointed behind her, directing the children’s attention to Credence. “He’s never been ice-skating before!”

The children snickered whispered teasingly among themselves. Credence looked away, embarrassed to be taunted by children. (y/n) giggled with them and easily brought back their attention.

“I really want to teach him,” She revealed once their jeering ceased. “But he’s so silly, he forgot to bring a pair of skates.”

“That is silly!” One of the little girls yelled.

(y/n) looked between Credence and the children. “Now, I see you have a pair of skates.” Sure enough, there were a pair of skates laying in the snow where the kids were once playing, far too big to fit on their small feet.

“Do they belong to any of you?” (y/n) asked.

“No,” The little girl shook her head. “They were already there.”

“We think someone left them by mistake,” An older boy chimed in.

“I see,” (y/n) hummed. “Do you think I can take them for my friend, then?”

“But we was gonna use ‘em! We saw them first!” A small blond boy frowned. (y/n) looked at the boy and flashed her kindest smile.

“Oh, were you now? How about I just borrow them? I’ll bring them right back to you, I pinky promise!” She held out her pinky for him to take. The boy looked at her hand in front of him. He lifted his hand and stretched out his pinky.

“I guess that’s okay...” He mumbled through puffed red cheeks.

(y/n) hooked hers around the boy. “Aren’t you sweet?” She affectionately pat the top of his head. “I hope my kid will be as kind as you are.”

The boy blushed and swat her hand away from his head, adjusting his hat. “Whatever, Lady!” The blond boy ran away, the rest of the children chased after him with childish taunts.

(y/n) chuckled and rose back to her feet. She walked up to where the skates were laying and picked them off the ground before making her way back to Credence’s side.

“Are you ready?” She asked excitedly.

Credence shrugged his shoulders, still processing the events of the last fifteen minutes. (y/n) scoffed and rolled her eyes, forcibly taking Credence’s hand.

“Just come on,” she groaned as she dragged him towards the lake.

When they reached the edge of the ice, she handed him the skates and ordered him to strap them onto his boots. Credence did as he was told and sat down on the nearest bench, securely strapping the skates onto his shoes. After (y/n) had double-checked to make sure they were on right, she held out her hand for him to take. He grabbed it, using her to find his balance. When he stood to his feet his ankles wobbled, disrupting his balance.

(y/n) gripped his arm tightly to keep him from falling. “Careful,” she warned.

He held on to her as she guided him to the lake. She stepped on the ice with ease. She grabbed his other hand and helped him step on the ice. Immediately after his skates touched the ice, his heart raced.

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” his voice fluttered anxiously.

“You’re okay, I got you,” she promised.

She pulled him further out onto the ice, still clasping his hands. Credence gripped her hands for dear life while silently trying to figure out how it was he ended up in this position.

Other skaters flew past them as he stumbled on the ice like a baby deer. (y/n) didn’t give up on teaching him. No matter how many times he slipped or tripped, she was always there to catch and pick him back up when he fell. Eventually, he got the hang of it. He started balancing himself on his own, gliding somewhat smoothly without having to hold on to her. It didn’t take long for him to relax and reciprocate her playful activities.

(y/n) eventually stepped off the ice, giving him the space to skate on his own. She watched him fondly, taking in the smile glowing on his face. He went around in circles, almost bumping into others a few times, but he directed himself easily. She would say he was a natural.

He went on like that for a while as she watched. When he’d had enough, he made his way back to the edge of the lake where she stood.

“Was that fun?” She asked when he skated towards her. Credence nodded his head and smiled bashfully. She helped him stop by taking his outstretched hands. 

“You’re a fast learner. I’m kind of jealous. I didn’t get the hang of skating until I was twelve,” she brooded jokingly. “Are you done?”

“Yes,” he said as he stepped back on the snow. 

They walked towards the bench, and Credence sat down to take off his skates. (y/n) stayed standing. “There’s a vendor selling treats across the street,” she told him. “Why don’t you give those skates back to the kids while I get us something to drink?”

“But––” Credence tried to protest, not having the courage or social skills to approach a group of children. It was quickly ignored, however, for (y/n) had already made up her mind, and began walking to the street. 

“I’ll be right back!” She said as she left him alone on the bench. 

Credence looked around, silently doubting his ability to find the kids. His eyes scanned the park until they landed on a group of children having a snowball fight. He recognized one of the children as the bratty boy (y/n) convinced to let them borrow the skates. 

He reluctantly got up from the bench and walked over to the children, skates in hand. The closer he got, the louder their shouting laughter became. Most of the children were boys between the ages of seven and thirteen, but three girls around their age had gained their friendship. One girl stayed off to the sidelines watching the others play. He recognized her as well.

“Excuse me... little girl?” He called. The little girl turned around and held out the skates. “Here.”

The girl took them and smiled. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

She looked behind him, frowning when she saw nothing there. “Where’s that nice lady?”

Credence pointed across the street towards the street vendor where (y/n) was patiently waiting in line. “She should be back,” he told her.

“I like her!” said the girl. “She’s very pretty, like a princess!”

This made him smile. It made him happy to know others, even children, saw her the way he did. “Yeah,” he agreed. “She is.”

The little girl looked at Credence, noting the soft smile on his face as he watched you. “Do you like her or something?” She probed unexpectedly. 

“Uh... I...?” Credence struggled to find the words to say. It's not that he didn't know the answer, it was just that he hadn’t expected to be asked that question. Especially not from an eight-year-old girl. Were his feelings that transparent? Did you know how he felt too?

The little girl didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I think she likes you,” she told him, surprising him for the second time.

Credence flushed pink. “Really?”

The small girl reached her hand to pat Credence's arm and imitated the look of someone wise beyond her years. “Trust me. Women know these things.”

Oddly, he couldn’t help but feel a bit hopeful despite the words coming from a child. He never felt about anyone the way he felt about her. The way he is when he’s with her—the way he talks to her and touches her—he can only be that way with her because he likes her. He could never be that way with anyone else. But he always felt that, for her, it was different. Seeing her interact with others like the children, the waitress, Raül—even Edmund—made him realize that she was kind to everyone. She didn’t treat him that way because she liked him. She treated him that way because that’s just the kind of person she was.

“Hey, kiddos!” (y/n)’s voice caught his attention. Both Credence and the girl looked up to see her holding a cardboard box of steaming paper cups. “I got something for you!”

The children playing heard her too and ceased their fight to run towards her. They circled her like a litter of puppies, excitedly asking what she was holding.

She lowered the box for them to see, showing off cups filled with light brown liquid. “For letting us borrow the skates. Be careful though, it's hot!”

The kids yelled enthusiastically as she began handing them each a cup. Credence walked to her side to help her.

“What is it?” He asked.

(y/n) frowned. “Hot chocolate. Have you never had hot chocolate before?”

He shook his head, causing her to gasp.

“I wish I had known sooner!” She pouted. “I got this is from a vendor across the street. I could have gotten better hot chocolate with marshmallows at a cafe a block from here.”

“I think it’s delicious!” The little girl interjected. 

(y/n) smiled down at her. “Well, if you think so, then it must be.”

Credence ended up being the one to give the bratty boy his cup of hot chocolate. (y/n) watched him as he drank it greedily. 

“What about you?” She asked him. “Do you like it too?”

“It’s pretty good, I guess,” he said, trying his hardest to sound indifferent, but it was hard to take him seriously with the chocolate mustache on his lips.

(y/n) laughed and took his cheek between her fingers, pinching them gently. “Gosh, you’re so darn cute! Do you have a big sister already? I can be yours, if you want. I’ve always wanted a little brother!”

The boy blushed and pulled his face away from her hand. “Lady, you’re crazy!”

He threw his empty cup on the ground stormed off angrily. The other children finished their cups and handed them back to her nicely before running off too, leaving her and Credence alone. 

“What did I say?” She mumbled to herself.

Credence couldn’t help but find it amusing. It was nice seeing her tease someone else for a change. 

“Maybe he already has a sister,” he answered sarcastically.  

(y/n) scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, just drink your cocoa,” she chuckled after handing him a cup. 

The two threw away the empty cups and cardboard box in a nearby trashcan. (y/n) suggested they take a walk around the park and talk. She asked him if he liked the hot chocolate, to which he answered yes. She then asked which he liked better: vanilla milkshakes or hot chocolate. He told her milkshakes. They talked like this for a while. Occasionally she would ask about his family and what he liked to do at home. He didn’t give her many satisfying answers, but that didn’t stop her from prodding.

“So, did you give up on hunting witches?” She asked.

Credence swallowed another sip of his hot chocolate. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t carry around flyers anymore. Did you give up?”

“Oh. No, it’s not that,” he said. “I don’t think my mother will ever give up on exposing witches. It’s just that right now she’s kind of stuck.”

“Stuck? Stuck how?”

“She wanted to speak at the church to let everyone know about what she’d seen, but the priest, Father Blackwell, wouldn’t allow it.”

“I know Father Blackwell,” she told him.

Credence perked up. “You do?”

“Yes! My father is a big supporter of the church. Personally, I identify as agnostic, so I don’t go to church with him unless it’s for a holiday like Easter or Christmas. I wonder if you’ve seen him. Not that you could miss him. He’s a rather large man,” she joked.

“Does he wear a white suit?” Credence asked, remembering the stocky man talking with Father Blackwell the last time he visited the church.

(y/n) grinned and nodded excitedly. “That’s his Sunday suit! He has four of them. For some reason, he only likes wearing cream-colored suits on Sundays.”

“I have seen him,” he admits.

“Small world!” She exclaimed. “Well, anyways, I can definitely tell my father to put in a good word for your mother to Father Blackwell.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course! Better yet, why don’t we go right now?”

“N-Now?” Credence gaped.

“It’s Wednesday, they have a service tonight. Father Blackwell will be there, and I can try to convince him to let your mother have a set this Sunday!

“But what about your father?”

“We might not need him. I know Father Blackwell well enough. He might be swayed on my word alone. It won’t hurt to try,” she explained.

“I guess not,” he agreed.

“Come with me, my car is just a short walk from here!” She grabbed his free hand and directed him towards the street where she’d parked her car. 

After they reached the car, she drove him to the church. It was a short fifteen-minute drive from Central Park. It was still too early for the service to start, but when they entered the church, a few people were sitting in the pews praying. An older woman was playing the organ at the altar while Deacon Ripley read scriptures from the Bible. He stopped only stopped when he noticed the two walking down the aisle. 

“Oh, God,” Credence heard (y/n) mutter under her breath. “Not this clown again.”

He wasn’t used to you outwardly showing your distaste for someone; you were always so nice. But considering it was Deacon Ripley, it wasn’t too surprising. 

He was a cunt.

As they came closer, Ripley marked the passage he’d finished reading and closed the Bible. 

“Miss (l/n),” he called her name with a sneer. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?”

“I’m here to speak with Father Blackwell,” she replied coldly. It was the first time Credence had ever heard her use such a tone. 

Ripley frowned, taking a step down from the podium. “What business could you have with him?”

(y/n)’s lips curled into a sly smirk. “My business with him would be his business and mine, so why would I tell you our business if it isn’t your business to begin with?”

Her witty remark clearly got under Ripley’s skin. His frown deepened and splotches of red began appearing under his grey skin. He didn’t get the chance to respond before Father Blackwell stopped him. 

“Give it a rest, Ripley.” Father Blackwell had come out from the door to his office. He moved between Ripley and (y/n), and held out his hand for her. “(y/n), it’s lovely to see you. It’s been a while. A year, I think?”

She took his hand and shook it. “Don’t be silly, Father. You saw me earlier this year, remember? For my parent’s Easter party.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he nodded, chuckling softly. “Must’ve slipped my mind. What brings your here, child?”

 “Ah, yes, about that...” (y/n) eyed Ripley. “Can we speak somewhere private, just the two of us?” 

“I don’t see why not. Step into my office.”

(y/n) turned to Credence and gave him a reassuring smile before following Father Blackwell to his office and disappearing behind the heavy door. Credence could feel Ripley’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head. He obviously wanted to say something to him. 

“Seeing that godless woman walk through God’s doors was not something I expected to see today,” he began, excited to get his two cents in.  “But I must admit, seeing you by her side surprises me more. I didn’t realize you two were so close”

What was his problem? Why did he hate her so much? Then Credence remembered what she said to him in the park. Could that be why Ripley hated her? Because she didn’t believe in the church? No, it had to be something else. His pointed anger felt too personal.  

“We’re not really,” Credence answered. “I only just met her.”

“So you say.” Ripley circled him. “I wonder... Does your mother know about you and Miss (l/n)?”

If there’s one thing Credence hated about Ripley, it was his talent for stirring up trouble. His hobby of collecting and relaying gossip often caused spouts within the church. Credence fell victim to this twice before, each time resulting in a beating from his mother. He had to be careful with what he says to Ripley because he will most definitely relay it to his mother if he thinks it will cause conflict. 

“She does,” he lied as best he could. 

Ripley raised his brows. “Really? I never took her for the kind of woman who would allow her son to stroll the streets alone with such... unholy company. If there’s one kind of person Mary Lou hates, it’s women like her.”

Credence frowned. “What do you mean by ‘women like her’?”

“Don’t you know? Not only does she not accept the Christian God, but she fully denounced him. Instead of saving her divine feminine for holy matrimony, she committed salacious acts with various men that would make the Virgin Mary cry.”

Credence fell silent. So this was the reason. The malicious smirk on Ripley’s cracked lips proved that he couldn’t wait to tell him what he knew. 

“Oh my,” Ripley sighed. “I suppose you didn’t know.”

Credence clenched his fist. He could feel his body vibrating with heat. He was so angry. How dare he speak about her that way? How dare he disrespect her? Spread rumors about her? Was gossip not a sin?  Who was he to degrade and scrutinize her?

So what if she did? He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change what he thought about her. It didn’t change how he felt about her. But hearing such demeaning words come from Ripley's mouth made his blood boil. 

There were times where Credence would get like this. It wasn’t often, but when he did, his mind would think dark, violent thoughts. They build up in his head until anger and rage blinded him. He wanted to say something—do something. He probably would have too, if her voice hadn’t rung in his ears, immediately calming his nerves and the growing anger inside him. 

“Credence, I did it!” 

He saw you rushing excitedly towards him with a big smile on your face. You came up to him, grabbed both of his hands, shaking them wildly. 

“Tell your mother that she can speak this Sunday at the end of the service!”

Credence swallowed the lump in his throat. His tightened chest released the tension it was holding and his hands unclenched to hold hers. Looking into her shining (e/c) eyes made all his violent thoughts disappear as if they were never there. 

He blinked a few times, already forgetting how upset he’d just been. “H-How?”

“Magic,” she winked. 

She hooked her arm around his and began walking him back down the aisle to the exit. “Do you want me to drive you home?” She asked, looking up at him.

Credence smiled, Ripley’s taunting comments fleeing his memory. “Yes.”

The drive took longer than expected. There had been an accident on Manhattan Avenue that detoured them to Harlem. Credence didn’t mind it. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. Driving through Harlem was an experience in itself. He’d never been past the Upper East Side. Harlem was a lively neighborhood. People played music and danced in the streets despite the cold. Murals lined the walls, and there was a hopping joint around every corner. Credence looked out the window in silent awe, taking in everything he saw. 

“Have you never been here before?” (y/n) asked, noticing his astonishment. 

“No,” he told her truthfully. “It’s really nice.”

“You know, I used to live here,” she revealed.

That, he found hard to believe. His doubt must have been visible on his face because she laughed and shook her head. 

“What? You don’t believe me? It’s true, I swear! I wasn’t always like... Well, we didn’t always live in Kings Point.”

Having something to prove, Credence watched as she made a sudden turn, off course from where they were heading. The townhouses they passed were tall, skinny, and faintly worn down. The further they drove from the commercial streets, the quieter it became. They rounded about four blocks before turning into a barren street. Some houses were completely dark, while others had lights in their windows. The car slowed to a stop in front of one of the dark houses. It wasn’t terribly worn, but chipping blue paint covered the exterior and there were cracks in the brick fence that protected it. 

(y/n) parked the car and moved to get out. Credence did the same, opening the door and stepping onto the pavement. (y/n) came to his side and eyed the house. 

“This was my house,” she spoke after a while. “I lived here until I was nine.”

She walked up to the gate and pointed at the mailbox inside it. Faded letters that spelled her last name were imprinted on the stone from where a sign used to be. He tried to imagine her living it; it was almost comical. He only knew her to wear mink coats and designer clothes. He’d only pictured her living in a palace—somehow it felt fitting. Imagining her in such a small house and living an average life didn’t seem right. But perhaps that’s why she kept surprising him.

“No one lives here now. Sometimes I come back just to look around and remember as much about the place as I can.”

Credence walked to her side. “What do you remember?”

A smile fluttered on her lips. “I remember chasing my brothers around the house. We sat by the fire during the winter while my father read us stories and my mother knitted blankets and scarves. I learned how to ride a bike right on this street!” She looked down at the cracked pavement. “We were happier, I think.”

“Are you not happy now?”

(y/n) looked up at Credence and flushed. “I am! I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just...” She sighed. “Now that my father has his own architect firm, he’s been so busy I rarely see him anymore. My mother and I were never really close, and it’s pretty easy for us to avoid each other in such a big house. I don’t know... Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it.”

“What about your brothers?” asked Credence. “You seem close.”

“We are,” she smiled. “We always had each other, and most of the time it was enough. Even when Aaron left to study at Oxford, Channing paid extra attention to me. Still, I want us all to be as close as we were.”

He could sympathize with that. Blood-related or not, Modesty and Chastity were his sisters. They’d been through a lot together, and that was enough for him. He didn’t know what it was like to lose a close relationship with a parent, having never had one in the first place—but he figured that’s what made it worse. 

“Anyway,” she elbowed him playfully. “D’you believe me now?”

Credence nodded. She chuckled softly, taking his hand and guiding him back to the car. They continued the rest of their drive uninterrupted. It was relatively quiet aside from the few comments she made along the way. By the time they reached Pike Street, it had started to snow again. It wasn’t heavy like the days before. The snowflakes fell slowly and softly, fluttering down gracefully on the window-shield. 

The care halted to a stop on the street corner. (y/n) turned to Credence, who was already looking at her. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For helping me.”

She smiled and looked down at her hands. “You don’t need to thank me,” she blushed. “I was happy to.”

“Still, I want to. Thank you, for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

They regrettably said their goodbyes, something Credence hated doing because he was never sure when he’d see her again. He stepped out of the car and onto the icy street, turning to wave goodbye at her one last time before watching her drive off down and disappear behind the buildings once she rounded the corner. Credence turned on his heels and walked back to the snow-covered chapel. His feet dragged behind him to stall his arrival. He walked up the creaking steps to the door and opened it lackadaisically. 

He began stripping himself of his outerwear when he noticed another presence in the room. He looked to the stairs and found his mother, Mary Lou, sitting there. Her icy blue eyes bore into his skull. Credence got a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, a vestigial remnant of primal instinct that signified impending danger. 

“Hello, Mother...” He said upon seeing her. She didn't respond. She only looked at him in a way that made him increasingly nervous. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“I have some good news.” His mouth began moving before he could think. “Father Blackwell said he would let you speak this Sunday. It’s towards the end of service, and he is only giving us three minutes to speak, but that’s better than nothing, right?”

“Did your jezebel tell you that?” She spoke dangerously.

Credence’s body tensed. “What are you talking about, mother?” He asked, fearful he already knew the answer.

Mary Lou opened her hand to reveal the pink handkerchief. His stomach dropped as she threw the cloth down at his feet. Mary Lou rose from the stairs, her heels thumping loudly as she climbed down.

“I saw you at the cathedral, Credence. You and your little harlot,” she said as she walked towards him. “I was on my way to speak with Father Blackwell when I saw the two of you skip outside with her clinging to your arm.”

Credence kept his head down, staring at the handkerchief by his feet. Mary Lou circled him like a vulture ready to pick at a rotting carcass.

“I always knew your flesh was weak... but I didn’t know all it took was a pair of big (e/c) eyes to make you fall from grace.”

“Mother, I—” The sound of her heavy hand slapping across his face cut his sentence short, sending him to the ground. 

“Silence!” She ordered. Credence felt tears prickling behind his eyes. He stared at the handkerchief lying pathetically on the floor. Mary Lou’s pointed black shoe came into his view and stepped on the delicate silk. Mary Lou was never one to yell, that’s what made her anger so much more terrifying. She spoke barely above a whisper, in a sickeningly sweet and proper tone, the cruel words that left her thin lips.

“The worst part of it is: you tried to hide it from me. You knew what you were doing was a sin. You knew that God was watching, and you did it anyway.”

“Mother, it’s not what you think,” Credence said through his strained tears. “I didn’t touch her!”

“Don’t lie to me, Credence, I saw the way you looked at her!” Mary Lou seethed. “You think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking in late? That I wouldn’t smell the perfume on your clothes?”

Credence fell silent, realizing that denial was futile. It didn’t matter what he said. Mary Lou had already set her mind about his relationship with (y/n). He knew it was too good to be true. He had been happy for far too long. He should have expected it wouldn’t last. He always screwed everything up somehow. This was his own fault. He deserved this.

“You know what I have to do now, don’t you?” She whispered.

Credence did know. His heart thrashed in his chest, fear coursing through his veins. “Mother, please, don’t!” he begged feebly. “I won’t see her again, I promise!”

Mary Lou kneeled in front of Credence. Her hand reached up to lift his head. He forced himself to look her in the eyes, his vision blurred from his tears. They were unfeeling and as cold as the words that left her lips. 

“I know you won’t. We’ll make sure of that.”

More people die in winter than in any other season. That is a known fact. The blistering cold is more dangerous than the smoldering heat. During the winter, everything dies. The plants die, the animals die, even the sun dies just a little.

“Credence?”

There was nothing worse than winter, he thought. There was nothing worse than being left in the cold, wet, nodding in and out of consciousness—somewhere between life and death. Maybe he was being dramatic. He’d survived this at least twice before. He will be allowed back home, eventually. He would be given a hot bath and warm clothes. He would be wrapped in a blanket and laid on his bed. He would be forgiven.

But, in this moment, he had no warmth. The clothes on his back were damp, sticking to his skin like icy sheets. His already pale skin looked almost as white as the blanket of snow that covered the city, save for the faint blue tint of his lips.

“Credence.”

At first he’d thought walking would make him warmer. Maybe if he moved his muscles, his body would produce what little heat it could. Thinking back on it now, it was a pretty stupid idea. If anything, it made it worse. The wind had picked up, and the snow fell faster than it was earlier. How long had he been out here? It could have been twenty minutes or an hour, he couldn’t tell. Time moves slower when you’re miserable. What he did know was that he had walked about four blocks from the chapel. He thought he might find a place, a warm place where he could sit and rid himself of the cold.

He’d try a tea shop, a restaurant, and a bookstore before giving up. No one would let him in. They were all closed early for the holiday season. He then became increasingly aware how late in the afternoon it was, and how much colder it would be once the sun finally set. And he would still be here, cowering in a filthy alleyway that smelled heavily of rotting food and urine.

“Credence!”

How did she always mange to find him? Her large eyes bore into his own, wide and unyielding. She was close enough that her short breaths gave him the first gust of heat he’d felt since he was thrown out of the chapel. Unlike before, it didn’t smell of coffee beans, but of the hot chocolate they had shared just hours before. If the sweet scent hadn’t filled his nose, he would have sworn she was a hallucination. This was the last place he’d expect to see her. Yet, she always had a knack for turning up in places he’d least suspect. Regardless of what she always said, it felt a little more than coincidence—something just shy of fate.

“What are you doing out here? Where’s your coat?” Her hands flew to his shoulders, her own body reacting to the lack of warmth jolted and shivered.

It was her kind eyes he liked the most. Her eyes had the greatest warmth, the kind that filled your chest whenever you looked at them. He could stare into them forever and never get cold. Her eyes are what he’d miss the most.

“You’re soaking wet! You’ll freeze half to death out here! Come to my car, It’ll warm you up.” She reached for his hand, but he would not give it to her.

“Go away.”

This he could not say while looking in her eyes. It would only make it harder. There was an unpleasant pause, one that continued for a second too long. Her voice, he would miss the sound of her voice as well. He wanted to remember it as best he could, even if the last words she would say to him were full of resentment.

“What?”

He turned his back to her, hiding his tears. He had to do this. It was bound to happen anyway. What was the point in watering a dead plant? The fantasy should have long since ended. It shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

“I’m fine. Just go away,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

But he wasn’t fine, and he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to follow her to the car, where she’d wrap him in the wool blanket she kept in the back seat, and she’d hold his hands to keep them warm.

She scoffed, her heels scuffing on the asphalt as she stepped back, exasperated. “Yeah, right, you’re one minute away from mummifying out here! Just get up and come with me!” She reached for him again, taking his hand. Her touch. He’ll miss her touch.

“No!” He jerked away from her gentle hands.

He didn’t need to see her face to know it hurt her. It hurt him just to say it. But he had to. He made a promise he had to keep. No matter how much it hurt. The next words to fall from his lips would be nothing but lies to mask the truth.

“I don’t need you.”

I do.

“I don’t need your help.”

Help me.

“I don’t want to see you anymore!”

Please don’t go.

Another pregnant silence. The lump in Credence’s throat was large enough to suffocate him. Every time he tried to swallow it down, it would grow bigger, prompting more tears to stain his cheeks.

“You don’t want to see me anymore?” She repeated. Her voice was as cold and steady as the snow that fell around them.

Everything dies in winter. The plants die, the animals die, even the sun dies just a little. The sound of her heels knocking on the asphalt faded along with her warmth. He’d call out to her if he wasn’t a coward. He would tell her the truth and beg for her forgiveness if he had the strength. But when he couldn’t smell lavenders or vanilla, or feel her unwavering warmth, he knew that it was too late. She was gone.

He fell to the ground, burying his head in his knees to muffle his pained cries. The icy ground didn’t phase him. He felt nothing but the ache in his chest and the swell of his throat. He wondered if that pain would ever go away. Could he continue on like this? With the feeling that a part of him had been taken?

He unclenched his fist, revealing frayed pink fabric; the stitched golden letters staring back at him mockingly. It was the only surviving piece of the handkerchief his mother burned. He’d picked it from the ashes before she threw him out on the streets. The smell of ash and smoke dulled the scent of lavender and vanilla it once carried. But, if he focused hard enough, he could still smell the traces of her perfume. For now, it will be enough.

He sat in the alleyway until the early night sky replaced the setting sun. He would sit and listen to the passing cars and pedestrians in silence, until he could no longer feel the fabric in his hands, or the sting of his aching muscles. His swollen eyes grew heavy, barely staying open longer than a second. He closed them, letting his body relax and fade slowly into nothingness.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, he stayed curled in the alleyway, unaware of his surroundings. Unaware that a car had parked outside the alley entrance. Ignorant to the footsteps that neared his meek form and the shadow that loomed over him. He was oblivious to it all until he felt a weight on his head and shoulders. He pried his eyes open to find himself wrapped in a thick wool blanket.

A dainty (s/c) hand opened for him, tempting him to take it; his saving grace.

“I’m not going to leave you like this. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

Her eyes weren’t angry. They weren’t cold or full of resentment. They were as kind and warm as they always had been, perhaps even more. Her rosy lips held a gentle smile just for him.

“You don’t have to see me again after tonight,” she concurred. “But I need you to get in the car. Please, Credence. Just one more night, then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Had it been anyone else, he would have refused. The hold his mother had on him was stronger than the yearnings of his heart. His fear of her would keep him from acting on his desires—what he truly wanted. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. But now, with her hand outstretched for him to take, there was no nagging fear pulling him away. No voice in the back of his head vilifying him from acting on his whims. Because, for the first time, someone had heard what he didn’t dare to say aloud. For the first time, someone cared. 

Had it been anyone one else, he wouldn’t have taken their hand. He wouldn’t have stood from the frozen ground or walked towards their car. Anyone else, and he wouldn’t have gotten inside and felt the heat melt his frozen muscles. If it was anyone but her, he would still be wasting away in the freezing, damp alleyway. 

“Just try to relax and get warm,” she told him as they drove off. He didn’t have the strength to speak. He was far too tired. She could see from the corner of her eye that he was falling asleep. His head rested on the window, his bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open. She took his hand that rested in his lap. It was cold to the touch, like ice, as if no blood coarsed through his veins. 

She refused to let go, instead she held it tighter. “Rest. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

If he wasn’t already drifting to sleep, he would have asked where she was taking him, but his eyes refused to open, and his lips would not open to pose the question. Instead he let the motion and hum of the car lull him to sleep. 

New York City was known for many things: its gigantic skyscrapers, the lively scene, the people. But it was easy for tourists to see what the locals could not. New York City was by no means as glorious as its reputation would like you to believe. Everything great about it was reserved for people who could afford it. Shopping, clubbing, broadway, the cinema; it was all novelty. The grit of New York City was something the average New Yorker would like to escape. If the city was as great as it was made out to be, then why did the wealthy live upstate in their palatial mansions? It’s because beyond the smog and stench of the city was fresh air, and acres of woodlands and grasslands to admire. 

That’s all Credence could see when he opened his eyes from what felt like a year’s rest. From the passenger window he could make out the shadows of tall, snow covered maples and oak trees rushing past. The road was long and winding, twisting through the scenic route with ease. 

Beyond the trees, he could make out the orange lights of houses drawing near. It wasn’t long before the trees were replaced by vast mansions with plunging yards, overly decorated for the holiday season. The drowsy fog had barely lifted from his mind to take in such a foreign sight. As his mind awoke, so did the rest of his senses. He became aware of his body, and how it was no longer cold and wet. He could feel his blood circulating in his hands and feet, allowing them to move and wiggle as he pleased. His nose was no longer stuffed, and the numbness in his face had left. 

Taking a peak through the corner of his eye, he saw her; her eyes focused on the road. The light from the passing mansions cast shadows over her features. She was otherwise relaxed, if it weren't for the faint wrinkle of her forehead, the kind that appeared when she was deep in thought. He was too afraid to say anything. Even if he wasn't, he wouldn’t know what to say. Things had happened so suddenly, he couldn’t keep up.

Instead, he kept silent and watched the houses roll by as she drove. Trapped in his thoughts, he began to realize just where she was taking him. He didn’t know why she thought to bring him here, or what she planned to do, but he concluded she was taking him to her home. He’d never been to Kings Point before and he never imagined going within his lifetime, but he could say with confidence that it did not disappoint.

Kings Point was exactly how he imagined it, save for a few minor details. Under different circumstances he would be awestricken, but tonight he didn’t have the energy for it. All he had the energy to do was count the mansions they passed in his head. It was better than thinking of the events that lead him there.

He counted seventeen pompous manors before the car’s speed gradually reduced to a cruise. He watched as a large manor with swooping gable roofs and multiple chimneys came into view. An untouched layer of snow blanketed its long front yard. Windows were plentiful, all of which were lit with those distinct orange lights.

The car pulled into the long driveway, normally protected by a gate, but tonight that gate was left open, allowing them to drive through with ease. As they drove closer to the main manor, he could see the two other sprawling houses that surrounded a large courtyard highlighting a marble fountain.

When the car came upon the front of the manor, there was a man in a black tailcoat tuxedo waiting for them. The car came to a stop, and the man came around the hood to the driver’s door.

“Miss (y/n), welcome home,” he said as he opened the door. (y/n) thanked him, taking his outstretched hand and stepping onto the scalloped cobblestone.  

When the door closed behind her, leaving Credence inside. The two were clearly conversing, presumably about him. She would steal a glance at him through the window a few times while she spoke. The man, who he could now see was no longer in his youth, only nodded compliantly. When the two seemed to come to an understanding, (y/n) walked around to his side of the car, opening it for him to step out.

“Follow me,” She said, taking his hand.

She wasted no time pulling him from his seat and leading him off to some side entrance of the manor. The door they entered was smaller than the wide, double-doors he saw at the front entrance. Inside was just as grand as the outside. The door they took lead to a kitchen as big as the chapel he lived in. Currently, it was packed with chefs prepping large platters of food and servers organizing the trays.

(y/n) clasped his hand tightly as they bulldozed their way through the kitchen. She apologized to the passing help, weaving her way through to the door that stood on the opposite end of the room. Credence kept his head low, allowing her to guide him. Once they reached the adjacent door, she pushed her way through, pulling him down a hallway that he could see led to a set of stairs.

They were rushing down the hall when they passed a side room they didn’t realize was occupied. Their footsteps prompted the voice of a woman to call out into the hall.

“(y/n), honey, you’re back already?”

(y/n) stopped in her tracks, cursing under her breath. She held her finger up to her lips, telling Credence to stay quiet.

“Yes.” She answered.

The woman called out again. “I thought the shops would be busy today.”

“They were.”

“Well, did you get everything you wanted?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment’s pause before the woman spoke again.

“Alright,” she said. “Don’t go picking at the food in the kitchen! You’ll just have to wait until tonight like everyone else!”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “Alright, Mom.”

She signaled for Credence to continue walking towards the staircase as her mother continued to talk from the room.

“And once you put your gifts away, come back and help me finish arranging the poinsettias in the foyer!”

“I will!” She yelled back while pulling Credence up the stairs.

She practically dragged him down the upstairs hall and pushed him into a room, closing the door behind them. That flowery scent that was distinctly hers immediately overtook his senses. The wide, circular room was lit up by various lamps and a sparkling chandelier made of iridescent crystals that hung at its centre. The dark wood panelling of the walls contrasted the rosy accents: blush pink art deco wallpaper, tall white drapes that covered balcony doors, the various mix-match carpets that covered the wood floor like patchwork. The broad circular bed enclosed in a silky white canopy sat against the wall next to a small fireplace. On the other side was a door he assumed led to a bathroom.

(y/n) stood awkwardly by a three-mirror vanity, bashfully fiddling with a silver hairbrush. She’d shed her coat.  

“Sorry about her,” she muttered. “She gets like this around the holidays.”

It was overwhelming, being in her room. He’d barely had a moment to register all that was happening. Now that he had the chance to breathe, his anxiety got the better of him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He should be in the city, on his knees begging his mother to forgive him, not miles away in King’s Point; and definitely not in her bedroom.  

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here—”

“You promised me, Credence,” she interjected, silencing him. “Please... Just let me have tonight.”

He clenched his jaw, turning his head to stare at the wall. It was better than looking in her eyes. He heard her move from the vanity. The sound of a cabinet being opened caught his attention. She had an armoire of her own, though hers was grander than his. It towered over her, composed of white and gold painted wood. From inside, she retrieved a blueberry colored suit. Credence recognized it as the suit she eyed in the window the week before. 

“I got you something,” she said, placing the suit on the bed, along with a fresh pair of brown oxfords. “I know you told me not to... but I just couldn’t help myself.”

Credence walked to the edge of the bed, brushing the material with his fingers. She got this for him.  

She moved to a dresser, where she pulled a neatly folded white towel and cloth from the drawer. She walked back to his side, holding the towels out for him to take.

“There's a bathroom behind that door. You can take a bath and get yourself ready. I’ll come back once I’ve finished helping my mother.”

He took the towels from her hands, leaning towards the idea of a bath. His body still hadn’t completely warmed from the ride, and his clothes still stuck uncomfortably to his skin. She left him alone in her bedroom, closing the door behind her as she left.

Credence stayed by her bed even after she had left. He took the suit into his hands. The material was thick and soft. He could tell by the fine stitches it was of high quality, unlike the suit he currently wore. He collected the pants and shoes in his arms and walked to the bathroom door. Much like the bedroom, her bathroom was big. A porcelain bathtub resting on top of golden legs facing a large window that looked over one of the gardens. Credence walked across the mosaic floor and turned the knob of the tub. Hot water rushed from the faucet and filled the tub. Steam rose into the air, forging the mirror above the sink. He placed his clothes on a stool away from the tub so it wouldn’t get wet.

Stripping himself of his clothes, he dipped his foot into the warm water. Pleased by the feeling of the hot water heating his skin, he pulled the rest of his body into the tub and submerged himself until only his head remained above water. He sat in the water unmoving for a while with his eyes closed. The water relaxed his tense muscles, ridding his body of the prickling cold. As he sat there, resting his head against the edge of the tub, he thought about how long this would last. Why did she bring him here? 

Credence opened his eyes and found a rectangular bar of soap sitting on the tub’s edge. He lifted his hand from the water and took it, bringing it to his nose. Lavenders. 

He really shouldn’t be here. There was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that was sure something would go wrong. His mind went back to what she’d said. He promised her he would stay with her tonight. He supposed he did, even if he hadn't explicitly say the words ‘I promise’. Taking her hand was more than an answer. 

But he had made another promise—a promise to someone he never dared to disobey so brazenly. He promised he would never see her again, to wipe her from his life and pretend like she never existed. And yet, here he was, laying in her bathtub, washing himself with her soap, wearing the clothes she bought him, and standing in her room. 

Credence stared at himself in the mirror by the armoire, now dressed in the blueberry suit she’d given him. It fit perfectly, as though it were made for him. It probably was. The shoes on his feet were comfortable. At first, he didn’t think they would fit; they were much larger than the pair of shoes he always wore. But after he pulled his socks up and slid his foot inside, he realized it wasn't that the shoes were too big, but his were a size too small. He could walk in them without his toes uncomfortably pressing against the tip. His toes could breathe and soles of his feet didn’t ache with every step. 

He almost didn't recognize his reflection. It was like another person was staring at him in the mirror. He looked like one of the men he admired in Times Square. The handsome scholars who came down from The Eggs to frequent the speakeasies to unwind after a long day of doing whatever rich boys do. He looked like the kind of man she belonged with.

A knock came from beyond the door.  “Are you decent?” Her muffled voice called from behind it. 

The door opened, and she peaked her head inside, meeting his eyes immediately.

“I knew it’d look good on you,” She smiled brightly, making her way towards him. “Does it fit nicely? I tried my best to guess your measurements. I was afraid it would be a bit off.”

He let her place her hands on his chest, smoothing the fabric of any wrinkles. His heart beat in his chest loudly, like it always did when she got this close. He watched her closely as she looked him over, avoiding his eyes. Her hands flew up to the black tie around his neck. 

“Your tie is a bit crooked.” She chuckled softly, taking the tie into her hands. “Let me.”

“Why are you nice to me?” He spoke lowly as she untied the knot. 

She furrowed her brows, her hands halting. “I’m sorry?”

“Most people would have ignored me had they saw me lying on the streets like I was today, and the day we met. Many people did. But you...” Credence struggled to find the words. “You helped me after I had fallen and dropped my papers, then you drove me home. The other week you insisted on buying me a coat, even though I told you I was fine without one, and then you took me to that restaurant. And then today, you convinced Father Blackwell to let my mother speak. You’ve been kind to me without even knowing me. Why?”

(y/n) lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Do I need a reason?” She countered. “Can’t I just want to?”

When he didn’t answer, she understood that wouldn’t be enough. She sighed, focusing her attention back on the tie. 

“Why did I do those things?” She bit her cheek in thought. “The night we met, I saw what that jerk did and wanted to help you. You looked so... sad. People walked over you—ignored you. It was like you didn’t exist, like I was the only one who saw you. I didn’t like it—seeing you like that. I just thought it would be nice to see a smile on your face. Maybe if I saw you smile, it would make me feel better.”

“Now that I’ve seen your smile, I’ve become a bit fond of it. Addicted is probably the better word. After seeing you smile for the first time, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to see it all the time. If stuffing you full of burgers and teaching you how to skate put a smile on your face, I would do it. I would do anything to keep you smiling.”

She looped the tail of the tie and pulled the knot, tightening it around his neck. She adjusted his collar and let her hands fall to her sides. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. 

“So, I guess the answer to your question is: I did those things because I like you.”

Credence swallowed the lump rising in his throat, sending it back down to his chest. His eyes glistened in the light, glazed with rising tears. His heart ached in his chest, still hanging on to her words. ‘Like’? She liked him?

“And now?” His voice cracked. “Do you still fell that way? Even after the things I said?”

“Why did you say those things?” It was clear she had been wanting to ask this for a while. “Did I do something—say something to upset you?”

Credence vigorously shook his head. “No!” 

He clasped her hands tightly, taking her by surprise. “It’s not you,” he tried to explain. “It was never you.”

She held his hands just as tight, like she was afraid he would fade away if she let go. “Then?”

He swallowed again, looking down at his feet. “It’s my mother... she...” 

(y/n) frowned. She lifted Credence’s hand, turning his palm upward to expose the raised scars on his palms. 

“Was she the one who did this to you?” She whispered, though it sounded as if she already knew the answer. 

Credence stayed silent. He didn’t have the strength to say it out lout. 

“Did she leave you out on the street?” She asked, anger rising in her voice. 

“She doesn’t want me to see you anymore,” He muttered, shamefully. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Credence stilled. Nobody had ever asked him what he wanted. They locked eyes, (y/n)’s stared deeply into his, yearning for an answer. He barely opened his mouth to answer when a knock came from beyond the door, the person behind it bursting into the room. 

(y/n) dropped his hands, turning to face the culprit.

“Aaron, how many times have I told you to wait for me to answer before coming in my room?”

Aaron was a stocky man, just a few inches shorter than Credence. His angular face was covered with a tapered beard. He had the same (s/c) skin and (h/c) hair as (y/n), but his eyes were a light brown. He wore a black formal tuxedo with a matching bowtie. The smile on his face fell slightly as he looked between her and Credence. 

“Sorry sis, I didn’t realize you had company.”

(y/n) sighed, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

Tearing his eyes from Credence, Aaron turned his attention to his sister, his smile widening. “I just thought you might like to say hello to someone.”

(y/n) raised a curious brow. “Who?”

The answer to her question walked in not a second later, dressing in a black fitted full dress tuxedo. He too shared a similar complexion to (y/n) and Aaron, but unlike Aaron, his eyes were the same has hers. He smiled, displaying a row of perfectly straight white teeth. “Hey. Did you miss me, street rat?”

(y/n)’s eyes widened, “Channing?”

Channing chuckled as she sped towards him. “The one and only—Ow!”

(y/n) had punched him hard in the shoulder. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?!”

Aaron snickered to the side. “Told you she would do that.”

“Well, that would defeat the purpose of it being a surprise, now wouldn't it?” He said, clutching his sore shoulder. “Can’t you act like a normal sister and be happy I’m back?”

“I am happy, you jerk,” she smiled, pulling him into a hug. He hugged her back gladly. It was clear the two missed each other greatly. 

“(y/n), who’s this?” Channing asked, looking over her shoulder at Credence.  

(y/n) too looked over her shoulder, her lips still holding her elated smile. “Aaron, Channing, this is Credence. He’s my plus one for tonight.”

“Right.” Aaron skeptically squinted at Credence. “And do Mom and Dad know that you have a boy in your room?”

(y/n) placed a hand on her hip. “I don’t know. Do Mom and Dad know about you and Mr. Finnegan’s daughter?” She deflected with a glare. 

Aaron cleared his throat, wrapping an arm around his younger brother and pushing him towards the door. “We’ll see you downstairs.”

“Wait,” (y/n) went to grab Credence by the hand and pulled him towards her brothers.  “Why don’t you show Credence around? You can bond and do whatever boys do while I get ready.”

They all looked at Credence, who was too petrified to protest the proposition. Aaron gave Credence a look that made him think he wasn’t too keen on the idea, but kept his otherwise cheerful smile. 

“I don’t see why not,” said Channing kindly, flashing an inviting grin much like the one (y/n) had given him many times before. He was starting to see the similarities between the two. 

“Yeah, come on, Credence,” Aaron agreed, throwing his free arm around Credence’s shoulder. “Hang with us guys for a while, we’re much more fun than she is.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, escorting the men out of her bedroom. Credence’s pleading eyes silently asked for her not to leave him on his own, but she said nothing to stop them. She only gave him a comforting smile from the doorframe as they pulled him from the door. 

“I’ll see you in a bit.” She promised. 

Aaron and Channing dragged Credence down the hall, guiding him to another set of stairs. Unlike the ones (y/n) had sneaked him up an hour before, these stairs weren’t hidden in a corner at the end of the hall. It was a grand bifurcated staircase, with wide, velvet-clad sweeping steps that plunged into a wide landing that split in two directions: upwards to another wing of the manor, and downwards to the foyer. He could hear the music and babbling chatter clearly from the top of the staircase. The two brothers led him down the many steps, and again down the steps to the foyer where a great crowd of well-dressed men and women conversed under dropping garlands and mistletoe.

Without warning, they pulled him into the crowd, weaving their way through fur shawls and padded tuxedos. Tucked away in a corner of the room, Credence saw something he’d least expected: a familiar face. 

There, resting against a paneled wall, was Edmund Tully, drinking from a half finished glass of brandy. His eyes were distant and seemed to dart around the room, looking for something or someone. He wasn’t entirely sure if Edmund found what he was looking for, because when Aaron had called out to him, he gave up on his previous endeavor. 

It appeared that Edmund was not only friendly with Aaron, but Channing as well. They greeted each other as old friends do, with open arms, harmless roughhousing. Credence stood idly by, feeling out of place. It was only when Edmund set his green on him that Credence was pulled into their circle. Aaron noticed his friend’s stare and pointed his attention towards him. 

Aaron gestured to Credence, snapping his fingers. “Eds, this is uh—this is—give me a second—”

“Credence,” Edmund made up for Aaron’s forgetfulness. “Am I right? We met before.”

Aaron and Channing looked between the two unlikely acquaintances. “You have?” The eldest brother asked. 

Credence nodded, confirming Edmund’s claim. 

“Through (y/n), of course,” Edmund clarified. 

“I see,” Aaron hummed. 

A server in a tight vest came up the group of men with a tray full of glasses filled with a pinkish liquid. Credence watched as they each took a glass from the tray. 

“Do you drink, Credence?” Asked Channing, noticing Credence’s empty hand. 

“Sure he does!” Aaron exclaimed, taking an extra glass and shoving a it into Credence’s unsuspecting hand. “It’s Christmas!”

Giving into the pressure of the situation, Credence accepted the drink. It wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s done today. The gentleman made a simple Christmas toast, before taking their own respectable gulps. 

Credence brought the glass to his lips, letting the strange liquid slow past his lips and hit his tongue. Somehow the cold liquid felt like heat on his tongue, vibrating down his throat and spreading that warmth into his chest. It was a strange sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. While it was strong with alcohol, the sugary sweet after-taste made it palatable. He took another sip. 

Credence found Aaron and Channing to be decent men. Channing was more friendly to Credence that Aaron, but it had more to due with the age difference and the extenuating circumstances in which they’d met. He supposed it must have been hard warming up to the strange man who was found alone in your younger sister’s room. 

Edmund on the other hand didn’t address him much at all, only speaking to him when obligated. He had the sneaking suspicion that Edmund didn’t like him at all. Credence could care less. To be fair, Credence wasn’t sure he liked him either. 

Like (y/n) had asked, the two brothers, along with Edmund, showed Credence around the mansion. They took him upstairs and downstairs, through long halls and into opulent rooms that were also filled with partygoers. All the while, they continued to keep a full glass in their hands. Credence had drank four full glasses of pink drink by the time they circled back to the foyer—and they hadn’t even venture half of the vast manor. He wasn’t fully convinced that just one family lived in such a palace. 

They loitered the foyer, the music in the next room traveled well, distracting him from the conversation he wasn’t completely involved in. His eyes darted around the room, glossing over the painted and shaven faces of the other guests. He didn’t know what he was looking for until he found it—or rather— her. 

Descending from the heavens that was the staircase landing was her elegant figure, clothed in a velvety red dress that hung off her shoulders. Her hair fell in waves around her face, adorned with pins that resembled holly. The long pointed sleeves clung to her skin along with the rest of the dress, hugging her figure dangerously. He was the first to see her, and in parallel, she saw him first; her painted red lips curling into a wide grin once their eyes met. 

His chest was filled with a fluttering excitement as his eyes followed her movements drawing nearer. She walked straight towards him, bowing her head shyly as she got closer. The others noticed her too, hooting and hollering as she came, embarrassing her more. 

“The Princess has finally decided grace the party with her presence,” Aaron playfully jeered. 

“It’s not easy being the most attractive in the family, it takes a lot of work to look this good,” She bantered. 

“Tons of it, if you ask me,” Channing muttered snidely as he took a sip of his drink, causing a fit of harmless laughter between all of them but Credence. 

“You look amazing,” Edmund complimented over the giggles. 

(y/n) thanked him, her eyes drifting back to Credence expectingly. Flustered, Credence sputtered the first words that came to mind. “You look beautiful, you always do.”

(y/n) blushed, her girlish smile reaching her ears. Her brothers found the interaction equally amusing, stifling their laughter. Though Edmund didn’t find it so amusing, his once joyous expression faltering. 

“I have to steal my brothers for a moment,” (y/n) revealed. 

“What for?” Channing asked, unaware that he was needed. 

“Mom wants to see us all for a portrait. You were supposed to have been there by now. Daddy’s getting restless,” she told them.

Aaron cursed under his breath, having forgotten about the detail. He turned to his friend and handed him his drink. “It will only be a minute.”

Aaron and Channing hurried off towards the stairs whence (y/n) had come. Before she left, she met Credence’s eye. “Just wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

She then disappeared up the stairs with her brothers, leaving him alone with Edmund. And then there were two. 

“Why don’t I show you to the gardens,” Edmund suggested after an awkward beat of silence. 

Credence didn’t get the chance to deny the offer before Edmund turned on his heels and headed towards the door, beckoning him to follow. Out of pure obligation, Credence followed, venturing from the manor and out into the cold (though the consistent warm buzzing in his head and chest kept him warm enough). 

Edmund guided Credence around to the main garden that sat in the center of the sprawling houses. Snow covered the hedges and statues that scattered the grounds. 

“Where are you from, Credence?” Edmund asked suddenly as they walked the garden path. 

Credence shrugged his shoulders. “Here.” 

“No, you’re not,” he said. “You might be from New York, but you’re not from here.”

Credence’s brow furrowed. What was he playing at?

“How did you meet (y/n)?” He pestered. 

“In Times Square,” Credence answered. “She helped me when I fell on the street. We kept running into each other ever since.”

Credence wasn’t sure why he was telling him all this, but he felt if he wanted to know, why not tell him? 

“You know, it's charming,” said Edmund. “How you’re sweet on (y/n). It’s pretty obvious. You look at her like a little puppy dog. It’s almost endearing. But it’s pointless.”

“Pointless?” Credence repeated. 

Edmund stared blankly at the younger boy. A sly smirk teetered on his lips.  “Oh, come on. Do you... Do you actually think you have a chance with her?”

Credence’s silence only amused him more, spurring him to laugh tauntingly. “Oh my God, you do! I almost feel bad for you!” It was only now that Credence noticed the subtle slur of his words. “Listen, mate, I’m only saying this because I feel like we could be friends. It's not going to happen. (y/n) is a sweet girl, almost too sweet. She’s oblivious to these kinds of things, you see?” He leaned against a stone post.

“How should I explain this? I’ve watched her grow up, and I have seen many young chaps like you fall all over her. She doesn’t realize her kindness attracts people. There have been many broken hearts left at her feet. You don’t want yours added to the pile, trust me.”

Yes, Credence decided in that moment he didn’t like Edmund at all. He took too much of a likeness to Ripley; they had the same condescending leer. The buzzing of his head wouldn’t allow him to hide his obvious disdain, and for the first time Credence would speak his mind, unafraid of the consequences. 

“Is yours one of them?” He asked boldly. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your heart,” he reiterated. “Is it one of the ones she broke?”

“I—”

“Do you feel threatened by me? Are you afraid that she might not like you as much as you think?” 

“What did you just say to me?” Edmund sputtered. 

Credence continued, feeling no shame for what he was about to slur and stutter. “She’s only nice to you because you’re friends with her brother and she’s known you for so long. But that isn’t enough to win her affection. Deep down, you know that.”

Edmund took Credence by the collar, “I suggest you stop talking,” he whispered dangerously. 

“You say that I don’t have a chance, then what do you have?” Credence chuckled provokingly. “She said she likes me. Has she ever said she likes you?”

“You don’t know a damn thing!” Yelled Edmund, red in the face. “To her, you’re just a pet. A sad little puppy she has to take care of. She’ll give you treats and dress you up like a doll, but it doesn’t mean anything. She’ll never see you as a man.”

“Is this what you do?” Asked Credence. “You drive away any person who you think might come between you and (y/n)? There’s nothing to come between. She’s not yours. She never was. And she’s not mine either. I don’t care if she doesn’t feel the same way I do. That doesn’t matter. But she said she liked me... and I like her.” Credence smiled. “And that is more than anything you’ll ever have with her.”

A powerful fist collided with his left cheek, sending him to the ground. The pleasing buzz in his head was replaced with rushing blood pounding against his temple. 

“I told you to stop talking,” the assailant heaved. 

Credence struggled to his hands and knees. The punch left a metallic taste in his mouth, and a bubbling rage in his stomach. Without thinking, he lunged forward, tackling Edmund to the ground. The two fell in a heap on the cobblestone, wrestling and thrashing violently. Credence got the upper-hand, landing a satisfying punch in the face, leaving Edmund with a bloodied nose. It didn’t last, because as soon as Credence wrestled his way on top, he was back under him, taking blows to the face and ribs. 

He couldn’t react fast enough to defend himself, and honestly, it was a miracle he landed a punch in the first place. He curled into himself to protect his face and ribs. The same vibrating rage he felt earlier that same day with Ripley danced under his skin. His thoughts faded in and out between consciousness, each unfamiliar thought being one of violence and rage. Pure, dark rage. 

Edmund may have got a peak at this entity—a glimpse into it’s glassy white eyes. If he had, he didn't say so. He only hesitated, a look of both confusion and fear flashing over his once blinding anger when their eyes locked. If he had seen those shining white eyes, they disappeared as soon as they came, her voice retreating the beast inside. 

“EDDY! CREDENCE! STOP IT!”

It was a trick of the lights, Edmund would later conclude. A figment of his drunken imagination. But it wasn’t true. The truth was Credence had a part of himself he couldn’t control—a part of himself that could destroy buildings and uproot roads—a part of him he couldn’t control, that is, until he met her. Until the sound of her sweet voice reached his ears and calmed the blackness to its dormant state.  

Edmund was pulled off of him, pushed several feet back while she dove for him on the ground, dirtying her red dress. The light from the lamppost and house gave the illusion that she glowed in the night.

Her eyes were big with worry. “Credence, are you okay? Does it hurt?” She helped him sit up, taking his face gently in her hands. It didn’t hurt. He couldn't feel anything but her warm hands caressing his cheeks. 

“I’m hurt too, (y/n),” Edmund croaked from his place. Aaron and Channing were there, barricading him away. “I got hit too. Why don’t you ask me if I’m okay? Huh?!”

(y/n) glared back at him. “You’re drunk!”

Edmund’s red face became wet with hot, angry tears. “WHY DON’T YOU ASK ME, (Y/N)?! DON’T YOU LIKE ME TOO?”

She held on to Credence's arm, holding him close. “I think you should go,” she muttered. 

Edmund sniffed, a look of pure heartbreak slapping over his chiseled features. “(y/n)...” He called for her one last desperate time, but she turned away, shutting him out completely. 

“Come on, man,” Aaron said sternly, pushing him back. “Let’s take a walk, okay?”

“GET OFF ME!” Edmund pushed Aaron away from him, staggering backward. He took one last long look at (y/n), hoping that she would look at him again. But she didn't. Her eyes stayed trained on Credence. He stepped back, defeated. 

“I can walk by my bloody self,” he slurred bitterly, retreating further into the garden, Aaron chasing after him. 

“Can you stand up?” (y/n) asked softly, taking Credence by the hand and pulling him to his feet. 

Channing helped as well, guiding them both back into the house. They stayed away from the festivities, taking the hidden stairs back up to her room. Channing had retrieved a medical kit after they reached her room, leaving once (y/n) insisted she could care for Credence on her own. 

Now, he sat next to her on her bed, while she shifted through the medical kit. His eyes trained on a young, black, hairless cat played curled up in a stuffed bed by the fire. This must’ve been the cat she had told him about. 

“Do you mind telling me what that was about or are you just going to stay silent?” Asked after the long silence. 

“It was nothing,” he told her, as she took his face in her hands to examine the wounds on his cheek and lip. 

“Yeah, right.” She muttered, taking a wet cotton swab and dabbing it on his scraped cheek. It burned, causing him to wince. She stopped immediately, looking apologetic. “Sorry.”

She went for the medical kit again, rummaging through it messily before stopping abruptly.

“You know what, I’m not sorry! Serves you right worrying me like that! I leave you for one minute and you’re picking fights in the street! Just look what he’s done to your face!” She cupped the side of his face where Edmund had punched him. She sighed, taking another cotton swab from the kit. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to yell. I don’t like seeing you hurt is all.”

He looked at her deeply through lidded eyes as she dabbed the cut on his lip. 

“We were fighting about you,” he confessed.

She stopped, her eyes flickered to his for a moment, before focusing back on his lip. “Me? Why on Earth would you be fighting about me?”

He didn’t say. She waited for an answer, but soon concluded she wouldn’t get one. He hissed when she began applying cream on his cuts. “Fine, then,” she mumbled irritably. “Don’t answer me. Just hold still—”

His lips were on hers before she could finish her harping. The swab fell from her hand in shock, her eyes wide as saucers. He was kissing her. His eyes were closed, his lips plush against hers. He ignored the sting of his cut as he pressed his lips onto hers like he’d seen couples do many times before. His heart pounded in his ears. He would have kept kissing her if he hadn’t held his breath for too long. When they parted, and he opened his eyes to see her staring, awestruck. 

His ears turned red, and a wave of embarrassment crashed over him, realizing what he’d done. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have—”

Her soft lips crashed into his with passionate force, her hands flying to caress the nape of his neck. Now, it was his turn to be taken aback. Credence had kissed her how shy young couples do: pressing his lips onto hers. But she kissed him like lovers do, moving her lips feverishly against his, licking his lips coyly with her tongue. Imitating her actions, Credence let his eyes fall shut, opening his mouth for her. Her tongue slipped passed his lips and swirled around his, welcoming the foreign sensation.

“(y/n)...” He whimpered out of pure instinct. 

She pulled away, leaving him a blushing, panting mess. 

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you call me by my name,” she whispered. A smile stretched across her lips.  “Say it again.”

Credence’s cheeks burned, but he gladly did what she asked. 

“... (y/n),” he called her name again.

“Again.”

“(y/n),” he repeated.

“Credence,” she whispered his name, sending shivers down his spine.

“(y/n),” he whispered breathlessly. 

“Credence.”

“(y/n).”

She captured his lips in another sensual kiss, pushing him back onto the bed. The medical kit fell to the ground, forgotten. She laid on top of him, her legs wrapped around his thin waist, pressing her body against his like he’d imagined many times before. His heart thundered in his chest, his mind consumed by her. Lavender and vanilla, it was all around him; pressing against him, kissing him, caressing him.

“Credence,” she said between fiery kisses. “I want you.”

“Y-You want me?” He flushed, making her giggle. 

“Yes,” she chuckled, taking his hand. “Do... Do you want me too?” Her voice was small and unsure. 

Credence nodded, lacing his fingers between hers. “I’ll always want you.”

His words seemed to spur her on, reviving her confidence. “Is this okay?”

The touch of her hand on his thigh traveled down to his waist, sending shivers up his spine. The beat of his heart pulsed powerfully in his chest, ringing in his ears. He watched expectantly as she drew nearer, hovering over him. One of her hands rose to tenderly cup his cheek. Her hand was soft and warm against him. The way she touched him was unlike any other. She was always so gentle with him, so kind. 

Their lips were mere inches apart. So close he could feel her warm breath on his skin. She looked at him through hooded lids, her eyes darkened to a deep shade of (e/c).

Credence swallowed. “I...I’ve never...”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” 

She grinned, kissing his lips tenderly to calm his nerves. He felt her fingers move to unbutton his suit jacket. She pulled it off his shoulders, discarding it to the floor.

“Just relax,” she cooed. “I’ll take care of you.”

His black tie slipped off with ease, the buttons of his white dress shirt opened one by one the sound of fabric rubbing against each other and sultry sighs filling their ears. His shirt joined the jacket onto the ground, leaving him half-naked under her. He felt exposed, his eyes nervously fidgeting around the room. 

Her warm hands grazed the sides of his waist, delicately dancing up to his chest. She noticed the change in his breathing, his chest rising up and down in anticipation. He’d never been touched like this by anyone, not once. But now, as her hands glossed over his torso causing goosebumps to rise even though his skin was burning hot, he realized he wanted to be touched by her all the time, in every way. He wanted to kiss her over and over again; to feel her lips against his. He wanted to be close to her in the closest way possible.

As if answering his silent prayers, she pressed her chest against his, her breath tickling his cheeks. She kisses the mark on his cheekbone tenderly, then the corner of his lips, then his jaw. His eyes lull back. He let his head fall to the side, presenting his neck to her. Her hot breath on his neck excited him. Her lip pressed soft kisses down his jaw and neck, marking him with her red lipstick. Her wet tongue licked a stripe up his jugular, and he made a sound he’d only made once before in the confines of his room. 

She did it again, licking, sucking, and biting at the sensitive flesh of his neck. Credence bit his lip, muffling his desperate mewls. 

Her lips kissed up to the spot just under his ear. “It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear. “No one else can hear us. It’s just me.” 

Hoping to drive out more sweet moans, she sucked on the flesh of his neck she learned to be the most sensitive. His hips bucked upwards, grinding between her legs. He squirmed pathetically under her, his desperate pants and moans filling the room. 

His body was sensitive to her every touch, each kiss sending jolts of electricity through his body. She left love bites on the expanse of his neck and collarbone, coloring his pale skin purple and mauve. 

She caught his lips in another open-mouthed kiss, assaulting his mouth with his tongue at her pleasure. 

“Is... C-Can I touch you?” He asked through her kisses. 

She pulled away, her nose brushing against his. “Always,” she breathed. 

His hands daringly glided over her arms, reaching around her back. His fingers found the zipper to her dress and pinched, pulling it down her back until it stopped at her waist. She slid out of the dress with ease, slipping it off her body and letting it pool around her waist. His eyes glued to her bare chest, turning red from the neck up. She took his hands and guided them up her sides, outlining her feminine curves. 

She brought his hands to cup her breasts. His touch was hot on her skin, her own blush burning undeneath. He could feel her heart pounding wildly in his chest, and he knew she was just as excited as him. He let his body act on its own, his hands massaging her breasts. She let out a shaky breath, her mouth falling open. 

He continued, brushing his thumbs against her hardened nipples. Her hips rocked sensually against his twitching member. Her name slipped past his lips, his eyes trained on her figure above him. Her hands pressed on his chest, her hips moving in circles over him. Credence sat himself up, snaking his arms around her hips, gripping them firmly. They stared at each other breathlessly through half-lidded eyes. Credence’s already dark eyes turned to black pools reflecting in the moonlight. 

He mimicked her affections, placing chaste kisses under her jaw. He kissed the expanse of her neck, tasting her soft skin. He pulled her hips into him, guiding her movements in his lap. His length strained against his trousers, aching to be touched. 

“You said you want to touch me, right?” She panted. “Touch me here.”

She moved his right hand from her hip, slipping it under the velvety veil that covered where she wanted him most. He could feel her through thin lacy fabric, her heat already slick with arousal. He experimentally rubbed his fingers up and down her slit, studying the twitches and jolts of her body. She seemed to really enjoy when his fingers brushed against a certain spot, so he kept his attention there, rubbing steady circles around the sensitive area. 

Her hands gripped his shoulders, her head falling to rest in the crook of his neck. He enjoyed hearing her high-pitched moans, even as they were muffled against his neck. He pressed harder, picking up his pace to hear more. Her hips jut against his hand, jerking every so often. Her breaths quickened, and she whimpered his name in his ear. 

“Faster,” she’d pant desperately, her grip on his shoulders tightening. 

He did, circling his fingers as best he knew how. Her thighs tightened around his legs, her body stilled but he didn't stop. Only when he felt her body shake and relax against him did he stop, her sweet satisfied moan reaching his ears. 

He held her in his arms, peppering kisses on her shoulder and neck as she steadied her breathing. When she did lift her head from his neck, she pecked his lips and cheek. She held his face in her hands and moved to lie on her back, pulling him down in the process. 

He planted his hands on either side of her head. He admired her from above. Her red lipstick was faded, smudged messily on her chin, having been transfered on his own lips and neck. She didn’t break eye contact as her hands unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them down his waist and kicking them off with her feet along with his boxers. They lingered like that, just staring and admiring one another. He didn’t feel embarrassed. He felt strangely calm. The rest of the world seemed to float away. Nothing else mattered. Not the party down stairs, or the people laughing and drinking. Not Edmund and his jealousy, and not his mother and her vilification. Nothing mattered but her and him together in this room, together in her bed. 

He bent down to kiss her with all the passion and love he could muster. She was everything he could ever want and more. She was his saving grace, his goddess. He wanted to show her how much he loved her. ‘Closer,’ he thought. He needed to be closer to her.

Their lips and hips magnetized, their bodies melded together. He whispered her name like a mantra because he knew she liked hearing it as much as he liked saying it. He felt her hands slip between their bodies, grasping his length. She guided him to where she needed him, his tip pressing teasingly at her entrance. With her help, he eased inside, feeling her wrap tightly around him. They sighed in each others mouth, devouring their intoxicated moans. Her legs wrapped around his waist, urging him further. 

She opened for him like a flower in bloom. His hips moved without having to think. Being with her felt so natural. Every move he made came to him like second nature. His thrusts were slow and gentle, drawing wanton moans from her lips. Her hips rocked into him with equal fervor. She collected his moans with her kiss, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair. 

He lost himself in the feeling of her, his pace quickening. He watched her pretty face morph into varying expressions of pleasure, each thrust of his hips creating a new one. He’d never felt so good in his life. His body tingled and his skin burned pleasantly. He didn’t know it was possible to feel such pure, utter euphoria. 

He fisted the rosy silk sheets, his breath stopping in his throat. She tightened around him, and like a wave crashing down on a cliff side, he came. His body vibrated and twitched above her. He called her name into the air, his spastic thrusts edging her to her end, which—by the sounds of her shameless cries—was as powerful and illustrious as his. 

There was a moment of stillness; a moment in which they heard nothing but their shallow breaths and the crackle of the fire. They could do nothing but stay in their connected position with eyes locked. Credence fell to his side next to her on the bed. His muscles ached and his skin was slick with sweat, but he was filled with unwavering adulation. Eyes still locked, they said so much without needing to say anything at all. His hand found hers, lacing his fingers between her small ones.

They laid there, staring lovingly in each other’s eyes for what felt like hours. He silently adored her, memorizing the details of her features until his eyes grew heavy from exhaustion, slowly falling shut as graceful as the falling snow outside.  

Credence pried open his tired eyes. The fire still burned beside him. It crackled and danced, keeping the exhausted pair warm under the thin sheets. The moonlight broke through the balcony glass door and cast shadows of the curtains across the room. There was no music heard from downstairs and the manor outside sounded empty of all festivities. 

He took the time to embrace her presence. She laid on her side, facing him. Her eyes were still shut, soft snores falling from her lips. She held his hand between their bodies. Her thick (h/c) hair sprawled wildly around her, messed by their passionate love affair. And still, even with her hair a mess, and the corner of her lips wet with drool, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He reached his free hand to brush the fray hairs from her eyes, watching her lips twitch and curl into a sleepy smile when his thumb brushed against her cheek. That smile alone rid his mind of any and all doubts that still lingered. 

There are very few moments in life worth living for. Most things in life are mundane and repetitive, and when they weren't, they were bleak and agonizing. He’d been through it many times before, taking in so much pain he thought death was a kinder fate. But, as he lay next to her, listening to her slow steady breaths, watching the rise and fall of her chest while she slept; he knew he would face it all again, if it meant he could have more of these moments with her.  

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Chrome & Leather - Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC, Brother Bucky x OFC, Eventual Billy Russo x OFC

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Minor Character Death, Grief, Mourning, Brief mention of drinking and getting behind the wheel (DON”T DRINK & DRIVE)

Word Count: 4563

Chapter Summary: Steve watches the world come crashing down on the Barnes family. Billy’s plans are slowly falling into place.

A/N: This chapter will be in Steve’s POV mainly and one section of Billy’s POV. I did this so we can what each man is thinking before what happens in Chapter 10. 

This is my first fic with an original female character, Jessie Barnes. Face claim for Jessie Barnes is model Jessy Hartel,​

A/N 2: Please read the warnings. DNI if under 18 years old. I’ve been so nervous to release this chapter because it is now going to be more towards drama for a little bit.

BOLO meaning - Be on the look out​

To read more of my work here is my Masterlist

Thank you to my beta readers @music-culture-mythology​​​​​ & @lipstickstainedred​ Any other grammar or spelling mistakes are my own.

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers​​​​​​​​

I’ll only be doing mini tag-lists for mutuals that interact with me. To stay up to date with my writing follow my side-blog and turn on the notifications for @saiyanprincessswanie-sideblog​

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Steve had a spring in his step all day as he thought about finally being engaged to Jessie. The day seemed to fly by for him as he worked on cars and made conversations with customers about his engagement. Living in a small town he wasn’t surprised that people had already heard the good news. The question seemed to be the same: “when is the big day?” Steve couldn’t help but chuckle saying they haven’t set one yet. If it was his decision they would be married tomorrow so they could start building the future they had always talked about. With the land bought they would build the house of their dreams and start a family. The one thing Steve had longed for was a family to call his own and now he was one step closer to it. 

It was rare for Jessie to work late like she said she was going to tonight, but he knew she needed to fix things with Becca. So Steve stayed down the street at the garage talking with Bucky, Thor, Tony, Clint, and John. As the guys were discussing an upcoming football game over the weekend his phone vibrated in his pocket. Steve pulled out the phone and smiled as he read the message.

Jessie: Hey babe, everything is done cleaning-wise.  I’m waiting to talk to Becca. I’m a little nervous so wish me luck.

Steve knew she was going to be anxious so he quickly texted her back. He hoped that the sisters could finally work things out so they could move forward and fix their bond that was currently broken. 

Steve: You got this sweetheart. Once you are done I’ll come to get you. Bucky, Thor, Tony, Clint, John, and I are hanging at the shop down the road. Message me when you’re done.

Jessie: I will, love you.

Steve: Love you too

Putting the phone back into his pocket Steve heard his friends making kissing noises. He rolled his eyes at the men. “Oh please, we all know you’re just as bad,” he said, pointing at Bucky. “I’ve heard the stories from you first-hand, jerk. We all know how Nat can be.” 

Bucky looked shocked by his friend’s accusation as he put a hand to his chest. “Please I don’t look like a homesick puppy when my phone dings with a message like you do punk.”

“No, you look like a whipped boy trying to get to your phone before your lady brands your ass,” Tony loudly exclaimed, causing the men to burst into laughter. 

“Says the man who jumps whenever Pepper calls. Let’s face it guys, we all have it bad for our women. Except for John here. The only relationship he has is with his right hand every night,” Clint joked as John flipped him off.

“But seriously guys, I want you to be on the receiving end of my red-haired vixen. That kitten has claws,” Bucky quipped back. The men continued to laugh and harass one another over who was more obsessed with their women. They were still laughing when suddenly a loud pop could be heard and the men went silent.

Steve looked at Bucky, both men thinking the same thing. “That sounded like a gunshot,” Steve said as all six men went outside the garage and stood on the sidewalk to listen. 

After a moment John spoke, “Maybe someone was shooting off fireworks?”

Bucky held his hand up to silence him. “No, that was a gunshot. I wonder where it came from.” The guys stood there, listening to see if there was another one but there was nothing but silence. As they were about to head back inside the sound of sirens could be heard.

Steve stood listening, waiting as the sirens grew closer. Something wasn’t right and he could sense it. Within seconds the Sheriff’s car and two ambulances flew past them. He watched in horror as it approached the diner. “Please don’t stop there, please don’t stop there,” he said over and over in his head until his worst fear came to light as the vehicles pulled into the diner. Before Steve could think straight he was running down the road towards the diner. What could have happened? Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought. 

The red and blue flashes were haunting, calling his name as he ran for his life. In the distance, he could see Billy and both ambulances approach the diner as more Sheriff’s department vehicles pulled up. Within minutes Steve was at the diner but was stopped by a deputy.

“Sir you can’t go in there,” the deputy said as he blocked Steve from passing.

His heart hammered in his chest as panic set in. “Please my fiancee is in there with her sister. What happened? Is she okay?” 

“Sir, I need you to step back for me. Let the EMTs do their work. This is an active crime scene.”

“Steve!” Bucky yelled as he skidded to a stop beside him. “What happened? Are Jessie and Becca okay?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair frustrated as other deputies set up a barrier around the diner. “This guy just said it’s an active crime scene and there are EMTs so someone has to be hurt. I don’t know what’s happening.” 

Thor, Tony, Clint, and John approached the scene in panic. Thor started asking the same questions as the deputies kept the men at bay. The men stood outside and waited until they heard a loud, anguished cry coming from inside. It was Jessie. 

“Fuck this,” Steve growled out as he pushed past the deputies and ran into the diner. The scene before him made his heartbreak. Billy sat next to Jessie on the floor holding her close as the EMTs worked on a bloody Becca. He watched the EMT perform CPR on Becca as they quickly put her on a stretcher.

“Steve what’s going…” Bucky’s voice cut off as he took in everything as well. Bucky screamed his sister’s name as Steve grabbed his friend trying to hold him back as the EMTs made their way outside. Both men could hear Thor cry out for Becca as she was loaded into the ambulance and rushed to the hospital. 

Steve pushed Bucky outside to get fresh air. “Buck, take Thor and head to the hospital with the guys. Have one of them call your mom. I’m going to see if Jessie is okay.”

Bucky looked between the ambulance driving away and the diner. “I need to see if Jessie is okay.” Bucky went to step around him but Steve put two steadying hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

“Please go with them. We will be right behind you as soon as I talk with Billy.” Steve's hands gently squeezed Bucky’s shoulder to reassure him. Bucky nodded his head and took off towards the garage to grab his bike. Steve had to take a deep breath to calm his nerves. Whatever had transpired in that diner left Becca shot and who knows about Jessie. As he turned to head back in, Jessie was being escorted out by Billy. Jessie stared straight ahead with a haunted look on her face. Whoever did this to them was going to pay dearly. 

Billy walked her to the other ambulance to be looked at for her injuries. The EMTs started to look her over as Steve approached Billy. The men stood side by side watching Jessie wince as they dabbed at a bloody place on her head. 

“Did Jessie say who did this?” Steve asked.

Billy’s eyes never left her as he stood with his hands on his hips. “Brock.” His voice was laced with venom as he said the name. 

“You have got to be shitting me. Did she say why?” Steve furiously inquired. 

“No, I couldn’t get her to say anything else. She needs medical attention. Looks like he roughed her up before he shot Becca. I’m going to get my team in here to process the scene. As soon as we finish I will need to talk to her. If you can get anything out of her let me know. I put a BOLO out for Brock already with my deputies. If he is local we will find him.” Billy left Steve to head back into the diner. Steve’s heart broke as he watched her stare into oblivion as the EMT finished with what he could. 

“Sir, we’re going to transport her to the hospital to be checked out. We want to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion. Do you want to ride with us?” The EMT questioned.

“No, I’m going to grab my bike and head that way. I’ll be ten minutes behind you,” Steve answered as he walked over to Jessie. His hand softly grabbed hers but she still didn’t look at him. “I will be right behind you.” Steve brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She looked so lost and broken. There was no doubt if he could get his hands on Brock there would be hell to pay. The ambulance pulled away as he headed back to the garage. Quickly he locked the doors and jumped onto his bike, heading to the hospital to be with his family.

The hospital was a chaotic scene when Steve arrived. Winnie was sitting down next to Bucky and Nat as they spoke in hushed voices. Tony and Clint were trying to calm Thor down as he paced the waiting room. Steve took a breath and walked into the waiting room. Bucky saw his friend walk into the room and got up to talk to him. 

“Any word from Billy about who did this?” Bucky asked as both anger and sadness filled his voice.

Steve ran a hand through his beard as Tony, Clint, and Thor approached them. Looking between his friends he let out a breath. “According to Billy, Jessie said Brock did this. She couldn’t answer any questions except for that.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Bucky angrily responded, as he kicked a chair over.

Thor’s hands clenched by his side. “He better hope nothing happens to my dearest Becca.” 

“Any word on if he’s still in town?” Tony asked.

Steve shook his head. “No, but there’s an alert out for him.” 

“The Sheriff is a good person. He’ll find Brock if he’s dumb enough to stay local.” Clint tried to reassure his friends.

Steve nodded in agreement. If there was one good thing in their corner it was their friend Billy. He knew how the other man felt about Jessie. If there was one thing they had in common, it was that they both wanted to keep her safe from harm. His eyes scanned the room and briefly fell on Winnie who was trying to keep herself together. He noticed John was missing from the bunch. “Did John not come?”

“He said he had to step outside for a few to take a phone call,” Tony answered. There was an awkward silence that fell upon the room as a doctor walked into the room.

“Barnes family, my name is Dr. Cho,” she stated as Winnie and Bucky approached her. 

“Dr. Cho, how are my daughters? Is Becca still in surgery? How is Jessie?” Winnie frantically beseeched as she clutched Bucky's arm.

“Your daughter Jessie has a mild concussion from her injuries as well as contusions around her neck. Jessie is not opening up to any of my nurses but that is common from being physically assaulted. As for Rebecca, I’m sorry to say we lost her in surgery. She lost a lot of blood due to where the bullet entered her. We tried everything we could but we lost her. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Time seemed to stand still in this moment for Steve as he stopped hearing the doctor, stopped hearing anything. He watched as Winnie screamed out in anguish as she almost collapsed to the floor, knowing objectively that he should have heard it but he heard nothing. Bucky managed to catch his mother and they clung to each other as they stumbled over to the seating, sobbing over the loss of Becca. Thor ran over to the doctor and pleaded with her, asking if she had made a mistake. But when she tried to talk to him disbelief took over as he tried to head into the back where Becca would be. Clint and Tony grabbed him, pulling him back into the room as he collapsed to the ground, mourning for the loss of Becca, the love of his life. Jessie was mildly injured and Becca was dead. All at the hands of Brock who should have never been allowed near them. 

Angered, there was a call for revenge deep in his bones, but that could wait for now. Steve approached Bucky and Winnie, kneeling next to them he wrapped his arms around his family. They would get through this together.

After Winnie and Bucky were allowed to see Becca’s body they headed up to Jessie’s room with Steve. Jessie was resting as Winnie, Bucky and Steve walked into her room. Winnie approached her daughter and kissed her head gently as the men slowly walked closer. Jessie seemed to stare into space, not acknowledging them. Winnie tried to comfort her daughter, encouraging her to open up to tell them what happened but Jessie would not respond. The trauma was overwhelming for Jessie and the doctor had told them to just give her time. So they sat with her in silence. Dr. Cho had said they were going to keep Jessie overnight for observation but would release her in the morning. 

Bucky had talked his mother into letting him take her home so she could get some rest. Bucky turned to Steve as they were about to leave. “If anything changes with her during the night my cell will be on. I’m going to stay with mom.”

Steve hugged his friend tightly. “I will, I promise.” He watched as his best friend and his future mother-in-law left the room. Walking back to the chair next to the bed, he sat down as he watched Jessie drift in and out of sleep. The bruises around her throat were growing darker by the hour. Oh, what he would give to have ten minutes alone with that monster who dared to touch his future wife and sister-in-law. This was supposed to be a day of forgiveness between the two women but Brock ripped that away from them. This was also supposed to be a time of happiness as he just got engaged with Jessie. How can life be so cruel?

For now, he would stay by her side and protect her from any harm that dares to come her way. He would kill Brock before he let that man come near her again.

Sleep was something that didn’t come for Steve as he watched Jessie like a hawk. By the time he knew it, nurses were greeting him and letting him know the doctor would be in to check on her within the hour. Steve stood and stretched as he watched Jessie sleeping the little bit she could. The sound of a soft knock had him turning in the direction of the door. Billy was standing there and signaled for him to step into the hallway.

Once outside the door, Steve leaned against the wall. “Any news on his whereabouts?”

Billy ran a hand through his beard. “No new leads yet. I heard that Becca didn’t make it through the night. I’m sorry for the loss. How is Jessie doing?”

Wiping a hand across his face Steve sighed. “Jessie isn’t talking to anyone, not even me. She slept on and off all night. The doctor stated the bruises around her throat were from when Brock strangled her. They mainly wanted to keep her for the night for observation but we are expecting her to be released today.”

“That’s good news. She will do better in her own home. Has anyone told her that Becca didn’t make it?” Billy inquired, but when Steve shook his head no he couldn’t even imagine the heartbreak she would feel all over again. 

“Once Bucky and Winnie get here we’re going to give her the news.” Steve sighed as he thought about how the news was going to tear her apart. “If you get any information about Brock let me know.”

Billy shook his head. “I assure you once we get him you will be the first to know.”

Steve clenched his jaw in frustration. “I wish I could get my hands on him for ten minutes for what he did to Jessie and Becca.”

“Trust me you aren’t the only one,” Billy smirked at the thought. “I will stop by later to get her statement.” He shook Steve’s hand and turned to leave. 

Steve headed back into the room and waited beside Jessie until they could go home.

Billy’s phone started to ring as he walked out of the hospital. He glanced at the caller ID and saw it was John Walker. With a heavy sigh, he picked up. “Now is not a good time.”

“We have a problem boss.” John was out of breath and panicking. 

He climbed into his vehicle and tried to compose himself. “What is the problem?”

“Brock showed up at Rogers’s property while I was making the last drop off at 5 am. He ambushed me in the dark, said that he wants his money now and that he was taking everything here as a down payment. Then he knocked me out. I just came to and everything we placed here is gone!”

Billy clenched his teeth as he began to see red. “Fuck! That backstabbing bastard. He knew I was going to get Rogers on federal charges for running a chop shop.” None of this was supposed to happen. Brock was just supposed to rob the diner and leave the women shaken. He had explicitly told Brock not to harm the women in any way, especially his woman. Billy’s neck jerked as he thought of Brock touching Jessie. No one touches what belongs to him and lives to tell about it. “I will handle this since your incompetence is getting on my last nerve.” Billy hung up the phone as he tried to think of his next move. Grabbing the steering wheel tightly he imagined how he was going to handle Brock. He should have known that imbecile wouldn’t follow simple directions. 

Composing himself Billy started forming a plan. There was more than one way to get rid of Brock, Steve, and Bucky. A sinister smile formed on his face as he pulled away from the curb. Jessie would be his soon enough.

Bucky and Winnie had come by the hospital half an hour later. Steve then broke the news to Jessie that Becca did not survive her injuries. His heart shattered watching her cry in anguish over the loss of her sister. Winnie sat on the hospital bed cradling Jessie as both mother and daughter grieved. Bucky and Steve shed tears at the sight in front of them as they mourned together as a family. Jessie kept repeating that she was responsible for her sister’s death. They tried to reassure her but it fell on deaf ears. 

An hour later Jessie was discharged from the hospital and the four of them headed to Steve and Jessie’s home. Steve knew the grief of losing a family member as he lost both parents, but he couldn’t imagine what Winnie felt as she had just lost a child. If Steve could get his hands on Brock he would make sure he would pay for hurting his family. 

The day felt like it passed in slow motion. Thor was the first to show up to be with everyone to grieve. Thor who was once the positive force in a room during gatherings was now knelt next to Winnie crying with her. Steve watched the display from the kitchen, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose the love of his life. The club would have to keep an eye on Thor in the coming days and weeks. 

It wasn’t until late afternoon when Billy showed up to speak with Jessie. As much as everyone insisted on giving Jessie time Billy said it was important for the case. Jessie finally spoke coherent words since the incident. “I want to do this,” she whispered. 

Billy sat in a chair next to her as Steve and the others sat down in the other seats in the living room. Billy reached over to take Jessie’s hand and lightly squeezed it in reassurance. “Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

Jessie took a hesitant breath and told them everything. “Becca and I had finally worked our differences out before Brock showed up. He came in demanding money and holding us at gunpoint and when I sassed Brock he hit me. I was mad that he was there and all I could think of was how to get Becca out of there. He had me at gunpoint the entire time he dragged me to the office while Becca got the money from our charity event we held earlier in the week. When Becca headed back to the dining room I decided to try and fight him. I got a few hits in until he let me go. I told Becca to run as I made it to the dining room. But as I made it past the counters he tackled me. Brock did say something unusual.”

“What did he say?” Billy inquired.

“Brock said I don’t care what ‘he’ says. Now that I think of it Brock mentioned it twice. Something about how I was off-limits to Brock. Though once Brock was on top of me choking me he mentioned that he was going to kill me. Becca tried to help but he hit her. I thought I was going to die until I saw his gun on the ground. So I reached for it. I figured if I could get to it maybe I could save us from him. By the time I got the gun, Brock had noticed what I was doing and we started struggling over it. Becca was trying to pull him off me. I-I remember closing my eyes and praying I could get the upper hand but… the gun went off. I killed her.”

The room fell silent. Billy moved closer to Jessie as tears fell from her eyes. “Jessie, you didn’t kill your sister.” His hand held hers as he tried to reassure her.

Steve watched as Jessie shook her head, then opened her eyes. She looked around the room and watched as Winnie cried into her hands while Bucky rubbed his mother’s back. Briefly, she looked at him and then at Billy. What he would give right now just to hold her and let her know this wasn’t her fault.

“It was my fault. If I never reached for the gun Becca would be alive…” Jessie softly insists but is interrupted by the Sheriff.

“Jessie, I’m here to tell you that Brock was out for blood that night. If you never tried to fight back we could have also lost you as well.” Billy insisted as Jessie started to cry from his words. “I promise you I will get Brock and there will be justice.” He stood from his seat and walked out of the room as Winnie went to comfort her daughter. Bucky and Steve followed Billy outside the house. 

The three men stared at one another before Bucky spoke. “Are you sure you will be able to find him?”

“Yeah, I don’t think he got far at all. We’ll be searching for Brock at all the places he’s known to frequent.”

“What can we do to help?” Steve questioned.

Billy looked between both men. “I don’t think it’s wise that you two get involved.”

“I was involved from the moment he hurt my sisters.” Bucky angrily accentuated as he stood with his arms crossed. 

Knowing they would want to be involved Billy inwardly smiled. This could play in his favor. “If I hear something I’ll let you know.” The men shook hands and went back inside the house as Billy left. 

Billy pulled his burner phone out and he texted Brock. “We need to meet soon as the whole county is looking for you. Can you meet me at Rogers’ property at midnight in a couple of days?”

Brock: “That’s fine but I want double the amount we agreed on or I spill that you tried to set up Rogers and Barnes on federal charges for running a chop shop on top of robbing the diner.”

Billy’s jaw clenched in anger as he texted Brock back. “Done.” Oh, he was going to make him pay dearly for crossing him. No one crosses jigsaw and lives to see another day.

The days seemed to pass by slowly for the grieving family and friends. Steve had set up the spare bedrooms for Winnie and Bucky. It was easier to keep the family together during their time of mourning. Clint had called Thor’s brother Loki to come to town to take care of his brother since Thor was pushing everyone away. Thankfully Loki was able to arrive the next day and weaseled his way into his brother’s house. 

Family was so important to lean on, especially as they needed to start talking about funeral plans. Becca’s body was released to the funeral home after an autopsy was performed on her. Bucky and Steve were working hard to take care of both Jessie and Winnie. 

The diner was still closed due to it being a crime scene and wouldn’t be able to open until the investigation was over. Bucky and Steve decided to have the garage closed until they at least got past the funeral.

It wasn’t until several days later that John dropped by the house to talk to Bucky and Steve. John informed the men that he spotted Brock at a rundown house at the edge of town. John was going to tell the Sheriff but figured both men would want to visit Brock before the authorities. They had thanked him and once John left Steve and Bucky talked over a several beers about what they wanted to do to Brock.

Steve walked over to Jessie and kissed her gently. “Bucky and I have to run an errand real quick. Clint will be here for you and your mom while we’re out. I love you, Jessie.” 

Jessie’s blue eyes locked with his. “I love you too.”

Both men left the house and made their way to Jessie’s truck. The bikes would be too loud if they were going to sneak up on Brock. Once they get their hands on Brock he’s going to wish that Jessie would have shot him dead. Steve would make sure he felt the same pain that Jessie did when Brock hurt her. Bucky was also unhinged, he wanted to make the man pay for hurting his family. Revenge was at the forefront of their minds as Steve started the truck and headed towards the house that John told them about. No one would hurt their family and get away with it.

Chapter 10

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[blackenedwhite97]

Coming Out [Poly! Erasermic x {Fem}Reader]

Hello! this was a requested fic from like before Christmas. I'M A MESS I KNOW I'M SORRY! I’ll be catching up at some point, I'm in my final sem at uni and have MAJOR senioritis. Me no do unless me have to. Instead, now I just spend my time staring at the existential abyss the threatens to swallow my ceiling and think about everything I'm procrastinating. But I digress...

Content Warning: This story is of a negative experience coming out as poly to your family, this deals with rejection from the reader's mother, father, and a grandparent. This story demonstrates Homophobia, xenophobia, traditionalist and conservative values and attitudes and may be triggering to some folks.

This story includes a Polyamorous relationship

Polyamory: the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.

Word Count: 3.7 K (A baby story)

Y/N --- 4:06pm

Hey can my roomates come to dinner?

DAD --- 4:06

You mean the gays?

Y/M --- 4:08

Please don’t call them that. Neither of them are gay anyways, there’s more than just gay or straight.

DAD --- 4:10

Yeah whatever. Let your mom decide.

MOM --- 5:12

Sure, they can come.

Mom --- 5:23

Gma might be coming dinner tho. Maybe talk to them?

That conversation should have been enough of a warning for how the evening was going to transpire. At news of your grandmother attending dinner, you panicked and tried to back out of your plans. You had been growing steadily farther apart from your parents anyways, barely seeing them more that once a year if that. It’s not like they didn’t have their suspicions anyways, to them you were a single woman living in the big city sharing an apartment with two gay men. Not that they’d ever been to the apartment. If they had they might have notice that one of the two “bedrooms” was being used as an office. Earlier on in the relationship you were so deeply uncomfortable being around your parents alone, that you had Shouta come with you every visit because you were so paranoid you were just going to come out on the spot.

At first your parents were sure that you and Shouta were together. He had subconsciously cleaned up quite nice the first few times he met your parents anyways, wanting to make a good impression on them if you finally did tell them about your polyamorous relationship. Then as time went on you got busier and started to see them less. Shouta’s parents lived in the suburbs and you saw them on holidays, plus Shouta had come out to them as being bisexual a long time ago and hadn’t felt much pressure to hide the polyamorous nature of your relationship to begin with. Hizashi’s mom was still a city dweller in her 60’s and on top of doing the cute mom things like baking fantastic cookies and handing down family jewelry to the daughter in law, she’d also taken Hizashi and Shouta to their first pride in Tokyo and had an in-home recording studio where she recorded for local punk bands. She was, quite literally, a cool mom.

You gnawed vigorously at your thumbnail, not quiet biting the whole way through, instead riddling it with dents and cracks. Chewing your nails wasn’t a habit you’d always had, it became a sort of silent worry thing you started to do when you got to your agency and had to remain still and quiet during briefings, no matter how terrible the news was. Your ruined nail beds were an atrocity to Hizashi, who had paid several times for you to get a manicure to get your nails short and evenly trimmed so you could manage them on your own. You still somehow found a way to gnaw on the short squared off nubs of your nails though, and it drove him nuts. Shouta cared less, his hands were in ridiculous shape, he was callused and bruised, cracked and flaking all over the place and Hizashi would regularly force moisturizer on them. Shouta cared more about figure out the root stress, it’s not that Hizashi didn’t, he just didn’t know how to, so he settled for pampering you.

“It’s dead.” Hizashi huffed from the bedroom door. “Obliterated, actually.”

“Hmm?” You looked up from your phone, you hadn’t been reading any of the messages in the chat for a good few minutes and just let your eyes unfocus instead. You yanked your thumb from your mouth and hid it below the table like a child caught with a sweet they’d snuck from the kitchen before dinner, you knew he saw.

“Your nail.” Hizashi gently patted the end of his hair with his special fluffy towel that he’d convinced you and Shouta he needed to control his frizz (which he didn’t have) and padded towards the kitchen table where you sat. He placed a kiss on the top of your head as he strode around you.

“What’s up, love?” he murmured softly, leaning against the table next you. One of his legs propped up on the chair to your right and leaned down to look at your phone screen.

“This is going to go horribly.” You breathed, panicked as you set your phone down on the table.

“You don’t know that.” Hizashi looked back up at you and smiled sweetly.

“Not everyone’s mom is a cool rocker lady in her 60’s who lives in the heart of downtown still and is fully supportive of her child’s bisexual polyamorous relationship with their childhood best friend and an ex-small-town girl with an ultra-conservative family.” You huffed out in one long breath.

“That was oddly specific.” He chuckled softly. “What about Sho’s parents, they’re conservative?”

“Yeah, but his parents are at least polite and send us both Christmas gifts every year and keep any and all of their shittier opinions to themselves because they want their son to be happy.” You groaned dramatically, dropping your head onto his thigh, using the extra meat to muffle the noise.

“Y-your-” Hizashi’s leg twitched from the vibrations of your groan. “Your parents want you to be happy too, Y/n.”

You groaned into his thigh, trying to explain the difference between your parent’s and Shouta’s. Hizashi laughed and gently grabbed the side of your face, lifting it so you were no longer muffled by his leg.

“Try again.” He instructed.

“They only want me to be happy if it fits into their rigid frame of what acceptable happiness looks like.” You explained again.

“Hey,” Hizashi ran his thumb back and forth across your cheek, “have faith, baby. They’re your family, they love you.”

If only he’d been right.

Shouta was the know it all, the one that way always right. Hizashi on the other hand was quiet used to being the one that was not always right, he had no hubris about his intelligence what-so-ever. So much so that sometimes you and Shouta had to remind him that he was intelligent and offered a lot of knowledge and wisdom in many many ways: public speaking, social relationships, radio scripting, he spoke two languages fluently as well. However, this one-time Hizashi wished dearly that he had been right, that he was an insufferable know it all who never got it wrong. It was a different twisted feeling in his gut, sitting the back seat watching you try to keep it together in the front seat, than the usual mild embarrassment that faded after a couple of minutes when he was wrong about something. That was damn near luxurious compared to the painful knot tearing into his stomach.

The silence in the car was so dense and absolute that it almost physically gagged Hizashi and Shouta, the two of them were too afraid to say anything and break it. It felt as though the heavy silence was keeping you from breaking, as if it were applying enough pressure at all sides to keep the thin veneer of composure you were managing together. You felt it too, along with the heavy weight that was nearly crushing your chest, the thick doughy lump clogging your throat and the tremble in your lips. You took a deep breath, it getting caught halfway and freezing in to an unrealized sob that you pushed down.

Shouta huffed and pulled off to the side of the dark country road, slowing into the gravelly shoulder. He turned in his seat to face you, undoing his seat belt so he could fully turn his body. You kept your eyes out the window, trying with all your might not to let the tears that clouded your eyes to fall. You knew you’d need to cry about this, about your parents and their conditional love. You knew that this was something you would need to deal with, but you didn’t want to at this moment. You wanted to go home, take some sleeping medication and go to sleep, you wanted to wait until the open wound in your chest had stopped bleeding to begin treating it.

Your father was being facetious about your living arrangement as usual, whenever he was faced with Shouta and Hizashi his first reaction was to constantly point out that fact that you were a woman living with two men and that if they weren’t gay that one of them should have married you by now. Shouta and Hizashi had taken these comments like water rolling off of a duck’s back, Hizashi even grinned and mumbled something about your father tempting him. You could have kept your mouth shut, you could have kept your cool but Shouta’s hand was brushing against your thigh and you felt it tense into an annoyed fist. Something about Shouta’s minimal reaction lit a fire in you, more like an explosion. It was a surge of very sudden and very ferocious courage that lasted a split second and no longer. You’d practically shouted it, the ringing in your ears drowning whatever words you’d used out.

You were met with complete and utter silence, shock and fear thick in the air. You’d almost believed for a moment that you hadn’t done it, that you’d just shouted randomly and just scared everyone. But then your dad stood up, his shocked open mouth flattening out into a hard straight line, this jaw swelling as he clenched it.

“W-what?” he growled, stepping back from the table as if you were a threat.

You were ready to backtrack, you were so ready to just laugh and pretend you were fucking with him. But you spared a glance to Shouta and Hizashi, their faces pale and guilty. They, regardless of what you could say in an attempt to cover up what you’d just said, were basically admitting to it already. You instinctively shrunk back into your chair like you’d do when you were younger at the dinner table whenever something uncomfortable would come up. You could tell everyone was at a loss for words, the difference was that you were scared and at a loss for words, Shouta and Hizashi were shocked and at a loss for words and your father was steaming angry and at a loss for words.

Your mother, who had always been the least confrontational of the two turned away from you and almost in a show of disgust immediately went to comfort your grandmother. It was as if you were an afront to goodness, an act of moral atrocity being committed in front of them. Your father began to barrage you with passive aggressive questions and accusations towards Shouta and Hizashi. He was trying to understand while at the same time refusing to give you a chance to explain. You stopped listening after the first few sentences that came out of his mouth, falling back into an internal monologue filled with regret. He must have said something exceptionally terrible because in an instant Shouta was standing, his arm reaching out to separate you from him and he was shouting. Shouta never shouted, he barely voiced any form of annoyance or frustration in general when it wasn’t a learning moment for his students, but here he was on his feet volleying harsh word with your father.

Hizashi, you realized was attempting damage control, his hands raised and his voice lower than either of the other two men’s. You blinked back into the present, as noise filled your ears, you mother was crying, your father and Shouta were shouting and Hizashi was rambling panicked. You took a couple of deep breaths and stood up on shaky legs, gripping Shouta’s protective arm for support, and looked your father in the eyes. He faltered at the direct eye contact and you saw an opening where there was less shouting to contend with.

“Stop,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “this is why I never wanted to tell you! Why I was perfectly okay with living away from you guys for the rest- This is why I haven’t been home.”

Your mother gasped a ragged, tear-filled breath. She’d expressed before that she’d wished she could see you more often, that she’s noticed you’d been coming home less and less. You’d been good at covering it up, saying you were busy with work and simply couldn’t get the time off. You knew that what you’d just said hurt her, not in the way it should have. It hurt her because you’d just told them it was their fault that you felt unwelcomed here and not because you were afraid of your own parents.

“How long?” she breathed.

“Three years.” You sniffed, hand tightening around Shouta’s wrist.

“THREE?! THR-” your father bellowed in disbelief. “For three years they’ve been brainwashing and forcing themselves on you?!”

Suddenly you understood why Shouta had leapt up, you had just now caught up with the conversation. Red hot anger flared up in your chest, the mere insinuation that you were being forced in anyway to be with your partners filled you with utter rage.

“No!” You growled, for the first time in your life matching your father’s volume. “For three years they’ve been by my side, showing up at the hospital when I got hurt at work, celebrating my promotions at the agency, helping me make a home that I feel safe in and actually fucking caring about me!”

There was silence again, this one was thin but not light in anyway, like it was a delicate thread barely holding a great weight from falling and crushing you.

“We care for you.” You mother said darkly.

“No,” you swallowed hard, “you haven’t for a long time.”

“Get out.” You father growled.

Hizashi was already moving, grabbing your coats from the back of the chairs and pulling Shouta by the arm away from the table. It took you a good long second to move, even then it was because Shouta latched onto your shoulders and Hizashi tugged him along.

“I’m sorry.” Shouta whispered, his hand finding yours in your lap. You kept your eyes focused out the window at the pitch-black fields with barely visible for off golden dots of light. You couldn’t talk.

You heard Hizashi shuffling around in the back seat, scooting closer to you and his hand joined Shouta’s, pulling up onto the storage compartment between the seats. It was cracking, that veneer.

“It’s not your fault.” Hizashi murmured.

You sniffed hard, biting int you bottom lip. Of course, it wasn’t your fault that your parents didn’t accept you, that you weren’t good enough or right for them, that you weren’t on par with the apparent morality of the rest of the family. It wasn’t your fault that they were backwards people with terrible ideas of how a person should be. It still didn’t hurt any less that you couldn’t meet those backwards ideals, that you couldn’t be the right kind of person for them.

“Y/n,” Shouta whispered, gently grabbing your chin and turning your face towards them.

They were looking at you the way a mother looks at her crying baby in the first few months, the desperate need to connect and nurture glowing in their eyes. They were filled with worry, with pity, with understanding but also, with fear. No doubt, what had just happened had been traumatic for them too. Looking into their emotion filled eyes you felt that veneer shatter, falling away and unleashing that mournful sobbing that had been trapped inside.

Shouta pulled you towards him, holding you firmly to his chest placing his head atop yours. You vaguely felt Hizashi disappear from you for a moment, but you were too preoccupied with the trembling muscles seizing violently in your chest. Then you felt him sliding in behind you, only now realizing he’d stepped out of the car and slide in through your door as he shut it behind him. He draped himself over you rubbing circles into your back.

“It’s not your fault.” He murmured into your hair over and over again.

At first you didn’t really focus on it, thinking it idle words of comfort but the more he said the more it sunk in. The more your realized that you were holding onto the hope that there was something about this, about you, that you could fix. With every repetition of those four words that false hope chipped away and that heavy weight in your chest began to fall away. It was still painful, it still felt like you had a pen festering wound that you’d never fully heal from, but it also felt lighter. It felt as though a burden you’d believed was yours to bear was suddenly the responsibility of the many.

“You don’t have to change,” Shouta whispered softly as your sobs ebbed into weak beaths, “they do.”

That reignited some tears, to hear what you needed to said so plainly. Shouta was good at that, putting those intangible thoughts and feelings into plain words. You cried until the tears and the worry and the late hour caught up with you, until your head felt heavy and waterlogged and you slumped backwards into Hizashi sniffing. You cried until your wavering breaths evened out and your tired mind fell to silence. Hizashi pulled you into his lap and cradled you against him like a parent holding and oversized child, running his hand slowly through your hair.

When you awoke you were swaddled thoroughly with the fuzzy blanket from the couch Shouta hated because it shed and sandwiched between the two men who snored away. As you blinked in the early morning light that just barely peaked through the blinds you noticed the red rims around Hizashi’s eyes and deep-set circles under Shouta’s as if they both been awake all night. Shouta was still in his dress shirt and Hizashi had stripped down to his boxers and pulled his hair back into a sloppy bun. Neither were properly snoring which told they hadn’t been asleep for very long.

You tried to ignore what had happened last night, what had led to the heavy feeling in your head and crusty dry eyes and tight cheeks. You tried to pretend that they had stayed up for work, that they you had swaddled yourself up in the blanket nor because you were sad but because you just wanted to be cozy. Then you heard a phone vibrate on the nightstand and any and all work towards denial washed away as you dreaded checking it. It could just be a work thing, it could be Hizashi’s phone even though he’d never had it on silent even once since you’ve known him. It could have been Shouta’s vibrating against the wooden table even though you could see his slightly peeking out of his back pocket.

You sighed and sat up, daring the smallest of glances at the nightstand. It was your phone screen that was lit up, several notifications on the screen. You groaned and laid back down, scrunching your eyes shut begging for sleep to suddenly and miraculously take you. It buzzed again and you huffed. Fine. You’ll check it. I guess someone could be dying. I do stop that from happening for a living.

You very cautiously crawled over Hizashi and reached to get your phone, electing not to look at it until you settled back between your boys. You scrolled though your notifications, weather, news, a work email, a second email from a contact that made your blood run cold and three missed calls and two answering machine messages from the same contact. Grandma. Your hands trembled at you unlocked your phone and typed int your voicemail password. You held the phone up to you ear and listen to the first message which was more or less just some frustrated grandma noises and mumbles about the inconvenience of technology, followed briefly by a set of hellos. If you hadn’t been ready to shit yourself, you’d have laughed. Then the second played and you had to take a deep breath to hold yourself together enough to keep listening.

“Hello? Hello? Y/n? Oh shi- well this is just ridiculous. Y/n, I don’t know if you can hear me, or maybe this is your answering machine, I don’t know I can’t hear too well but-” her soft worn voice said into the phone, “I want you to know that I love you. Your parents love you too, even if they did not act like it tonight.”

She paused and your eyes welled up with tears, a lump forming in your throat. It was this strange feeling of pure sadness but also happiness and relief.

“Those boys,” she continued, “probably would have killed your father last night if they had the chance. I’m not saying I get it, but they sure do love you, sweetheart. I quite like the blond one he is very-”

The message cut off and the automated voice asked you what you wanted to do with the message. All you could do was laugh, laugh and cry. You were still sad, still in pain, but it was already starting to feel less life-ending.

“Hey,” Shouta mumbled blearily, “S’okay. I’m here.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, trying to pull himself from sleep. You hugged him back and massaged the back of his scalp gently.

“Listen to this.” You sniffed.

He nodded and you pressed repeat, listening to the whole second message through again. You watched as a smile spread across his sleepy lips and he laughed softly. He pouted suddenly when it ended, his eyebrows pulling together as much as his drowsy state would let them.

“What?” you asked, worried he’d heard something you‘d missed.

“Why does she like Zash more?” he grumbled, barely awake now.

You smiled and curled into him, electing not to answer knowing that he wouldn’t like being told that Hizashi is more sociable than him. Besides, you smiled to yourself, he’d be asleep in a matter of seconds.

You were still hurt; you still had that big open wound in your chest. But with Shouta and Hizashi at your side you knew you’d heal; you knew they’d give you anything you needed. You knew that your grandmother was right, that these two boys loved you very much.

[f1nalboys]

Backstage - Bday fic for Danny

HAPPY (very late im sorry) BDAY TO @knifewh0re !! I really hope you like this and i hope your birthday went well AND i hope today is even better!!! 

Poly!Ghostface x Danny

WORD COUNT: 1978

WARNINGS: they/them pronouns afab reader (which is danny), oral (amab and afab recieving), vaginal fingering, implication of more sex, semi-public sex, closet sex, time crunch, the boys aren’t mean in this one besides like two off-hand comments from billy

Billy and Stu stood backstage before the show searching for you. Stu was bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with excitement. “Stu, man, relax. You’re getting on my nerves.” Stu pouts and opens his mouth to say something but stops himself. He elbows Billy in the side harshly, pointing down the crowded hallway. Billy cranes his neck and breaks out into a grin.

It was you. You were surrounded by your band, decked out in your stage outfit and laughing and god you looked beautiful. Billy didn’t wait for Stu and took off down the hallway, his heart beating. You went to college with them, actually had a class with Billy, but you didn’t know them. They knew you, obviously.

Your band was getting popular in the punk scene and Stu had seen you play live a few months ago and immediately fell in love with your voice. He forced Billy to listen and, even though punk wasn’t his most loved genre, he had to admit that you were fucking amazing. And now they were here. Stu had bought backstage passes for the show and told Billy that they had to talk to you.

“Danny!” You turn around at the sound of your name with your eyebrows furrowed. Stu had caught up to Billy and had a big smile on his face, waving you over. Even though you didn’t know the two of them you went over, their smiles and the blush creeping up the neck of the brown haired boy made you curious.

“Uhm, hey. You two know me?”

“Yeah! We actually go to school with you, Billy here’s in your Intro to Film History class with you,” Stu says, nudging Billy towards you with his elbow. Billy forces a smile, his heart beating fast when you smile back. “And we happen to be huge fans of yours.”

You grin, turning around and waving off your band member, asking them to give you a few minutes. “Sorry about that. We have like half an hour before the show starts. So, you go to school with me? How come I’ve never seen you two around before? Think I would’ve noticed two cute guys.”

Stu lets out a high pitched nervous laugh, punching Billy on the shoulder hard. He was fucking star struck at this point. “Cute? You think we’re cute?” He says with a grin that only grows when you nod. They were cute! Stu was wearing a button up shirt and a denim jacket - which Billy had bought him specially for this - and Billy wore a tight black t-shirt and ripped jeans. 

“I’m Billy, that’s Stu. And you’re Danny, right?” 

“Sure am. So, any reason you two came out here to see us play?” Billy’s eyebrow raises. He could have sworn you were flirting with them. Stu seems to think the same thing because he makes a small choked noise which makes you laugh, hard. 

Stu shrugs, deciding now is the perfect time to start acting more suave. “We wanted to wish you luck before the show. With words or actions, whichever you’d prefer.” If Billy weren’t hoping you’d say yes he would have turned around and punched Stu as hard as he possibly could for being so god damn forward. 

“I mean, I could definitely go for some physical encouragement. You two think you could make it quick?”

“Wait, really?” Stu was actually pretty shocked you were agreeing. He was happy, like, REALLY happy, but he was still shocked. You nod and Billy takes a hold of your hand and drags you down the hallway. He wanted to find somewhere that the three of you wouldn’t be interrupted.

You stop him halfway down the hallway and pull him into a dark room, flipping the light on when Stu comes in behind you both. It was a supply closet, a fairly large one, and Stu locks the door behind him as Billy pulls you in for a kiss. 

“Wait, wait, no,” You say, pushing away from him. He gives you a confused look, worried he had gone too fast too soon. “Can’t kiss; can’t fuck my stage makeup up.” He snorts, deciding to kiss your neck instead. Stu’s behind you, the two men trapping you in between their bodies.

Stu replaces Billy’s lips on your neck, nipping at your pulse and grinning against your skin when you moan. Billy is on his knees, working on getting your pants off. His nails dig into the skin of your thighs as he yanks your jeans down and you hiss, goosebumps raising down your legs.

Your head rolls back against Stu’s shoulder as his hands slip up your shirt and past your bra, his fingers finding your nipples with ease. Billy groans as his finger dips past your underwear, gliding down your folds. “Fuck, Stu, man, they’re soaked.”

“Are they now? You into us or something, baby?” He coos into your ear, pinching at your nipple hard and you whimper loudly. Stu laughs, his breath hot against your skin, as Billy’s fingers begin to rub circles on your clit. You’re bucking into his fingers and you let out a particularly loud moan when he moves his hand off of you.

Your eyes pop open and Billy is right in your face, shoving his fingers, wet with your arousal, in your mouth. Stu grabs the bottom of your shirt and yanks it up, slipping it off of your body with ease. “Think you could use your mouth for something else?” Stu asks with a wicked grin. Rolling your eyes, you don’t take long to debate, sinking down onto your knees.

“Can’t do it for long, boys. Got twenty minutes before I need to be out there, so you better get to it.” Stu’s pants and underwear are long gone now and he’s fisting his cock right in front of you with an eager look in his eyes. You smile, replacing his hand with your own, and licking a long stripe up the underside of his dick.

His head rolls back and he lets out a low moan as your tongue swirls over his tip. “Fuuuck, Danny…” He goes to put his hand on the back of your head, wanting to force you to take him to the hilt, but he stops himself by grabbing ahold of Billy’s shoulder. “Their mouth, man. Shit, could make me cum already.”

Billy’s hand was on his own cock and he was focused on your face. You never took Stu in your mouth fully, never moving past wrapping your lips around the tip of him, and somehow he could tell it was the best blowjob Stu’s probably ever gotten. Save for him, of course. “Wanna feel that mouth of yours,” He says and you pop off of Stu, a glob of spit connecting you to him. “Can we fuck you?”

You hesitate before your hand wraps around his cock, pumping him slowly. “God, I wish. Like, you have no fucking idea how badly I want you two, but we have less than 15 minutes and if we do it I want it to last longer than that. How bout I help you two out and you help me?” Without waiting for an answer you repeat what you had just done to Stu.

“Holy shit,” He groans. He can’t take his eyes off of you or your hands or your lips. Everything about you was intoxicating. You swirl your tongue around his tip a few times, hollowing your lips when you take him into your mouth. “Christ, Danny, your mouth feels so fucking good. Such a good whore for us.”

You moan around him and he gasps, barely stopping himself from slamming his hips further down your throat. Stu was jerking off next to him, eyes trained on you, and he threw his head back, calling your name. “Danny, fuck, gonna cum. Where, shit! Where can I?”

Pulling off of Billy you flash the two of them a wide smile and respond simply. “On each other.”

“Huh?” Stu’s eyebrows furrowed together slightly, his hand pausing in it’s movements. You lick your lips and they watch with wide eyes as your hand reaches down and slips past your underwear. Your eyes flutter closed, soft moans leaving your lips. Music to their ears.

“I, mmh. I said cum on each other, god, and then you can taste me.” That’s all the encouragement they needed. They turned towards each other but kept their eyes on you, the sounds of your pleasure mixing with their own. Billy was chasing his high, the thought of being able to delve into your cunt sending shockwaves through his body. 

Stu is the first one to cum, both your name and Billy’s falling from his lips as he thrusts into his hand. His cum coats Billy’s thighs and hands, adding to the slick of his own cock. Billy cums soon after and Stu takes a second to get on his knees and takes his dick into his mouth, taking him to the base. What can he say, he loved Billy’s dick.

“Fuck, that was hot,” You whimper, your eyes moving in time with the bob of Stu’s head. “Hurry up and eat me out, you got ten minutes. If you do good, maybe I’ll consider making this a regular thing.” Billy’s on his knees in a second, throwing your hand off of yourself and pushing you back onto your ass. You yelp as the concrete digs into your skin but the pain is quickly washed away, taken over by the pleasure of his tongue dipping through your folds.

He’s moaning at the taste of you, his hands grabbing your thighs and spreading you wider, opening you up for him. His tongue focuses on your clit, switching between circling it to flicking it with the tip of his tongue, sucking on it every few seconds. Your hand tangles in his hair and you’re grinding down on his face when Stu’s fingers enter you.

He starts up a fast pace with two fingers, filling you so suddenly all you can do is cry out his name and roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Fuck! Please, shit, you both feel so good. Please, I’m close, please let me, please make me,” Your pleas’ urge them onwards, Stu’s fingers and Billy’s tongue speeding up. 

You cum hard, harder than you have in the past from just oral, and your body is convulsing with pleasure as they continue. They don’t stop until you practically collapse against the floor and even then Stu takes his chance to lick up your cunt, tasting you. “Mmm, you taste fucking delicious, babe.”

“You alright, Danny? We didn’t kill you, did we?” Billy asks and even with your eyes closed you know he’s smiling. You nod, take a deep breath, and stand up, your knees weak. Stu wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your neck while Billy helps you pull your pants back up, buttoning them up before kissing you on the lips. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

Stu opens the door and peeks out, looking both ways before ushering the two of you outside. Billy runs a hand down your cheek, down your neck, and he tsks at the dark marks that were forming. “Stu! Asshole, you left hickies like a 15 year old.”

“They look hot with them!” He replies, giving you another sloppy kiss on the neck, and you laugh. You shove him off of you, brushing your clothes off and looking at them with a grin. 

“So… you guys staying after the show? I’d love to show you the green room.”

Billy grins, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue, eyes dragging down your body. “For you? Hell yeah, we are. Can’t wait to see how hot you look with that makeup of yours running.”

[dollslayer]

Please continue the Scandal-based Steve fic, you write the best angst ever!!!!

A/N: As you wish! Thank you so much for reading, hope this is up to par 💖 (ps- if you commented on the first one I'm tagging you for this follow up, no permanent tags tho don't worry!)

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter

Warnings: pseudo-cheating, angst, alcohol consumption, swearing, love triangle, secret relationship

Part One HERE I Main Masterlist

It’s been an entire week since you walked out on Steve. He never did find the words to tell you that he wasn’t going to leave Peggy, but you never found the words to explicitly leave him, either. You were both in a game of chicken that you’d unknowingly started and neither of you had found the courage to finish it.

It was so easy when you were swept up in the moment, a storm of anger and hurt that finally came to a breaking point. But now you were past it and found yourself lost. The only thing making you feel better was seeing that Steve was having just as hard a time as you were. He wasn’t as outgoing, he was making dumb mistakes, he was off his game. You didn’t necessarily want Steve to suffer but it was reassuring in some way, to know that he felt anything for you. You just wanted this entire mess to be over.

But when the mess was over, what would you want to come of it? Do you even want to be with Steve any more? Or do you just not want him to be with Peggy? Thinking it through, what you felt for Steve was real, real enough to pull on your heartstrings and real enough to hurt. After all of the grief that Steve has caused you you’re not sure that you could properly forgive him. Maybe over time but you couldn’t see yourself trying to rebuild your relationship when the two of you had so much else to focus on.

So now you were caught in some sort of relationship purgatory because you were too afraid to end it. And he was too much of a coward to admit he’s been in the wrong this whole time. Honestly you can’t justify Steve’s actions on any level when it came down to it. His men are in the midst of war and fighting Hydra and he really thinks that a relationship is going to be their saving grace and reassurance? Bull.

On some level, no matter how deep it is, Steve saw something for her that he didn’t see in you and he felt some affection for her. Maybe saying that the relationship was just a front was his way of covering his real feelings for her. But he’d be damned if he thought he could have his cake and eat it too. You’d spent many a night cycling through this thought process and ending up right where you started.

Getting nowhere in your deliberating you decided to bury yourself in your work. You’d always felt that it was fulfilling work, you helped civilians and military alike with your work and you were damn good at it. So you plunged head-first into your codebreaking and strategy-forming and put your in-limbo relationship on the back burner.

Throwing yourself head first into work turned out to be in your best interest for the time being. The last two missions had been a success but per usual, you had gone unrecognized. That’s fine, you didn’t need to be patted on the back every time you excelled but every once in a while it would be nice. And thanks to your codebreaking, once again, you find yourself stuck in the corner of the dingy pub you had lost your mind in just a week ago. Unappreciated. Or so you thought.

You sat back thinking Steve wasn’t under Peggy’s thumb this time but he was trying his best to make the most of the moment over a pint with the rest of the commandos. And you were back in what was becoming your usual corner of the pub, sipping on a dry red wine. It was bitter on your tongue but after the week you’ve had you needed a drink, even if it meant seeing them.

“You did good back there, thank you” Bucky’s voice shook you from your thoughts. “Okay if I sit?”

You were so caught off guard by anyone really speaking to you, let alone praising you that you couldn’t find anything to say. You just stared at Bucky with wide eyes before nodding slowly. He settled into the chair next to you and took a swig from his bottle.

“You know, on the outside you don’t seem like you’re gonna be much but when you put yourself to work… it’s somethin’ else. You’re a natural.” Bucky told you.

“Um, thanks, I guess?” You brushed off the compliment to give him one of your own, “We wouldn’t be sitting here right now if it weren’t for you all. I’m just some codebreaker, you’re the one doing the leg work”

“Give yourself some credit, you deserve it.” Bucky patted you on the shoulder and for the first time in weeks you felt a spark of genuine happiness. You shyly smiled up at Bucky and took a sip of your wine.

“So, you wanna tell me what’s got Steve snappin’ his cap at everyone? You two break up?”

Your eyes rounded in surprise. You were so sure that no one had known. You were so sure Steve didn’t want anyone to so it didn’t occur to you that Bucky might’ve known.

“Did… Steve tell you? About us?”

“Didn’t have to. I ran after him to talk a few weeks ago and found you two smoochin’”

Your face heated in slight embarrassment but you nodded in understanding.

“I just… it’s not fair that he should show her off like she’s his sweetheart while I’m treated like some dirty secret. I gave him a piece of my mind and he wasn’t able to cope. But I don’t know where this leaves us. He didn’t split but there’s just no way we could go on like this.”

Bucky looked a little miffed but grunted in affirmation. He shook his head and clenched his jaw.

“I knew he and Peggy weren’t for real but what he’s been doin’ to ya ain’t right. Sorry Steve’s been such a knucklehead. My two cents, you go back to him and confront him. And if he’s too much of a punk to see what he’s got you walk.”

You shakily exhale and take another gulp before setting your palms flat against the table.

“Easier said than done, but you’re right”

“I love him, he’s my brother but forget him if he’s too much of a jerk to know what he’s got. But for now let’s just get pleasantly drunk, whaddya say?”

Rather than giving him an answer you downed the rest of your glass and put it down on the table. Bucky was looking at you with a toothy grin.

“Atta girl”

____

The evening had been as promised, you were pleasantly drunk and for the first time in weeks you were letting yourself enjoy the moment. Bucky was funny and kind to you when no one else had even batted an eye and you found yourself grateful for his company that night.

You were humming to yourself as you walked back to your room but just when you reached for the door a hand reached out for your wrist. You didn’t need to look up to know that the hand belonged to Steve. You denied yourself the comfort you found in physical contact and reminded yourself of the situation. You sighed and looked up to him expectantly.

“You and Buck? Just what the hell’s going on?” Steve demanded.

“Oh so now you want to talk to me? You only care now that you’re not my main focus?” You shot right back at him. You swayed slightly, tipsy still from the wine.

Steve’s jaw tensed and he schooled his features though you could tell he was simmering on the inside.

“No”, he said calmly, “I just wanted to know. If you’re trying to make me jealous it’s not going to work.”

“Well I wasn’t trying but apparently it is working.”

Steve’s hands balled into fists and you could see veins beginning to spout in his hands. He didn’t say anything so you continued.

“I give you an ultimatum and tell you how much you’ve hurt me and you only come back once I turn my attention to your best friend? He’s the only one that’s said a nice word to me this whole time. The rest have been caught up in the lie you’ve been spinning with Peggy!”

Your anger was getting the better of you but you were letting it. Anger got you through it the first time, it’ll get you out no matter how it ends.

“That’s not fair-”

“You’re not fair, Steve. The way you’ve been treating me, it isn’t right! I gave you a choice and you’ve been dragging your feet. I’m going to ask you one more time, Steve. Me? Or Her?”

Steve was silent again, you could tell he wasn’t thinking about what he wanted, but he was forming an answer. Deep down you knew it would come to this. He’s never going to hold your hand in public, there’s never going to be an apartment in Brooklyn, there’s never going to be an us between you. Maybe there never was.

Steve started to call your name but you shook your head and scrunched your eyes closed in a mixture of frustration and pain. Tears were welling in your eyes but you’d be damned if Steve Rogers would see a single one fall. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you, he never did.

“I’m sorry…” Steve offered lamely.

“No, you’re not.” Maybe that wasn’t fair of you to say, Steve did look to be in genuine emotional pain over this but right now you didn’t care. If he had felt any true remorse he wouldn’t have let himself get anywhere with Peggy in the first place.

“I really did want all of that with you, I still do. We could still have it, we just need to get through this, please.”

You shook your head and started ushering him towards the door.

“No, Steve. That’s all gone now. You had your chance but I’m worth more than how you treat me.”

You opened the door and waited for him to leave.

“I think you should go. I don’t have anything left to say to you.”

With that Steve sighed heavily but left with his head hung between his shoulders. You could’ve sworn he was crying but you didn’t care if he was. He made this happen and he didn’t treat you right. So this is what happened.

Tears finally make their way down your face but you don’t feel sad. It’s cathartic almost, like a weight lifted. You’d probably put in for a transfer with the SSR just to save the team the grief but for now you’d keep your head down, keep working. Damn Steve Rogers for not seeing in you what you saw in yourself and damn anyone else that didn’t either.

[everwitch-magiks]

RWRB Fics Roundup

Hey y’all! Once upon a time I had the ambition to post links on here to all the fics and new chapters that I publish on AO3, and I think it’s safe to say that I’ve been an absolute disaster at that over the summer. In my defense I’ve just had so much to write, but that’s not much of a defense seeing as it doesn’t take ages to chuck a link on here. Anyhow. Bottom line is, I’ve severely neglected it, and it’s gotten to a point where I’m just gonna make a post with links to everything I’ve written since June (ish) for you to peruse, so you can see if there’s one that you didn’t catch wind of that catches your eye now. Neat, huh?

So, without further ado, the links! The fics! Let’s go.

Completed works

Love At First Bark General Audiences, AU, tooth-rotting fluff. 3K. “I still don’t know your name, do I?” Henry watches Alex where he’s crouched down in front of David and gently scratching David below his chin. David absolutely loves Alex. Henry can relate. “It’s David,” Henry supplies. “Cool,” Alex says. “And what’s the dog’s name?” Henry blinks at him. “... David?” “What?” Alex exclaims. He looks from David to Henry and then back at David again. “Wow, okay, that is a choice.” Henry wants to sink through the earth and never come back up again.

Shameless Explicit, AU, Henry has a reputation. 14K. Henry has a lot of sex. A lot. He's young and in college and there is no shortage of men to fall in bed with. What better time to explore what he likes and what he fucking loves, as well as to catalogue how to make his many, many partners feel as good as possible? It’s all part of the learning experience. And Henry is a very dedicated student.

Alex has been inescapably aware of Henry ever since that one time they kissed. You don’t just stop being aware of the guy who basically caused your sexuality. So when Henry propositions Alex at a lame frat party, Alex accepts eagerly. Maybe this is exactly what he needs. Maybe, if he can just have Henry once, he’ll have a better chance of finally getting over his embarrassing fixation with Henry. It's worth a try.

When The Time Is Right Part four of my sex club series. Explicit, AU, dom Henry and sub Alex. 16K. “Maybe I could challenge you more,” Henry suggests, his eyes carefully trained on Alex. “And hold you accountable for longer. How does that sound?” “That sounds fucking amazing,” Alex tells him, the words coming out in a rush. “Yes. That. Please.” “Alright, then.” Henry offers him a sly grin. “Alex, love. You just gave me a wonderful idea.” It’s really something, how quickly Alex’s heartbeat picks up. “Oh? Do tell.” Henry’s grin widens. He looks alarmingly pleased with himself. “How would you feel about a staycation?”

When Alex asks Henry for something a little more intense in the bedroom, they end up taking more than just their sex life to the next level.

Out For A Bite Explicit, AU, suspense and supernatural elements. 3K. Henry's eyes fly up, zeroing in on the reflection in the mirror. There, behind him. The man from the bar. He looks different in the fluorescent bathroom lights. Sharper. There’s a look in his eyes that has Henry shivering all over again. It's greedy. Hungry.

He’s staring right at Henry.

Henry's throat feels dry. His heart beats madly. He's heard whispers of this place, and more importantly of its patrons. He thinks he knows what this man is.

ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn’t have fallen in love with) Explicit, AU, Alex and Henry in DIY Punk & mainstream pop punk, respectively. 34K. Teenage music sensation Kensington have taken the world by storm. With their cool leather jackets and wickedly distorted guitars, they're a pop duo that packs a punch. Or at least they sound like one—their lyrics unfortunately lack any semblance of depth. Alex can't fucking stand Kensington. But thankfully, he doesn’t have to. He’s not likely to cross paths with those British pop losers during his final semester of high school in Texas. And even if he did, he'd never let some stupidly attractive blonde take his focus away from the goal that Alex has worked towards for years: winning the Austin Band Slam with his latino punk trio.

But when Henry comes crashing into Alex's life, with his intriguing piano pieces and piercing blue eyes and slow, purposeful kisses that make Alex burn with want, Alex finds that he might need to reevaluate his stance on both pop losers and distractions. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s better off keeping Henry at arm's length, since it's so painfully evident that Henry will never love him back.

Never Tell Me The Odds Teen and Up Audiences, canon verse, an outside perspective on First Prince as well as a story about a certain Star Wars mural. 2K. "Wait!" Alex yells up to the driver. "Stop! Stop the car!" Up close, it's beautiful. Two stories tall. He can’t imagine how somebody was able to put together something like this so fast.

Ash had never imagined that they'd get the chance to actually meet Alex Claremont-Diaz, and much less get the chance to tell Alex about how that very special Star Wars mural came to be. Although of course, Ash never would have met Alex if it hadn’t been for Farida. Farida and her bold courage, and her warm compassion, and her sometimes infuriating (but always endearing) stubbornness.

yrs. faithfully (with nowhere to go) Explicit, canon verse, a lazy morning in bed leads to something more. 3K. When Alex and Henry wake up together the day before their anniversary, they're genuinely planning on getting out of bed and spending the day as productive members or society. Truly, their intentions are honorable. But a trip down memory lane gets them reminiscing about that night exactly one year ago, when Alex had come running through the rain to deliver some choice words about obtuse fucking assholes.

As Alex and Henry start to relive the memory, they quickly realize that they both remember it intimately. So intimately that they might be able to pull off something of a do-over.

Gadgets and Gizmos A-Plenty A companion piece to dearest Hattie’s soulmate fic. Mature, AU, a look into Henry buying sex toys. Yes. That’s the fic. 2K. There’s a bunch of regulars that Amir knows by name (and, unavoidably, by kinks), but most often Playtime gets one-time visitors. Which makes sense, really. A lot of people don’t seem to want to step into the same adult toy shop twice. So Amir is always a little extra curious when there’s a repeat customer, especially one who is this attractive. And, interestingly, one who’s come back so soon.

The tall, classically handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes left Playtime no less than five hours ago after having purchased a medium-sized, fairly standard vibrator well suited for anal play. And now he’s back. Because apparently, he’s found he needed another vibrator.

If Sex Was A Sport We’d Be Winning Mature, AU, a classic Olympics hookup. 3K. It's remarkable, truly, that Alex didn't even want to be here. He only came all the way to Ariake because June was determined to watch a bunch of prissy ponies strut around to music. Still, perhaps the true Olympic experience lies in the wide variety of disciplines. Or, perhaps, it has something to do with chatting up a pretty blond behind the stables and getting him to show you the inside of an Olympic tack room. As Alex quickly takes to Henry’s sweet smiles and easy confidence, he realizes that just a few stolen moments with this man might turn into his most cherished memory from the Tokyo Olympics.

Alex knows better than to get attached, though. He and Henry live an ocean apart. There’s no way this quick fumble in the stable equivalent of a supply closet could ever lead to anything more. Right?

Talk Dirty To Me Explicit, AU, dom Henry and sub Alex. 9K. Henry studies Nora’s expression for a moment. There’s something about her favourable account of this guy she claims not to want to sleep with again that doesn’t add up. "But you're still not interested in taking him on?"

"He wants more than I'm willing to offer," Nora says frankly. Henry’s always liked this about her—how she doesn’t skirt around the hard facts. It's a part of what makes her so good at dominating. "But you know what? For you, he'd be kind of perfect."

Henry has been active in the local BDSM scene for years and there’s no shortage of men who’d love nothing more than to find themselves at his mercy. But Henry is on a break. He’s not looking for a new partner, but he’s also not expecting to become so intrigued by the man that Nora insists he should meet. Alex is a newcomer on the scene who doesn’t yet know exactly what he wants, much less with who. There’s no way that he could turn out to be exactly who Henry needs. Right?

Date night (please toy with me) Explicit, canon verse, a night out leads to some fun with a toy. 4K. This… this is new. They’ve talked about trying this, about what it’d be like to conceal some of their intimacy in plain sight, about what it would feel like to try and reclaim what is most private to them by flaunting it without anyone even knowing, by daring to take risks again. They’ve agreed that they’d still need to be careful, but they’ve also agreed that it would be interesting. That it would be fun.

And apparently, Henry thinks tonight is the night for it. “Do you trust me, love?”

“Yeah.” Alex swallows. He picks up the box, studying it for a moment. “Do you want… what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to go to the bathroom,” Henry says evenly, “You’ll find everything you need in the box. Then I want you to come back and sit down. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Alex taps the box, grinning in Henry’s direction. “I expect we’ll be leaving soon?”

Henry smiles slyly. “If you’re good, yes.”

Ongoing works

Hashtag Soulmates Mature, AU, Henry writes fanfiction. 23K and 7 chapters so far. Alex is perfect and handsome, the golden boy, everybody’s secret crush. So there is absolutely no way that he is the reader who screeches in caps lock every time that Henry posts as much as a drabble. There’s no way. Except Alex just closed his browser fast as fucking lightning, but not before Henry had gotten a good glimpse of the page Alex had open: AO3. ‘Don't Stop Me Now’, Henry’s current wip. The one that Henry literally just updated.

Sweet Jesus. Could it really be?

That... is all! It’s been a productive summer. I’m very excited to continue writing Hashtag Soulmates, and also to start working on a few upcoming First Prince fics that I’m planning on writing. Stay tuned for fics! ♡

[sashi-ya]

hiiii <3 i adore literally everything you write🥰💕 but i’ve literally been obsessed with the eustass x reader smut i requested “yes master”!! it’s one of my fave ever eustass smuts💗💗💘

i was wondering if you could could do a part two for it! with similar prompts to last time, you can expand on this if you want!!💗💗

thank you!!! keep up the amazing work <3

Hi!! I'm so glad you like it omg 🙈!! I hope you like this as much as the first one! Thank u so much for your sweet words darling! 💗 ~

NSFW ~ PART 2 ~ Eustass Captain Kid x F! Reader ~ Yes, Master.

TW: Master/Slave dynamic, usage of toys, Impact play, Rough sex, kind of public sex, vaginal sex, face fuck, cum marking, choking, hair pulling. Kind of fluffy ending? haha

A/N: This is the second part for the fic "Yes, Master" of the Spicy Week Event.

WC: 1.7K

Since the first time Kidd and you had a session, he hasn’t had a new sub. And that felt amazing. You have travelled around the country with the band, and there hasn’t been a single night you two didn’t fuck like crazy. You usually session on the back of the bar where they had their concerts, or even on the bus when the rest of the members weren’t there.

Yet you are all on a long, long trip across the country this time, it would take at least three days to take to the other part and even if Kidd doesn’t really care about privacy, with you, is different. The singer of Punk Rotten might be reckless and all of that, but he wouldn’t like the others to hear or even see you enjoying the pleasures of lust…

Heat, the driver of the so called “Victoria Punk” trailer announces that you need gas so he enters into an isolated gas station in the middle of the night. There are no more than two gas pumps, a little store -that looks pretty abandoned- and a few yellow lights buzzing and surrounded by bugs flying around.

“Ah God, I needed to stretch my legs!” says your Master while descending the little bus. You are always next to him, almost like a little puppy following him -and that was actually your job there, but you loved it-.

“Oi, wanna go see inside the store?” Kidd tells you. You nod and follow him who has snatched your arm and is pulling you towards the little shop.

“Good evening!” an old man salutes you. You bow your head a little while Kidd's strong voice salutes him back. Everything over there is covered by a fine cape of dust, meaning the food is probably expired or at least on the verge of it.

“Oi, old-man, do you have something to drink?” asks Kidd. “Of course, sir” says the old man and points towards an old refrigerator. Some cans of beer you haven’t seen before on display, and a can of coke is what is left. Yet it seems enough for your master, so he grabs the cans and takes them to the counter. “You like coke, right?” Kidd tells you, worried for you. He genuinely cares about you even though he might look tough.

“Yes, Master. I like it” you answer obediently while squeezing the little bag you have crossed over your body. “Son, you better treat that sweet angel right there better” says the shop owner to him. Kidd looks at him with fire in his eyes, he actually really cares about you but he is not showing that to some random stranger. “Shut the hell up, old man. Keep the change and tell me please where the hell is the bathroom” he says. The man takes the money, smiles at you subtly and tells you the bathroom is at the back of the store.

Kidd opens the can for you and hands it to you, he then opens a beer and starts drinking it savagely. “Let’s go to the bathroom” he says while dragging you. You spill some of the drink over your t-shirt and follow him stumbling.

You both enter the men bathroom. It looks old, but clean. No one has been there in some time so you don’t have to worry about some unpleasant smells whatsoever. “I know it is the men's bathroom, but I’m not risking you being all alone on the other side in the middle of the night” says Kidd to you, and you are certainly pleased. There is no more than loneliness and darkness behind the place. The countryside could be scary during the night.

“You can go to the stall if you need to use the bathroom” says Kidd pointing at a green wooden box. “Yes, Master. Thank you” you say and enter the stall. After the both of you have released their bladders, you hear the water run and finally get out. “I’m ready, Master” you tell him with a subtle smile.

Kidd looks at you, and a side grin forms on his face. You know that face, and that means sex, rough sex, right now. “Well, I’m not ready, little Slave” he says, approaching you and lifting your chin up. You giggle nervously. As much as you like being fucked by him, it’s always a little intimidating…

“Do you, have it?” he asks you. “Yes, Master. I do…” you tell him and search on your little bag. You take out a bright pink little vibrator that Kidd has requested you to take in your purse every time and show it to him. “Good girl” he says and first caresses your cheek and then slaps it softly, twice. You moan at the gentle impact and wait for your Master’s orders.

“Shorts out” he commands. You do as he tells and stand there in an almost abandoned bathroom in the middle of nowhere. “Stick that vibrator in for master”.

You gently stick the fuschia toy into your entrance and let the little rubbery tail hang outside. Kidd walks up to you and takes your oversized shirt off. “Ugh those pretty tits” he grunts and squeezes one at a time.

The quivering of the toy starts making you squirm a little. “What’s wrong little slave? you can’t stand still, huh?” he says and takes his hand over your throat. “Did I tell you to move?” ... “N-no master, I’m sorry” you excuse yourself perfectly knowing that he takes no explanation.

“On your knees” he orders you, letting your already finger marked throat off. Your knees quickly hit the cold tales of the bathroom and your hands over your thighs, expectant. Kidd lowers down his zipper and his yellow pants fall into the ground. His big member out, menacing but tempting. You stick your tongue out, because he tells you so -even though there is absolutely no need of him ordering that, you love the taste of his dick so much you want to devour it every time-

The vibrator keeps working inside you, stimulating your G point, while Kid fucks your throat, mercilessly. Your hair tangled on his fingers for a better grip, while the deadly motion of his hips makes you gag. Tears running from the corner of your eyes, you gasping for air, and your core dripping wet.

The tip of his dick stretches your cheek while he pushes it from inside, the bulge forming on your face, and his big hand slapping over it several times. You moan, you whine. Kidd notices the ground under you getting wet by the arousal liquids of your incoming orgasm and tells you “Oh no no, are you already cumming? Did I give you permission to do so?”. “I’m… I’m sorry master I-I…” you mumble with his dick still inside your mouth. “Nah, no excuses Slave… You have to be punished, you know?” he says and you close your eyes anticipating what’s next. Kidd reaches your pussy and pulls from the rubbery string that hangs from the vibrator. The feeling of the little egg getting out and stretching your walls as it slides off makes you whine, loudly.

When the vibrator is out, and your orgasm has been denied, Kidd shouts “Look at me!”. You open your eyes and fix them on his. “Open your mouth” he commands and starts jerking off violently.

Grunts and manly moans escape his mouth while he reaches climax, bathing your face with his cum. You accept it gladly, a sticky warm love seed that covers not only your tongue, but also your profile and drips into your chest from your mandible.

“There you go, little slave. You look so good covered with my cum it’s almost not a punishment” he says while slowly stops the pumping motion on his dick. “Thank you, master” you tell him, smiling, tasting the sperm on your lips. “That smile, you little pervert bitch. I’m so glad you are my slave…” he says and lifts you up from your arm.

Kidd takes you to one of the three sinks and opens the tab. Cold water splashes on your face as he cleans it from his cum. “As much as I love your face covered in my jizz, it’s time to clean that up” he says. Then, your chest. The freezing cold water in contrast with the warm night makes you shiver a little, especially when it touches your nipples.

“Mhh, master…” you whine. “You like that, huh? you little bitch” he says and twists one of your already hard nipples. Once again, your moaning turns him on, and his dick is ready for another round.

“Come here, little bitch” Kidd says, and pushes you over the countertop. Your cheek pressed against the cold wet granite and your entrance perfectly aligned to be penetrated with no mercy. And that’s exactly what your master does. He doesn’t wait, your cunt dripping wet expecting to be filled by his dick drives him crazy.

Violent thrusts in and out of you, so deep inside you can feel your guts being pressed up. Spanks hit your ass repeatedly, leaving red marks that soon will turn into purple ones. Your legs turn weaker and weaker, and your bodyweight is only held by your belly pressing over the countertop as your climax is approaching.

Rolling back eyes, shivers running on your spine, degrading words by your master and violent thrusts pressing your g spot makes you finally reach the peak of pleasure. “M-master… can I… can I come??” you ask, begging him to let you finish. Kidd laughs maliciously and finally says “Cum for me, slave”. With a last deep thrust, you release the pressure forming over your lower stomach. Your whine probably was heard over the whole countryside, but you don’t really care, nor does Kidd. He finishes too, filling you up with his warm seed until you feel your womb almost exploding.

“Good slave, take it all inside for your Master” he says and bends over you, planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. It’s the first time he does it, and you can’t help but feel a hundred butterflies flying inside you… ♥ ~

[izubabes]

👉👈 Can I request some short scenarios with Bakugou, Iida, Kirishima and Uraraka (if you write for girls) where Shindo is flirting with their female crush who's also their childhood friend? Btw, I read your hanahaki Bakugou fics. I thought they were really good and you're sort of my favorite blog right now and I have a bunch of things I wanna request... Is that okay? I'd hate to be a bother.

Happy holidays Anon, please enjoy and feel free to send in your requests! Thank you for the kind words, dear! I promise you are not a bother. 🥺👉👈💜

Having Katsuki as a childhood friend meant you were used to most of his insults and foul attitude.

Bakugou is hopelessly in love with you but is too stubborn to acknowledge his own feelings.

Bakugou overheard Shindo rambling about a “beauty from U.A.” but he wasn’t aware it would be you.

“Hey there,” Shindo tapped your shoulder, catching your attention, “I wanted to thank you for helping me back there. I wouldn’t have passed without your help.”

Bakugou is absolutely pissed and borderline feral at this point because he knows Shindo’s smile is a total façade.

“I just had to come talk with you,” Shindo admitted, scratching the back of his neck. He proceeded holding both of your hands close to his chest. “Sweetness is my weakness.”

“Kacchan is my childhood friend, we’ve been neighbors since we were kids!” You glanced over at Bakugou’s approaching figure, unknowingly fueling his the rage in his eyes.

“Hey, over here!” you smiled, waving him over to where you stood. You pointed at your new friend and introduced him, “This is Shindo, he’s from Ketsubutsu Academy.”

“We’ve met before,” Shindo affirmed, shooting Bakugou a knowing glance. “Isn’t that right, Kacchan?”

If looks could kill, Shindo would have been six feet under the moment he breathed the same air as you. “Keep my name out of your fuckin’ mouth,” Bakugou sneered.

“Katsuki, let me fix your scarf,” you sighed, gently adjusting it around his neck.

“Get off, woman!” He tsked at your actions and lightly brushed you off. A flash of hurt fell across your face, instantly causing Bakugou to feel guilty.

“How cute,” Shindō mocked, he motioned towards his own classmates ahead of the group. “I’d like to introduce you to my friends, is that okay?”

“Of course,” you replied, eager to meet new people. “Lead the way.”

Shindō took your agreement as an opportunity to lace his fingers with yours, effectively becoming Bakugou’s last straw.

“Don’t stand in front of me,” Bakugou growled, abruptly yanking your hand out of Shindo’s grasp. He held you close to his chest, a deep frown igniting his face. “I’ll kill you.”

“Katsu,” you mumbled from his chest. He refused to let you leave with this punk ass extra “I can’t breathe!”

King Explosion Murder Mode: Activated

Rumors say you’ve been friends since you were born.

Iida is uptight about a lot of things. You’re more carefree and reckless. You both balance each other out!

Iida is head over heels for you but he’s too dense when it comes to romance.

He doesn’t want to ruin your friendship but he wants to be more than just a friend.

Iida needs a little push.

Shindō and you were both tasked with evacuations during the Licensing Exam.

He made it obvious that he was into you but your priorities were elsewhere.

If Shindo dares to lay a finger on you, Iida will end him.

“I’m going to grab a coffee from the vending machine,” you stated, getting up from the bench you were both sitting at. “Would you like some orange juice?”

“I’d would very much appreciate it,” Iida affirmed, he reached for his wallet but you quickly declined the action. “It’s okay, Tenya!”

“You smiled, “I’ll be right back.

“Hi there!” A voice called from behind. Your eyes were met with a tall, muscular young man with shaggy, unruly hair. “I’m Shindō Yo,” he introduced, his smile was too kind, it was offsetting.

“Nice to meet you. Thank you for the help during the exam,” You responded politely, grabbing the drinks from the vending machine. His stare became intense and you quickly made an excuse to leave, “I’d like to chat but my friends are waiting.”

“Your eyes are beautiful,” Shindo complimented, offering you more praise that soon became even more flirtatious.

“Thank you,” you replied, slightly uncomfortable with the sudden statement.

“Your eyes have told me a lot of things,” Shindo remarked, nearing your figure. He cupped your cheek and leaned in dangerously close, lips ghosting over yours, “The only thing they haven’t told me is your name.”

“Pardon me!” Iida rushed over, immediately created distance between the both of you, much to your relief. “I believe this is not appropriate hero behavior considering the situation.”

“Thank you, Tenya,” you replied, breathing out your pent up anxiety. He noticed the way your hands were shaking, eyes welling up with tears, quivering lips. “I just froze… I–I should have—”

“Hey, hey,” Shindō interjected, annoyed with the sudden interruption. He reached out for your hand and yanked you back. “We’re busy here.”

“Are you really?” Iida questioned, hovering over his figure. Iida’s body moved on its own, before he realized he had you wrapped in his arms. “Kindly remove your filthy hands from Y/N,” Iida tries to be as polite and rude as possible. “Or else I may have to hurt you.”

Kirishima is very protective over you although he tends to tends to get carried away sometimes.

He had introduced you to Shindō in an attempt to make some new friends at the Licensing Exam since Bakugou scared everyone away.

Kirishima should have known something was up as soon as Shindō asked if you were single.

Red flag. Red flag. Red flag.

“Hey! Shitty Hair.” Bakugou called out, pointing towards Shindō’s direction. “That fucker over there is getting real close to L/N.”

“She’s fine!” Kirishima reassured, glancing over at the pair. You were hanging onto Shindō’s every word.

Why didn’t you ever look at him like that?

Shindō had offered to accompany you to buy snacks for your group. Kirishima glanced over at you and offered to tag along as well but you reassured him you’d be back in a few minutes. He would have belibed you if it weren’t for the fact you had been gone for a while and decided to check where you had run off to.

“Where’d she go?”

Shindo was leaning against the vending machine, casually observing your figure while you bent down to reach for the snacks. “You know what you would look really beautiful in?”

“Hm?” You answered, preoccupied with the bags in your hands..

“My arms,” he stated, he had managed to corner you as he leaned in with his signature smile on his face.

“W-We should head back,” you suggested, searching for a way out of the position you were in. “Your friends are probably worried and I’m sure mine are as well.”

“They won’t notice if we’re gone for another ten minutes,” He lifted up your chin to face him, leaning in a little too closely.

“Quit it!” Frustrated with his advances, you shoved him back harshly. It only appeared to motivate him even more.

“Hands off the lady,” Kirishima grinned, before swinging a hard punch. Shindō’s body fell limp onto the ground. He was definitely knocked out. “Lights out, Shindo!”

“Eijirou!” you gasped, pulling him away from the potential crime scene he created.

“That was no way to handle the situation,” Kirishima was too focused on the fact that you were holding his hand over the fact he just knocked someone out. “Are you listening?”

“I know,” he sighed, upset he caused you to be angry with him. “It wasn’t manly at all.”

“You can make it up to me?” you suggested, eyeing his face mischievously.

“I’ll do anything,” Kirishima begged, unable to handle his crush being mad at him.”

“Let’s go on a date–” Kirishima picked you up and swung you around in the air. The smile on his face was too precious to be mad at. “YES!”

“EIJI!” You yelled, embarrassed by the stares of your classmates. “PUT ME DOWN!”

The both of you have always been joined at the hip. Ochaco is such a sweet friend

You’ll never get her admit her crush on you unless she forced to confess or she’s scared of losing you.

Once she noticed Shindō’s flirty glances towards you, she was on high alert.

Ochaco cannot keep a straight face when it comes to jealously. Her entire demeanor changes.

Petty Ochaco. Petty Ochaco. Petty Ochaco.

She’s ready to fight Shindō any day of the week, no one’s stealing her best friend from her.

“I can’t tell if that was an earthquake,” Shindo laughed, stumbling towards you and firmly wrapping an arm around your waist, “Or if you just seriously rocked my world.”

“Careful!” The bold action made you uneasy but you gave him the benefit of the doubt considering the drawbacks of his Quirk.

“I’d say your Quirk was the cause of it,” You joked back, slightly pushing him away, “but nice pick up line.”

“Hey,” Shindo called, clinging onto you once again, “I’m not too stable on my feet, can you help me get to the medic tent?”

“I can help with that,” Ochaco interjected from behind, touching Shindō’s shoulder and sending him into the air. “Have a nice trip!”

“Ochaco,” you gasped, a smirk adorning your face, “Are you jealous?”

A minute was needed to process the question, her eyes blinking in response before widening. “Of course not!”

The way she was most definitely freaking out was the answer you needed.

“No, no!” Ochaco giggled nervously, slapping you on the back, accidently activating her Quirk. “Why would I be?”

“You’ve always been a bad liar,” you teased, floating above her while poking a finger at her cheek. Her heart raced at your touch, she just wanted to keep you safe. “You always laugh when you lie. Ever since we were kids.”

“You were obviously uncomfortable,” she mumbled, glancing down at the floor. Ochaco held out her hand and you gladly accepted. “He was too close to you anyways.”

“Ochaco!” You smothered her with a tight hug, she was living the dream. “I love you so much, you always have my back.”

“Did you know he has a girlfriend?” Ochaco informed, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Her name is Tatami, right?” You answered, matching her sinister expression. “Are we really about to ruin a relationship?”

“Well,” Ochaco shrugged her shoulders, clearly unbothered by the thought of it. She intertwined her fingers with yours, walking towards the unsuspecting girlfriend. “He started it, I’m just returning the favor.”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Nine

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: reading canon eris discourse literally makes me dizzy but in this fic he's pretty chill

***

“Any plans for Thanksgiving?” Emerie asks as they stroll between the shelves of the library.

Nesta runs her finger down the spine of a textbook on corporate law. “Not really,” she murmurs distantly.

She’s been doing her best not to think of the upcoming holidays, in fact. Cassian is going to Velaris for Thanksgiving, and of course Feyre invited Nesta as well, but…

She’s always ignored her sister’s holiday invites, but this year is different. Cassian, a recent constant in her life, will be gone, enjoying himself for the first time in months without her presence. And Nesta will be at the cabin alone, because of course she can’t celebrate Thanksgiving with Feyre’s found family. Being friends with Cassian hasn’t changed that.

“Well,” Emerie is saying, “a bunch of us can’t go home for the holidays for one reason or another, so we’re hosting a small Friendsgiving at my apartment. You’re invited.”

Nesta glances at her, surprised. “Who’s going to be there?”

“The same guys from drinks night: Eris, Justinian, Isaac. Maybe a plus one or two if we’re lucky.” She elbows Nesta. “Maybe a girl for me to take home.”

“I thought the party was at your home already?”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, are you coming?”

Nesta purses her lips. “But you said it was a Friendsgiving. Those guys aren’t my friends.”

Emerie looks at her like she's insane. “Uh, why not?”

“Because,” Nesta states, “we’ve only had one real interaction all semester.”

Emerie scoffs. “You talk to them all the time in class, Nesta.”

“Yes. Out of necessity.”

Emerie raises a high brow. “That’s how you view spending time with us? A ‘necessity’?”

She’s upset, and Nesta doesn’t know what she said wrong. “That’s not what I meant,” she tries to say.

“Then what did you mean?”

“I just…” Nesta shrugs. “I thought it took more to make friends than a single night out.” Those are the rules, right?

Emerie narrows her dark eyes at her. “I’m sorry we’re not up to standard, then. But for your information, those guys liked you. I’m sure they considered you a friend.” She turns to leave, but Nesta is so stunned she can’t even try to stop her. The click of Emerie’s heels resonate long after she’s gone.

“Hey,” Cassian comes up to her later that day. “About Thanksgiving—”

Nesta drops her dinner plate onto the island with a clatter. “What is it with everybody and Thanksgiving?” Her voice is unnecessarily loud.

Cassian blinks. “Well, it’s only a few days away—”

“I know,” she says. “I’m fine staying home alone. We never celebrated Thanksgiving growing up, you know? It’s really not a big deal.”

“Will you let me finish, Nesta?”

Nesta presses her lips together.

Cassian takes a breath. “I think you should— I would really love it if you came to Velaris with me this weekend.”

There’s a silence as he waits for her to answer.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says after a moment.

Before he can press the subject, she blurts, “I already have plans.”

“You do?” Nesta can’t tell if he sounds disappointed or surprised.

She straightens her back, lying through her teeth, “Yes. Some friends from school are getting together for a Friendsgiving, and I’m going.” She almost bites her tongue on the word friends. She doesn’t even know what that means anymore.

“That’s amazing,” Cassian says, though he still looks a little taken aback. “I’m glad.” He looks down at the marble counter then, trying to smile. “Sucks for me, though.”

Nesta huffs a laugh. “Please, like you won’t be having fun with your friends whether I’m there or not.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but why go for half the fun when I could go for double?”

“That’s not how math works,” she snipes.

Cassian grabs a fork so he can sit down across from Nesta. “Don’t you ever bring up correct math in this house again.” He points his silverware at her threateningly.

From there, they can devolve into their usual dinner habit of bantering that leads to more serious conversation. Cassian has recently been on a French movie binge, Nesta learns, and even though she despises the French, she listens closely to his analysis of each film and offers her own thoughts back. She even promises to rewatch one or two of his favorites at a later time. The giddiness he gives in return makes her almost wish she had accepted his invitation earlier, if only so she could keep making him happy.

God. What is he doing to her?

Later that night, Nesta pulls out her phone and opens up her messages with Emerie. She doesn’t want to have rejected Cassian just to end up staying home alone all weekend. She types out five different messages and erases them before settling on an apathetic, Is the invite for Thursday still on?

Emerie takes her time to reply, likely to punish Nesta. After some minutes, she finally texts, Yes.

It’s all she can expect from Emerie, and it’s all she needs to see.

Nesta: I’ll be there.

***

“Cassian!” Feyre swings open the door with an overjoyed smile, ready to greet him.

He laughs and steps in for a hug, going so far as to lift her feet off the floor. Because damn him, even with his conflicted feelings towards Feyre lately, he’s missed her. He’s missed all of his friends, even though he’s found something precious while he was away from them.

He’s ushered into the penthouse, which Feyre and Rhys insist on calling an “apartment”, as if that softens the blow of their extravagant wealth. Cassian and everybody else goes along with it, however, because the rich have committed worse crimes. At least that’s what Nesta says.

“Rhys is out getting last minute beer from the gas station,” Feyre says as she takes his overnight bag. “And you’re the first to arrive, which means I have you all to myself.” She whirls on him with a predatory gleam in her eye. “Tell me everything about the last two months with you and Nesta, ASAP.”

Cassian’s heart starts racing at the unexpected interrogation, but he laughs it off and shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just roommates.”

“Well, I know that.” Feyre rolls her eyes. “But what is it like? How is it going? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

Before he can answer a single question, Feyre goes on. “I haven’t heard from either of you in eons, it feels like. Is Nesta still picky about her foods touching? Does she get upset when you play music too loud? Does she—”

“Jesus, Feyre,” Cassian interrupts loudly. “Not everything in my life is about your sister. Give it a rest.” He takes his duffel bag back from her.

“I’m just curious!” she says indignantly, but Cassian is already heading up the winding stairs to his guest room, going as fast as he can without outright running.

“I need to get washed up!” he announces before Feyre can make him stop and come back for more questioning.

In the safety of his bedroom, he releases a breath.

If Cassian thought keeping Nesta’s health issues from Feyre was difficult, he couldn’t have predicted how painful it would be to hide his feelings for Nesta. Still, he doesn’t dare expose what he can’t yet define, especially not to his nosy-ass friends. Some things just aren’t matters for gossip.

***

Nesta hesitantly enters Emerie’s small studio apartment to a party in full swing; “full swing” being Justinian and Isaac playing video games on the couch while Emerie is in the kitchen area attempting to make drinks. Nesta stops near the kitchenette and crosses her arms, surveying the scene. “Something about this doesn’t look right,” she says aloud. Emerie doing the hard work while the men play? Antithetical to her very nature.

“I know,” is all Emerie says without looking up from whatever hellish concoction she’s whipping up. “But I’m the host, so this is my role.”

“Hey, Nesta,” the guys speak up together, not taking their eyes off the TV. Isaac is the first to break his concentration from the game, glancing at Nesta and doing a double take. “Woah, you look good today.” Is he blushing?

Emerie finally looks up at that, eyeing Nesta’s modest black dress. “A little funeral-chic, but still hot as ever, babe.” Right after, she makes a face at the term babe. “Nope, I tried it and I hate it.”

Nesta hates it just as much, but goes over to help Emerie with what she now realizes are oddly colored Jello shots. She picks up a little plastic cup with dark jelly in it and wiggles it around. “What color is this supposed to be?”

“Brown.” Emerie blows a piece of escaped hair out of her face. “They were supposed to be Thanksgiving themed.”

Nesta surveys the shots arranged in various fall colors. Definitely an interesting choice for a twenty-four year old law student, but what did Nesta know about parties?

“Where’s Eris?” she asks casually as she helps arrange more cups. Her argument with Emerie is far from forgotten, but the two women are too alike for their own good. They’ll ignore the lingering tension until it dissipates, and that will be the end of that.

Before Emerie can answer Nesta’s question, a loud bang comes from the entryway as the already open door hits the wall. Eris Vanserra sweeps inside in his designer coat and sophisticated boots, followed by a new, striking face. “It’s fucking freezing,” he announces, just as the new guy quietly shuts the door behind them.

“You’re late,” Emerie says in her usual flat tone.

“I had to pick up my twerp brother.” Eris tilts his head toward the redhead behind him.

“I didn’t ask to come,” the new guy, Eris’s brother, chimes in.

Nesta is perked up now, angling to get a better look at him. Same hair color, same eyes, different skin tone from Eris. He looks like the relaxed, unpretentious version of his brother. Someone pauses the video game.

“I’m Lucien,” he awkwardly raises a hand.

Justinian looks at everybody else. “I’m confused— does this mean we can finally replace Eris’s punk ass?”

The thought of an unexpected guest first makes Nesta clench up, especially when she’s seated right next to the damn guy at the dining table. New people means everything about the regular social routine will be changed up, and she isn’t at all prepared for it.

It takes maybe fifteen minutes for her to realize that Lucien is nothing to worry about— much quicker than she’s ever warmed up to a stranger before.

He has the affected quiet confidence of someone who would rather be anywhere else but here. No one knows that mask better than Nesta.

Against all odds, she’s the first to initiate a conversation.

“Why are you here?” she says bluntly.

No hello, no how are you. Fuck, this is why she doesn’t talk to people.

Lucien looks surprised at the sudden acknowledgment, but answers, “My plans got cancelled at the last minute.” His mouth tightens as he looks toward his brother. “So Eris dragged me here instead.”

“You don’t like your brother?”

Lucien narrows his eyes at her, defensive. “Is this an interrogation or something?”

Embarrassment heats Nesta’s face, but she hides it under her usual cold stare. “Never mind.”

She turns back to her food, refocusing on an anecdote Isaac is giving about a girl he met the other week. A moment later, Lucien says lowly, “I can’t stand my brother.”

She laughs a little too loudly at that, and everyone looks at her.

Isaac grins. “See, Nesta thinks it’s a funny story.”

Nesta frowns. “No, I don’t. You told it last week and no one laughed.”

His face falls. Eris laughs out loud at him, and Emerie tosses wadded up napkins at both men. “You’re both deeply uninteresting. Let’s talk about me.”

She launches into a heated discussion about how she plans to defeat “that bitch Brian” for the internship at Velaris’s biggest law firm next summer, with Eris interjecting that she wouldn’t survive a day in the big city. Nesta turns back to Lucien. “I understand how you feel.”

“You hate Eris too?”

“No, but I have sisters.” Eris is nice, if a pretentious asshole at times, but she empathizes with Lucien either way.

He raises a brow. “And you’re here for Thanksgiving instead of with them?”

For the first time all night, Nesta remembers that Cassian is having fun in a spacious penthouse with Feyre and Elain and the others, likely eating much nicer food than store-bought turkey and Jello shots, and she almost deflates. Almost. Because as much as she enjoys this— spending time with people that belong to her, not Feyre or anybody else— there’s a hollow space in the room that Cassian usually fills. She doesn’t know how she can miss someone and be this thoroughly content at the same time, but she tries not to ponder on her feelings.

She shrugs at Lucien’s question. “We’re all here instead of with our families.”

What would have been a thirty-minute meal on Nesta’s own stretches into a long night of full bellies and fuller conversation. Justinian demands a toast in honor of Friendsgiving, and Emerie tells him not to pull that cringy shit, but everyone ends up raising their small Jello shots to clink against each other.

Thanksgiving might be Nesta’s favorite holiday.

***

Cassian doesn’t know what this feeling is: the itching, nervy sense of impatience that plagues him the longer dinner drags on. All he knows is that tonight Mor’s laughter is just a little too loud, and Amren’s quips are just a little too sharp, and Rhys’s stories aren’t very interesting for once.

Nothing about his friends have changed, but somehow, Cassian feels different. Empty. He can’t stop thinking about what Nesta is doing right now.

He checks his phone under the table for the sixth time in three minutes, for what, he doesn’t know. Maybe she’s in trouble and needs his help. Maybe she’s having a bad night and wants to talk to him. Maybe she’s just bored and thinking about him.

None of this is true, evidently, because his phone remains dead silent.

“Cassian.” It’s Elain’s gentle voice that draws him out of his head. “What’s it like having a roommate for once? I know you and Nesta love being alone.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin. “Alone? No we don’t. Why would we love being alone together?”

Elain looks at him like he’s grown a new head. “I didn’t mean alone together. It’s just that you’ve always spent your time boarded up in that mountain cabin on your own, and before Nesta moved in, she wouldn’t leave her apartment even to see me.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Feyre butts in. She whirls to Cassian with her hands under her chin. “All this time I was wondering what you and Nesta living together would be like, and I didn’t even consider you guys avoiding each other.”

Cassian scoffs a laugh but doesn’t know how to respond. He just wants Feyre and Elain to stop poking at this raw, fresh thing in his life before his nerves get worse, so he turns to Amren and brings up the thing he knows will shut everyone down: work. “How much longer is Rhys gonna have you playing double agent at Adriatic?” She’s been acting as brand ambassador to the West Coast-based conglomerate for the past five months, playing nice while gathering information on Night Court Inc.’s biggest competitor.

Groans resound around the table, but Amren’s eyes brighten frightfully. “If he keeps me there any longer, I might end up staying for good.”

Rhysand smiles thinly. “Amren has a crush on their new CFO. If she keeps going on about Varian’s pretty face I might pull her out of Adriatic by the end of the year.”

Just as Cassian is about to convince himself to care, his phone vibrates in his hand. Everything tunes out as he sees Nesta’s name on the screen, attached to a new text. He clicks into it.

A picture of Nesta and her friends around a dinner table pops up, smiling and laughing. His heart catches in his throat at the image.

“What did we say about phones during dinner, Cassian?” Rhysand interrupts just then.

Cassian stands up quickly, stammering, “Uh, I just need to answer this call— it’s important.” Azriel is staring up at him like he’s lost his mind, but Cassian doesn’t notice or care as he rushes out of the room with his phone in a death grip, overcome.

Alone in a hallway bathroom, he lets himself look at the picture again, hungrily absorbing every detail he couldn’t catch the first time around: her face is flushed and her hair is down, wilder than usual. Her smile is so rarely genuine that it kills him a little just to see it; he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or pained that she’s having such a good time, that she isn’t missing him like he’s missing her. A sharp-faced girl that Cassian assumes is Emerie is holding the camera, likely having stolen Nesta’s phone to demand a picture, and the two women are surrounded by guys he doesn’t recognize. Except—

The face beside Nesta’s catches Cassian’s attention, and he clicks to zoom in. “Is that Lucien Vanserra?” he mutters.

Elain’s ex gets to hang out with Nesta while he doesn’t? This is fucked.

He doesn’t have a reason for his actions as he shoves his phone into his pocket and exits the bathroom. He just knows he needs to get out of here, away from this place that’s so far from Nesta’s heart.

His keys and coat hang near the front door, and he can hear Feyre’s voice from the dining room. “Cassian? Where are you—”

The door slams behind him before she can finish.

***

Being the only one who refused to get drunk off Jello shots, Eris offers to drive Nesta home for the night.

While Lucien is passed out in the backseat without a care in the world, Nesta is so awake she can feel her nerves buzzing. She knows as soon as she leaves this car, the bittersweet loneliness that comes after a party will set in, but for now…

What a night. She sighs and lets her head fall back against the seat, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Damn,” Eris lets out a low whistle as he pulls up to the mountain cabin. “This is your place?”

She lifts her head, realizing she’s home. “Ah. It’s only a temporary living situation,” she explains. “It’s my— friend’s place.”

“Friend or sugar daddy?” Eris smirks.

Nesta scowls, grabbing her stuff and pushing open the door to leave. It’s not Eris’s fault she’s unable to take a joke about Cassian, but that doesn’t change the sensitivity of the topic.

“Hey, wait—” he calls after her.

She pauses to look back at him. He hesitates, then says, “Good night.”

“Take care of your brother,” she directs. Stepping out of his fancy car, she shuts the door and raises a hand in goodbye, watching him pull away from the cabin.

Alone in the driveway, Nesta stands under the moonlight for a long moment, letting the chill seep into her bones. She’s dawdling.

She pauses again at the front door, her hand on the doorknob. The dreaded loneliness is already coming over her, crawling over her skin and making a home in the cage of her ribs.

A whole weekend without Cassian.

Maybe she should have asked Emerie if she could stay over for the night, but a part of her knows it would have been futile. Emerie can’t replace Cassian’s constant presence, no matter how much Nesta likes her.

It’s only three days. She steels herself and unlocks the door, prepared to be greeted by darkness and hollow silence.

The first thing she notices when she steps inside is the sound of crackling, followed by a warm glow from the living area. The lights are all off, but the fireplace is ablaze.

Nesta’s brows furrow, confused, but then she sees on the couch— “Cassian?”

***

a/n: i know justinian and isaac are names for side characters that sjm has used before but in this case they're completely different ocs.

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja

[thereisnochillinsideme]

Chasing Rainbows (Yuri Plisetsky x Reader)

Hi, so I made my first post recently and all of you have already been so so supportive and I thank you so much. This will be my first fic. It’s between Yuri Plisetsky and a female reader who is a pianist and part of the deaf community. i thought it was a very interesting idea when I thought of it and I wanted to share it. i asked a friend of mine who is a member of said community to help me with accuracy because I myself am not part of it. i just wanted to try out writing it. I don’t think I’ve put in anything offensive, but in the beginning, when Lilia asks the reader to play piano for Yuri, Yuri asks how she is supposed to know what she is doing. I don’t think it’s very offensive, but if the community finds it offensive, please let me know and I will take down this post immediately. There are also parts in which I want to imply that the dialogue is in sign language, because I don’t want to write out the character signing each letter. Anything in italics is dialogue in sign language, anything with the regular quotation marks are spoken dialogue, and any thoughts from the characters have just one apostrophe at beginning and end instead of quotations. I figured since Russia is where Yuri and reader are, specifically St. Petersburg, I’ve made her use Russian Sign Language and typed out according to that, though I don’t know if I made any mistakes. Please alert me if I have so I can change it. I also didn’t want to assume anything about physical appearance, so I’ve left hair length, hair color, eye color, and skin tone open to interpretation. I don’t own Yuri, but I own the story and Y/n’s personality. That said, please read and enjoy and give me any feedback! Also, my asks are open and I don’t have too many ideas right now, so please request something! Enjoy!

Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t a very big fan of people.

There wasn’t really much wrong with them, it’s just that they were distracting and he was ultra-focused on reaching his goals.

There were a couple of them that he could stand, like his grandfather and his coaches to a certain degree. But in the grand scheme of things, Yuri Plisetsky decided to mostly stay away from people.

This is why he was so annoyed with his ballet coaches new announcement.

“A live pianist? What for?” Lilia rubbed her temples in exasperation. “You have trouble expressing certain emotions during your performances. Some come naturally, but others don’t. The music is what determines the emotion you’re trying to express, so what better way to help with that then to see the person making that music.”

Yuri groaned. “They’ll just slow me down and make mistakes! The recorded playing is enough for me! I don’t need a person!” Lilia looked at him with an annoyed expression.

“Do you remember what you said to me the first time we met? ‘If selling my soul is what it takes to win, I’ll give you this body, no holds barred.’ Are you going back on your word? If you’ll really do whatever it takes to win, this should be no problem.”

Yuri looked down and nodded his head. I guess I can find some way to deal with this.

Lilia smiled. “Good, you’ll meet her tomorrow.”

Yuri internally groaned again. Her? It was a girl? Great. She’ll probably fangirl over me so much I won’t get time to practice.

The next morning, Lilia informed him that the pianist would be joining them in the studio shortly, as she would be a bit late. Yuri was hoping she wouldn’t come at all.

But alas, his prayers were unheard when there was a knock at the studio door. Lilia immediately opened it to reveal a girl with h/l, h/c hair, e/c eyes, and a very cold and stoic expression, a red lollipop sticking out of the right side of her mouth. He noticed that strangely, she had gloves on.

The brown leather outlined the shape of her fingers so he had a slight idea of what her hand was like, but he wondered what she was hiding under the soft leather.

After she opened the door, Lilia began doing some strange hand signs that Yuri didn’t recognize. She moved her hands around rapidly, pointing at Yuri a couple times so the girl turned her attention towards him. She peeked out from behind Lilia and raised a gloved hand in greeting, the stoic expression never leaving. He nodded an acknowledgement, wondering if she knew who he was.

When Lilia finished her hand signs, the girl replied with some of her own. She then walked to the sleek black piano in the corner of the room and began running her gloved fingers over the keys. Yuri decided to try and talk to her, see if she was a fangirl.

“Hey,” He called out in her direction. it seemed like she wasn’t listening. All her attention was on the keyboard, running the smooth leather over the ivory keys.

“Hey!” He tried again.

Lilia walked over to him and began watching you as well. “She can’t hear you.”

Yuri was confused.

“What is she, deaf?”

“Yes,” Lilia replied

Yuri was very confused. How were you supposed to play the piano if you couldn’t hear? He couldn’t risk anything right now, he needed to win the Grand Prix!

“How the hell is she supposed to play the piano if she can’t hear?! She’s going to slow me down!! She doesn’t even talk, she just does her weird little hand signs!! i need someone who knows what they’re doing!!”

At this point, the girl had stopped looking at the keys and turned her attention towards Yuri yelling at Lilia. She looked to Lilia, silently questioning with her hands what Yuri had said. Lilia launched into rapid sign language, explaining everything Yuri had said. Yuri watched her expression, expecting her to cry or something. What he wasn’t ready for was her reaction.

As Lilia finished explaining, Yuri waited for the tears to start dripping down her face. Instead though, he heard a clear scoff come from her throat. He looked at her in surprise, hearing a crack as she bit down sharply on her red lollipop. She made your way over to him and grabbed him by the shirt collar with one gloved hand, bringing her face centimeters away from his. “H-hey! Put me down!”He could smell her cherry lollipop on her breath as she opened her mouth. He froze once he heard words streaming out.

“For the record, I can speak, pretty boy. I just don’t prefer to. I can communicate much more effectively through BSL. Yeah, I’m deaf, you got a problem with that? I may not be able to hear, but I can confidently tell you that I am the best pianist you can get around here. You want someone who can hear, don’t you? Someone who ‘knows what they’re doing’.” She said the words in a mocking tone. “No one but me decides whether I play for you or not. And you’ve just showed me that you’re not worth my time. Go settle for some second-rate pianist and have fun prancing around. I have stuff to do.” She dropped him down like a sack of potatoes, signed a quick goodbye to Lilia, and walked to the door.

Before she left, she stopped for a minute and looked back, quickly taking the lollipop out of her mouth. “Stop hiding behind your red.” She said, popping it back in. She walked out without a second glance

Lilia looked at the boy, still frozen, lying on the ground, barely hearing what the girl had said. Lilia pinched the bridge of her nose. “You just lost a very good pianist. I can try to find someone else, but they won’t be as good as her. I hope you realize what you just did. Now get back to practice, we’ll use recordings for today.”

After practice, Yuri began to think of the girl. If she couldn’t hear her own playing, how on earth would she know if she was playing well or not? It was impossible!

As he lay on his bed, he began to think more about the encounter he had with her, the bright red cherry lollipop peeking out of pearly white teeth, the light scent of leather wafting into his nose from the glove holding firmly on his shirt collar, what might have happened had she brought her face… just… a bit… closer…

His face immediately turned red as he covered his face in exasperation. What on earth was he thinking?! Why would he want to do… that… with her of all people?! He had only seen her today and she threatened him and left the studio!

Stop it Yuri. You shouldn’t be thinking such stupid things. You have a Grand Prix to win. You have to beat the piggy.

Lilia knocked on his door. “Come down for dinner. Are you sick? You’re as red as borscht!”

“I’m fine! Be down soon.” Lilia left as Yuri splashed cold water on his face, trying to rid himself of thoughts of you.

The next morning, Lilia brought in a new girl named Katerina. She was a bit of a fangirl, but Yuri figured he could deal with that.

At least she could hear her own playing.

During their practice, Katerina messed up the combinations at least 3 times each, Lilia making them start over every time this happened. By the end, Yuri’s legs felt like jelly and he had yelled at Katerina 7 times. The minute Lilia said she could leave, she ran out the door, hastily grabbing her things. At least now she knew why they called him the Russian Punk.

Yuri looked at Lilia staring critically on him as he lay on the floor, desperately trying to catch his breath.

“Couldn’t you *pant* find *pant* anyone *pant* better?’

“You had that chance before, you just threw it away.”

Yuri groaned, she was still going on about that.

“Just how good can a deaf person be at piano anyways?”

Lilia sighed. “You want to see?”

She pointed at the studio window that overlooked the street. Over on the other side was the girl walking with her lollipop and gloves. Even from here, her usual stoic expression was still visible. It never left her face.

“Follow her. Don’t let her see you. If you don’t take my word on her playing, you’ll have to see it yourself.”

Yuri sighed, but not questioning his instructor, he put on his jacket and walked out into the cold night, following the girl and her red lollipop. He hid in the dark corners they passed so that she couldn’t see him and pulled his jacket over his head, covering his tiger shirt. He shadowed her until they got to a small café, lit up by the string lights outside. He wondered why Lilia would make him follow her to a café, but not one to question his instructor, he crept inside, making sure she couldn’t see him.

The entire café greeted her with a yell. “Y/n!” they said. Y/n. So that’s her name. I never even got to learn it. He thought. He then wondered why he was thinking that because he would never have to use her name. Though she couldn’t hear, Y/n seemed to know they were greeting her and raised a gloved hand to return the gesture, her stoic expression still there during her greeting. He went and sat in a far corner of a café watching the girl with bored eyes. She walked up to the counter and gave some signs to the cashier, who returned them with some of her own and a bag with a single cheese danish inside. Yuri wondered why his instructor had sent him to follow this girl and watch her buy a danish. Nevertheless, he continued watching her.

He had nothing to do, after all.

As she was about to sign a goodbye to the cashier, he saw a small kid, around 6 years old, tug at the leg of her pants. She bent down to his height and tilted her head, silently asking him what he wanted. Yuri watched as he brought his hands up in front of him, making shaky hand gestures while still speaking to her out loud. “Miss Y/n… would you… play for us a little bit?” Yuri watched her. He saw something strange. Y/n’s stoic expression was slowly contorting. Her lips turning upwards and her eyes growing softer. She nodded a yes with a smile on her face. She ruffled the boy’s hair and held  his hand as she walked to the piano at the back of the café. She sat on the bench and the boy sat beside her. She looked at him anticipation, waiting for him to pick something for her to play. He pulled some sheet music out of the bag laying next to the piano and handed it to her. She only looked at the first page for a split second, reading the title before nodding and handing it back. Finally, finger by finger, she pulled off the leather gloves. Yuri could see nothing at all different about her hands. They were just like anyone else’s hands, covered in s/c skin, with the lithe fingers of a musician. Yuri and the boy sitting next to Y/n watched her hands as she lifted them and placed them lightly on the keys. She lifted them again, preparing to start the song.

The minute her fingers pressed down on the keys, Yuri could no longer hear the notes. He only heard a sound. It was a beautiful sound, but he couldn’t really identify it. He didn’t hear the combinations of the notes she pressed, he heard music. It was less of what he was hearing and more of what he was feeling. It was just something in the way that she played the notes. Maybe it was how hard she pressed the keys, or when she pushed the pedal. No, it’s not any of that. He thought. It was the feeling she put into the music. The music brought him back to a memory. He was laughing, eating pirozhkis with his grandpa. He didn’t know what they were laughing about and he didn’t care. He was just happy to be there, with the person he loves. But how could she, someone who doesn’t even know him, be able to bring him back to such a precious, private memory with her playing? He then began to realize that it wasn’t the memory that she was conveying.

It was the feelings tethered to that memory.

There was love, and there was a second feeling. He would try to put it into words if he could, but it only felt like one thing.

Home.

He fell deeper into the haze of memories she threw him in, thinking about all the things he did with his grandpa back home. The playing made him feel like he was actually there, with his grandpa next to him, sitting with him after a practice ran late, eating pirozhki, laughing over something stupid.

He looked around at the people around him, all smiling fondly and he realized that the feeling she conveyed wasn’t just for him. It reached everyone. For him, that memory was of him and his grandfather. For the two men at the other table it was something else. It was a different memory for the 5 kids and 3 women as well.

It amazed Yuri, how she was able to make a simple combination of notes on an instrument convey such an intense feeling and hold such a personal meaning for every person in the room. He now realized why Lilia wanted her to help with the emotions.

Y/n gave a hug to the little boy and walked out with her cheese danish. After regaining his composure, Yuri left as well and went back to Lilia’s house. Lilia met him at the door, not asking any questions. But, as he walked by her, she quickly pulled his hood down, allowing her to see his face. “Your red, it’s fading. You did hear her play.” Yuri was confused by the words, but shrugged them off because he was tired. He walked up the stairs to his room, letting the love that still enveloped him deteriorate with each step.

The next day, after another mistake-filled practice with Katerina, Yuri crept behind Y/n again to hear her play at the café again. He did the same the day after that, and the day after that. The routine was like clockwork. Practice finished, and he followed the girl with her red lollipop and gloves. Every night it was a different piece that resurfaced a different memory. Songs with love, tranquility, joy and others. He would always keep his face straight, but let the emotion wash over him. Tonight, it was one filled with intense anger. With a different piece came a different memory. He began to remember when he had lost Victor to the piggy back in Hasetsu, even though he thought he had finally found his Agape. Agape wasn’t easy for him and finding it was one of the hardest things he had to do. The piggy didn’t even know how to perform Eros and he won with it by thinking of a pork cutlet bowl. They were good, but they shouldn’t have been good enough to make him win! It wasn’t fair. Victor always broke his promises. He remembered how he walked out of the competition early because it was painfully obvious that the piggy won.

He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles grew paler than they already were, which seemed impossible. He thought of how close Victor was with the piggy, how the piggy would be the one doing the routines Victor created, how he was not even sure that he could beat the piggy now that he had Victor. He didn’t even notice when you ended the piece, still stuck in a haze of red. He didn’t notice when the man at the table near him started crying, muttering something about his former wife. All he noticed was his own anger, all he could see was red.

Until he noticed,

He wasn’t supposed to be seeing red.

He was supposed to see the dark yellow hiding behind it.

She wasn’t conveying anger.

She was conveying betrayal.

The music was rapid and fast-paced, but it had an undertone of sorrow and longing.

Yuri wasn’t mad at Victor.

He was sad.

Sad that his trust was broken.

Sad that he couldn’t rely on him.

Y/n began playing something else.

Through the sorrow, Yuri began to listen.

At this point, he didn’t know what to feel.

The piece permeated his being, he could feel it through every part of his body.

It was the most beautiful piece he had ever heard in his entire life.

Yuri didn’t know what chords were in the piece, or how fast it was, or even if it was being played wrong.

All he heard was music.

Music in its purest form.

He had no idea what it was supposed to make him feel.

Yuri realized, it wasn’t supposed to make him feel anything at all.

The music was just music.

Music is just a combination of notes put in a certain order.

The emotions didn’t come from there.

They came from the person making the music.

He finally understood why he had trouble expressing certain emotions in competition.

It was like the colors.

He had all of them, an entire palette like everyone else. He was afraid that they weren’t pretty enough for other people to see, so he covered all of them with a thick curtain of red.

But here was Y/n.

She was here, showing off her rainbow to everyone else, letting them know that they had the rainbow inside.

Letting him know that she could see past his red.

Some people don’t like certain colors.

There are those who dislike red, some who hate blue, a couple who can’t stand the sight of purple.

But there are those who love those same colors.

Which side are you supposed to cater to?

You can’t please everybody.

You don’t need to please anyone at all.

You possess all the colors and you can use all of them as you wish, you can create.

We are rainbows.

We are humans.

The realization overtook his body. His eyes started to water. The tears started coming out and he didn’t even try to stop them. This was how he felt and he needed to accept it. The red curtain was blown away as he saw the rainbow inside of him. His sadness, joy, love, everything.

He was no longer a red cloud.

He was a rainbow.

She opened him.

The feelings swallowed him as she ended the piece, walking to the counter to get her danish.

But before she left, she walked straight to the table he was sitting at, tapping him on the forehead. “Oi, pretty boy, get up. Lilia’s probably worried. “

Yuri was surprised. How did she know it was him?! As if she was reading his mind, she replied. “You aren’t very good at creeping around and the hood does little to hide your face. Walk with me.” Dumbfounded and still dazed, Yuri got up and obeyed Y/n, walking next to her. She took out her lollipop, which was now nothing more than a stick, and threw it out. She picked the danish out of the bag and bit into it as they walked out of the café. They walked a bit in silence before they came across a ledge overlooking the nearby canal. Y/n sat down and patted the spot next to her, gesturing for Yuri to do the same. He obediently sat and watched the water move. She took another bite out of the danish before offering it to him. He took a small bite and leaned back, continuing to watch the water.

Soon, she began to speak.

“I noticed you the first time you followed me. i didn’t say anything because I knew it was Lilia’s doing.”

She turned her head, making direct eye contact with him for the first time since the day in the studio. Her eyes reflected the yellow from the dim streetlamps that surrounded the canal.

“Give me your hand.” She said simply.

Yuri agreed though he was still confused. She began tracing the lines on his palm before stopping at a specific one.

“You see that?” She asked. He nodded. “This is where your nails have left imprints on your palms, meaning you clench your fists a lot. It shows me how angry you get.”

She then tapped a covered finger between his eyebrows. “There’s a crease here, meaning you frown a lot.” She brought that finger down to the side of his lips. “You also have this small wrinkle here, showing that your lips are usually angled downward, adding to the frowning.” Her gloved fingers stayed there, brushing over the dent in his skin. He began to turn red when he realized the position they were in. She seemed to notice too, quickly retracting her hand, trying to hide the extremely faint blush on her face.

“W-what I mean is, if anyone looks at you for a couple seconds, they can see the small signs that tell how much you get angry."

“Your anger is a force to be reckoned with, that’s clear to see. But you give it too much power so that it shrouds your other emotions. Many people are like that. We all have one emotion that usually overpowers our others. The trick is learning how to control it as much as your others. The emotions you are composed of are what make you human. Your humanity is not something you invalidate.”

She stood up. “Lilia will get worried soon, you should get back.”

As he stood up as well, she stopped him and brushed the hair away from his eyes. She stared into them, and surprisingly, let out a soft giggle. He gave her a questioning look. “Your red.” She said. “It’s cleared.” She tucked the hair behind his ear and walked off in the opposite direction, leaving Yuri to think about her for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Yuri went to the studio, expecting another day filled with Katerina and mistakes. What he didn’t expect to see was Y/n with her gloves off playing warm-up scales on the piano. He looked at her in awe as Lilia made her way over to whisper in his ear. “We somehow got her back, don’t botch this up again.”

Practice went perfectly that day. Y/n never made a mistake with what she was asked to play, and Yuri began to let his emotions take the lead in the dance. He was slow to accept them at first, but gradually let them in. Once practice ended, Yuri walked up to Y/n and tapped her on the shoulder. She looked at him, wondering what he wanted.

He brought his hand up, closing it into a fist. He then brought his fist to his chest and moved it in a circular motion. Y/n’s eyes widened.

He was saying sorry.

Yuri then brought his open hand to his chin and then moved it forward, clearly mouthing two words so that she could read his lips.

Thank you.

Y/n remained in shock for a minute and Yuri feared he had done something wrong. ‘Damn YouTube video!! They probably gave me the wrong gestures! What if I said something offensive?!’

The thoughts stopped streaming in when he heard Y/n speak again. “No problem pretty boy. Just refrain from saying anything stupid. Now I have a danish waiting for me. Want to come?”

Yuri nodded, following Y/n out of the studio.

He stopped her once again outside the café, a strange look on his face. “Got something to say?” She asked. He nodded. “If you enunciate well enough, I can lip-read.”

He opened his mouth. “That day, what I said to you about you not ‘knowing what you were doing’, I’m sorry. I’ve been under so much pressure for my senior debut and I was scared that you might slow me down. You are an amazing pianist and I shouldn’t have judged you like that. I know i insulted the entire deaf or hard-of-hearing community and I sincerely apologize.”

Y/n nodded. “Just because I’m deaf doesn’t mean I can’t do stuff like any other normal person. Don’t worry, I accept your apology. Just don’t say anything like that again, pretty boy.”

Yuri nodded in understanding and continued into the café for Y/n’s daily performance.

After that day, the boy’s routine changed a bit. He would wake up and go to practice, but afterwards, instead of hiding in alleyways trying not to be seen, Yuri would walk side by side with Y/n, talking and laughing on the way. He would enunciate his words more clearly so she could lip-read and understand him. He also started taking some online sign-language courses so that he could communicate with her more effectively. Their conversations were mixes of a few words and signs, but in the end, both understood each other perfectly. Y/n started to carry around two cherry lollipops, one for Yuri. Yuri would carry around an extra jacket for Y/n, who frequently forgot to wear one. “Seriously dumbass! Who remembers to wear gloves but not a jacket?!” “Me.” “You’re an idiot.”

Every night, Yuri would sit in on Y/n’s performances and they would share the danish on the way home. They would sign a goodnight at the canal and repeat it all over the next day.

Their conversations were of anything they could find to talk about, resulting in both knowing extremely random things about each other. ‘Y/n only wears the gloves because she’s really prone to dry skin. Yuri has three cat-ear headbands. Y/n doesn’t even know that she looks mean. Her stoic face is just her resting face. Yuri believes conspiracy theories. Y/n has a least favorite multiple of three, it’s 27. Yuri has a pair of fluorescent orange socks with cats all over them. Y/n’s feet are cold 24/7 because she doesn’t like wearing socks. She thinks they feel weird.’

Eventually, one day, Yuri decided to go to the rink and skate as a change of pace. He also decided to bring Y/n with him.

Can you skate? He signed as he watched her lace up her skates. “I can move around without falling, if that’s what you mean.” She steadily replied out loud.

Y/n stood at the side of the rink as she watched Yuri perform the Agape that failed him back at Hasetsu. His movements were perfect, but the emotion was not. The movements, aside from being perfect, were so sharp and harsh that Y/n physically winced. Yuri had vented to her many times about the incident at Hasetsu involving Victor and the other Yuuri, so she had a basic idea of the situation. As he finished, she gestured for him to come over. This is the routine from back at Hasetsu, correct? She signed. He nodded. Your agape isn’t there. You’re letting the anger from the incident cloud the entire routine so it becomes angry. Don’t think about Victor during the routine. Think of your agape. Yuri nodded and tried the routine again. This time, his movements were still perfect, but more fluid and beautiful. Y/n smiled. Now this is agape.

As they made their way back, through broken signs and a couple words, Yuri explained his desire to beat the other Yuuri at his next competition. Y/n giggled. She thought it was cute, the way that Yuri referred to people by little sign language nicknames he made for them instead of spelling out their names. He referred to Victor as just V in sign language, not wanting to spell out his name. He referred to the other Yuri by putting an open palm under his chin and curling and uncurling his knuckles, the sign for pig. He referred to Yakov as old man, and Lilia as scary ballerina. She wondered how he would refer to her. One day, when she got curious enough, she asked him. She expected him to do something silly, but instead, he hooked his index fingers together and shook his fists twice.

Best friend

Y/n felt a rush of happiness. This was the first time anyone had called her their friend, much less their best friend. She immediately hugged Yuri and felt him stiffen under her. He was frozen for a few seconds, but eventually, he wrapped his arms around her, muttering “Don’t go all soft on me now.” even though he knew she couldn’t hear him. She could see the blush on his face when she pulled away, but she decided not to mention it in hopes of hugging him more often. She blushed at the thought she just had. Why did she want to continue hugging Yuri?

Y/n brushed off the thought and continued walking with Yuri as he changed the subject by asking her a different question.

Slowly, Y/n began to get more comfortable with Yuri, the same with Yuri. One day, he finally plucked up the courage to ask her something he had been wondering for a very long time.

If you don’t mind me asking, how can you speak so well?

Y/n smiled sadly at the question as she signed back.

I was born with hearing, but it slowly deteriorated due to a medical condition. When I was 9, it went away entirely. I could already speak quite well and I just learned sign language.

Y/n gave Yuri a moment to register what she said because he was still a beginner when it came to sign language. She then continued when he nodded.

I always loved to play piano. I stopped for some time after I lost my hearing because I was afraid of making mistakes. Eventually, I realized that hearing wasn’t what was stopping me from making music. It was me who was stopping myself. Mind over matter. Once I broke down my personal barriers, I could play again. I’ve applied to a couple conservatories recently to see if I could play professionally.

Yuri stopped walking and held Y/n’s hand as he stared into her eyes. Something wrong?  She asked. He put a hand on her cheek as he continued staring into her eyes. It’s blue, isn’t it? He signed. Your dominant color. Sorrow. Y/n nodded.

I know i said all that stuff about mind over matter, but almost everyday, I wish I could hear at least one note that I play. I would give anything at all to hear the music.

Yuri moved forward and wrapped his arms around Y/n as a few tears dripped from her eyes. It was still, quiet, except for Y/n’s barely audible sobs echoing in the empty street. Suddenly, Yuri felt something drop on his head. He looked up to see a drizzle starting, eventually becoming full-on rain. Y/n slowly pulled away as she felt it too. As she looked at the rain coming from above, she began to smile. She grabbed Yuri’s hands.

Dance with me, she signed.

Yuri laughed. There’s no music.

So? Who needs it. I certainly don’t.

Yuri scoffed at the girl’s silly behavior before putting his hands on her waist while she did the same on his shoulders. They swayed slightly, Y/n moving forward to rest her head on Yuri’s chest, his chin on top of her head. Both were blushing, neither could see. They just lived in the moment, each relishing the feeling of the other in their arms.

After some time, Y/n pulled away. I don’t want you to catch a cold. We should get home.

Yuri grabbed onto her wrist. Wait.

I wanted to tell you something.

Then say it. She was always so blunt.

I would’ve, but I believe actions speak much louder than words you can’t hear.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. What did he mean?

Yuri tilted the girl’s chin up, moving forward until his lips met her own.

If someone told Y/n the day she met Yuri Plisetsky, that one day she’d be kissing him in the rain, his arms holding her as if she’d disappear once he let go, she would’ve drop-kicked them to Japan.

But right now, she wasn’t thinking of the ironicity of the situation, or even what would happen after the kiss. She was thinking of what she could do to make sure Yuri Plisetsky didn’t stop kissing her. As they continued, Yuri reached for her hand, only to pull off her glove and stick it in his pocket. He did the same to her other hand as she took her bare hand and tangled it in the soft blond mass of hair, lifting it away so she could see Yuri’s perfect green eyes. But she wasn’t going to see them. She was too afraid to open her eyes, fearing that once she did, she would discover that all of this wasn’t real and she was still alone.

But as she felt Yuri’s lips on her own, his hands on her waist, she had a sudden rush of courage. She slowly opened her eyes, only to be met by Yuri’s own green ones, there, clear as day. Tears started streaming down her face, mixing with the rain. Yuri immediately noticed and pulled away. What’s wrong?

Nothing. I’m just so happy. I thought I would open my eyes and you wouldn’t be there, or you’d disappear-

Yuri pulled her into him and held her tight. He kissed the top of her head as she buried her face into his chest. He held her there tightly so she wouldn’t see the tears on his own face as he, knowing she couldn’t hear him, bent next to her ear and whispered “I’m right here.”

He shivered and pulled away, signing at her. We’re going to catch a cold dumbass! Why do you like rain so much anyway?

Y/n looked up at him, a smile on her face, holding up shaky hands.

After the rain, comes the rainbow.

After that day, Yuri’s routine was altered a bit more. It was still mostly the same, he would have practice in the mornings, walk to Y/n’s performances, but it was different in the little ways, which he liked.

He liked how he now held Y/n’s gloveless hand on the way to the café as they continued to talk and laugh over whatever they could find. He liked how he walked her out of the café with an arm around her waist. He liked how they spent a few extra minutes at the canal, watching the water and stealing kisses before leaving.

He never wanted it to end.

But it did.

Yuri finally got his assignments.

On the same day, Y/n got an offer from a piano conservatory in England.

Both were panicking.

Neither knew about the other.

They were too afraid to leave each other behind.

The walk to the café that day was quiet, both were thinking of how to tell the other.

They tried to put it off as long as possible.

After Y/n played at the café, they ended up blurting it out at the same time.

Neither knew what to say.

Y/n made the first move. She walked forward and wrapped Yuri in a hug as he hugged back. She pulled away.

I’m so proud of you! She signed.

And I’m proud of you! He replied.

You’ve made such amazing progress with your agape and I know how amazing you are. You’re going to win gold! I know it!

Yuri smiled. And I know how amazing you’ll do at the Conservatory!

Yuri’s smiled started to fade. I don’t want to lose you. I want to pursue my dreams and I want you to chase your’s, but I can’t wake up every morning pining for you.

Y/n understood. The feelings were strong, but it couldn’t be like this. Both of them had their own dreams and would do anything to achieve them.

I understand Yuri. Which is why i think we should give this relationship some time. You are the right person, but it’s too early. We can both achieve our dreams and pick up where we left off. We have to chase our own rainbows.

Yuri thought about that. Skating was something he loved, but he also loved Y/n. Y/n loved her piano, but she also loved him. The relationship was nice, but he wanted to win gold, and a relationship wasn’t what he needed right now. She didn’t need it either. He nodded.

It’s probably a better idea to get our careers more on track before this. But I want you to know that I do love you. I love you so much. Never forget that.

Y/n grabbed his hand and stroked it. I love you too. More than anything.

Y/n looked down at his hand and smiled as he raised an eyebrow. What are you smiling at? Y/n pointed down at his hand.

The line I showed you that day, the one left by your nails. It’s gone. You haven’t clenched your fists as much. She lifted her hand to his face. The creases are gone too. You’ve improved Yuri! She cupped his cheek. Yuri smiled.

It’s all because of you.

You showed me my rainbow.

Y/n came to see Yuri off at the airport when he left to compete. Her flight to England would leave the next day. She grabbed Yuri’s hand right before he boarded the plane.

Don’t forget to text me. You have my number. Just because we’re on a break doesn’t mean you’re not my friend anymore, pretty boy.

Yuri laughed. I thought you stopped with that nickname.

Never, pretty boy.

Okay, I promise, now my flight will leave without me.

Fine, I’ll let you go.

As she let go and he was about to leave, she grabbed him again. He turned around.

What now?

It’s just… I love you. Don’t forget that.

Yuri rolled his eyes. I love you too idiot, and I couldn’t forget you if I tried. Now I have to board my plane.

She nodded. Go Yuri. Go chase that rainbow and don’t you dare stop.

Yuri walked to the flight attendant who then scanned his boarding pass. He looked back to see Y/n waving at him. He waved back and forced himself to leave, not looking back. Y/n did the same. It hurt for both of them, but they knew it was for the best.

4 years later…

Yuri laced on his skates while he thought about the girl waiting in the audience for him. He thought about all he had to go through those past 4 years without her. There were days when he woke up feeling horrible, needing her comfort, but unable to receive it. There were even days when he hated her. Scrolling through his Instagram to see a picture of her standing a bit too close to a male friend. He even tried to move on a couple times, agreeing to small dates with the women who flirted with him at parties. But every night, he would come home dejected because those women were not her. They knew nothing except his physical appearance. They didn’t know about his fuzzy pair of orange cat socks and they didn’t tease him about the fact that he believed in conspiracy theories because he never told them any of that stuff. He couldn’t tell them any of that stuff.

They weren’t her.

They never would be.

He couldn’t ever find someone like her, she was one of a kind.

There were days when he thought he would never feel love again.

But there was something that kept him going.

Six words

I love you. Don’t forget that.

The message she sent after he saw that photo ranting about how annoying that male classmate was, the good-luck FaceTime she gave him before every serious performance, him doing the same to her. All the little things kept him afloat.

And most of all, the promise she made him.

He was talking to her late at night, trying not to get caught by Yakov. He was ranting about how the music for his performances just never felt right to him. Yuri’s eyes were beginning to droop out of exhaustion and she saw his signs getting slightly more sloppy, he was getting sleepier. He was lying down, and as she continued signing, she saw his eyes close as he fell fast asleep. She smiled at the sight of sleeping Yuri before her. She didn’t know that he was only half asleep, so he could still hear. She did something she hadn’t done since the night she showed him his rainbow.

She spoke to him.

It was only 11 words, a promise that she didn’t expect him to hear, but he did.

“Yuri Plisetsky, I promise, one day, i will play for you.”

She then ended the call to let him sleep, not realizing that he heard you.

He kept that promise in mind during every performance, giving them all his best no matter how he felt. He was going to achieve his dreams so that he could see her again.

And he made it.

He won gold at the Olympics, breaking many records in the process.

She had become a critically acclaimed pianist, performing in a world-touring orchestra and teaching children when she had time.

Their dreams were achieved.

And now, she was there in the audience, about to see him for the first time in person after 4 years.

He still loved her.

She still loved him.

And she was keeping her promise.

He skated onto the rink, ignoring the crowd cheering and looking for only one face.

There she was,

Right in the front row, closest to the rink.

She had changed.

She no longer wore the gloves, and she didn’t carry around the red lollipop.

But it was still her.

As his name was being announced, Y/n and Yuri looked at each other.

He signed one thing to her, something he wished he could say to her again every day after he left.

I love you

Y/n signed it back

I love you too. Now kick some ass out there. I didn’t record this piece for nothing

Yuri smiled, she really hadn’t changed much at all.

He listened to the announcer.

“Now, we have Olympic gold medalist,Yuri Plisetsky, skating to “Rainbow”, an original song by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, written and conducted by Y/n L/n with a piano solo from her as well.”

Yuri took a deep breath as the starting notes of the song rung in his ears.

It was amazing.

He threw himself into the performance, every movement perfect, the love perfectly clear in every breath he took. It was the best performance of his career.

Because she was there.

As the last few notes rang out while he was in his ending pose, he was only looking at her and she was only looking at him.

They were the only two people in the world.

The score didn’t matter to him now, it didn’t matter to either of them.

She got out of her seat and threw her leg over the barrier separating you from the rink. Y/n knew it was reckless to get on the rink without skates, but she didn’t care.

Yuri skated over and caught her as she jumped over the barrier into his arms.

He was still holding her, so he couldn’t sign. Y/n read his lips instead.

“You idiot.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too idiot. You really couldn’t wait, could you?”

“I’ve waited 4 years. That’s enough.”

She grabbed his face and roughly kissed him, still in his arms, as the audience cheered.

“I kept my promise, didn’t I, I’m still here.” Yuri said with a smirk.

“Yes, you did. Why did you chase after me anyways?”

Yuri grinned.

“After all the rain comes the rainbow. i never stop chasing my rainbows."

[kitty0boy]

Marichat May Day 9 prompt: Blanket

As per my usual fics, Marinette is 17, Adrien is 18. Nothing smutty, just goofs being goofy.

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It had been a long ass day.

5 am photo shoot, 6 am akuma attack, 6:30 am back to the photo shoot because they “couldn’t seem to capture his likeness today”, 7 am they gave up, 8:45 am rushed off to school, 12 pm another attack, 3 pm photo shoot.

Now finally, at 5 pm, he was back home and able to take a break. Much to Plagg’s disappointment however, Adrien didn’t feel like sitting around at home.

“How is it that you have so much energy? I’m exhausted and I’ve been sitting in your bag all day.”

Adrien laughed at this remark, “I’ve had to sit at home and do nothing for 14 years of my life, I’ve got time to make up haven’t I?”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Time that can be made up after I eat my well deserved camembert, go and shower or something. Listen to the, what was it you said? ‘The model in you’.” With that he flew into the smelly cupboard by his desk.

He did have a point. The hairspray from this afternoon made his hair stick up in odd angles. Today’s theme had been, ‘Punk Rock’ for the Agreste, Jagged Stone collaboration. His father and Jagged teamed up for his new album debut to create a new clothing line of merchandise and stuff like that. Adrien hadn’t really been paying much attention to that bit.

His attention was drawn towards his cute little classmate who, by personal invitation of Jagged Stone himself, had helped his father design Jagged’s on stage looks.

Marinette was involved for the sole purpose of “a youth opinion” which meant that she did most of the designing herself while Gabriel’s company did all the handy work by making all the garments. Of course she was supervised by Gabriel when it came to the concepts, but as his father had admitted over dinner, “She didn’t need much of my help. Audrey was right in saying that she has potential. Possibly, more potential than myself.” To which Adrien had beamed, proud of his princess.

By the time Adrien had finished in the shower, Plagg had completely emptied the stock of camembert for the next month. “We need to start limiting you camembert intake. I can hear my bank account screaming.” Plagg burped “You’re famous and rich, as long as you keep that up you’ll be fine.” Adrien crossed his arms, “I might not be rich and famous forever you know. How old is Master Fu now, 190? You might not have unlimited camembert when I get into the 70s.” Plagg smirked. “You will when you defeat Hawkmoth and people find out who you and Ladybug are. The pair of you will be rolling in riches for life.” Adrien shrugged. “Maybe I’ll refuse to take them, being the humble hero that I am.” Plagg frowned.

He laughed, “Well Plagg, how about we go check in on your favourite mouse hmm?” Plagg bolted out of the cupboard and shrieked “Hurry up and transform Adrien.” He blinked. “Wow Plagg, I didn’t know you could actually like a person more than cheese.” Plagg crossed his little arms. “Well the sooner you and Marinette get together, the sooner I’ll have pastries with my cheese. Besides, you already know you’re my favourite stinky sock.” Adrien’s face contorted in gratitude at hearing his approval of Marinette, and slight disgust at being called a stinky sock. “Thanks Plagg, Claws Out!”

The journey wasn’t far. A hop, skip, and a jump later he landed on Marinette’s balcony. He stomped on the floor to get her attention but he didn’t need to. The second his hands touched the balcony railing, something heavy came crashing down, pinning him to the floor. He thought it might have been Marinette at first, but she wasn’t wide enough to cover his entire outstretched form. He looked around and saw her peep out from behind her lounge chair with a great “Surprise!” He smiled

“Hello there purrincess, fancy seeing you here.” She strode over to him and kneeled down behind his head. “I had a feeling that you might pawsibly show up.”

“So, this is a nice blanket you’ve chucked on me, did you make it?” She shook her head, “I bought it. It’s a weighted blanket.” He laughed, “Yes I could tell, I’ve never had one before but it feels heavy.” She stood and pulled the blanket off of him. “Imagine if the news saw this. Paris’ superhero, defeated by a weighted blanket.” He propped himself on his elbows. “And Paris’ prettiest girl. Here we quote him.” And he stood to continue, despite her pink face. “I simply couldn’t resist her charms.” He dramatically draped the back of his hand over his forehead. “I fell under her spell and she trapped me, I’m sorry that I’ve let Paris down but I would do it again.”

Marinette seemed to have taken his word to heart, she threw the blanket back towards him with strength he never knew she was capable and he got hit square in the chest. He fell to the floor again. “Even see how, how her grace wounds me, a fatal blow to the chest.” She huffed and, it seemed despite herself, she smiled. “Oh come on Marinette, just teasing. No need to get huffy with me.” She crossed her arms and turned.

He pulled the blanket off and snuck towards her while her back was turned. In one swift motion, he wrapped the blanket around her front and behind his back so the were both wrapped up. She gave a startled “What?” Before he fell backwards making her fall with him. She squeaked as they hit the floor, making sure she didn’t get hurt of course.

His arms had remainder outside of the ‘purrito’ so he placed them on her stomach. “Chat Noir!” She huffed and squirmed under the blanket. He laughed. “Heavy, isn’t it little lady.” She turned over inside so she could look at him, which made him also squirm because it was kinda ticklish. “Foul play kitty.” He ruffled her hair.

“So, how’s the collaboration going? Gabriel Agreste’s little assistant, big big oppurtunity.” She beamed at him and went into full detail. How Jagged Stone had come to her house to ask, how Gabriel had an interview with her and how pleased he was to work with her, how she and Adrien worked on concepts after she took his measurements, how they played UMS after, how she and Gabriel went over the concepts and gave her tips. He of course knew all of this but she was so excited about it. “I’m proud of you little mouse, this is a really big achievement. Next thing you know, you’ll be strolling down red carpets to your own fashion shows.” She flushed and thanked him.

“Anyways, how do you purrpose you’ll get out of this one?” She smirked, “You gave that away while I was turning,” he felt her fingers on either side of his ribs. “I didn’t know cats were ticklish.” He tried his hardest not to laugh as she teasingly poked him. Then she went for it, he squirmed and giggled until he snapped back to his senses and rolled them over.

He grabbed both of Marinette’s wrists and held them above her head with one hand. “Payback time princess.” And he started tickling her. She shrieked, squirmed, and kicked under him. “C-cat!” She tried to protest and bargain with him but to no avail. It wasn’t until he heard a gaps from the trap door, that he stopped.

Who should intrude but the entire gang of secrets. Rose, Juleka, Mylène, Alix, and Alya all stared at their very suggestive position.

Chat Noir had her hands pinned above her head and was straddling her. Her hair was messy and her shirt slightly crumbled and exposing part of her stomach. His face went pink as he looked from a laughing Marinette, to her friends who were taking pictures and cooing at the pair of them.

Unbothered, Marinette turned to her friends and said “Help me out girls! He’s ticklish!” To which he was tackled by all five of them, he howled with laughter. “S-six against one! That’s unfair.” Then they scattered as Marinette flopped on him, blanket in hand, and wrapped him up. She sat on his back and held the opening of the blanket closed. “Good work girls. Cat’s in the bag.” He turned his head to look at them, his cheek against the floor of the balcony. The six of them were high giving and shooting Marinette suspicious looks.

“So Marinette, care to explain this?” Alix crossed her arms. Marinette gave her a quizzical look. “Explain what? Why me and Chat Noir are having a tickle fight on my balcony?”

Alya approached her. “Well to start, your lip gloss is smudged, your hair is a mess, your shirt is crumbled and we found you and Chat Noir in a very suggestive position when we came up.”

Marinette went slightly pink before recalling what had happened. Rose chirped “Oh, that’s so romantic.” And Juleka, who had become more outspoken with the help of her girlfriend, crossed her arms and smirked. “Maybe we should give them their alone time.” Mylène piped up. “We do have to proceed with celebratory girls night though. After all, Jagged Stone and Gabriel Agreste, that’s a crazy good achievement.” Chat Noir smiled, “That’s what I was saying!” He panted slightly, recovering from the laughter.

“Do you want to stay cat?” Marinette asked. He looked up at her. “Well I’d love to but I don’t want to intrude on your celebration.” All at once the girls protested and encouraged him to stay, declaring that he wouldn’t get in the way and that they’d love to have him join in the celebration. He wouldn’t fall for this though. He had the nagging feeling that the girls would turn Marinette’s celebration party into a Chat Noir interview night, he didn’t want the attention pulled away from his princess.

Marinette hopped off him and helped him go his feet again. He brushed dust off of his suit while Marinette held his hand. “No seriously girls it’s alright. My Kwami is bound to be starving by now.” Marinette shot him a sharp look. “How long have you been transformed?” He raised his hands in surrender. “Not long, not long. I transformed and came straight here. Besides he was really eager to see you Mari.” She gapped. “He was? But he’s only worked with me once.” Chat chuckled. “Not sure, you must have left a good impression on him. Besides,” he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “he says that the sooner we get together, the longer he gets to enjoy pastries with his cheese.”

He stood straight up and stared at her. To his surprise she wasn’t flustered in the slightest, in fact she started to laugh. “Well then kitty,” and before he had time to think she pulled him back towards her so their noses brushed, “we shouldn’t keep him waiting.” His face went scarlet. He never thought a whisper could make his face burn. He considered teasing her back, but before he could straighten his expression, there was a cough beside them.

“So should we leave and come back later or..” Alix stated. She already knew Adrien’s identity and was sure she would tease him about this later. He grinned seeing Marinette’s face who was an identical shade of scarlet that his had been seconds before. “Well I’d better be of then.” He wrapped an arm around Marinette’s shoulder and bent over so his face was sideways in front of hers. He dropped his voice to a whisper, “We can celebrate alone later.” Her face flooded with more colour than he thought possible and she buried her face in her hands.

He smiled and gave her a peck on the forehead before addressing her friends. “It was lovely to see you all again, I’ll be taking my leave now. Enjoy your little party.” The he leapt onto the railing, gave a salute, and jumped way.

-

“Kid, if you want to visit your princess undisturbed, then do it on a day where her friends won’t show up.” Adrien crossed his arms and smiled. “Well we’ve agreed on your pastries at least.” Before the two could settle in, Adrien’s phone chimed. “Oh Plagg, looks like we can’t relax at home just yet.” Plagg groaned. “Not another akuma, I’ll go kill Hawkmoth myself if he doesn’t stop taking away my free time.”

“Nope, not Hawkmoth this time. Girls night has turned into a party and Adrien just got an invitation.” Plagg groaned again. “Can’t we just skip this time?” Adrien shook his head and transformed for the fourth time that day and made his way back to the bakery, where he detransformed and saw his princess again.

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That’s all for day 9. I think you’ll notice that the prompts aren’t the entire focus of my stories but they are a part of them. I like them better this way.

Thanks for reading!