#not the fics like: HER LONG HAIR or HER WAVES OF *insert hair color* WERE MAJESTIC or whatever

[babygorewhore]

Scream for me

Eddie Munson x fem OC

Summery: Eddie Munson, a music major at college is secretly in love with Sammy, or as he calls her, Cobain. But he’s never gotten the chance to ask her out especially with a masked murderer roaming the streets of Hawkins. But he’ll find that the killer is much closer than he thinks.

AU-Scream Universe 🔪

WC. 6k.

This is a shared universe with my girl, Dolly @xxhellfirebunnyxx Our love for these movies and Stranger things inspired us to create our own characters for these fics. Please keep in mind these OCs have self inserted inspired looks but they are still readable. If you’re a scream fan, we’re sure you’ll appreciate the quotes. Eddie refers to her as Cobain. But her name is Sammy.

Warnings! 18plus! Violence! Details of murders! Character is killed off. Slight mention of deadbeat dad, Eddie is a perv. Male masterbation, hints at female masterbation, knife play, oral male recieving, degrading, spit, Dom Oc, sub Eddie, unprotected PnV

“I can’t believe Chrissy is dead, man.” Jonathan sighed as he adjusted his camera bag. Eddie gave him a side glance as they walked on the sidewalk to get to their next classes.

“Yeah, me either. It’s fucking insane.” Eddie answered, resisting the urge to look at his phone again. The images and news report of her corpse was the hot topic of Hawkins and the college.

This was the third murder of this killer stalking the streets. None of them were even connected until Chrissy.

His father and Jonathan’s father were murdered a year ago. A few weeks apart. He wished he could say either of them were sad about it. But they were all killed with a large hunting knife. Each more violent than the last. His uncle Wayne told him about the murder and Eddie attended the funeral. Barely feeling anything except relief. Jonathan was the same way. But he worried about Will’s state of mind.

Eddie and Jonathan started to part ways in the entry way of the building. “I’ll see you after class, Eddie.”

He sped walked to his music class, he was still in theory. Eddie wanted to erase how he used to be in high school. So he made sure to always be early.

After hours of theory, many notes and contemplating if he was even learning anything, it ended and he was free to hang out with his small circle of friends.

Well.

To hang out with her.

It was embarrassing really. How much he liked her. Eddie tried to always wear his nicest jeans and band shirts. Even if he was teased for being a simp by the asshole Harrington. Eddie breathed in the fresh air and made his way to the spot his friends claimed earlier in the semester. He chewed his lips in anticipation as he rounded the corner.

His breath caught in his throat and he almost dropped his bag. Eddie always felt like he got hit by a bus when he saw her. She was walking to the spot. Two benches next to the courtyard. He tried to smile normally. But he probably looked he was in a toothpaste commercial.

Samantha and her best friend Willow walked together arm and arm. But everyone called her Sammy and Willow was Bunny. But Eddie had his own name for her. Something no one else had.

“Hey, Cobain. Hey bunny.” He waved and they both did too.

Cobain’s clothes were always dark. Loose, comfortable sweaters, patterned pants or dresses. She always wore converse or combat boots. Her hair was bright pink and curly. Her curves filled out her current dark green sweater that reached her thigh. Her eyes coated in thick eyeliner.

Bunny was the opposite. Smaller in height and figure. Her white hair was long and she always wore light colors. Like an angel. She had big doe eyes that Jonathan was obsessed with. Bunny was Jonathan’s girl. She just didn’t know it yet.

Eddie called Sammy cobain because the first time he saw her, she wore a Nirvana shirt and she stood up to Jason when he asked her to name more than three songs in the courtyard when she was trying to find a spot to read.

But then the dick decided to get aggressive and Eddie scared him off. He was obsessed already when Sammy gave him a dimpled smile. “Uh. Thanks, Eddie.”

“How-you already-“

“Come on. Everyone knows the most metal guy in Corraded Coffin. I’ve come to a couple sets.”

He immediately fell in love with her. Eddie slung an arm around her shoulders, slouching down.

“Well, my lady. I certainly can’t tease you about Nirvana, Ms. Cobain. Not when she’s a fan.” She told him quietly her real name.

Eddie allowed both girls to sit before he did and he slumped beside Cobain. Her lips were coated in gloss. And it was sticking out of her bag. Their knees touched and he was getting warm. He kept glancing at her chest. It was rising and falling softly. He wanted to squeeze them and fuck-

“How are you ladies? Did you guys stay awake during class?” He tried to focus on her eyes but it was really fucking hard by the way she kept adjusting her silver heart necklace.

Bunny and Cobain snorted. “I tried not to freak out when I checked my phone.” She tucked a pink strand behind her ear and Bunny held her arm tighter.

“It’s so scary. This guy is getting crazy with killing people. I-I don’t ever want to be alone.”

“You girls don’t need to worry. You’re always together and besides. You have m-“

“Hey guys,” Eddie wanted to scream at the sound of Robins voice but both Bunny and Cobain grinned and ushered the rest of the group over.

Robin, her girlfriend Marina, Steve and Jonathan settled around.

Robin started babbling, “Another murder? This dude is officially considered a serial killer. And did you notice-“

“Fuck, Robin. Can we at least sit down before you start talking about the gross details?” Steve cut her off and earned a small glare from Marina.

“Nice seeing you guys,” Eddie moved over as Robin and Marina wedged themselves on either side of Cobain and then himself.

Both girls smiled at the other girls but Bunny gave Jonathan a shy wave as he sat next to Steve on the other bench.

“Go ahead, Robin.” Cobain told her. Fuck she was always so nice.

“Thank you, Sammy. Did you notice how Chrissy is the only victim who’s not directly related to anyone in this group? Like the pattern that connected the killings is also separating them?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get that either. Is there a point in there?” Steve called out and crossed his arms. Eddie rolled his eyes. King Steve involved in a conversation that wasn’t about him must have been painful.

“I’m saying that it’s probably a distraction! I mean imagine how strong you have to be to slice and gut somebody!” Cobain and Bunny cringed. Eddie had the urge to cover her ears.

“God-how do you…gut someone?” Cobain asked and glanced at Eddie.

“You take a knife, and you slit them from groin to sternum.” Steve answered with a smirk.

“Hey, it’s called tact you fuck rag.” Eddie interrupted. Deciding to throw a dig at him, he added. “Didn’t you use to date Chrissy?”

“Yeah, for like two seconds. She wasn’t crazy like that at first.” Steve always shoved back.

“Didn’t she dump you for a chance at Jason?” Marina added while Robin held her leg.

“Oh, I didn’t hear about that.” Eddie challenged.

“She’s full of shit. I only decided to pop in because with all this bullshit there’s probably going to be a curfew. So in a couple days I’m throwing a party. Bring a lot of booze and whatever.”

“Are the police aware that you dated the victim?” Robin adjusted in her spot, throwing her arm around Marina and Bunny.

“What? Are you saying I killed her?” Steve scoffed and adjusted his stupid hair.

“It would make a lot of sense actually.”

“No, he couldn’t have. It would take a strong man to do something like that that.” Cobain’s response made everyone laugh.

Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off her in that moment, her dimples and her pink hair falling around her shoulders. As the laughter died down, he noticed in her open bag that she had a variety of pens. Without thinking, he was quick to snatch one. Just one so it wouldn’t be noticed.

Eddie fucking wished he could say it was the only thing he stole from her. “Eddie, do you mind giving me a ride home? Bunny has plans with Jonathan.” Cobain turned to face him head on and Eddie couldn’t help but almost choke.

“It’s okay if you can’t-“ Cobain went to say but he shook his head.

“No! No! I’d love to! My chariot waits for you mlady. And I assure to Bunny she will arrive safely later as I assume you will be having a sleepover?”

“Thank you, Eddie. I know that you’re usually at band practice but-“

He went to tell her that he would lay in traffic for her but then she laid her head on his shoulder. Granted it was only three seconds. Eddie instinctively went to wrap his arm around her but she stood up. Giving Bunny a quick squeeze.

“I’m ready when you are, Eddie.”

Eddie tried to think of rational reasons to tell her why his seat would look slightly damp or why he would have to quickly shove a pile into a corner. Which would include…pens…a pair of underwear he stole…a bra and he was almost ashamed of it but there was also a guitar pick that she touched.

“Uh, just one second, Cobain, let me do something real quick.” Eddie ripped open the backseat of his car and swept all his stolen shit to the corner and quickly stood tall.

She was glancing at the window and he circled around the car. Opening the passenger seat. “Here you go,” Eddie knew he needed to dial it back as she ducked her pink head down and climbed into the car.

“Pull it together, Munson.” He whispered to himself before getting in on his side.

Eddie automatically went to press the power button for music before he stopped. No, he wanted to talk to her. Not listen-

“Hey, uh, Eddie, it’s okay if you wanna play music. We don’t have to talk-“

“No, no, no,no, it’s not everyday I get to take home my favorite Sammy Bear.” He winced a little. Okay, calm down. It’s not the first time he had taken her home but he rarely ever had her alone.

He started cruising down the streets of Hawkins, hyper aware of every move she made in the seat and the rumble of their casual conversation. Every move she made was fucking hot. The way her legs were slightly parted and she tapped her fingers on her thighs. Eddie wanted to just ask her out. Like a normal person. But she was out of his league. By a lot.

He was just some freak who manage to finally graduate and decent enough grades to pass enough to get into college. Eddie was proud, it was more than his dad ever said he was capable of. But he was a bit older than the rest and he didn’t have as nice of a car and he had to live in a dorm. And work part time at a body shop. Eddie gritted at the thought but he wasn’t like fucking King Steve who had everything handed to him.

Cobain was an English student. An honor student who tutored, volunteered, led the book club and even helped the music classes when they had to go to the auditorium. The short girl would help them with equipment. She wasn’t from the trailer park and she would never look at him that way-

“I’m so nervous about all these killings, Eddie. I mean…I know Chrissy was like-“

“A bitch?” Eddie finished, glancing at her and his pants tightened at the new attention she was giving him.

“Eh, yeah. But I’m just worried about what’s gonna happen. Steve’s throwing that party but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go.” Cobain twirled the end of one of her curls.

“You’re gonna sit this one out?” He asked.

“No, Bunny really wants to go and I do too. I’m just scared that’s all. God, I’m really rambling aren’t I?”

“It’s fine! P-please keep rambling!” Eddie cleared his throat. He was getting closer to her house. “I’m glad you asked me for a ride, I feel like we don’t really get to talk that much. Which, of course we’re in different classes, but you’re so cool-“

“No, I’m glad you could. I like being around you.” Eddie almost stopped steering. She said what? He was so dirty. All those times…he rushed home, holding one of those fucking pens in his hand and jerked off so hard it hurt. Spilling all over it. Which brought him to the second reality. The other time he had been at her house, he pretended he needed to go to the bathroom and snuck into her room.

He didn’t have time to admire it-he couldn’t even tell you what color her bedding was but he was digging in her drawers like a madman and he pocketed a pair of black panties and a pink bra was inside his shirt when he rushed back downstairs.

And he had to drive normally in her driveway. But he couldn’t get over what she said. Cobain…liked being around him? “

“Hey Eddie, I know this may be a weird question, but I’m dying to know. Do you have any music recs? I need something new to get me through studying. Mr. Hopper is killing me with all the essays-do you mind if you text me your Spotify?”

Eddie’s heart stopped. “Uh-absolutely! Here!” He too quickly snatched her extended phone with the skull phone case and dialed his number. He was going to pass out. His fingers were over her phone, something she touched constantly.

He handed it back, brushing against her warm digits.

“Thanks so much, Eddie. I hope I won’t annoy you with updates on my opinions.” Cobain smiled.

“You could never annoy me, Cobain. Besides, any opportunity I have to branch you out, it’s my pleasure.”

She got out the car then, waving goodbye and Eddie like a dumbass hesitated too long and returned the gesture when she turned her back.

Eddie couldn’t get home faster, he probably slammed his breaks way too hard as he raced into his dorm. He pried his jeans off, boxers not even halfway down his thighs before he crashed down on his mattress. His hand still felt tingly from touching hers as he started stroking his precum leaking cock with that hand.

His hard dick twitched as he thought about how it would have felt like to pound her into a crying mess against the seat. Cover the seats in cum and mark her as his. All he fucking want was her. His little Cobain.

Giving her his number? Asking for music recommendations? His knuckles were growing wetter, his forehead dampening as he grew closer. He couldn’t even last as he thought about pulling her pretty pink hair.

“Fuck-“ His core released a flood over his hand, sheets and his barely removed boxers. He panted heavily as he pulled his hand away from his dick.

Eddie imagined it was her not his own palm. Hers were smaller than his but they would be like heaven on his cock.

He sloppily cleaned himself with the fabric of his boxers when his cellphone pinged. Eddie nearly dropped his device as he quickly unlocked to see if Cobain was calling him already.

But it was an unknown number.

He hesitated but figured it may be a student who got his number from his professor.

“Hello?” He still sounded out of breath.

“Hellooo, Edward.” What the fuck? Eddie shot up from laying down. The voice was altered and male. Well…it was just weird.

“Uh, yeah? Who’s this?”

“Me? I’m just a passerby. Someone who’s interested in watching people. Do you like watching people, Eddie?” Oh Jesus H Christ.

“Oh my fucking god. Are you the killer? Fuck no.” He hung up. Eddie scrambled to get his pants, when his phone rang. Again. And again.

He grabbed his phone, slamming it to his ear. “WHAT?”

“Don’t you fucking hang up on me again, you fucking perv. Or I’ll gut you like a fish, got it?” He choked on his spit.

“W-who-“

“Aw, Eddie. What’s wrong? Are you surprised I know your dirty little secret? You shouldn’t be. I mean-its a little…stalker much isn’t it?”

“Me? A stalker? You’re the one going around killing people, you piece of shit.” Eddie grit out, shoving around his clothing and other things to make sure there weren’t any cameras.

“Hey, don’t tell me you’re not glad those people are gone, Eddie. If they weren’t, your little girlfriend wouldn’t have…taken a ride.” He stopped short. Gripping his phone tighter.

“If you hurt her-I swear I’m going-“

“How sweet. Willing to fight for a girl you’re too scared to ask out. Mmm, Eddie. Maybe someone else will do it for you and you can take action.”

“Like what?! Kill someone?”

“It’s just good old fashioned revenge.”

The killer hung up and Eddie shuddered. What the fuck was that? Who the fuck is this killer? And how did they know all of this?

“I can’t believe he called you.” Cobain whispered as he walked with her after class. “Are you okay? He threatened you.” She wrapped her hand around his sweatshirt covered bicep.

Eddie sucked in a breath as he recalled the way he came from just the touch of her hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little freaked out is all. He’s not gonna fucking do anything.”

“Do you know anyone else who’s gotten a call?” She held onto him still as they strolled outside. No doubt going to part ways.

It was on the tip of his tongue to see if she would let him take her tonight. But she always went with Bunny.

“Yeah. Jonathan did. Threatening and everything.” Eddie grit between his teeth. “He hasn’t called you or anything yet right?”

She didn’t answer and he swung around. Hands finding her shoulders. Her big eyes were glassy. Pink curls falling across her forehead. Eddie pushed them away with his fingers. “Cobain. Did he call you?”

She audibly swallowed and pulled out her phone. “He didn’t call me. But he’s been…texting me. At least I think it’s him.” He snatched her phone, panic and anger rising.

He scowled at the disgusting messages.

“I’ll slit that slutty neck of yours.”

“You stop talking to me and I’ll kill everyone you love. And then finish you off.”

“Maybe if I chop off those hands of yours you’ll-“ Eddie stopped short at reading out loud when Cobain realized the rest of that sentence. She took her phone back quickly.

Eddie knew it was such bad timing. The rest of the text talked about how she made herself cum. Yesterday. He imagined her small fingers circling her swollen clit before creamy wetness dripped out of her sweet pussy. If he wasn’t with her right now he would go to her bedroom and steal another pair of panties. But then he snapped out of it. She was scared.

“It’s so awful, Eddie. What if he hurts me?” Tears pricked her eyes and he took a risk and hugged her. Resting his head on hers. His hand rubbed her back, feeling the fabric of her black sweater.

“I’d never let anyone hurt you, Cobain. You know that? Maybe you-shouldn’t be alone? I can take you home again?” He was itching to confess.

“Oh, Eddie. You’re so sweet to me.” She pulled back, eyeliner slightly smudged. “but Bunny and I are always together. But…maybe we can hang out at the party? I mean besides. Tonight I have to tell you what I thought about music.”

Oh god he was going to pass out. Right there on the side walk. “Are you-do you want to-“

“I don’t wanna move too fast. I think I’m still a little traumatized by the high school incident.” She chuckled.

Eddie was almost bouncing off the walls with excitement. This was almost a date. Almost. But. “High school incident?”

Sammy shrugged. “It’s a crazy story.”

Eddie nudged her with his boot against her converse shoe.

“I like crazy stories.”

She sighed and shifted on her feet. He loved her green trap pants as she fidgeted with the pockets. “Chrissy and I used to be-I guess enemies? For some reason she made my life hell. She made fun of how I dressed, my grades and she wouldn’t leave me alone. Well, finally I told her off when she dumped her lunch on me. And to get me back-“ She clenched her jaw. “She told everyone that her boyfriend cheated on her. With me.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. How did he not know this? He wasn’t surprised though. Cobain hated drama and confrontation. He felt even more protective of her. “Hey. It’s okay. If you want to take time-just hang out more then I’m more than okay with that, Cobain. But I really like you. And I have for a while. I just didn’t want to make you feel-weird.”

Cobain leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. He saw stars and stopped breathing from her soft lips. He wanted to kiss her but both of their phones buzzed loudly. Like an alarm.

He pulled out his phone.

“Attention students. Classes will be suspended until further notice due to lasts nights crime. Please be aware of any updates. Stay safe and stay with others.”

Another murder? He frowned. No one heard anything. “Someone else was killed.”

Cobain shivered and apparently read the news article. She gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. “Oh god…Eddie. It’s Nancy.” She whispered. “She was-brutally killed. Stabbed so many times. Just like Chrissy. And they-they have a name for this guy.” She looked up. “They’re calling him Ghostface.”

“Of course. Giving this son of a bitch some title. Like he’s famous. Maybe the party-maybe Steve will cancel.”

“I doubt it. As if he stop one of his parties. And besides. Everyone being together in one place is a good idea. I have to go find Bunny. I know she’s probably so scared.”

“Okay, yeah. Of course. I’ll see you tonight, Cobain.” Cobain gave him a smile before she sped walked ahead.

Eddie exhaled. A whirlwind happened. Murder. A almost date. And now…what?

Steve knew how to throw parties, one of is common bragging points as Eddie pulled into an open space on the street across the house. Music blared from inside and it was some hip hop playlist that he dreaded listening to. But really he was going for Cobain. He searched for any sign of her car or bunny’s. Jonathan was here already.

Eddie closed his car door with hip as he walked up to the door holding two cases of beer and he waited for someone to open the door. The man of the hour swung it open, Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “My man. Join us. Fucking perfect, you brought more booze.” He was already slightly slurring.

Eddie forced himself to do an attempted smile as Steve snatched the cases and marched into the kitchen. “Who wants more?” Cheers sounded from the too crowded house.

He didn’t give a fuck about that, right now he needed to find her. Eddie wore a nirvana shirt and his dark jeans. He wanted to show up in something only they understood. Eddie walked into the living room, no sign of her either.

“Hey! Eddie! Come join us!” He turned to see Robin and Marina sitting on the couch. Her girlfriend sitting on her lap. “We’re having a really important discussion. Oh hey, Sammy!”

He whipped around, his boots clinging to the carpet and he almost fell like a fucking idiot.

Cobain was wearing a three quarter sleeve dark brown oversized sweater. Showing off her rose wrist tattoo, thorn thumb tattoo and her matching butterflies with Bunny. Her legs were covered with ripped tights and her converse. He walked over to her and smiled. She did too. He slightly narrowed his eyes at a small red spot on the corner of her makeup covered eye. But he quickly forgot.

“Hey, Cobain, can-I get you-I mean can I get you a beer?” He cleared his throat to try and cover up his stuttering but she was so pretty.

“Yeah, I’d love that thank you.” She winked. “I’m gonna sit over there, I’ll save you a spot.” He blinked a few times at her slightly bolder voice.

“Uh yeah. That would be good.” She raised up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Eddie’s eyes widened as she brushed past him as she made her way to the couch. He assumed Jonathan was with bunny as he sped walked to the couch. Wanting to get back to his girl.

But he saw Bunny whispering in Steve’s ear. Steve was smirking as she twirled her hair. Eddie frowned. But he minded his business as he got two bottles and came back to where the group was. Cobain was sitting on a loveseat and padded a place next to her. He probably walked too quickly and almost dropped the glass bottles and he clumsily plopped next to her. Their legs pressed close together.

He decided to try and be bold with his hand but she beat him to it. Her palm brushed against his knee. She looked at him with her doe eyes and long lashes. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah of course. I-I like it.” He was so excited as he twisted the caps off. “For you, Cobain.”

“Okay, okay enough of the lovey dovey shit!” Robin interrupted and stood up. “Except for you, Cherry.” She dipped down to kiss Marinas lips before shooting up and frantically waving around her half empty beer. “Listen. If we’re gonna survive this spree of this psycho. We need to understand the rules.”

“Rules? At a party?” Steve proudly puffed his chest as he stepped in the living room. “That’s the last thing on my mind, Robs.” She scoffed and flipped him off.

“Yes rules, Dingus. The first one, you can NEVER have sex!” Everyone booed and laughed. Cobain and Eddie glanced at each other, and she squeezed his knee tighter. He set his ring covered palm on top of hers and traced the tattoo with his thumb.

“I think you’re a little late for that,” Steve smirked.

“Number two! You can never drink or do drugs!” Then everyone laughed harder, including Eddie himself as he raised his beer and remembered the weed kept in an extremely secret stash in his car.

Cobain started chugging her drink and Eddie started flushing. Something was different about her tonight. His shy little Cobain was getting out of her shell and he wanted to fucking kiss her so badly. Her throat gulped and he wanted to suck on her skin. Leave marks of his territory. If they weren’t in front of people-

She started to rise, her hand running against a strand of his messy waves. He opened his mouth to protest but Robin continued.

“And third! Never, ever under any circumstances say I’ll be right back. Because you won’t be back.”

Cobain turned at the edge of the door leading to the garage, “I’m getting another beer, you want one?”

Robin absentmindedly nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Cobain stuck out her arms, “I’LL BE RIGHT BACK!”

Eddie burst out laughing as Robin gasped. But a part of him sunk because he felt like she kept disappearing. But he wasn’t going to pout. He was going to wait for her. Like he promised himself he would. He glanced down after feeling his phone buzz. He sighed, hoping it wasn’t his uncle needing something. But he choked when he saw an unknown number.

“Looks like you’re going to break a rule, perverted little bitch.”

It was almost too easy as Sammy silently slipped on the gown and met her best friend in the garage. She smirked as she hid in the corner of behind the door. Bunny was in her robe, after leaving a shit scared Steve locked in the bedroom. Forbidding him to scream. Jason was coming; one of the men who bullied them. Tormented Sammy. He would pay the price. Revenge was very sweet.

The door opened, and they nodded at each other. Signaling the start of their conquest.

Jason was rummaging through the fridge, getting an arm full of beers wearing his jersey he refused to part with. His sneakers squeaked as he turned around. But Bunny was standing in front of the door.

“Shit, Jesus. That’s not fucking funny, Steve.” Jason snarled. Trying to move past but she grabbed his arm. Tightly.

“Oh? You wanna be like the psycho killer out there? Some little copy cat? You’re too small to be Harrington…I bet your Robins little girlfriend.” Bunny pulled out her hunting knife, and held it up. Waving it back and forth.

“You want me to be your helpless victim? Please, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface. I really want to fuck a little Bunny.”

Then she shoved him and Sammy ran out of her hiding place and locked her arm around Jason’s neck. He flailed and he was strong. Really strong but they both practiced enough time to overpower men. “Kill this motherfucker.” Sammy growled.

They both slammed their knives on either side of his neck. He sank as they yanked out their blades, took their sleeves and wiped the knife.

“Another one down.” Bunny kicked off her costume, kicking it in the corner and Sammy decided to leave hers on. Give Eddie a little scare.

“Fuck, that one was fun. He didn’t even have a chance. But we gotta go, I’m sure those little pervs are waiting for us.”

Bunny went back up the stairs, putting back her soft act and exited the garage. Sammy opened the metal door and snuck outside. But she wasn’t alone when one of the guests started to scream. She let out an exhale before she started chasing after them.

Her past with track paid off as she lodged the knife into guys shoulder before ripping it out. She didn’t want to kill him, she wanted to cause chaos.

Sammy stopped as he started screaming inside the house, yelling that Ghostface was outside. She heard more yelling, and she quickly ducked behind a bush. She pulled off one glove and called Eddie.

“Cobain, Jesus Christ, where are you? That fucking Ghostface is here!”

“I’m so scared, Eddie! I was in the garage and I saw Jason was dead!”

“Is that where you are? I’ll find you,” Eddie voice was almost muffled by the crowd.

“I can sneak past the side door, and meet me upstairs.” She hung up and got back inside the house.

It was nearly empty as she saw Eddie holding his phone to his ear in the kitchen. His eyes widened and he took off. Sammy almost cackled as she followed him, knife raised as she chased him up the stairs, she had memorized the house enough to know a guest room was to their right as he shoved open the door.

She managed to reach him and grab his hair, fingers locking around his curls and she turned him around quickly, pushing him against the wall, blade pointed to his neck.

“Who the fuck are you?” Eddie was squirming and likely trying to think of a way to get around her.

Sammy started then laughing. “Oh, Eddie.” His face immediately paled and he went slack.

“C-Cobain?” His eyes were wide as she slowly pulled off her mask, blood still damp on her gloves as she continued smiling at him.

“Surpriseeee, Eddie.”

“No, no, this isn’t possible. This has to be some fucked up joke. You’d never hurt-“ Sammy held the knife to his neck, causing him to gasp. His pale skin flushing.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Eddie, you’re so hot when you’re scared, pretty boy.”

“You’ve killed people, this is crazy! What- why did you do it?” Eddie was trying to regain his voice but his movements stalled when she pressed a little harder, her other arm reached up to settle on the side of his head.

“You want a motive? Is that it? Who says I have one?” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Maybe it was just fun…”

“No, it can’t be that. There has to be a reason.”

“Maybe all those fucking shitty people had it coming. They all deserved it. Every. Single. One. We just got revenge. What everyone is too scared to do.” Sammy started nodding her head. “Is that motive enough for you?”

She looked down at his pants, he was hard. “Dirty boy, you like this. Being under my mercy, don’t you? Just like when you take my stuff. Cum around it.” His brown eyes widened. “Oh yeah, I know all about it. Maybe I left it out for that exact reason.”

She slid her free hand down his chest, he shivered as her blood stained glove left a trail. “You like this…you want it, don't you?”

“I can’t- it’s not right-“ She smacked his dick with the knife. Enough pressure to get his attention but it wouldn’t hurt. She pulled the glove off.

“Don’t lie to me, it’s pathetic.” She whispered and leaned in closer, hovering over his mouth. “Hmm? You gonna make me do all the work?”

Eddie lost control when he smashed his lips to hers, apparently losing all morals as they were nothing but teeth and tongues devouring each other. His hands locked around her hips as she ground them against his dick.

Sammy then grabbed his neck and turned him. She landed on top of him on the perfectly made bed as she slit the knife through the material of his shirt, exposing his fit torso. He moaned as she traced his stomach then v line with the tip of the blade. It glimmered underneath the poor lighting.

“Dirty slut, you want me to ride you? You want to make me cum? I think you’ve earned it.”

“Fuck, please. Please, fuck me. I need you,” She cut him off by kissing him with bruising force and bit his lower lip. He opened his mouth and she took the opportunity to spit inside as she started slightly bouncing. Still with their clothes on.

Sammy started sucking his neck, leaving purple marks before moving down his chest. Making her way down his hips above his jeans. She tossed the knife on the floor as she pulled off his pants and boxers.

His cock slapped against his stomach as precum leaked from the tip. “Is this all for me?” She smeared it with her thumb as he rapidly nodded.

“Yeah, I need it-“

Sammy wasted no time getting on her knees on the floor, her own pussy soaking through her panties as she wrapped her lips around the swollen tip of his dick. Eddie moaned louder, an almost animalistic sound from his chest as his hand flew to her pink hair.

Her tongue messily lapped the sides of his cock before she massaged his balls and returned to sucking. She breathed through her nose as she bobbed her head. Her mouth was growing wetter as he grew close. He was going to cum already. Sammy gagged as he thrusted into her mouth and hit the back of her throat.

He spilled into her mouth and she pulled back, wiping her chin as she crawled on top of him again. Straddling his naked hips. Eddie was panting as he grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her again.

His breathing was pornographic as Sammy shimmied out of her shorts and tights, she wasn’t wearing underwear as her cunt clenched around nothing. “You want me to fuck you?” She baited him against his lips.

“God, yes. Ride me, I’m begging you.” He was almost on the brink of tears as she guided his cock to her pussy and sank down.

She was stretched and then filled up as she groaned. Her hands on his shoulders as she started bouncing. Eddie’s palm went around her throat and she allowed him. Poor pretty boy needed something to brag about. The headboard slammed against the wall and she was growing close. The adrenaline of killing and fucking Eddie Munson was enough to make her cum. His thumb rubbed her clit, speeding up the climax.

It hit her like lighting and she shuddered, her forehead pressed against his. Sweat dampening her skin. She began to move again, knowing he didn’t cum the second time but he stilled her.

“No, I can- I can wait. That was about you.” He whispered.

She gave him a smirk and then grabbed his jaw, her post orgasm trembling making it sloppy. “Good. Because now, I’m going to make you scream for me.”

@scene-and-dandylover @reidsbtch @monstxrteeth @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @slvt4jamesmarch @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @imyourdaninow @chrrymunson @melodymunson @slutty-thevampireslayer @rodriguez31 @elaine-in-the-membrane

Thank you for taking the time to read!

[mobolanz]

AOT OC Show and Tell Days - Day 1: basic introductions

Name: Evelyn Marianne Auroré

Gender: Female

Age in setting: not thought out yet since I'm contemplating if to age up the characters for the storyline actually considering I'm finally laying it out (most likely yes) but I'm not sure on how many years. 🤧

Suggestions welcome 😵‍💫

Bold all of the following that apply to your OC!

Context: Canon Setting | Modern AU | Other AU

What niche does your OC serve for you?:

Self-insert | Completely original character | Self-shipping (in the projecting sense xD) | Roleplaying | Writing fics | Creating art | Only the scenarios and adventures that I imagine inside my head and share with no one! get fucked I ain't creating shit | Something else

A Bit More:

If your character is in the AOT canon setting, what's their allegiance?

Survey Corps | Military Police | Marleyan | Warriors | etc.

Do you ship your character with a canon character? If so, who?

She understands my Reiner love almost better than I do oml 🤧🤧🤧

Do you have any cute art or picrews of them together? Let's see one:

Not pictured is a light brushing with a surprising delicacy of her bangs to the side as he bends a bit to kiss her tenderly on the forehead no I totally didn't come up with this while typing wdym 🤭🤧(⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)✨✨✨

Obligatory fake screencap to give her a clearer image in my head for the scenarios since my choice to redesign her came during lasting artblock aofjakkfkakf

I'm planning to make another one for WIT's style based on something I'll mention later in the post!😆😆

For most part here's a rought draft . But also considering her design is for s4 I might create a special pre-timeskip look for that since it's set there.

Character Creation:

How long have you actively been developing your OC?:

As an Aot oc? March 2022. As an overall character? … took a good while since August 2019, jumped between… *counts fingers* 5 different fanbases, nothing came of any of these, all her ships were one dimensional unconvincing shallow and dull. Yet when I tried here, a wave of inspiration hit me like a comet D: 💫

Her hair was fucking blue aodjqidjakdjajkw

Is there any significance behind your OCs name?:

Glad you asked! :D I have this reaching and overextensive research for the meaning & how it ties to the whole character story&arc

Evelyn (driven from Eve,if I added the meta behind this it'd reach the tumblr word limit if there is any) : desired (ahhh ahaah…(⁠〒⁠﹏⁠〒⁠). Also has some fairytale motif not as deep but alfjakdka.) , life (self explanatory :"). )

Marianne: (driven from Maria, also actually what my own name & my 2nd favourite oc's name is driven from🤭)- star, grace. I mostly only added it after making her an aot oc, but a middle name would be a fancy addition right? :D😆😆

Auroré - driven from aurora meaning dawn(& familial ties with another oc of mine themed after Northern lights).

Plus.... fitting for her hair color.! :D

Combine her first and last name and it's sounding like: life's (graceful) dawn.

Which has a coincidental similarly to the last episode of s4 part 2 (the dawn of humanity)

If your OCs appearance is based on yours, do they have any different features?:

No not really, I just unironically want this look and think it's gorgeous. Blood-red hair and everything (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Is there anything you want to try doing with your OC that you haven't yet? (ex RPing, art, fics, etc):

I'm actually finally writing the full first meeting oneshot nowadays! As of now it was just brain-dump scenarios connecting (somehow that alone ended up being 2k wth) xD. I've also been more openly brainstorming about it so I'm opening up to questions!:D

Also on an art note, I actually kept on the side a DIY nendoroid figure I'm planning to turn into her 😆😆😆

For him <3

[justathoughtfulangel]

What Could Have Been ~ Kai Parker One Shot

*not my gif

This piece was meant to be posted on June 26th, but I realized June 20th is the anniversary of the date I started writing for Malachai Parker! I figured it was worth a mini celebration :)

Word Count: 1,577

Description: They'd known each other their whole lives and were always meant to be. Unfortunately, not everything which is meant to gets to be. Some things are just left as what could have been.

This IS a reader insert fic; I just don’t like writing with Y/N in the place of names. Use Rosalie/Rosie/Rose as a placeholder for Y/N :)

Requested: No

Note: The structure of this piece will be a bit different. I'll be writing snapshots of Kai and the Reader character's (Rosalie's) life.

'~' denotes a switch between Kai and the Reader's POV and '~~~' denotes a change in scene. Kai's portion of the story will be written chronologically while the Reader's side of the story will be presented in reverse chronological order. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it :)

A 5-year-old Kai hoisted his blue Mickey Mouse backpack over his shoulder and waved goodbye to his mom. Hand-in-hand with his twin sister, he skipped into the classroom, excited for his first day of kindergarten. He was a little anxious when Josette was sent into a different classroom. His lower lip had just begun to quiver when a little girl came up to him, holding out her box of crayons. “Hi! My name’s Rosie. Do you want to color with me?”

~

A 40-year-old Rosalie stood with shaking legs as Kai’s spell ended. The Coven gathered around him, chanting the same spell that cast him into the prison world. He was almost amused, and she was heartbroken. Long gone was the happy, young boy she’d met. They had turned Kai into this, and they’d brought this misery upon themselves. She felt her consciousness escape her, and the last of her life floated from her…

~~~

A 9-year-old Kai fell to the ground as his cousin shoved him. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have magic, but everyone in the Coven treated him like he was vermin. Even his parents called him an abomination. The only person he liked playing with was Rosie. Her family was in the Coven, too, and they were the only ones who treated him with love. He wanted to go live with them. Rosie stomped over, pushing his cousin to the ground right back. “Don’t treat Kai that way!”

~

A 40-year-old Rosalie took the chart from the charge nurse, thanking her absentmindedly as she reviewed the symptoms. 22-year-old­ John Doe – complains of nausea, vomiting, and insomnia. CT scans clear. Knocking on the door, Rose stepped in. She couldn’t even bring herself to greet him. “Rosalie?” It was him. He looked just as he had the last time she saw him. “Malachai…” There were questions spinning through her mind at a mile a minute. For now, all she could focus on was the relief of knowing that he was here.

~~~

A 14-year-old Kai held a single flower behind his back. It was one he plucked from the hidden cove where he’d escape with Rose. He saw her walking toward him, dressed in ripped jeans and an old t-shirt with her hair in a carefree ponytail. He’d seen her at Coven dinners and jogging at the gym; Kai’s young heart fluttered all the same. Rosalie stood in front of him, leaning in for a quick kiss on his cheek. Before her lips brushed against his cheek, Kai turned his head and stole her first kiss.

~

A 40-year-old Rosalie shrugged her white coat off, folding it up neatly before placing it in her closet. She’d spent most of her life studying, and now she was teaching. She was surrounded by people during the day but completely alone at night – alone with her thoughts. There was always a thought that showed up without warning, like a plague she couldn’t escape. She thought of Malachai every day without fail. Rosalie had no idea that, many miles away, Kai had returned.

~~~

A 19-year-old Kai snuggled his girl as she slept, watching the sunrise from her bedroom window. Her parents were out of town, and they’d just spent their first night together. A strand of her hair was covering her beautiful face; he gingerly brushed it aside. As he did, Rosalie opened her beautiful eyes. The smile on her face was gentle and content. “I love you, Malachai.” He’d heard the name said so many times in so many tones. Hearing it from her was special, unmatched by any other. “I love you, too, Rosalie.”

~

A 30-year-old Rosalie glanced around her childhood bedroom. She was moving away forever. She couldn’t bring herself to come back, even to visit. Kai’s memory was around every corner, and it was too painful to remember him. She had faith he wasn’t dead, but what difference did it make? He was trapped in a prison for all of eternity, and she’d never be able to see him again. He’d never know how much she loved him.

~~~

A 22-year-old Malachai screamed as he fell to the ground. He had snapped, killing his siblings without a thought or care in the world. The Coven chanted around him, and the sky seemed to open up, sucking him upwards and to his death. At that moment, Kai felt many things: despair, anger, grief… most of all, he felt pain. He’d never see her again, and it was a punishment he’d brought upon himself.

~

A 22-year-old Rosalie ran to the site of the merge. She felt a deep sense of dread and anxiety. Something was going to go very, very wrong. She ran as fast as she could, but it was too late. Rose got to see one final glimpse of Kai before he vanished in a cold, harsh flash of light. The scream she let out rivaled the one he had released. She would never see him again, and it was a punishment she could never have imagined.

~~~

A frozen Kai lay in Rosalie’s bed. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the town, not when he could still somewhat feel her here. Kai had a few years to ponder what he had done, and he couldn’t truly regret it. Of course, if he had Rose, he would have learned to repent. But he didn’t. Kai wasn’t always a monster, but they had turned him into one. Now, nothing could stop him from finding his way out and killing them all – taking the Coven Leadership that was his birthright.

~

A 19-year-old Rosalie felt a loving hand brush away a strand of her hair, waking her up. There were just a few rays of sunshine in her bedroom, warming her just as the memories of their first time did. “I love you, Malachai.” She truly did. Every bone in her body felt love unimaginable for this erratic, crazy, beautiful boy. “I love you, too, Rosalie.” Taking a deep breath, she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, feeling his heartbeat chime in sync with hers.

~~~

A 22-year-old Kai exhaled as he felt his feet on the ground. He was back. After eighteen years of exile, he had returned to the real world. Malachai was changed now. He was hardened, unable to feel anything. Despite his sociopathic tendencies, his mind flashed to Rosalie. She was much older now. He was certain that for her, he’d been reduced to a childhood memory. Nothing or no one could heal him. Kai had one goal, and he would succeed no matter the cost. 

~

A 14-year-old Rosalie dashed out the door, eager to meet Kai. They were going to head to the hidden cove where Kai could find some reprieve from his tough family life. She saw him waiting down the street, dressed in his grey sweatpants and a ratty black sweatshirt. She couldn’t help but smile, her young heart fluttering at her little crush. She stood in front of him, then, leaning in for a quick kiss on his cheek. Before she could, she found Kai’s lips against hers.

~~~

A 22-year-old Malachai waited for the doctor. He had been severely ill, and now, if he went down, the Coven would go down with him. It was strange. They’d destroyed any goodness left in him, but when he absorbed Luke’s personality, he wanted to try again. The doctor walked in, and his heart leaped, somehow simultaneously shattering into a million pieces. “Rosalie?” She was eighteen years older now, but he could never forget those eyes. Kai had remembered them no matter how the days blurred into each other, and with her here now, he didn’t know how to feel.

~

A 9-year-old Rosalie rushed out of the classroom, looking for her best friend. She always got very upset when people hurt Kai. Not having magic didn’t make him any less of a person. Her mommy and daddy made sure Kai felt accepted, too. Rosie glanced around the playground, seeing Kai’s bully of a cousin shove him to the ground. She rushed over, standing in front of her hurt friend, and pushed him away. “Don’t treat Kai that way!”

~~~

A 22-year-old Malachai took great pleasure in crashing his twin sister’s wedding. Tonight marked the end of the Gemini Coven – and the last night of Kai Parker’s life. He had a vial of Lily Salvatore’s blood tucked into his suit jacket, but he didn’t drink it. This would be his revenge, and then there would be nothing to live for. His last selfish act would be taking Rosalie with him in death. As the glass shard plunged into his neck, Kai’s gaze fell on Rose. She fell to the ground, her life leaving her. They were always meant to be, but now they would always be what could have been….

~

A 5-year-old Rosalie chose a Scooby-Do coloring page. She shuffled the crayons around, searching for the purple. It would’ve been so silly to give Scooby purple fur! Before she could start, a little boy sat beside her. He looked sad, and she wanted to help. Scooting over to the seat beside him, Rosalie held out the crayons to him and put the coloring book in front of him. “Hi! My name’s Rosie. Do you want to color with me?” The little boy sniffled, and his green eyes met hers – now twinkling with excitement.

~~~

Thank you very much for reading my new Kai Parker One-Shot! I hope the structure wasn't too difficult to follow. Through this piece, I wanted to give myself a structural writing challenge and also hoped to illustrate how darkness is never born, it is created.

Please feel free to send any thoughts/comments/constructive criticisms my way. I always welcome them :) If you'd like to be tagged in my future Kai Parker works, leave a comment here or shoot me a message!

If you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my other works from my Malachai Parker Masterlist <3 It's pinned to the top of my profile.

Until next time, JustAThoughtfulAngel :)

Taglist: @socio-kai-path1972, @bluelicious, @genevivetaylor, @prettybitchfatwitch

[bratdesire]

Your Dad, My Daddy

Pairing: Ukai Keishin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, age gap, older man/younger woman, barely legal, squirting, rough sex, daddy kink, alcohol mention, questionable ethics, d/s dynamics, overstimulation, degrading language, touch of subspace, unprotected sex, breeding kink, slight dubcon if you squint but it’s all consensual, Ukai’s dick is pierced, exhibitionism(?)

Genre: Smut, just so much smut

Word count: 9.4k

Author’s note: Here is my contribution to the new HQHQ collab!! You can find the masterlist right here! Big big thank you to @sempiternal-amour and @inaflashimagine​ for beta-ing this monster fic, ilysm <3 This is so incredibly self-indulgent, I even inserted my nickname ~for spice~. Anyways, enjoy my incoherent screaming uwu

Summary: When you go over to your friend’s house for a study session you don’t anticipate meeting her very attractive father, and you surely don’t anticipate the very same man fucking you over their couch.

“Hey, I apologize in advance for anything weird my dad says or does. You know how dads are,” Hitomi explains as she pulls into the driveway of her house. 

It’s small but nice and well-manicured, situated in the cul de sac of a middle-class suburb.

“Dad, we’re here,” she shouts up the stairs, setting her keys on the small table next to the front door. Hitomi’s gaze drifts to the tall, dark haired man sitting at the kitchen table and your own gaze soon follows. “Oh, there you are.”

She quickly pecks the man on his cheek before walking over to the shiny silver fridge, pulling out a couple bottles of water. “Dad, this is Bunny, Bunny this is Dad,” she gestures between the two of you. 

When her father glances up from his phone to give you a nod of acknowledgement, you’re taken aback by how handsome he is. 

You can tell from the slight wrinkles around his lips and the crinkles by his eyes that he’s definitely a much older man, but other than that he’s flawless. The angle of his jaw is sharp but soft, lower face darkened by his five o’clock shadow. His chocolate brown eyes are complemented by plump, pink lips that would look even better swollen and shiny with saliva. Dark, shiny locks are gathered into a low ponytail and you wonder how they would feel fisted in your fingers. He’s gorgeous in a rugged, mature way that boys your age aren’t and could never hope to be. 

Hitomi never told you her dad was hot but then again, why would she? 

“Mr. Ukai, it’s nice to meet you,” you greet him.

He waves his hand in the air dismissively, “Ah, you can just call me Keishin. No need to be so formal.”

Hitomi mutters a frustrated “shit” under her breath and it takes you a few moments to tear your eyes away from the man in front of you. 

“I left my textbook in the car, I have to go grab it,” she sighs then turns to her dad. “You, don’t scare off my friend, please.” 

Keishin puts a hand on his heart, a falsely serious expression on his face. “I won’t, scout’s honor.”

She just rolls her eyes, exiting the kitchen the same way you entered. The front door slams shut, leaving you alone with your friend’s very hot dad.

Keishin looks up at you then quickly looks away, unsure how to interact with his daughter’s friends. “So is, uh, Bunny your real name?” he asks, nervously rubbing the back of his head.

Leaning against the table he’s seated at, you fold your arms across your chest, fully aware of how low cut your top is. You don’t miss the way his eyes briefly flicker down to your cleavage then back up to your face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I… I’m just trying to make conversation,” he laughs nervously.

“Hm, well, the short answer is no. You’ll have to get to know me a bit better before I give you the long answer.” 

He snorts, pushing his chair back and rising to his full height. “What gave you the confidence to speak like this to your elders?”

Taking a step towards him, you twirl a piece of hair around your finger and shyly peer up at him through your lashes. “I don’t know, but maybe you can teach me how to behave.”

A light blush colors his cheeks and his eyes widen with surprise. “I-I don’t know what you’re implying, but it’s not... appropriate,” he stutters, taking a step backwards to try to put some distance between you.

You sidle up to him, reaching out a hand to caress his well-muscled arm. When he makes no move to stop your petting, you bite your lip and get on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Who said we had to be appropriate?” 

His mouth is slightly agape, lips moving every so often, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t. “I—” he starts.

The sound of the front door slamming open makes you both jump apart, trying to appear as casual as possible. 

“I got it! We can go study now,” Hitomi proclaims, waving the book around in her hands. She glances at you, then at her father and notices the way you’re completely turned away from each other. “Oh my God, Dad, what did you do?” she groans.

He holds up both hands in surrender, shaking his head emphatically. “I didn’t do anything! Why do you always think I did something?”

Your friend strides over to lightly punch his shoulder, a disapproving but loving expression on her face. “Because you’re weird and lame. Besides, between you and Bunny, I’m always going to assume that you’re the guilty party.”

You find yourself chuckling at their banter, touched by how close they are. It’s evident that Hitomi and Keishin care a lot about each other, regardless of how much they tease each other and guilt twists in your gut when you remind yourself that you were flirting with him. She likely wouldn’t forgive you for trying to sleep with her dad and it would cause a great deal of damage to their relationship, possibly beyond repair if she knew he was into girls her age. To make matters worse, you’re two years her junior. What man would sleep with a girl younger than his daughter?

But your morals are tossed right out the window when you take in the sight of Keishin’s radiant smile—all straight, white teeth and eyes that shine like pools of dark honey. It’s in that moment that you decide you’re going to seduce that man if it’s the last thing you do.

Sorry, Hitomi. Kind of.

---

“Okay, so L-Tyrosine is one of the twenty amino acids used by the body to synthesize proteins. It is also an aromatic amino acid derived from phenylalanine by hydroxylation in the para position—oof!” Hitomi’s droning is cut off by the pillow you send hurtling towards her head.

You sit up on her bed, squealing obnoxiously as you stretch. “Hitomi, I love you, but please shut up. My brain is melting. We’ve been at this for three hours now, can we take a break?”

She closes the textbook in her lap and pushes it to the edge of her desk. “Fine, fine. We can take a twenty minute break, but we have to go right back to studying because finals are this week and I cannot afford to fail,” your friend warns, despite how she whips out her phone at lightning speed.

Picking at a stray thread on the comforter, you gently try to get her attention, “Hey, Tomi?”

“Hm?” she responds, barely glancing up from the video she’s watching.

You’re not sure how to broach the subject, but you’ve never been one to beat around the bush so you just come right out and say it. “Has anyone told you your dad’s kinda hot?”

That makes her stop, her head jerking up from her phone at lightning speed. “What!? That old geezer?” She sounds dumbfounded, incredulous at the prospect that someone would be interested in her father.

“Yeah girl, he’s a total DILF,” you confess, making a little fanning motion with your hand like you’re burning up inside just thinking about him, and it’s not that far from the truth.

Hitomi makes no effort to hide her feelings, disgust clearly evident in her delicate features. “Ew! You have to be joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking! He’s really sexy,” you muse dreamily.

She claps both hands over her ears, yelling at the top of her lungs to drown you out. “I never want to hear you say that my old man is ‘sexy’ ever again!”

You childishly stick your tongue out at her. “Hey! I’m just speaking the truth. You have to have had friends say the same thing.”

Removing her hands from her ears, she brings one up to stroke her chin, seemingly deep in thought. “Now that I think about it, back in high school my friends were a lot more enthusiastic about coming over once they met my father.”

You feel vindicated by her personal testimony, even if she thinks you’re gross. “See? I’m not the only one who finds your dad ridiculously attractive.”

Hitomi gags dramatically as if she’s going to puke and judging by the look on her face, she just might. “Please, no more, I’m begging you.” 

“Fine, fine I’ll stop, but don’t act surprised when I become your new stepmom,” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows at her.

“You’re younger than me, don’t even joke about that,” she shudders in horror. “Okay, with that we need to get back to studying amino acids and proteins.”

“Whatever you say, future stepdaughter.” You muster your best motherly voice, sickeningly sweet and a touch passive aggressive.

This time, it’s Hitomi’s turn to throw a pillow at you.

---

Since the day you met Keishin, you haven’t been able to get him off your mind. Even when you’re in class trying to learn about the sodium-potassium pump, you find your thoughts drifting to his hands, his lips, him. He’s simply become too distracting to ignore.

More times than you care to admit, you’ve fucked yourself with your fingers to thoughts of how his fingers would feel pumping inside you. You fantasize about how his hand would feel around your neck, squeezing with just enough pressure to make your vision hazy. His name is always on the tip of your tongue when you orgasm and when you finally let yourself moan out ‘Keishin,’ you know enough is enough. A man his age has to know exactly how to make a woman scream and writhe in pleasure, but you need to experience it for yourself or you’ll die trying.

You’re not oblivious to the way he looks at you with hunger and longing in his eyes, you know he wants you too and you’re not above using dirty tricks to show him just how much you want him. 

If he’s too proud, too noble to give in to his urges, you’ll just have to break him. His resolve may be strong, but yours is stronger.

Your efforts begin innocently enough, gently probing him for more information about himself so you can get to know him better.

“I’ve noticed you don’t wear a ring. Is there a Mrs. Ukai in the picture?” you ask innocently.

Keishin clears his throat a bit too loudly, refusing to meet your questioning gaze. “Nah. It’s just me and Tomi, always has been.”

“Any… future Mrs. Ukai in the picture?”

The corners of his lips twitch slightly, the barest of smiles tugging at his handsome features. “Can’t say there is. Between the store and coaching volleyball, I don’t really have the time to date.”

You nod and make a noise of acknowledgement, relieved by the confirmation that he is in fact very, very single. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not a homewrecker.

On another occasion, you’re seated on their plush leather couch and Keishin’s in the well-worn La-Z-Boy recliner to your left. You’re watching some Adam Sandler movie on Netflix, but it’s paused while Hitomi is in the bathroom.

You take your alone time together as an opportunity to question him more, toeing the line of what would be considered proper. “So, Keishin, how old are you? I know Tomi’s twenty-one so you must be…” you trail off, hoping he’ll humor you.

He takes a swig of the beer in his hand and your eyes instinctively flicker down to watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Old.”

You roll your eyes and prop your chin up on your hand, readjusting your position on the couch so you’re leaning closer to him. “Obviously, but just how old?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?” he asks, head tilted and a well-groomed eyebrow lifted questioningly.

“I was just wondering if you’re older than my dad,” you tease. 

His shoulders shake slightly as he chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m forty-four. Do I have him beat?”

“He’s forty-two, so just barely.” Your steady, unwavering eyes lock onto his own, which are glassy and unfocused from the alcohol. When he brings the bottle to his lips once more, you nonchalantly add, “Maybe I should call you Daddy instead.”

Keishin coughs and sputters in surprise, causing him to choke on his beverage and a spray of sticky beer splatters across your face. 

Apologies tumble out of his mouth as soon as he realizes that your cheeks and hair are dripping with the craft IPA he was drinking. “I-I’m so sorry! I’ll get you a towel,” he blurts, shooting up from his chair. 

In his panic and embarrassment, he rushes toward the linen closet and you can’t help the giggles that escape your mouth at how uncoordinated he is, now several drinks in. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not that big of a deal,” you reassure him, wiping your face with the back of your hand for emphasis.

He returns from the rummaging around the hall closet, a dark blue towel in his hand, which he offers to you with a nod of his head.

No matter your protests and assurances that you’re fine, Keishin is even more insistent in offering you the towel to clean yourself up. When you refuse to take the towel from him, he kneels down next to you and leans in to dab at the foamy liquid that has soaked into your hair. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his fingers on your jaw and you almost squeak at his close proximity. He hasn’t let you near him since your first encounter and now he’s right in front of you, so close that his breath curls around your cheeks, smelling of malted hops and the slightest hint of peppermint. You can map out the slight freckles on the bridge of his nose and each long, curled eyelash that brushes his cheeks each time he blinks.

He’s truly a beautiful man, all sharp angles and rough stubble and you can feel your cheeks warm when you realize that he’s right there. If you leaned forward just a little bit more, your noses would brush against each other. 

A deep, rumbling voice interrupts your daydreaming. “Kid, are you even listening to me?”

You blink a couple times, coming to the realization that he’s been trying to talk to you for the last few minutes, but you were too busy admiring his beauty.

Keishin shakes his head as he leans back on his heels, using one hand to rub his face wearily. “As I was saying, you can’t just… say things like that. I know young girls sometimes have fantasies about older men like me, but I’m telling you now that it’ll only end badly,” he sighs. “I’m not a righteous man, I have my vices. God, do I have lots of them, and I don’t need another one.”

He mumbles the last sentence, barely loud enough for you to hear, despite how close you are.

Another one? Is he admitting that the attraction is mutual? You have to know, you just have to. Your body practically aches from how badly you want him.

“Keishin, I—” you start, reaching out to touch his arm, but he stands abruptly and quickly turns to shuffle away from the couch.

“This just isn’t a good idea, kid. Just forget about me, alright?” he says, his back to you. A tinge of regret and hesitation seeps into his words, as if he wants to take back everything he’s said.

After the beer incident, the man is even less receptive than he was before, making every effort to avoid being alone with you.

Even still, you’re not discouraged because he never outright rejected you. If he had, you would’ve stopped your pursuit weeks ago, but he only seems to be trying to maintain his composure as a righteous man.

Righteous men are wolves in sheep’s clothing, always putting on a facade so they can claim plausible deniability when they’re caught with their pants around their ankles. But no matter how honorable or virtuous a man tries to be, none of them can resist a wet, willing pussy laid out in front of them and Keishin is no exception.

That’s why you’ve shown up to their house the last few weeks in skirts far too short to be considered decent, flashing little peeks of your underwear each time you move too much or bend over too far. Each time you bend over to grab a pencil or a piece of paper off the floor, Keishin is always conveniently positioned behind you so he gets an eyeful of your pretty lace panties and the little dark spot where your wetness has soaked through the fabric. 

After you retrieve your item from the ground, you look over your shoulder to make direct eye contact with him and say ‘oops,’ without a hint of regret in your voice. You revel in the clenching of his jaw and the way he exhales loud and heavy through his nose, frustration mounting each time you try to provoke him.

When your ass and clothed pussy are on display for him, you make sure to wiggle your hips a bit, an open invitation to fuck you the way you both want to. It never fails to elicit some sort of reaction from the older man, ranging from a few groans and a choked cough, to making a very hasty exit, a book or some other object held over the front of his jeans. 

Without fail, Hitomi expresses her concern each time her father storms out of the room, red-faced and breathing heavily. He just waves her off, telling her he’s not feeling well, but you know the truth. He’s painfully hard, painfully hard from you, even if he doesn’t admit it.

Truthfully, if you weren’t trying to get him to fuck you so hard you can’t walk you would applaud his self-control and restraint. Even after weeks of teasing and provocation, the man refuses to give in to his desires.

That’s okay. If he’s not going to come to you, you’ll just have to take matters into your own hands.

----

It all reaches a tipping point when you’re unable to go home for winter break and Hitomi offers you their guest room to stay in for a few weeks. 

Apparently she never asked her father for permission, if Keishin’s shocked, slightly panicked face when you walked through the door with your suitcase was any indication. When he tried to question Hitomi about whether or not it’s such a good idea for you to stay, she wasn’t having any of it and told him that you’re a friend in need. 

Hitomi’s so sweet and caring that you feel a twinge of guilt for plotting to seduce her father in her house when she’s none the wiser. She just wanted to lend a helping hand by letting you stay with them, oblivious to your true plans, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Now that you’re under the same roof, all you really want to do is ambush Keishin as soon as possible, but you have to plan around Hitomi’s schedule so you have bide your time. What’s the saying? Good things come to those who wait?

And wait you do. You wait for two whole weeks, in fact. But then the stars align so perfectly that some otherworldly force must be looking out for you.

Hitomi is gone to work and won’t be back until the middle of the night when her shift is over, while Keishin is home reviewing footage from his team’s latest game. 

He told you he does this right before a big game so he can tell his players what they need to improve on and get in that last bit of refinement before the day of. When he clued you in on his strategy you just nodded and hummed, not really listening, mostly focused on ogling his muscles through his thin t-shirt.

Your nerves have been buzzing since you woke up this morning, sensing the heaviness in the air. You’re wearing your prettiest lace panties and its matching bra and frankly, you’re feeling pretty damn confident. You look good and you know you look good. If you were trying to seduce any guy your age, they’d drop their pants as soon as they got a little glimpse of your underwear, but Keishin’s not any guy your age. He needs a little convincing, a little push in the right direction, and you’ll be the one to help him.

You’ve flitted around the house all day, just trying to find the right moment to pounce. 

Currently, Keishin is sitting in the living room watching the recording on the big flat screen in the living room. He looks preoccupied with taking notes on the notepad in his lap, but it’s now or never, you suppose.

Before you try to talk yourself out of it, you stride over to where he’s sitting and put your hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey. Did you need something? I’m kind of busy analyzing my team’s last game.”

Not wanting to lose your nerve, you wordlessly swing one leg over his, then the other, planting yourself firmly in his lap. His entire body goes ramrod stiff, hands jerking away from your body as if you’ve burned him.

“W-what do you think you’re doing?” he stutters, alarm evident in his voice.

When he makes no move to throw you off his lap, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean into him, pressing your chest to his. 

“What we both have been wanting to do since the day I met you,” you purr, lips barely brushing against the shell of his ear. He shivers when you gently nibble on his earlobe and your confidence only grows as you discover that he wants this just as much as you do.

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn't right. I’m your friend’s father and I’m... old enough to be y-yours,” he mutters, running a hand through his already messy hair, conflicted with how to proceed.

You can’t tell whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, so you decide to give him a little encouragement.

Leaning back slightly, you run your hands down his chest and bite your lip. “Are we going to keep playing games or are you gonna fuck me? Because if not, I’ve got several guys back at college who—”

You’re cut off when Keishin’s hand wraps around your throat, the other braced against your back to pull you flush against him. 

“You think your little stunts are cute, don’t you?” he growls, his minty breath washing over your face.

“What, you don’t think so, Daddy?” you pout, batting your eyelashes at him innocently.

His eyes flash with something hot and primal and you can feel the gush of wetness between your thighs. “I’m getting a little tired of them,” he growls.

“This,” you palm at the bulge straining against his pants, “Tells me otherwise, you know.”

The hand around your throat tightens, cutting off whatever bratty remark you were about to make. “I’ve had enough of you prancing around my home in tiny skirts and flashing me your panties when my daughter is around. It’s unbecoming.”

“Then t-teach me a lesson,” you gasp, struggling to speak with Keishin’s fingers so firmly wrapped around your throat.

The way he grins is downright sinful and it stokes the fire already raging inside you. “Careful what you wish for, little girl.”

With some manhandling on Keishin’s part, you’re shoved toward the couch then pulled back onto his lap, but this time you’re on your stomach and both your wrists are pinned behind your back.

“Before we go any further,” he starts, trailing his fingers down your spine and leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I have to ask… How old are you?”

You twist around to look him in the eyes, a defiant smirk on your face. “Old enough.” Your mischievous giggle is cut off by a swift, firm slap to your ass.

“Watch the lip, brat. I need a little more reassurance than that.”

“Since you’re just so concerned, I’m nineteen. Perfectly legal and more importantly, legally fuckable,” you say, punctuated by an enticing wiggle of your hips.

“Jesus, you’re two years younger than Tomi. What am I doing?” He seems lost in thought as the honorable side of him fights a losing battle against his baser, carnal instincts. Whatever reservations he has are thrown aside when you start to wiggle in his grasp, maneuvering yourself over his crotch to grind yourself against his hardness.

Keishin gathers your hair around his fist, harshly jerking your head so far backwards that your spine aches from the unnatural angle.

“Stop fucking squirming. You just don’t know how to behave, do you?” It’s phrased like a question, but he shoves two of his fingers in your mouth so you can’t respond. 

You knew Keishin would be the perfect dom, but the ease with which he settles into the role makes your head spin and your insides throb. Latching onto his digits, you lick and suck like the good girl you are, coating them in saliva as he hums in appreciation.

“Foo wans tuh behav wen thith is wutt I ge fo bein ba?” you ask, garbled and muffled by the fingers massaging the back of your tongue. 

A series of harder, heavier spanks make you squeal and squirm even more in his lap. He gently rubs his hand over your warm, stinging flesh as he speaks. “Such a troublemaker. Just what am I going to do with you, hm?” He tries to sound admonishing, but you can tell he’s smiling behind his words.

His hand leaves your ass, no doubt raised to spank you again, but before he can, you bite down on his fingers. Not too hard, just enough for him to jerk them out of your mouth. “You can do whatever you want to me, Daddy.” 

You jolt when his thumb rubs against your pussy through your panties. They’re soaked with your slick, the material clinging to your skin uncomfortably. The barest touch has you gasping and pushing your hips back for more. You’re so sensitive from the teasing and you’re so turned on you just might pass out if you’re not filled up soon.

Keishin just laughs darkly at the pathetic humping of your hips and you can feel the rumbling in his chest. “This is what I love about girls your age. So sensitive…” He pulls your panties aside and gently eases a finger inside you, then another as you moan and shake in his lap. “And so reactive. I bet you’d cum just from me putting my cock inside this tight, wet cunt, wouldn’t you?”

He speaks with a hint of condescension that has you clenching around his digits, coating them in sticky, syrupy strands of your arousal as they pump in and out of you. You’d almost be embarrassed at how worked up you are if you had more self respect, but you don’t. All you can focus on is the way his fingertips curl into the little spongy spot inside you that makes you whine.

“Why don’t you try it and find out?” The challenge in your voice is severely dampened by how breathless and wrecked you are even though you haven’t really even done anything.

His fingers pull out of you with a lewd squelching sound and you can hear him suck them into his mouth. “You taste even better than I imagined, but I want to taste that sweet pussy of yours. Up, little girl.” He coaxes you from his lap and onto the couch so your back is nestled into the cushions.

Sweat is making hair stick to your forehead and you’re breathing so heavily you’d think you just ran a marathon, but Keishin is looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world and it nearly steals what little breath you have left in your lungs.

Oxygen is the last thing on your mind when his lips slot themselves between yours, soft yet demanding as they suck and lick. The movement of his lips doesn’t falter when he pulls your shirt over your head to reveal your light pink bra. Keishin pulls back to kiss along your collarbones, neck, and chest, his teeth occasionally nipping your sensitive flesh and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He expertly removes your panties with one hand so you’re left in just your plaid skirt, exposing your heated flesh to the coolness of the living room. 

You’re nearly naked but he’s wearing far too many clothes for your liking, so you blindly grab at his shirt, but your fingers are shaking too much for you to get a good grip. Once he realizes what you’re trying to do, he puts his hands over yours and helps you take off his shirt. You nearly start drooling when all of his hard, rippling muscles and smooth, tan skin are finally revealed to your greedy eyes that can’t seem to settle one thing. You don’t know if you’ll get this opportunity again and you want to remember everything in painstaking detail, especially Keishin’s gorgeous body.

He momentarily disentangles himself from you to remove his jeans, leaving him in just his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. The outline of his cock is evident as it strains against the blue material and you reach out to stroke it, but he just takes your hand in his.

He brings it to his lips, then kisses up your arm until he reaches your lips. “All in due time, sweet girl. I want to taste you first.” Your mouth is claimed in another hungry, bruising kiss and you squeal when Keishin takes your lip between his teeth and bites, blood rushing to the surface of your skin. 

His head dips down to leave featherlight kisses and teasing licks down your chest and stomach before he’s resting between your thighs. You whimper pitifully as he spreads your legs, awaiting the feeling of a wet tongue or his fingers against your folds. When he doesn’t move for several beats, you come to the realization that he’s just watching the way your cunt twitches and clenches around nothing and the wetness that drips onto the couch each time your muscles contract. You quickly bring your legs together to hide yourself from his scrutinizing gaze, but he simply pries them open with little effort.

Keishin grabs your chin so you’ll look right at him, squirming from the intensity of his gaze. “Don’t you dare hide this pretty pussy from me, do you understand? I am going to devour you until I’ve had my fill and you’re going to just lie back and take it.”

You nod obediently, your impudence quickly dying, giving way to the burning ache between your legs that can only be sated by a long, hard fuck.

With a satisfied hum, he settles at the apex of your thighs and licks a long stripe from your quivering pussy to your swollen clit and your hips jerk from the contact. Strong hands pin your hips to the couch as you writhe in his firm grip. He gives your clit a soft, quick kiss before he takes it into his mouth and sucks. You grab fitfully at his hair, back arching and hips pressing into his mouth as you gasp and groan from the incredible feeling of his tongue on your sensitive flesh.

His tongue teases your entrance and your cunt twitches, anticipating the first thrust of his warm, wet muscle inside you. He occasionally dips into your hole, but never breaches your entrance and you think you might go mad if he doesn’t give you more.

“I-I need more, give me more,” you manage to gasp, grabbing a fistful of the pillow underneath you as the tightening in your belly gets stronger.

Keishin removes his mouth from your cunt just long enough to admonish you for your lack of respect. “You need to have more manners if you’re going to demand things of me,” he says, before latching back onto your swollen, twitching clit.

“Daddy, pleeease I need more. Ah! I want to cum!” Your voice is so high-pitched and whiny you almost don’t recognize yourself, but you’re nearly delirious from pleasure and your impending climax that’s been dangled over your head for what feels like hours.

“Now who am I to deny you when you ask so sweetly?”

He thrusts two of his digits inside you, reaching deep inside you and rubbing against your g-spot as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. You’re almost screaming at this point, clawing at his hair and humping your cunt against his face. The familiar tightening in your belly signals that you’re about to cum and your moans and cries get faster, louder as the promise of white hot pleasure is just within reach—

It’s almost embarrassing how fast you’re teetering on the edge of climax, as if you’re a virgin school girl that’s never touched herself before. But maybe that’s the difference that years of experience can make. 

Not that you care. You just want to cum.

“Fuck, Daddy, I—I’m close!”

Sensing your impending orgasm, the man uses his free hand to slap your cheek then grabs your throat. “Uh-uh-uh,” he tuts, “Ask Daddy for permission to cum.” You’re clamping down on his fingers impossibly tighter as he fingers you even deeper, and the way he sucks on your clit renders you incapable of speech. Each time you open your mouth to try to speak, more desperate, wanton noises escape your lips.

You’re about to fucking burst at the seams and you feel like you’re on fire, but you want to be a good girl for your daddy, so you use the last bit of brain power you have left to ask for permission.

“P-pleaaase Daddy may I ahhh! May I cum!” you ask, but you can’t even hear Keishin give his approval from how loud the blood rushing in your ears is as you finally cum.

You try to muffle your cries with the back of your hand, but he grabs your wrist and wrenches it away from your mouth.

“Don’t do that. I want to hear you scream.” His tone is clipped and short, not caring how rough he is with your delicate flesh.

If you weren’t already cumming, you would have from the pleasure that’s so intense, it’s almost painful as your body is wracked with tremors. Your legs snap around Keishin’s head and you grip his hair even tighter as wave upon wave of your orgasm washes over you. You hear someone screaming and wonder what’s happening, when you realize it’s you, you’re the one screaming as you ride out your climax.

He greedily slurps and sucks up every single drop of your release that you can give him, as if he was stranded in the desert for a thousand years and your juices are the first sip of water to hit his dry, parched tongue. Your cunt is already so sensitive, painfully clenching around his fingers, but he just. Doesn’t. Stop.

“Fuck, K-Kei, wait ‘s too much,” you weakly protest, but your body is too spent to resist so you just lie there, twitching and gasping as he keeps sucking on your overstimulated clit.

His lips detach from your poor, abused bud and you almost sigh in relief before the fingers inside your cunt pump faster, stimulating every inch of your gummy walls.

Keishin leans over your sweaty, exhausted form, one hand braced on the couch, the other buried inside you. His fingers are hitting a spot inside you that makes you feel the urge to pee, so you try to push his hand away but it’s futile with how much stronger he is than you. 

“Hold onnn, I’m g-gonna—” you slur, panicked, but it’s as if he didn’t hear you.

His digits are relentless, rubbing and stroking and you’re a fucked out mess. You don’t know what he wants until an uncomfortable tightness shoots through your cunt. You cry out as clear liquid gushes out of you, splashing all over you, the couch, and Keishin. If you were more coherent, you might be mortified because you just… pissed on him—

To your surprise, he’s laughing as he removes his hand from inside you, ignoring your halfhearted groans. “I was hoping you’d do that,” he says, holding up his hand, shiny and dripping with your juices. 

“D-Do what?” you pant, unsure of what just happened and why Keishin seems so smug.

He uses his discarded t-shirt to wipe his hand off, then dabs at your stomach where a sizable puddle accumulated. “Squirt,” he responds. When he sees your confused expression, he follows up with, “It’s not piss, if you’re worried about that.”

“Ooookay.” You’re too dazed and exhausted to argue with him or question him further, so you just flop into the sofa and close your eyes.

“C’mon, little girl, don't tell me that’s all you’ve got. You were talking so much shit earlier and I have so much more to give you.” Despite how tired you are, his words spark new arousal in your belly and defiance revitalizes you, movement returning to your limbs.

You slide a hand down your stomach and spread the puffy lips of your cunt, sliding a finger through your wetness. “Of course it’s not. I’m ready to take that hard cock of yours, Daddy.”

“Attagirl, that’s what I like to see,” he praises, dropping his underwear and sliding them somewhere you can’t see. 

His cock is gorgeous, but that doesn’t come as a surprise, considering the man it belongs to. It’s thick and curved in a way that you know will reach the deepest parts of you.

What you weren’t expecting is the many piercings adorning the shaft and the one that goes through the head. A long curved barbell enters through the tip and exits through the underside of his glans. Three evenly spaced rings are embedded in the skin where his shaft meets his balls. You’ve never seen so many piercings on one man, let alone in such a sensitive place, so you gawk at the smooth metal rings that shine in the overhead lights.

“You’re… You have…”

He grins widely and it’s so devilish you think he might swallow you whole and honestly? You’d let him. You’d let him do whatever he wants to you. “Haha, yeah I get that reaction a lot. Never seen a pierced cock before, huh?”

“No, but there’s a first time for everything. I’m dying to see how those,” you point to his piercings, “Feel inside me.”

Keishin wordlessly climbs on top of you and rubs the head against your wetness, spreading it along his shaft to ease his entry. “They’ll feel fucking incredible, but you’ll have to beg for it.”

You scoff, reaching to grab his hips so he’ll fuck you already, but he scoots backwards so you can’t touch him.

“Naughty girls that misbehave don’t get fucked, so you’d better smarten up quickly,” he warns, making you gasp as he thrusts his cock against your clit.

He lazily nudges the head over your flesh, occasionally letting it catch on the tight ring of muscle around your hole. When he slots between your pussy lips, you try to wiggle and hump your hips in his direction, in hopes that he’ll slide right in.

But he doesn’t, and you’re about to go mad with his cock so close, but so far away.

“Please fuck me Daddy. I need your cock so bad!” You’re on the verge of tears, the buildup of the last few weeks overwhelming your senses.

Making a noise of sympathy, Keishin pets your hair affectionately and kisses your cheek. “All you had to do was ask.”

His hips pull back, then he’s thrusting inside you, sheathing himself to the hilt in your tight heat. You whimper and whine at the sudden intrusion, but any pain you feel is overshadowed by the way that his cock is filling you so full. The burn and stretch hurts so fucking good that your orgasm hits you like a freight train, fast and hard and blinding. Keishin fucks you through it, his cock touching all of the sensitive spots inside you and the pleasure is so strong you have to screw your eyes shut as you cry out and fall apart around him.

When you open them again, the man is staring down at you with the most shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen. “See? I said you’d cum as soon as I put my cock inside you.”

Using all the strength you can muster, you slap his arm. “Shut up and just fuck me.”

“You still haven’t learned your manners, but I just can’t wait to shoot my cum deep inside this cute cunt of yours,” Keishin groans, pulling almost all the way out before burying himself back inside the hot, welcoming clutch of your pussy. 

You can feel each of the metal rings on his cock, foreign and strange, but the odd feeling soon fades to little shocks of ecstasy each time they brush against your insides.

The lewd slapping sounds of skin on skin are all you can hear besides the occasional moan or hiss from the man fucking you within an inch of your life, not that you can focus on anything else right now.

You nudge at Keishin’s shoulder and he stops the rapid pistoning of his hips, an almost annoyed look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, but you just smile and push him backwards onto the couch, just like you were. He grunts in surprise as he falls backward, but he quickly quiets down when you climb on top of him and sink yourself back down on his length.

You both moan in unison as he fills you once more, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix each time you force your cunt back down on him. His hands wander to your tits, grabbing, squeezing, and pinching the sensitive buds of your nipples. 

Ever the troublemaker, you can’t resist making a jab at him now that you’re on top. “I wonder what she’d do if she knew you were with me right now. What would your daughter say about you taking advantage of a young, helpless girl?”

Keishin takes that moment to pull you against him, thrusting hard and rough into your gummy walls that never stop pulsing around him. You’re shaking and gasping, your tongue lolling out of your mouth in your pleasured delirium. “With the way your greedy, sloppy cunt is clenching around me, I wouldn’t say I’m taking advantage of you,” he points out, only slightly out of breath. “But you get off on this, don’t you? Letting an old man like me fuck you. I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Like you’re any b-better,” you bite back.

You cry out when Keishin starts rubbing your swollen clit in tight little circles, your third orgasm fast approaching. 

“Fuck! I can—urgh, I can feel your pussy pulsing around me. I’m g-gonna cum,” he grits out, thrusting impossibly deeper inside you. He's pressed so far into you, he’s just thumping the head of his cock against your cervix. You scream and write in his arms, seeking to relieve the sharp burning in your womb just a little bit, but he has you firmly locked in his clutches. “Be a good little girl and cum for Daddy.”

Almost on command, you shake and moan, loud and long, as you cream all over his cock and coat the base in milky white. “Oh fuck, oh god! D-Daddy I’m cu-mming!” you wail with the last of your energy.

You’re so exhausted you go limp against him and let him use your body as a fuck toy until he reaches his climax. Keishin follows soon behind you, his thrusts growing sloppier and less coordinated as he mumbles obscenities under his breath. “Shit shit shit, fuck I’m cumming! I’m gonna—fuck!”

With one last thrust into your fluttering, over stimulated cunt he orgasms, his legs shaking as he shoots rope after rope of cum into your quivering womb.

You both lay there for several minutes to catch your breaths. You’re so sore and boneless you can barely move, but you manage to extricate yourself from Keishin’s long limbs. Leaning into the arm of the couch, you let your eyes flutter closed and allow sleep to take you.

You’re awoken by a warm, wet washcloth rubbing against your sensitive folds and you whine, sleepily wiggling your hips to get away from the discomfort. “Kid, I know it doesn’t feel good but, uh, it’s kind of a mess down there. You can go back to sleep, just let me clean you up.” Keishin’s familiar timbre comforts you so you settle back down, still half asleep.

“Mmm, Keishin?” you mumble, making grabby hands at the man.

He takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” he responds as he wipes the washcloth between your legs with his other hand.

You rub your face against his hand before placing a sloppy kiss on top of it. “Thank youuuu,” you slur.

Keishin just chuckles and rubs his fingers over your knuckles. “Yeah kid, you’re welcome. Just get some rest, alright?”

You’re asleep before he even finishes the sentence.

----

When you awaken it’s dark, most likely the middle of the night. There’s a blanket thrown over your unexpectedly clothed body, which is now covered in a worn, oversized shirt. It smells like fabric softener and musk, so you figure it must be Keishin’s.

Looking around, you bolt upright when you realize you’re not on the living room couch anymore, you’re now in a large, comfortable bed.

The sound of a deep, rumbling voice draws your attention to the bathroom connected to the room you’re currently in. “Oh, you’re finally awake,” Keishin says sheepishly as he emerges from the bathroom, then points to the nightstand next to you. “There’s some water and ibuprofen, you should take it. Even if you’re not sore now, you will be later.”

You chuckle tiredly as you stretch your overworked muscles. “I’m already sore, so I’ll definitely be taking these.”

He sits awkwardly on the side of the bed, unsure how to treat you after your little encounter. His brows are furrowed, a deep frown on he’s seemingly deep in thought.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just spit it out.” His head immediately snaps to you, eyes guarded and unreadable.

“What we did downstairs, it’s… not right. I’m supposed to protect young, impressionable girls like you. I’m a father—I would die if Tomi was after a man more than twice her age.”

You pull the blanket off of you and climb over to where the older man is seated on the mattress. “Keishin, let me ask you something.” He lifts his head, expectant. “Did you enjoy what we did? Because I did.” He nods slowly, still unsure what you’re getting at.

Taking his face in your hands, you tell him what you’ve been thinking for weeks. “At the end of the day, we’re two consenting adults who partook in consensual activities. Even if someone wants to clutch their pearls because you’re older than me, who cares?”

“Yeah, I get that, but… It has to be some sort of ethics violation on my part. You’re younger than my daughter, Bunny.”

“Even if it is, you have to allow yourself to live a little. Life is too short to deny yourself pleasures the world has to offer, and I don’t know about you, but I was very pleased by our… tryst.”

A cute blush spreads across Keishin’s cheeks as he remembers everything he said and did to you. “Aha, I was too. So, um… Would you want to do that again, sometime?” he asks, running a hand through his hair like he always does when he’s nervous.

You giggle and tackle him on the bed, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Of course I do. We can even do it now, if you’d like…”

A couple hours later, just before Hitomi comes back, you limp across the hallway to your room and pass out, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

And that is how your little arrangement begins.

Most of your time is spent with Hitomi, mostly shopping and going out to eat when she has the day off, or just watching Netflix in her room when you’re both too tired to go anywhere.

However, in the wee hours of the morning when you’re sure that she’s asleep, you sneak up to her father’s bedroom and get fucked so hard and so good you can barely make it back to your bedroom before the sun rises.

It’s a good arrangement, you think, you both get what you want and your friend is none the wiser. You figure no harm, no foul. At the end of the winter break, Keishin will likely want to cut things off with you and you’ll go back to your college dorm as if nothing happened.

But the winter break isn’t over yet, and you plan on making the most of it.

Keishin has been fucking you into the mattress for so long, time no longer even makes sense anymore. 

You’re sweaty and exhausted, muscles so sore and shaky, but the thrusting between your legs shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. The harsh grip on your hips will likely bruise, but luckily you can hide them, unlike the few close calls you’ve had with poorly-placed marks on your neck.

Despite your exhaustion, you continue to meet Keishin’s thrusts by humping your hips back at him.

He gives your ass a harsh spank and fucks into you harder, making you whine and clench around him. “You’re an insatiable little thing, aren’t you? So fucked out and dripping with my cum, yet you still want more,” he says, but all you can do is gasp in response. You’re too far gone to produce any meaningful response. “What am I going to do with you?” If you had the energy, you’d tell him whatever he wants, but you don’t and the familiar tug of an orgasm is too hard to ignore.

“Fuck Daddy, I-I’m—”  

Suddenly, his phone comes to life, Hitomi’s face lighting up the screen as it vibrates. The pistoning of his hips slows, then stops completely as he reaches over and grabs it off the nightstand.

He suddenly pulls out of your sore, abused cunt and you almost whine at the loss before he buries himself back inside you. The way your face is pressed into the mattress makes it difficult, but you manage to turn your head to see what Keishin is doing behind you.

Your eyes widen and you try to wriggle out of his grip when you figure out that he’s going to answer his phone as he keeps fucking you.

A hand wraps around your neck, lifting you up from your position on the bed and you have to follow its movement to prevent your windpipe from getting crushed. You’re pressed against Keishin’s hard chest, and his cock is nestled right against your cervix. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just stay still and take it like a good little girl.”

The harsh grip on your neck releases and you’re shoved back into the bed, falling onto the comforter.

Keishin sounds completely normal when he answers his phone and it almost pisses you off—how can he be so unaffected when you’re at your wit’s end? 

He chirps into the phone, “Hey sweetheart, what’s up?” The only indication that anything is amiss is the slight breathlessness in his voice and the occasional curse under his breath.

He forces himself even deeper inside you so forcefully that you’re afraid he’ll punch straight through to your womb. You know it’s not possible, but with Keishin, it just might be. He’s always full of surprises, especially when it comes to your body.

“Oh yeah, sure I can drop it off to you later. I’m just a little… preoccupied at the moment,” he says with a sharp thrust of his hips and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. Keishin stiffens above you, waiting to see if Hitomi heard you through the phone.

“No, Hitomi, I’m not watching porn! But hold on a second, I think someone is at the door.” He sets the phone on the bed, muting the call as his cock hits your g-spot and you’re shaking, practically shivering in his arms. A couple of hard, coordinated rubs of your engorged clit and you’re cumming, gushing around him and keening as your muscles clench uncomfortably. You scream silently and fall limp onto the bed, unable to hold yourself up any longer. 

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum, but it’s to the point that each successive orgasm borders on the edge of pleasure and pain.

“Better keep quiet, wouldn’t want my daughter to hear you getting your pretty little cunt stuffed full of my cock,” Keishin snarls into your ear and you feel yourself clench painfully around him. Your body is just so worn out, but you know he won’t stop until he’s satisfied. “Or do you want her to know what a slut you are for her father?”

You shake your head vehemently, but the man inside you just chuckles as he keeps fucking you.

“Oh my god, oh fuck I-I…” You’re babbling nonsense to no one in particular.

“Ahh it was just-fuck, it was just some dude trying to sell me security cameras. Anyways, I’ll see you later honey, I love you.” His last few sentences sound rushed, urgent and you can tell from the twitching of his length that he’s close. The moment the phone is hung up, Keishin cages you between his body and the mattress. “Your cunt feels so fucking good, I’m gonna fill you up with my cum. Would you like that?”

You try to nod and make a noise akin to ‘mhm,’ but you’re not sure what it sounds like. You’re not really sure of anything right now, but what you are sure of is you want him to cum inside you.

“I could never deny you anything, sweet girl,” he groans.

Keishin fucks into you harder, faster, and it feels as if he’s quite literally rearranging your guts, he’s so deep inside you. He reaches down between your legs and pinches your sensitive bud between his fingers. “Think you have one more in you, hm?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for your answer. Of course you do.” He rubs your sore clit the way he knows will have you shaking and coming apart around him.

“Fuck Daddy, fuck I’m cumming!” you squeal, writhing and squirming from the painful, aching tightness of your orgasm as it builds once more. 

“Ergh, fuck yeah, cum on Daddy’s cock as he fills you up. You’re such a good fucking girl for me, I love this sweet pussy.”

You shriek as you cum, your climax so strong that your vision blurs at the edges and you convulse, sore muscles twitching with overuse. 

“Daddy’s gonna breed his sweet little girl, fuck, feels so fucking good!” Keishin groans, burying himself as deeply as he can inside you and shooting his cum into your quivering hole. You sigh in relief at the feeling of his warm cum flooding your womb, thankful he finally came because you couldn’t have lasted much longer in your state.

He flops next to you on the bed, sweaty and exhausted from your hours-long fuck marathon. Throwing an arm over your waist, he pulls you to his chest and buries his nose in your neck. 

Hitomi’s not supposed to come back for several hours, so you both deem it safe to fall asleep as you are. Just when you’re about to drift off, your phone buzzes from the bedside table.

You reach for your phone, expecting it to be some spam email.

Your heart stops, the whole world seems to freeze when you open the text message.

From: Tomie <3

So when were you going to tell me you’re fucking my dad?

[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.  

[incomingalbatross]

GF Fic: (Insert Time-Related Pun Here)

Having a birthday on the last day of summer was great when you were a kid.

When you were in college and vacation ended somewhere in the last third of August? Not so much.

“Grunkle Ford, I...I don’t think Mabel and I can make it to Gravity Falls,” Dipper confessed, the day before his twenty-second birthday.

“Is it the travel time?” Ford asked from the other end of the phone. “If your usual transportation is too slow, we can call in a favor or two for you kids—I know plenty of entities that would be happy to give you a lift as a birthday present—”

“No, I know, I know,” Dipper said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “And I really appreciate that, Grunkle Ford, I just...it’s not the travel, it’s being there. The other years we’ve been in college, our birthday was always on a weekend—last year was a Monday, but we spent that year with you guys instead of in school—”

“Thank goodness that seer tipped us off about her vision of 2020!” Ford agreed. “Taking a gap year to sail the Arctic with us was definitely the right decision for you two.”

“Right? Half a semester of online classes was more than enough. But—I mean, maybe it’s being back in school after being gone for a year, maybe it’s just early-semester problems, but...” Dipper sighed. “It’s just, I’m taking five classes, and I’ve got a TA job this year, and I’m getting back into the DD&MD group again and maybe planning to DM a oneshot as a Halloween event, and...” He sighed again. “It all looked much more manageable on my schedule. It was color-coded and everything!”

Grunkle Ford hummed noncommittally.

“Yeah, I know,” Dipper admitted. “Not the first time I’ve overbooked myself.”

“Not quite, perhaps. But it’s very good that you’re learning to recognize it and take steps to take care of yourself—when I was in college, I burned out routinely.”

“Mabel would sic the ‘Self-Care Fairy’ on me again if I didn’t learn.” The “Self-Care Fairy” was a truly terrifying onslaught of Mabelness, complete with costume and character voice, and would not go away until its subject had reached an acceptable level of well-being and had examined their mistakes. “Which is why...I have to cancel. If I came to Gravity Falls, even with instant travel, I’d only be able to get there around like 5:00 PM and I’d be stressed and anxious the whole time. And then I’d get back here exhausted and with no homework done and with class tomorrow, and...I just don’t think I can afford that.” Dipper paused, a knot twisting in his stomach. “I’m really sorry, I wish we could come...”

“Of course, Dipper, we know you do!” Grunkle Ford hastened to assure him. “Don’t feel sorry for us—of course we’d love to see you, but we just had the summer together. I’m just sorry you’re so short on time.” There was a moment’s silence.

“But how is Mabel doing? Is she facing the same challenges?”

“I mean, sort of.” Dipper smiled ruefully. “She kept trying to figure out some solution so that we could have our usual birthday and everything would work out, but...neither of us could come up with anything that would actually work. And she’s really busy too. She jumped back into school full steam ahead, and she’s got her Etsy store, and all her social groups to keep up with—you know she’s better at managing her energy than I am, but it’s still a lot.”

“I understand that,” Ford said. “You both do what you need to to keep up with your responsibilities, okay? We’re very proud of you both, you know.”

Dipper swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I know, Grunkle Ford.”

“Well, then, I’ll let you go—I imagine you have plenty to do right now! We’ll get in touch with you tomorrow, even if only by text.”

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford! Mabel and I are going to video-call at some point, we think, so there’s that. Say hi to Stan and Soos and Melody and the kids and everyone for me?”

“Of course, my boy. Have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The call disconnected, and Dipper sighed, throwing himself down on his bed. After a minute, he picked up his phone again and texted Mabel.

Just called Ford and canceled plans. He said to take care of ourselves and that he and Stan are proud of us.

Then he pushed himself into the homework for tomorrow until his phone buzzed.

Aww, of course he did. <3 Thanks for calling, brobro. I wish we could go, but you were right--I’ve got WAY too much booked. Why didn’t we check what weekday our birthday was FIRST???

Dipper snorted. Maybe we’re dumb :/

IMPOSSIBLE, Mabel sent back. Clearly an evil College Schedule Gremlin messed with our brains

Is that the same guy who makes it so you can never take the prereqs you need when you need them?

Yep!! And the one who fogs your brain so you THINK you’ve filled all your requirements until it’s too late to patch up the holes in your plan. His phone buzzed a second time after that text. ...Ugh, maybe there ARE gremlins in all the college systems

It would explain Blackboard, Dipper agreed with a frown. Huh, maybe they should look into that...

Anyway, though, u good for Zoom tomorrow?

Dipper huffed, reminded of the fact that they had no time for a paranormal investigation right now. Yeah, he typed, I can do an hour or so anytime after 5:30.

Cool, I will figure out a time and let you know!! Can’t wait to see your 22-year-old face!! :) Even if it sucks that we can’t party :(

Same, same. TTYL :)

Dipper tossed his phone aside again, shutting his eyes for a minute. It wasn’t just the party that had him down—though he would miss the bash that Gravity Falls usually threw on their birthday. It was...everything.

It was having a birthday without Mabel.

Oh, sure, they would talk, but they wouldn’t be in the same place. That was why, really, he’d hung onto their plans until the very last minute. He’d made it work on paper—taking an evening to travel to Gravity Falls, have a party, and be back in time for the next class—and it just felt wrong to admit defeat, to compromise on something this important. Their birthday meant the two of them celebrating together, having a good time, acknowledging that it was important.

This year wasn’t going to feel like a birthday at all, Dipper thought glumly.

But no, that was quitter talk. They were going to do their best anyway, because they were the Mystery Twins! Even if the situation was lame. Even if he was going to spend his time on the call with Mabel tomorrow doing homework and/or bursting with stress.

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Why do I always overfill my schedule?” he asked plaintively.

The ceiling didn’t answer.

---

Dipper dropped his backpack with a thud on his dorm room floor, hastily unzipping it and digging out his laptop. He was late—he’d left his thermos in his last classroom, and been halfway across campus before he realized and turned around to go get it. He blamed his sleep deprivation (a week in, and his body still hadn’t readjusted to the rhythm of morning classes).

Now, though, he could finally pull up Zoom. He plugged in his headphones as he waited for it to connect (stupid dorm wifi), and was rewarded with an ear-splitting squeal.

“Happy birthday, Dipper!”

He grinned at her beaming face. “Happy birthday, Mabel!”

“Did you get a birthday cupcake?” she demanded. “Or at least a birthday cookie?”

He grimaced. “I got ice cream at the cafeteria, but I had to eat it there,” he confessed. “Here, I’ve got...a birthday candy bar?”

“Hmph.” Mabel looked crestfallen, but plastered a smile on anyway. “It’ll have to do! We can sing Happy Birthday, anyway. One, two, thr—”

Before they could launch into an inevitably out-of-sync rendition of “Happy Birthday,” Dipper heard a loud knock. Judging by Mabel’s startled turn towards her door, she heard it too—

Wait, what?

The knocking repeated. On both their doors.

“..Huh,” Mabel said thoughtfully. With a wordless glance between them, they both unplugged their headphones and went to their respective doors.

“Happy birthday, slugger!” Stan said, grinning, the instant he saw Dipper. Over the internet, Ford’s voice was greeting Mabel at the same time.

Dipper’s jaw dropped.

“Ha!” Grunkle Stan shoved past him into the room. Waving to the camera, he added, “Happy birthday, sweetie!”

Ford peered past Mabel into the screen. “Happy birthday, Dipper, my boy!”

“But—what—”

“Grunkles!” Mabel cried. “...But wait, why not just video call us? Not that we’re not happy to see your wrinkly faces, but you came such a long way!”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dipper said, waving his arm in confusion. “You guys—you know we can’t really visit, right? Even with you with us? We don’t have time. I dont want you guys to waste a trip—”

“But we didn’t,” Ford said smugly. “We came to bring your birthday presents.”

With a flourish, Stan produced something and handed it to Dipper. It looked like...a piggy bank, but with a clock face set into the side?

Mabel gasped. “It’s so CUTE!”

“But what is it, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked.

“Simply put, my boy...it’s time.”

“It’s a Time-Savings Bank,” Stan said proudly. “Got our hands on these babies a few months ago, on a little side trip. See, when you’ve got some extra time—like, at night, or when you’re waiting for a pot to boil, or whatever—you can use these gizmos to store it up instead! Then when you need more time, you use the clock to take it back out. Whammo! You squeeze in a few extra hours between the normal ones.”

“Like Daylight Saving Time without the false advertising,” Ford added. “We know you two are short on time right now, but...if you’d like, there’s enough in here to give you and everyone currently at the Mystery Shack a good few hours of spare time. What do you say, kids? Still up for a party?”

“Are we!” Mabel crowed.

Dipper stared at this miraculous device. “But...that’s a lot of hours,” he said. “Where did you get the time?”

Stan barked out a laugh. “You kiddin’, Dipper? We figured from the start that at least one of you would burn out when you went back to school. We’ve been putting time aside in these things for months.”

“...Really?” Dipper said. Somehow, he found himself blinking rapidly, and swallowing down some obstruction in his throat.

Stan coughed uncomfortably, looking away. “I mean, it’s not like we gave you any time we had a use for. Just some odds and ends here and there...every day... Anyway! You kids wanna get this show on the road?”

“YES!” Mabel shouted.

Dipper beamed. “Definitely,” he said. “Absolutely.”

And a few minutes later, when they all found themselves in the Shack (courtesy of one of those “favors” Ford had mentioned yesterday), and Dipper had piled into the inevitable group hug with his twin and his grunkles—and with hours of birthday celebration in front of them all—he had to add, “Best present ever.”

[primalsouls]

healing kisses

aether x gn! reader

⚠️ : none

theme : fluff

note: first canon character x reader insert fic lol. i don't really normally write stuffs like this because i always feel ill make the characters too ooc... but hope this one do well. still got a few fic ideas in mind for aether and a couple of other characters. :) thank you for reading! <3

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

After finishing the fourth commission of the day, Aether and Paimon made their way back to Mondstadt to collect their rewards from the Guild and visit a friend for another reward, a tasty one the two hoped. The journey to the entrance of the windy city was short, for the last commission happened to be just around the corner, somewhat a few yards away from the bridge. Just a few hilichurls and mitachurls in a camp that needed to be clear off. It is no surprise the young man managed to get hurt, not severely as he thought but some of the wounds did made him wince with every step he took.

"Paimon hopes [Y/N] could make us some delicious snacks! their cooking skill is amazing!" Paimo said excitedly, earning a look from the blonde outlander. "What? It's true! Your cooking skills comes in second place!" Paimon added and it earned her a light chuckle from Aether as he shook his head.

"[Y/N] does make a perfect Sticky Honey Roast." The traveler commented as the pair walked the brigde, trying to be as mindful as they could for Timmie's birds while they passed by him. Paimon nodded with a hungry look on her eyes, mouth already wettering at the thought of the dish. With her small hands pounding the air in an impatient manner and a frown on her face, she turned to Aether with a pout added in.

"C'mon! Let's hurry up! Paimon can't wait no more!" Paimon exclaimed, already floating ahead towards the gate where the two Knights of Favonius stood guarded on each side. Aether let out another laugh before he took off from his walking pace, an apology being thrown over to Timmie for disrupting the birds once again. He raced behind the floating figure he jokingly called Emergency Food, his own heart beating with anticipation to see his good friend [Y/N], ignoring the amount of sharp pains his body received with each hurried step. Aether waved at the guards before stepping within the city walls. Paimon glared lightly as the traveler as she watched him reached the Guild's stand, a tiny foot tapping the air rapidly, her hands on each side of her waist. "C'mon, c'mon! Paimon's stomachs is getting grumpy!" Paimon told him, hands thrown up in the air to further push her point. Aether rose a brow at the mention of stomachs, still wondering about their conversation of what was weirder from a long ago.

"Okay, okay... Why don't you go wait by [Y/N]'s place and I'll meet you there?" Aether proposed as he turned to Katherine and gave her a quick smile and greetings. He didn't have to wait for Paimon's response as she already disappear from his sight. Sighing tiredly, he looked at the young man, his smile still in place. "Katherine, hello. I'm finished with today's commissions." He said, patiently waiting for the rewards Katherine was about to bring out.

Paimon flew a bit around Mondstadt, grinning widely as [Y/N]'s house came into view. She quickly headed to the front of the house. Paimon looked around for the [color]-haired individual, spotting them nowhere outside their home. Appearing in front of the door, Paimon knocked on the surface as loud as she could, stopping when it flew opened. The grin widen at the sight of her and the traveler's friend.

"[Y/N]! Hi! Paimon's happy you're home!" The floating being said with a bright smile. [Y/N] chuckled at Paimon. Their eyes scanned around the area, standing aside to let her in.

"Hey there, Paimon? Where's Aether?" They asked, closing the door behind themselves. Paimon explained Aether's whereabouts, following [Y/N] to the kitchen where a few plates of snacks where already prepared. "Ah, then it shouldn't take him long to get here." They said with a shrug. Paimon nodded, her eyes shined with glee at the delicious snacks she could smell from her place.

"Yup! And it seem you already got us ready with the goodies! It's like you knew we were coming! What are you? What's that power?" Paimon rambled as she grabbed a Mondstadt Hash Brown from one of the plates. [Y/N] shook his head with a giggle escaping past his lips.

"I just had a hunch you two would stop by. Guess I was right." They replied, blinking when another knock sounded from the door. He walked out of the kitchen, letting Paimon enjoyed the snacks. When he reached the door, another knock came through. Already with the person in mind, [Y/N] opened the door, their smile growing on their face when they saw Aether... slouching slightly with a pained look on his face. Their eyes finally took in Aether's state, eyes widening a bit. "Aether! Oh my Archons, what happened?" They asked as he helped them in. Aether waved his hand dismissively, chuckling a bit.

"Tis nothing but a scratch." The blonde man said with a shrug. Paimon poker her head out of the kitchen, wondering what was all the commotion about. She raised a brow at Aether's arm swing over the other's shoulders, looking like he was in pained. She rose a brow, her head tilted to the side.

"Scratch? It's more than a scratch! You got cuts here and there. And it made look like a small gash, but it is still more than a scratch." [Y/N] frowned, sitting Aether down on the couch. "Stay here, I'll go some stuffs to bandage you up." With no reply, [Y/N] headed to their bathroom, a small yet concern frown on their face. Once [Y/N] was out of sight and earshot, Paimon flew over to Aether.

"What are you doing? You're not that hurt!" Paimon said, her hands on her waist. Aether hushed at her, looking behind him to make sure [Y/N] didn't hear them speak.

"I know, I know... but... I like it when [Y/N] take cares of me... Their touches are so soft and gentle." Aether whispered, smiling longigly at the thought of [Y/N]'s hands brushing up against his skin. Paimon gave him a look before putting the pieces together.

"Oooh~! Someone's got a crush!" Paimon exclaimed as she floated around Aether who waved his hands to quiet down but it was a bit late, [Y/N]'s footsteps could already be heard.

"Who has a crush on who?" They asked, their head cocking to one side as they rounded the couch to seat in front of the outlander on the coffee table. Aether's cheeks were tained in a rosy color, clearing his throat as he and Paimon exchanged looks.

Paimon shrugged, shaking her head as she tried to come up with an excuse. Aether only scratched the back of his head, looking around to stop their friend from looking at the small blush on his cheeks.

"Um... J-Jean! Jean has a... uh, cru-crush on Master Diluc!" Paimon stuttered out and glanced back at the traveler. "R-right, Aether!?" Aether nodded eagerly, wanting to skip the topic already. [Y/N] rose a brow at the false gossip, nodding slowly as they opened the wooded med kit sat in their lap.

"Jean crushing on Master Diluc? Really?" [Y/N] muttered in disbelief, not believing the two but let it slide. Paimon and Aether only nodded, watching [Y/N] take out a roll of bandage. Paimon let the two alone, feeling more hungry than ever. As the two sat in silence, Aether's eyes studied the [hair color] Anemo user. He studied how gentle they tried to be with his wounds, mindful to not press to hard to cause him the wince in pain. It brought a small smile to the traveler's face, the blush he thought was long gone reappeared faintly across his cheeks. He let out a whine when alcohol was rub the last wound, alerting [Y/N]. "Oh, I'm sorry! You're okay?" They asked softly, [eye color] eyes locking with golden-yellow eyes. It took the blonde a minute to respond, having to be lost in their eyes. "Aether?"

Snapping out of it, said man nodder quickly, looking away to hide his ever-growing blush.

"Yeah, yeah... I'm okay. It j-just took me off guard." He said, giving [Y/N] an awkward smile. The individual chuckled as they finished up wrapping the wound, bringing Aether's arm out and closer to their personal space. Their soft lips pressed a light kiss on top of the bandaged area. Such gesture made Aether's heart run a mile over and over. He was sure the blush gotten redder and up to the point of his ears. "W-what?" He stuttered, unsure how to react. Part of him was taken aback by the gesture, the other part panicked as many thoughts ran through his head about the meaning of the gesture.

"My mom used to kiss all my cuts away whenever I get hurt. Said a kiss heals any wounds." [Y/N] explained, smiling fondly at the memories that crossed their mind. Without thinking, Aether pointed at his lips.

"You forgot this wound then." He stated out without a second thought. The words caught [Y/N] off guard, their own cheeks dusted with the same rosy blush that matched almost woth Aether. Their eyes widen in surprise. Aether even caught on into his own words, immediately stuttering out an apology as he tried to come up with a different excuse, but before any words were let out, he felt a pair of smooth hands cup his cheeks and pulled him closer, his lips meeting up with [Y/N]'s in a quick yet sweet kiss. Pulling away, both of them had their blush reddened like a Jueyun Chili all over their face.

"Well, t-there you go... All healed up." [Y/N] started off, eyes casted down at their hands. Aether, now filled up with a bit more confidence, took [Y/N]'s hands in his own.

"I don't think they're healed. They still hurt." To 'prove' his point, he guided the other's hand and lightly tap their fingertips against his lip, acting out a wince of pain. [Y/N] let out a genuine laugh, shaking their head at the outlander's tactics. Aether joined in, their bands still in his, intertwined together.

Paimon sighed as she finished off the last plate, blinking when she heard laughter coming from the living room. Peaking her head out, she grinned widely at the view of Aether and [Y/N] smiling lovingly at each other, chuckling here and there about the traveler's little tactic to get another kiss on the lips from the Anemo wielder. It was about time for the two of them to get together, afterall.

...

..

.

"So, was it you who has a crush on me?"

"... Yeah..."

"Heh, such a cutie."

[qlala]

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s. 

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event. 

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets. 

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)   

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd. 

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.   

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth. 

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).   

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day. 

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat. 

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk. 

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin. 

“Snart!” 

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand. 

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives. 

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down. 

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes.   “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.” 

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile.  “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.” 

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up. 

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?” 

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!” 

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt. 

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…” 

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.” 

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look. 

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.” 

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.” 

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t. 

“You had a point, Barry.” 

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?” 

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him. 

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist. 

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.” 

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.” 

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.   

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people” 

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.” 

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.” 

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone. 

“You can barely stand.” 

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake. 

“Barry—” 

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop. 

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer. 

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again. 

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.” 

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard. 

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions. 

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address. 

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.” 

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion. 

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement. 

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.” 

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen. 

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch. 

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again. 

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.” 

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick. 

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass. 

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again. 

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.” 

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him. 

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile. 

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.  

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.” 

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them. 

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment. 

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway. 

[bluesylveon2]

Do You Remember When? (Epilogue)

Written for @levihanweek Day 6: Memory and Day 7: Free Space. This is a continuation of the other fic I wrote which you can find here!

Part 1

A/N:

Levi and Hange are 24 when they meet again and 29 when they get married

Thank you @levihanweek for hosting Levihan Week and @immagoudaboi for beta reading!

Enjoy!

Levi believed, with all his heart, that he was in some cheesy romantic movie or a shitty fanfic. Like the ones where there are 2 childhood friends, they separate, meet again, and fall in love after all those years.

Well, now that movie/book had ended and opened up to the sequel: the marriage.

Levi stared at himself while he adjusted the tie in the mirror. He was currently getting ready for his big day, and he also wanted to be alone for a few minutes. Here he was at a stage in life he never expected. Marrying his childhood crush, Hange.

The couple decided to keep their marriage small. Only close friends and families were allowed to witness the event. Luckily they found a small botanical garden that was perfect for the venue, reception, and sunset photoshoots. Plus, the garden had a section dedicated to sunflowers, a flower that makes Levi smile every time he sees it. Overall, it was perfect for the couple.

Levi still remembered the day they reunited. It was only 5 years ago when Hange was with Erwin, and Levi swore Erwin would introduce her as his lover. Boy, was he wrong.

Levi made a mental note to thank whoever above for not including that.

(Np Levi)

His relationship with Hange developed smoothly for the most part. Sure there were rough patches along the way, but the two always overcame it. Thus their love grew stronger as the years progressed.

Their first date started as a simple fancy homemade dinner. It was quiet and peaceful. The couple had even sung some karaoke and ended the night waltzing to jazz music.

The second date was a whole 180. This date included Levi's 2021 Ducati XDiavel Black Star

motorcycle. It was a gift given to him by his uncle and all the gambling money he earned. The bike alone took Hange's breath away.

---

Hange let out a loud whistle as she eyed the Ducati. The motorcycle was very sleek, black, gray, and had a few hints of red. Overall, it screamed Levi.

"Levi! I didn't know you owned a Ducati! Do you know how much they are? Over 20k!" Hange exclaimed with stars in her eyes. Levi smirked before walking up to her side. He wrapped an arm around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Actually, this bike was a gift from Kenny. He won enough at the casino and bought it for me for my 24th birthday."

Hange fondly smiled at the thought. She knew Kenny always had a soft spot for Levi since he is his only nephew.

"You know what we should do now, Levi?" Hange's smile turned into a full grin. "Let's take it for a spin!"

Levi took his head off of Hanges shoulder and looked at her with shock. "Just like 10 years ago?"

"Yes! But…." Her voice trailed off, and she stared down at her feet. "Can I drive it this time?"

Levi's jaw dropped, and he just stared at her. Hange waved a hand in front of his face.

"Levi? Are you there?"

"I heard you. It's just….are you sure?" He asked with worry, and Hange chuckled at how cute he looked.

"No need to worry about me, Levi. Mike used to let me drive his motorcycle around, so I know what to do."

"He let you do what?!" Levi became horrified. Why didn't Mike ever mention this to him?

Hange waved a hand nonchalantly. "I only had minor scrapes when I first started, but I managed to pick it up quickly. Just like you!"

-----

"So, where do you want to go?" Hange asked Levi, who wrapped his arms around her waist. The motorcycle purred with life, and the two had their helmets secured on their heads. The only thing left to do was actually leave Levi's garage.

"I'm okay with going anywhere. Just as long as I’m with you."

"Really? You don't mind driving us off the cliff?" Hange teased and laughed at her own suggestion.

Levi rolled his eyes but smirked along with Hange. "No, and nowhere reckless, Four-Eyes. Got it?"

Hange did a mini salute before facing forward and positioning herself to take off. "Yes, sir! Besides, I know the perfect place to go."

Levi decided to not question where Hange wanted to bring him. He trusted her enough to know that wherever she brought him will hold significance to the both of them.

Levi rested his head against Hange's back as she took off. He watched the city pass by in a blur while listening to Hange's merry laugh. It was like music to his ears despite the other sounds in the background. He kept his focus on Hange only.

Hange zoomed and zigzagged through the city. What felt like seconds, was actually hours when they arrived at their destination. Levi's eyes widened in recognition.

"Is this?" Levi asked Hange, and she nodded.

In front of Levi was the same park he took her to several years ago. The park itself had been updated in the past 10 years since the time he and Hange last snuck out. There were multiple colorful flowers and trees planted all over to provide more natural shade. Additionally, the city added more benches so people could sit down and enjoy the scenery.

Hange parked the motorcycle so she and Levi could get off. She extended her hand out to Levi (which he gladly accepted) and led him to the hill, where they shared their first kiss.

This time, there was a giant ginkgo tree with bright yellow leaves on the branches. The autumn breeze blew some of the leaves off to float in the air as if they were dancing. Hange let go of Levi to run up ahead and go under the tree.

It was an amazing sight for Levi to witness: from below the tree, Hange watched the leaves fall. She spread her arms out and laughed as the leaves began dancing around her body like it was people worshiping a goddess.

Boy was Levi in love.

"Levi! Come join me." Hange called out to him as the ginkgo leaves started decorating her brown hair.

Levi strode over to Hange and reached up to her head when he was close enough. He plucked a yellow leaf out of Hange's hair and brought it close to examine it.

"Did you know that the ginkgo leaf is considered a living fossil, and it symbolizes hope and peace in China? Additionally, it also survived the Hiroshima bombing, so it also symbolizes endurance and vitality."

Suddenly, Hange's face became serious, and she clasped her hands over Levi's. The yellow ginkgo leaf remained in Levi's grasp.

"Levi, I'm sorry about our falling out in the past."

"Hange, you don't need to apologize-"

Hange shut Levi up by pressing a finger to his lips.

"Let me finish." She added and retracted her finger. "I want this relationship-" she gestured between the two of them. "To be like the ginkgo leaf. Do you want to know why?" She quietly added.

Levi remained quiet but nodded his head, so Hange could continue.

"I want us to endure through every challenge we face together. Until we die. I want us to someday live together, have kids, and keep making happy memories. I know this is our second date, but I have always loved you, Levi. I want you to know that, but I don't expect you to--"

Hange never finished her rambling when Levi swiftly grabbed Hange by the back of her head and brought his lips to hers. She dropped her hands down and brought Levi close to her.

Levi didn't need to vocalize anything, but Hange already knew. It was like telepathy between the two of them; Levi loved her too.

The couple was preoccupied with their embrace to notice the yellow ginkgo leaf flutter down and land softly on the grass.

---

Levi smiled at the declaration of love under the ginkgo tree. The leaf Levi held was now pressed in a frame that sat in the couple's living room. It was a constant reminder of a new start in their lives. It symbolized turning a new leaf for the two.

Levi moved on to add the boutonniere to his suit. The item itself was made up of fake (because it saves money and lasts longer. Hange’s words, not his) sunflowers. Levi smiled after he finally pinned the boutonniere.

Boy, was he in love with Hange.

The door rattling interrupted Levi's thoughts of his fiance, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Mike! Erwin! I told you to knock before coming in-" Levi complained and turned around to glare at the intruder, only to be greeted by his fiance instead.

"Here. Hange?!" He exclaimed, and Hange chuckled.

"Oh, Levi. You know I don't knock when I enter the room. Especially the bedroom. I always catch you at the perfect times." She chuckled and wiggled her eyebrows. Levi blushed and looked away out of embarrassment.

"Why are you here? What about the whole 'seeing the bride before the wedding thing?'" Levi added, and Hange rolled her eyes.

"I could care less about that whole superstition shit, Levi. You know that."

Levi looked at Hange with concern. "What are you doing here anyway? Is something wrong?"

Hange fake gasped and widened her eyes. "Is it wrong for me to see my future husband on our wedding day?" She slumped her shoulders and strode over to stand next to Levi. Levi, noticing Hange’s distress, led her to sit down on a nearby sofa.

"Levi, to be honest, I'm nervous, and I just wanted to see you.”She admitted, wrapped her arms around Levi, and buried her face in the crook of his neck. She was careful enough to not ruin her makeup and hair.

Levi hugged Hange back and rubbed her back. "Your bridesmaids must be worried about you right now. Did you go ‘bridezilla’ on them?"

Hange laughed and looked up at Levi. He looked down at her in return. "Worse, but you don't need to know that."

Levi chuckled, and silence enveloped the two. It was nice, just sitting alone together in tranquility. This was their time to share before the ceremony. Sure, there might be chaos outside the room, but Levi and Hange were together. They endured every challenge like the ginkgo tree. The couple was also like a sunflower and the sun: facing each other until the end of the day.

-------

©: This is where I insert all rights reserved stuff. This story belongs to me. Do not modify or republish.

A/N:

I wrote 3 different wedding au's so far and I find that hilarious!

Thank you @cat for the suggestion! This is late but I was inspired to write more 😁

[asscreeds]

Heila - Chapter 1

“Heila,” an Old Norse verb meaning “to heal.”

Self-insert F!Eivor/Reader fic where the reader is a Dane from a clan with an unhinged leader that lands them in a heap of trouble, and are captured by Saxons after a failed raid. Eivor rescues the mortally wounded reader from certain death & with a little help from the Raven Clan, they are nursed back to health, and Eivor and Reader grow a little closer via helping eachother to overcome their traumas. Then inevitable lesbian pining and one or two (a little horny) dream sequences that suggest Eivor and the reader have actually known eachother for a very, very long time.

Reader is DFAB and uses she/her pronouns.

There are very specific trigger warnings for this chapter that are only referenced to later on in the story - graphic descriptions of violence, physical & psychological t/orture, religious fanaticism, wh/ipping, v/omit, blood, and minor/background character d/eath.

Read on AO3. i havent rlly posted fanfiction before on tumblr be nice to me

The morning waves broke calmly against the eastern shore of Cent, the salty sea breeze & sting of sand against your face and arms both familiar and calming to you; despite being weeks away from the place you once called home, it seemed the ocean would never change, no matter where you went. You could hear seabirds cry above you, and the gentle bustle of your impromptu settlement as your clanmates began to stir and prepare for the day to come. This was not your home, nor your intended destination when you had departed from your homeland - but, hopefully, you & your clan would make a home out of it yet. Originally you were to sail to Normandy but an unexpected and powerful storm threw your ship off course & you'd landed somewhere in England, according to your navigator, Vilmar.

Sitting around & watching the sun rise would not do much to help your people build a base camp. Before you could even get up, you heard footsteps in the sand behind you, and turned to find Gunnar. "There you are, y/n!" he bellowed, helping you to your feet as you giggled. "We've been looking for you for a meeting - needing your level head and all. We need supplies quickly," he said, quickly guiding you to your leader's tent, the both of you somehow avoiding bumping into clansmen carrying lumber, goods and the like. "Oh, needing my guidance for once, Gunnar? Or are you going to suggest we ride into the heart of a storm again?" you jested, elbowing his side as you walked up the green hillside. He made some sort of huffing sound, like a grumpy animal, and simply ushered you into the tent where your leader Frederik & Vilmar were already arguing.

"We need supplies, Vilmar! Else we'll all starve by the end of the week!" Frederik growled, slamming his fist into the table, sending little carved statuettes out of their places on the map.

Vilmar moved to speak, then saw you and Gunnar standing at the entrance of the tent, visibly deflating & waving the two of you over. "Hello Gunnar, y/n." Your arrival didn't seem to placate Frederik at all… 

Vilmar continued with his thought. "I know we need supplies, Frederik, but the risks outweigh all rewards at the moment. We musn't rush in blindly going a-vikingr, we must make allies first and set up a trade route," he said, rearranging the statuettes to their original places. "We've sent scouts out to every corner of this kingdom, as far as we could, and every single one has come back with word of a potential allyship, and a warning that every single village here is armed to the teeth. We cannot afford to raid right now." 

Frederik seethed quietly, seemingly first accepting Vilmar's words, then growing even more agitated. "And how long will it take,Vilmar, to establish a trade route?" he spat, staring down at the other man with something unreadable behind his eyes. Vilmar held his stare, then looked down at the map. "...A week."

The effect was instantaneous. Before you could even get a word in, Frederik stormed out of the tent, leaving the three of you bewildered, confused & frightened. You knew Frederik could be hellfire at his worst, and he'd always been obsessed with the tales of glory & kings that were told to children, and you had always chalked it up to him barely being 22 winters old, but this was something else. Sharing a worried look with your friends, you chased after him, & were met with a small crowd that had already gathered in the center of the encampment. Frederik's clear & raucous voice rang out over your clansmen, and you saw him pacing back & forth on a wooden platform. Like a king.

"Hear me, kinsmen! We may have landed in a strange land, but it is not an unknown land! We are upon the shores of England, the holy country," he spat out the world 'holy' like an insult, "and we are not the first Danes to do so, and we will not be the last. England is the same as any other land - full & ripe of pickings for the vikingr. Any and all of the able-bodied, you will ride the waterhorse with me to their Christ-House, and we will deprive them of their stores & silver!"

No, no, no, no, no. This was suicide.

Frederik leapt down from the platform, immediately heading for the armory, his wolf-fur cape billowing behind him as if he were a great hero from the old tales, though you knew he was anything but . This was not a good plan, nor a sound plan. He was insane if he thought a band of two dozen sea-soaked & exhausted Danes could pillage a monastery & live to tell the tale. You rushed ahead & grabbed his arm. He did not look at you.

"Frederik, please! Listen to me! This will not end well for you, nor for this clan! Follow through with Vilmar's plan instead, please, I am begging you -" you cried, and were met with the man shaking you off as if you were a fly. He turned to you with a wild look in his eye, forcing himself in your space, close enough for you to finally smell the ale on his breath & to see the dullness in his honey-brown eyes. "I have seen great glory in my dreams, y/n. I will not be denied it." You didn't know what to say, staring at him in shock. He looked at you again, and decided something, muttering something under his breath. "You will ride with me," he growled.

This shocked you out of whatever daze you were in. "What? No! I…" you yelped, but he had already turned from you and stormed off again. This was not good. You were never an adept fighter. Sure, you had trained once or twice in your early years, but you would never call yourself a drengr. But to go against your leader's word & break your oath to him would be a worse fate, consigning you to Helheim. Begrudgingly, you went off in search of armor & a weapon, the distant sound of thunder rumbling in the sky.

A few hours had passed, and to the best of all of your abilities, your clan had mustered up a small yet intimidating army. Maybe things would go right, and you'll topple their church like a house of cards, but you couldn't shake the ever-present feeling of something being wrong. Finishing the warrior-braid in your hair and tying it with a leather strip, you donned the leather & fur armor handed to you by Runa, your weaponsmith. It did not fit you perfectly, but still fit, and would serve its purpose and protect you yet from whatever weapons the English would use to defend themselves. Your weapons of choice, an axe & a flail, hung from the belt around your waist heavily, and you were not used to the weight of them. A shield adorned with your clans symbol, the stag, laid against your back like a mockery of a security blanket. Taking a swig of mead to warm your belly & calm your nerves, you give one last glance to your tent & personal belongings - the dried flower & a bag of jewelry (that you've had to hide from your kinsmen many times) from your mother, a lovingly-written & tear-stained letter from your father, among other things given to you by your friends & family as parting gifts before your departure from Denmark. 

You did not know it would be the last time you would see them.

Taking a deep breath, you exited your tent and headed for the shore, where many of your clan had already hopped into the three longships, painted red & blue, the stark coloration of the paint looking even brighter against the dark waves of the sea. Were you looking at them any other time, you would have called the scene pretty, but not while you had to wade through knee-deep oceanwater to try and scramble up the side of one of them. You struggled for a bit before a hand grasped your arm and pulled you up, and you heard a familiar voice. "y/n? What are you doing here? You should be staying here, with the women & children!" Gunnar spoke, his voice hushed so that the figure of Frederik somewhere behind him could not hear. You could only send him a sad but stern look. "Frederik insisted." He looked at you for far too long, and you could almost hear him thinking - he knew that you were not a drengr, either. He made some sort of soft sound & pulled you fully up onto the boat, and turned back to face forward in his seat. You could not read the expression on his face.

You sat next to him, both looking forward to Frederik, who turned around as the rest of the drengr boarded the ships, his face somber for a split second before shifting to another, more spry and almost violent expression. His voice rang out against the waves, his blonde hair had already begun falling out of his warrior-braid, sending tendrils of it flying in the wind, and his iron armor shone brightly when the sun allowed it. He was a picturesque vikingr, one you would see in the margins of fairytale books.

"Hear me, kinsmen! Today we sail for Raculf Monastery, upon the Northeastern Shore, for glory & for life! For there it is where we will find the supplies we need to replace those we lost in that dreadful storm, and there is where we will succeed! I know many of you have become doubtful, but fear not - I have dreamt of these moments and seen the glory within, and I have all of my faith in the nine Nornir that we will prevail!" he quaked, earning a few rejoiced battle cries from those around you, and even you felt a little energized, his words setting a newfound battlelust within you that you didn't know you even had. 

Your clan set sail immediately, the wind from the brewing storm to the south boosting your speed on the short journey to the monastery. It would only take an hour or two to get there, if Vilmar's predictions were correct. Nervously you checked your weapons, feeling & testing the sharpness of your axe's blade-edge, and Gunnar gently elbowed your side. "Never took you for an axe woman," he said with a light chuckle, sending you an uneasy smile. You couldn't bring yourself to match it. "I have never been forced to choose, Gunnar." 

His smile dropped momentarily, then returned, albeit a bit smaller, and he turned to you fully. His blue eyes shone with confidence. "Listen, y/n. I know you are worried as I am, but I have faith in both Frederik & the Gods that everything will go right for us this day," he said, gently setting his huge hand on your shoulder and giving a friendly shake. Slowly, you returned his smile. Maybe so.

It was difficult, however, to be so confident & blindly trusting in Frederik & your luck when the storm roared behind you, moving just as fast if not faster than the longships. Too soon you had seen the white pires of the monastery in view, the columns of smoke from countless houses & other buildings rising high into the air as the monastery's denizens continued their lives unaware to the coming danger, and too soon had you heard Frederik's voice over the roar of the sea again. It began to rain heavily, soaking through the leather of your armor and chilling your bones. You felt as if you were in a dream.

"Look there, men! Our prize, to be split open & savored! Prepare yourselves!" he roared, and it seemed like you had blinked and were suddenly upon the shore: the sails lowered, and just as Frederik blew into his horn, a deafening crack of thunder prevailed your raid, and a fire had already started, the hay-roof of a villager's home struck by lightning. Frederik gave a booming laugh, joyous & strong. "Thor is with us!" 

And like that, you and your three-dozen clansmen descended upon the monastery, moving together like some unstoppable force. Taken off guard the Saxon warriors had little time to prepare for the assault, and many were immediately fell by the first wave of your brethren; thankfully you were at the back, but this left you open to attack from reinforcements - hopefully they would not come. You quickly entered some sort of fugue state where it felt like you were not truly there, not truly controlling your body, letting your arm guide itself, your axe cutting the chests & necks of already weakened Saxons, spilling red red bubbling blood - was this the battle fury felt by berserkir? 

You did not enjoy it. You did not find glory in taking these men's lives.

By the time you had advanced closer to the church, many of the buildings were already set ablaze, the smell of wood-smoke & hair burning making you choke. Not even the pouring rain could douse the fires. All at once you were overwhelmed by the sensations, the sounds - iron clashing, battle cries, the screaming of civilians caught in crossfire - it was too much. You felt yourself shake. But you pressed on, finishing the weak off as before, checking corpses (both of your clansmen and Saxons, though notably more of the latter) as quickly as you could to make sure none of them were breathing - you did not know what you would do if you did find one still alive, either kill him or spare him - and, thankfully, you were never injured. Somewhere along the line you had reunited with Gunnar, and you helped him finish off the last of the Saxon warriors, to which he gave a grateful nod towards you, then a nod to the church. Come with me.

The locked timber doors of the monastery's inner sanctum were no match for the wrath of the vikingr, and crumbled as easily as any other. You both had finally breached the walls of the church when you heard Frederik's victorious cry, and when you turned the corner you could see why - barrels upon barrels and boxes upon boxes of supplies, food, raw materials, and the like. 

You had done it. You had won, raided a monastery, and lived to tell the tale. You felt yourself let out a breath and breathe deeply in, something that felt entirely alien to you, as if you had not taken a breath in your entire life. You felt as if you could pass out on the spot. This alerted Frederik of your presence, and he turned to you and Gunnar immediately, wild-eyed and ecstatic. "We have done it, my drengr! Here is our lifeblood!" You couldn't match his enthusiasm, standing as still as a statue, but managed to let out a light chuckle. You had done it.

The chuckle turned into a scream as two arrows pierced your shoulder from behind.

Frederik let go of you and you crumpled to the floor with a sharp cry, taken aback as a dozen or so more Saxons forced themselves through the church's doors, and another had a knife to Gunnar's throat. Reinforcements.

If they had gotten to the three of you, who knows what became of the rest of your clansmen.

You writhed on the marble flooring, your blood staining the tiles red as you tried to gain your footing, your breathing, anything to keep you grounded in this world and alive as your body could not stand to produce adrenaline anymore from the strenuous and long battle, the sharp pain of the arrows lodged between your shoulder blade & your spine making it hard to do anything but lay there. At least it had not been your head.

You felt a boot come down upon your back, knocking the wind out of you again, and a hand tangled itself in your hair, pulling harshly against your scalp to raise you up from the floor - seemingly higher than you've ever been - and another hand came to pull your arms behind your back, as if you could even hope to try and break free. A Saxon, a zealot, you would later say, stepped forward from the rest towards Frederik. 

"Hail, heathen," he spat, the rustle of his gilded armor & the voice behind his helmet too loud, too harsh against the once-peaceful quiet of the church. You squeezed your eyes shut. "What brings you here to this House of God, to commit acts of heresy? Tell me why I should not slay you and all of your kin for defiling this place." Thunder roared outside the church, stained glass windows shaking with the sound.

Frederik seemed in shock & at a loss for words. He took a breath, then two, and the Saxon grew impatient. "Speak, worm."

"I, I - we came here for supplies, and -"

"And you thought you could pillage and raid and steal, or maybe you have tried to make peace and were rejected and thought this was the answer. I've heard the same story and the same lie from the other dozens of you Danes that I have slain. I want you to tell me. Why should I not slay you?" You were suddenly very aware of how much of your blood was outside of your body on the floor, where it should not be, and you felt bile bubble up in your throat, saliva drooling from your mouth as if you were a sick animal.

Frederik could not respond. In his mind, he did what he thought was best, not for his clan, but for him; he ran. 

At once arrows were drawn upon him, but the Saxon merely waved an arm & they were dismissed. "Ah, I love a good coward. Let him run & tell other Danes of his failure. Let him live with it. Take the others to Canterbury to be converted." 

You were again jostled around, catching a glimpse of Gunnar in your periphery, who had cast his gaze down at the ground with a blank stare. You both had the same thought.

He left us.

Before you could finally let yourself pass out from shock, you felt a hand on your jaw, turning your head this way and that. "You're a pretty one, eh? Not a fighter like the others. What are you doing out here with these barbarians?" The Saxon from before. You couldn't meet the man's gaze, locking eyes for a just a second before you looked to the floor again. He gave a light chuckle. Thankfully, he said no more, and you felt yourself grow weaker and weaker as you and your kinsmen were bound & loaded into carts like animals, the rain having let up, only lightly sprinkling now. You fell asleep and dreamt nothing. It was both a blessing & a curse.

You all sat there quietly for the remainder of the morning, any attempt at conversation harshly shushed by a well-armored guard standing nearby on watch. From what you could see, he was bored… as if these circumstances were normal to him. Capturing & abusing prisoners. These Saxons were a new ugly.

When you awoke, you were corralled in some sort of cage with a few others, and you could feel the morning sun beating down on your back. You went to move but were suddenly reminded of the arrows still present in your back and let out a wheezing, pained sound, frightening some of your clansmen around you, waking up others. They had not sustained much injury in the battle aside from bruises and little cuts - your injury, amongst all of those still alive, was the worst. The Saxons had not even been so courteous to break off the shafts, and the nauseating feeling of the arrowheads moving between your muscles as you sat up nearly made you wretch onto the dirt. You were not used to pain like this. Among the others in your cage - all women - you found Hanne, Runa's daughter; Ulla, who you truly didn't know her origins but she could fight like a bear; and little Lissi, a winter younger than you, and in almost the same boat, though she had trained for combat for several seasons now. They all sent you sorrowful looks as blood began to drip from your nose & mouth onto your front, staining your tunic further. Tunic? You looked down. The Saxons had stripped you of your armor, at some point when you were asleep. Figures.

At some point, maybe during noon or after, bells sang from the church on the hillside, and a small, squirrely-looking old man had come down to bring all of you some dry bread & bowls of water. It was not a filling meal but you ate it gratefully regardless. He looked upon you & your kith, bound & shackled and being handfed like dogs, with great pity. An hour passed, and you were all allowed to relieve yourselves, though for some it had come too late. Then dusk came, and a different man approached your cages, followed closely by another armored Saxon. The man spoke in a strange tongue from an open book with a cross on the front, and from what English you understood you supposed it was some sort of rite, or blessing, or maybe a curse. Then they both went away, and you were all left alone for the night. They had not treated your injuries, nor given you anything to eat past the bread & water from midday. You thought of those back at the settlement, and hoped that they were safe… they did not deserve this mistreatment. And then you thought of Frederik, and a new fury from somewhere deep within you came to light. That fucking ergi. Abandoning his people. Maybe he had gone back to them, alone, and the thought of it made your blood boil - what lies would he tell them? It did not even matter if he told them, there would not be enough men left to rescue you. You looked up to the world around you in the cage, ignoring the burning of the arrows, and studied the night sky, and how the lights of the city reflected against the villager's homes, and how the moon seemed to give the church its own glow. This is what Frederik gave me , you thought. Consigned to die in a cage, locked up by an animal by the Saxons. Or worse. You saw a lone crow circling the church's highest point. And to yourself, you made an oath.

I will see to it that the coward faces what he has broken.

Another day went by, the same as the last, and then another. Some priests came by in the early morning of the second day and finally rid your back of the two arrows, though they did not truly clean the wounds, only simply broke off the shafts & quelled the bleeding. You were all only fed bread and water. On the third day, you refused your "meal," partly because of your burning hatred of Frederik to do anything properly, partly because of the fever that had set in and worsened rapidly over a few hours. You did not feel like yourself.

As you did every day, you sat still in the corner of the cage & observed villagers, soldiers, priests & pilgrims pass by, like a dog staring from the back of a kennel. Today, however, you were given the chance to see two new faces pass by - two new outlander faces. One of a tanned man with a beard in strange white & red gear, who looked upon you & your kith with a strange expression, and a tall, hooded woman with bear fur draped about her shoulders. A Norseman, plain in sight, and none of the Saxons in the city had even batted an eye at the pair. She looked at you with pity first, then her brows furrowed, and muttered something to her companion, who gave a short reply. They continued up the hill to the church - pilgrims, maybe? Doubtful.

An hour passed, and then two, then three, and another priest approached your cages. He spoke of conversion, some rite, and honestly you'd tuned him out after the first few words. Suddenly he turned to you, and the ice-blue of his eyes shocked you still. "Will you accept the love of God into your heart?"

You didn't know what to say. This felt like an insult, after all these people have put you through. You made up your mind quickly. Maybe it was your fever speaking for you. "No."

He made another sort of sad face, and then was suddenly shadowed by the same Saxon that had cornered Frederik, back at the monastery.

"Then we will make an example out of you yet, little heathen." You did not have time to prepare for the pair of armored guards dragging you out of the cage, your arms still bound behind your back, and maybe kicking and screaming was not the best reaction, given one of them suddenly backhanded you and shocked you into quietness. A handful of villagers had heard & perhaps caught a glimpse of the debacle and stopped to stare for a moment, before another heavily armed Saxon waved them away. You were brought away from your kinsmen closer to the church, where a foreboding column of wood jutted out of the center of a clearing. Its purpose was made clear as you were made to kneel and your arms were tied to the bough of it, in mockery of a praying position. Public humiliation. Or worse.

Unfortunately worse. A notable crowd had gathered, and though you could not see them, you could hear them mutter amongst themselves somewhere behind you. Some cheered for your punishment, some began to cry, knowing what was coming. The Saxon zealot circled you twice. You did not meet his gaze.

When he spoke, he bellowed his words so that the crowd may hear. "Here we have the little Dane, a fork-tongued thing that has dared to cast aside the love of God! What heresy," he said, his words poisoned with sarcasm & mockery. Somewhere to your left, you heard the squirrely-man's voice call out for mercy. "Please, Eadwulf! This is not the way of God!" Eadwulf simply waved the man away. "These pagans killed more than two dozen of our men at Raculf. Only one death of theirs is a kindness." Death? Oh, no. You did not sign up for this. You don't deserve this. You found a new will to live in the way you squirmed against the bonds to no avail. Fuck.

Eadwulf prowled somewhere behind you, and you felt sweat dripping down your brow. You heard a chain, or a whip maybe, rattling, and the sound of the crowd's murmurs growing louder, and how the entire city seemed to grow quieter. This is not how I am meant to die.  

"If you will not accept the love of God, heathen, then bend to his wrath."   How poetic. The first slash was unexpected, painful, making your entire body seize up as if you were dropped into both boiling & freezing water as the cloth & skin between your shoulder blades split, fresh blood spilling down the already-stained tunic. The second came only a few seconds after, worse than the first, and you let out a scream loud enough to frighten a flock of crows from a nearby tree. You felt warmth on your back. Whenever you moved, you could feel the lashes rubbing against the dirty & coarse clothing, made doubly worse by the dull, throbbing pain of the arrows. The third came nearly half a minute later, unexpected, and you screamed again. Then the fourth, fifth & sixth came in quick succession. You felt bile rise in your throat, spilling out onto the too-soft grass beneath you, onto the lumber in front of you. The seventh, eight, ninth and tenth came and went, and in your shocked, adrenaline-addled state, you barely felt them. You felt yourself grow weaker against the pole, the too-warm sensation of your own blood running down your back almost a comfort. Eadwulf said something else, you don't quite remember, and then the crowd dispersed. You were left there to die a martyr.

You don't know exactly when you had passed out, but you awoke during the quiet coolness of the night to a blurry image of the strange hooded Norse woman in front of you, cursing. "Are you still alive, kona? Stay with me," she said, voice somehow strained yet comforting all the same. You could only barely lift your head to look her in the eye, to which she cursed a little more colorfully. "I'm getting you out of here." She cut you loose from the wood, and helped you to stand (which you could barely do) before realizing that wasn't really an option. Cursing even more colorfully, a feat you didn't know she could accomplish, she took her hood off & draped it over your back, making you sharply inhale as the cloth stuck to the dried blood at your back. "I know, little crow. I know it hurts, but please, you must stay with me." She whistled faintly, and a black horse came trotting over, giving you a weary look. Even the animals had pity! Or maybe it didn't want some half-dead creature on it's back. Either way, she set you on the saddle, sitting behind you so that you didn't fall off during the ride, apologizing immediately for any discomfort the position might cause you. Before she could grasp the reins, you stopped her. 

"Please…" your voice was hoarse, and you did not recognize it. "Please, my friends, my kin… are they still imprisoned?" The woman made some sort of sound, as if she had forgotten of the others she passed by today. "Yes, they are, but I fear it will be some time before they are freed. When we get back to my home, I will send my best warriors to retrieve them. Does that sound okay?" You could only nod your head, the simple action sending your world off kilter. She bid the horse to trot out of Canterbury to an unknown destination, breaking into a full gallop once you had left the city's boundaries. Both you and the Norsewoman understood you had mere hours left. She tried to keep you awake on the journey, asking questions about your name, clan and where you were from, though she mostly got one-worded answers.

"Are you a Dane?" "Yes." You pass over a bridge, the woods of England looking all the same to you.

"Why have you come here?" "Storm." An answer she didn't understand at the time, but continued regardless. The landscape slowly changed from forest to open plain, then to forest, then to marsh. You crossed two more bridges. It was your turn to ask the questions.

"What is your name?" Your speech was slurred, more incoherent. "Eivor."

"Why were you in Canterbury?" A question that she did not outright answer. "Looking for someone."

"Where are we going?"

"Ravensthorpe." A place you did not know, nor seen on any map.  "We're almost there. Stay with me."

You couldn't fight to stay awake anymore. "I'm sorry," was all you said before slumping forward on her horse.

She thought you'd died, grabbing hold of your wrist and feeling a wave of relief at finding your faint pulse. She rode twice as hard to her home then, only taking another hour.

When you awoke, you were not dead, nor in your own bed, and could feel bandages straining around your chest, and the scent of herbs filled your senses.

[puredivinity]

be yours. (erwin smith x reader)

word count: 1845

I was listening to this and i got the vibes. the lyrics aren’t gender neutral and neither is the title, but i didn’t put any gendered pronouns in there so i hope you guys don’t have a problem inserting yourselves!

i made this cute little thing! i hope you guys enjoy it!!!

this isn’t the original birthday fic i drafted but i really liked this so you got this instead

how we all love some good yearning

masterlist - erwin

Erwin caught your eye a few times. You two went to the same college, hung around the same groups of people, and even had a few classes together. He was hard to miss, really. With his charming blue eyes, perfectly sculpted face, even his beautiful smile that he gave to you whenever you passed him. You noticed the way his eyes would narrow when he’s concentrated on something, how he idly fiddled with his pencils after finishing a test. You know, things you’d usually notice about someone.

Not to mention him catching you staring at him a few times during class, from across the room. Hey, you couldn’t help it. He’s just extraordinarily handsome, that’s all, is what you told yourself. Maybe you would’ve believed that at first, but not now. It’d been far too long, having been around seven months. You’d known of him for seven months, but had yet to have a conversation with him. Sure, you’d said hi a couple times when you ran to get your morning coffee, or when you waved to him while he walked to meet his friends.

You weren’t exactly friends, per se, but more so acquaintances. Besides his name, you also knew other things about him, like his birthday - which happened to be today - and things like his favorite color, coffee blend, artist, etc. However, you weren’t sure he’d really acknowledged you even existed. He was very good friends with two other people in your class, Levi and Hange. You hadn’t formally met Levi, due to the fact that he didn’t seem to enjoy the company of other people - not that you complained - and you’ve talked to Hange a handful of times. They’re louder than Erwin and Levi, always earning a scoff and a harsh ‘Shut up, Four Eyes,’ from the smaller man. 

He hung with them frequently, and from what you gathered a few months ago, they’d been friends for a couple of years. Erwin trusted them greatly, and they reciprocated. You wished you had that type of relationship with him, but settled to yearn from afar. Most would probably describe you as weird, but you wouldn’t. At least not out loud, anyway. 

The bell rang, signaling the class was over, and you snapped out of your thoughts. You’d spent the class time fondly gazing in Erwin’s direction, missing the strange look Levi gave you. He’d noticed that you’d done that a lot and brought it up to Erwin a while ago, but the blonde dismissed it. Erwin figured you were staring at the wall or something, before he shot a glance in your direction, briefly meeting your eyes. From that day forward, he began noticing you too. Not that you picked up on, of course.

Packing up your things, you left the classroom and began heading to your dorm. However, when you were halfway there, you noticed that you’d left your pencil on the desk. You cursed to yourself, turning around to go retrieve it when you came face to face with someone’s chest, craning your head upwards to see who it was. To your surprise, it was Erwin, pencil in hand. He gave you his famous smile that melted your heart, clearing his throat to speak.

“Sorry to seem like a creep,” He nervously chuckled, fiddling with the item in his hands. “But I noticed that you left it at your table and wanted to return it. I hope this doesn’t seem weird,” He mumbled, handing it to you. You stared in astonishment for a moment, before shaking your head. You took the item from him, smiling in response.

“Thank you,” you said as you placed the item in your pocket, to put in your pencil case for later. “But um,” you tilted your head, pointing to yourself. “You know who I am?” That earned you a laugh and an even wider smile from the man in front of you, causing your heart to thump louder in your chest. 

“Yes,” he chuckled. “We have a class together, silly. You sit closer to the window, two rows behind me.” You nodded, a blush forming on your cheeks. You honestly didn’t know what to say, you didn’t think he even knew your name, let alone where you sat.

“Right,” you confirmed, fiddling with your fingers. “What brings you to my dorm?”

“I wanted to bring your pencil back, remember,” You internally facepalmed. He just said that, you thought, feeling embarrassed. “I’m also here for another thing,” he continued, staring into your eyes. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to join my friends and I for a birthday dinner tonight.” He looked at his watch. “It’s at eight. I’ll pick you up at seven.” You already knew who the friends were, of course.

Your eyes widened. He wants me, a stranger, to join him for dinner? Someone that hasn’t had a full conversation with him ever, to join him and his closest friends? You internally panicked, Erwin clearing his throat to snap you out of it. You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, nodding in response.

“Sure.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket, opening the contacts app and pressing the button to add a new one. Inputting his name in the field, you turned the device in his direction. 

He took the device from you, fingers brushing yours. Oh fuck. 

Erwin gave your phone back to you, waving you goodbye as he walked in the opposite direction. Looking down, you noticed he not only input his number, but put a ‘;)’ next to his name. 

Hurrying back to your room, you fumbled with the key to unlock your door before pushing it open, throwing your bag down and rummaged through your closet. It was almost hilarious how fast you moved, tossing items you disapproved of onto your bed. It seemed like what you had in your wardrobe didn’t fit the occasion. Or, maybe you were just overreacting. Probably both, to be honest.

Thirty minutes later, you finally decided on an outfit. You’d gone for something simple, not too over the top. Sliding on your flats, you checked yourself out in the mirror, smoothing any creases or wrinkles out with your fingers. You were nervous, to say the least. Maybe nervous was an understatement. Checking yourself once more, you checked the time on your phone. It was about 6 pm, meaning you had an hour left before Erwin came to pick you up. You made a quick run to get him a birthday card, signing it and adding his favorite candy in the bag next to it.

You spent the next hour lost in your thoughts, missing Erwin’s text thirty minutes later and jolting at the sound of someone knocking on your door. Glancing at the clock on your nightstand, it was indeed 7 P.M. You stood up, double checking that you had everything you needed before heading outside to join Erwin. He greeted you with a grin, glancing at your outfit. He held his hand out for you to take, leading you to the passenger side of his car and holding the door open for you.

He informed you that Levi and Hange were already at the restaurant, waiting for the two of you to join them, meaning you’d be alone during the car ride. The ride itself was initially nerve-wracking, but things calmed down once he’d broken the ice by telling you a few jokes of his. He made you laugh and asked a few questions about you on the ride there, learning your favorite color and the type of music you liked to listen to. You found that Erwin was really easy to talk to, in addition to being funny. 

Arriving at the restaurant, he opened your door for you once more, leading you inside of the restaurant. It was fancy, having beautiful portraits on the wall and playing classical music over the speakers. Your eyes scanned the crowd, spotting Hange waving the two of you over, with an unenthusiastic looking Levi next to her. He looked like he didn’t want to be there, but Erwin assured you that he always looked like that.

Taking your places across the brunette and raven-haired man, a couple of menus were placed in front of you. You flipped open the menu, eyes scanning the options. There were plenty, various dishes containing some type of seafood and the other side of the menu containing kid’s meals. You hadn’t noticed that there were a curious pair of eyes on you, admiring you.

You’d ordered and enjoyed your food, exchanging a bit of small talk with the people around you. Hange and Erwin cracked a couple of jokes, their loud laugh resonating throughout the restaurant. Levi, as usual, was mostly quiet but did engage sometimes, throwing a poorly-timed shit joke just as you were taking a bite of your food. 

Despite being nervous at the beginning, you came to truly enjoy the event. It felt like you fit right in with them and they welcomed you with open arms. Well, if telling you shit jokes could be counted as open arms. They definitely got a few giggles out of you, almost making you cry from laughter at one point. You had a wonderful time and was thankful that Erwin invited you.

After paying the bill, the four of you left separately. Hange and Levi drove to their dorms and Erwin drove you back to yours. The car ride was pleasant, the radio playing songs the two of you liked. The most notable one being ‘I Wanna Be Yours,’ by the Arctic Monkeys. You sang along and Erwin hummed beside you. His larger hand brushed over yours, fingers stroking the back of it. 

After reaching your dorm building, you sat in the car for a moment. Erwin’s hand squeezed yours, making you look at him. The look in his eyes was soft, one you’d never expected to see from him. He gazed fondly at you, bringing your hand up to plant a kiss on it. 

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered to you. “I hope you had a good time.”

“I did!” you blurted out, startling both yourself and Erwin a little. He laughed it off, nodding. 

“I’m glad.” Silence remained for a brief moment before you reached in your bag, handing the card and candy to him. 

“Happy birthday,” you mumbled, leaning against the back of your seat. “I wanted to get you a present, but I didn’t have much time, so I rushed out and got you your favorite. I hope you like it.”

He was touched. His hand cupped your cheek, him leaning in to give you a gentle kiss on the lips. Your heartbeat thumped in your ears as your eyes fluttered shut. Internally, you were screaming; yelling to the high heavens, so loud you would’ve lost your voice.

But on the outside, your hands were slightly shaking as you lost yourself in the kiss. 

Erwin pulled away, stopping to mutter a quick “Thank you again,” before pressing his lips to yours once more.

[svgurl410]

Clois and 22 for fic number prompt! (Miserable people at a wedding) 😊

Thanks for asking! This didn't end up all that short, but oh well. I hope you like it. :D

send me a ship and a number

Rule #1: do not go to your ex boyfriend's wedding, no matter how close you are these days, or how pathetic he looks when he insists that he wants you there.

Rule #2: If you are suckered in, make sure you have a date, because otherwise you will just look sad and desperate.

Especially if said ex is a famous billionaire and everyone knows you dated. Then those rules should be bolded and underlined. Lois had learned that the hard way and was ready to tattoo that advice on her arm so she didn't forget. Not that any of her other exes were rich former playboys, but better safe than sorry.

The ceremony was lovely, and Lois was happy for Oliver, who looked elated with Dinah, someone she was grudgingly coming around to, after their not so hot start, and she was genuinely happy for him.

She loved Oliver, as a friend, of course.

However, her status as his ex was too well known for her liking, and by the time the reception had started, she was tired of getting pitying looks or hit on by men whose wallets were only matched by the size of their ego.

Thank God for the open bar.

She waited on her drink, a vodka soda, and felt a man come next to her. Gritting her teeth, she said, "No, I'm not heartbroken and I also don't really care to hear about your stock profile." "Excuse me?" Freezing at the genuine confusion she heard, Lois looked up to find herself meeting a befuddled look of a man who was either a very good actor or had no idea what she was talking about, not having intended to speak with her at all- not just any man either. A very handsome man. Tall- Oliver's height, broad shouldered, with jet black hair and blue-green eyes, the color intensified with the glasses he wore. Even the dark, slightly rumpled dark suit he was wearing didn't hide his attractiveness. "Oh, whoops," Lois managed, barely refraining from blushing. Barely. Open mouth, insert foot. "I thought you were-" "Hitting on you," the man finished, not seeming offended. "I guess you're getting a lot of that tonight." "Unfortunately," Lois sighed. "If it helps, that wasn't my intention," he told her, "and my stock profile is nonexistent so I don't have anything to say there either." "Join the club," she replied. "You don't exactly make the big bucks as a reporter." "You're telling me," he replied, with a wry smile. "I am happy to have insurance and a 401k at this point." Lois raised an eyebrow. "Wait, are you a reporter too?" "Not as well known as Lois Lane, but yes," he said. Offering his hand, he said, "I'm Clark, Clark Kent. Still not hitting on your or offering stock advice, I promise." She smiled despite herself and accepted his handshake. "And I guess I need no introduction." "I read your article about the crime rate and connection to a lack of mental health resources in the city," Clark told her. "It was really compelling." "Thank you." Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't that. Then as if a light bulb went off her in her head, her eyes widened. "Oh, hold on, you're the Clark Kent who was at the mayor's last press conference- the one who was questioning him on the anti homeless bill? From the Metropolis Star." "Guilty as charged." To say Lois was compelled was an understatement. Before she could pursue the topic, her drink arrived and the bartender stuck around long enough for Clark to give his order, before disappearing again. "I wanted to email you about your suggestions on how the city council could spread out funds to improve the quality of options," Clark admitted. "Well, I'm ready to hear the feedback now," Lois said, tilting her head. "Not exactly a fun wedding topic," Clark pointed out. "Weddings and fun do not belong in the same sentence," she grumbled. "Not a fan?" Clark asked. "Are you?" she challenged. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "No way. This is my third in the last three months. Oliver's a friend"- And that was a sentence that had her intrigued, because those two were not people she could see together-"But I can't say I wasn't ready to go home right after the ceremony." "Were the others any better?" "Well, I was the best man at my close friend's wedding to my ex-girlfriend so..." "I got it," Lois said, waving her hand. "Any long lost regrets or urges to object?" "No, but when everyone knows you dated, you get a lot of sad looks," Clark replied, wincing. "I guess you can relate." "More than I would care to admit," Lois replied. "Trust me, I would rather talk about the anti homeless bill than have one more conversation about how unfortunate it was that Ollie and I didn't work out." "Any regrets?" He looked curious, and she wondered if she was just trying to make a connection to someone who related. "Not a chance," Lois replied. "I still have zero interest in being Mrs. Queen. And that's the last time I am answering that question." His grin widened. "Fair enough. How about questions regarding a different type of proposal?" "I'm willing to hear it out," Lois answered. "What table are you at?" "8. You?" She raised an eyebrow. "Also 8. What a coincidence." "I guess so." He got his drink and nudged his head pointedly. "Shall we?" "We shall." As Lois got up, she caught Oliver's eye, who was giving her a smirk and a thumbs up. And she was suddenly hit with the memory of Oliver insisting that he had the perfect guy for her in the last few weeks, someone she hadn't let him give her a single detail about. Glancing over at Clark, she found the information didn't turn her off him at all. Dinah smacked her new husband over the head, endearing her to Lois further, especially as Ollie pouted and got distracted, no longer paying attention to either Lois or Clark. As for Lois? She was all too happy to head back to the table, Clark on her heels. Suddenly, this wedding was looking up.

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Hi! Can i just say that i absolutely love your writing and your vibe as a whole? 🥺💞 If i may, I’d like to request a fic where the reader is a very well known socialite, but she gets very bored of her life and wants something different. She suddenly meets J in some sort of situation and becomes infatuated with him & his lifestyle. You must be busy with other requests & your personal life, so if anything, i just want you to know that i love your writing! 💘

 Sweet anon!!! AKADJSBAJSND 😭💖 I’m SO sorry this has taken me so long to get to and I hope you see it!! This was a really fun one and I had a great time writing it so I really hope you like it 💕

 Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader, first time meeting Joker

Word count: 1,954

Warnings: tension, light violence

Something Different

Another boring party with boring people in a boring place. How many more of these must you endure?

Ah the fabulous life of the daughter of Dr. Thomas Elliot, famous Gotham City surgeon and longtime family friend of the Wayne family. Being born to one of Gotham’s founding families, she lives a life of luxury. Chauffeurs, butlers, ritzy charity events, fashion shows, brand promos, intense boredom. You were certainly grateful for the fact that finances were never something you had to worry about, but at the same time, money imprisoned you. It controlled your every move like a puppet master. Stand like this, wear that, speak this way, don’t forget to smile. And don’t even think about having your own dreams. You had access to all of the means in the world to do whatever you want, right? Wrong. If it’ll tarnish the family reputation on any way, its not gonna happen. Ever. And you’d be surprised at what they consider “tarnishing.” Learning to drive, going to school, coloring your hair, going on dates, having a job, getting ice cream with friends. What friends? You never got to experience these things. Things that were normal. Now you were in your late twenties and the life of the average young adult was completely foreign to you. Its been ten years now. Since you started to hate this life.

You were attending yet another fundraiser at Bruce’s place. What was it for this time? Friends of the Gotham Railway? Society for the Performing Arts? Gotham Heights Country Club’s new golf course? District Attorney Harvey Dent. Didn’t he just get elected? Okay then. It really doesn’t matter anyway. They’re all the same. Gourmet hors d’oeuvres, expensive champagne, some phony inspirational speech, bland conversation, smile through how much your feet hurt in these heels, send a check tomorrow. The predictability you lived your life by was astonishing. When were you finally going to get to do something different?

You lifted another glass of champagne from the tray drifting past you and took a heavy sip. Can’t get to drunk though, what would the media say? You were tempted to do it on purpose, just to mix things up for once. The sound of rough whirring broke you out of your melancholic trance and you turned to see a helicopter landing on the roof top balcony outside. The man himself arriving ever so fashionably late. Linking arms with three women you could only assume to be models, how classy. And here comes the motivational speech. I believe in Harvey Dent, a safer Gotham, optimism, face of our bright future, blah blah blah. Now everybody claps. Just wonderful. Back to our mindless mingling.

The evening continued on like they all do. This time you were stuck trying not to stare at the speck of food stuck in Mr. Kane’s teeth while he droned on about the new hotel, they planned to open it across from the opera house. Would it be uncouth to express to him how little you care about any of that? When you were seconds away from excusing yourself for a bogus trip to the ladies’ room, a loud boom rang out from the entryway. You spun around and your body froze at the sound of his voice.

“Goood evening, ladies and gentle-men.”

It felt like ice was running through your veins when you saw him. Purple suit, shotgun over his shoulder, unkempt green hair, painted face. His face. Covered in white with black swallowing his eyes, bright red over his mouth and crawling up his cheeks in a wicked grin. On the news they called him The Joker.

“We are… tonight’s entertainment! I only have one question… Where. Is. Har-vey Dent?”

He was so tall, walking with a slight slouch but had an air of confidence like you’d never seen. Like he knew just how much attention his presence attracted. No, attention it demanded. Like he knew you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He made it look effortless. Almost like he was bored by it. He tossed food into his mouth, chewing noisily while he spoke. Then he stopped and turned to walk toward the crowd, pointing his shotgun toward the people in front of him before moving on down the line. Your feet grew cold when you realized he was heading in your direction. He tossed champagne out of a glass before mockingly tossing his head back to let the last drop hit his tongue. You couldn’t move a muscle as he leaned in and muttered questions at the people standing nearby. He kept coming. Your heart pounded, climbing into your throat as he got closer.

Then you could see it. It was scars. The red smile stretching across his face, it was painted over scars. Someone had cut through the corners of his mouth on both sides, leaving behind a twisted, permanent, grin. It made your stomach drop. He said something to Mr. Kane, but you couldn’t hear it, only the blood rushing in your ears. He got so close. You swore you could feel the heat from his body, smell something sharp like acetone.

“You remind me of my father.”

Then he suddenly grabbed Mr. Kane by his collar and growled, “I hated my father.”

“Ok, stop.”

Mr. Kane was shoved into you while Joker turned to face the voice coming from behind him. Rachel Dawes, Bruce’s friend for as long as you could remember.

“Well, hello, beautiful. You must be Harvey’s squeeze-ah. Hm?... and you are beautiful.”

He circled her like a wild dog stalking prey, practically licking his chops. Relishing the feeling of cornering his victim. Waving a knife blade at her.

“You look nervous. Is it the scars?... Wanna know how I got ‘em?”

Then he reached forward and gripped her by the back of her neck and her face. You felt your cheeks abruptly grow warmer. He pulled her closer to him, holding her there, not letting her look away. A thought suddenly cut through you mind like the knife in his hand. You wondered if the leather of his gloves felt warm or cool on her skin. Your heart fluttered and a shiver ran down your back. Why were you thinking about that? He intruded without warning and started threatening people, but here you were wanting to know what it was like to be that close to him. You found yourself wishing you were her, just to know what it was like, him touching you.

You hung on to his every word. He had a wife once, who told him he worried to much, that he should smile more, she gambled, got in deep with the sharks. They carved her face, had no money for surgery, she couldn’t take it, he just wanted to see her smile again, he didn’t care about the scars, he stuck a razor in his mouth and did that to himself. He… he did that to himself?

“And you know what? She can’t stand the sight of me! She leaves. Now I see the funny side... Now I’m always smiling.”

You blinked and the next thing you knew, punches were being thrown and men in clown masks were falling to the floor. Batman. The masked vigilante everyone was talking about. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, coming out of the shadows to beat up the bad guys. Reality struck you in that moment. This was real. This was happening. The word surreal doesn’t quite cover it. You wanted something different. Well, this was different. Instead of fear you started to feel something else rising up from inside of you, tingling up your back. Excitement.

A punch from a clown masked man landed square on Batman’s jaw, sending him to his knee and giving Joker the opportunity to start kicking him in the stomach. All you could do was watch, spellbound by the violence occurring before your eyes, wide with anticipation. It almost happened too fast for you to see. He really had nothing holding him back. He couldn’t care less about what people thought of him. Showing up in face paint and a purple suit with a posse of men disguised as scary clowns, commanding even more attention than Bruce. He basked in it, not caring one bit what they thought, only that he left an impression. He did. Especially on you.

You blinked again and he had Rachel. He stood behind her, his arm wrapped around her chest to keep her from running, his other hand waving a handgun in the air. He wasn’t going to drop the gun, not unless Batman took his mask off, show us all who he really was. Then the window behind him shattered with a shot from the gun and he dangled Rachel by her arm out into the open air. Your chest felt tight, as helpless as everyone else watching and unable to do anything about it. But you still couldn’t shake the thrill you felt buzzing in your arms and legs, fogging your mind.

“Let her go,” Batman’s hoarse voice demanded.

Joker squinted his eyes and grinned with ironic amusement as he answered, “Very poor choice of words.”

He let go. His laugh reached down to your bones and held on, pulling you toward him while Batman dove out the window after Rachel. You didn’t know what you were doing but you couldn’t stop yourself. Your feet kept carrying you closer. People all around you started rushing for the exit, running from the taunting men in clown masks like the crowd at a Halloween fun house. Except this was real.

You kept your eyes forward, getting within a few feet of him when he turned and saw you. A chill washed over you, both icy cold and burning hot at the same time when his eyes traveled up and down your body where you stopped in your tracks. Your skin felt like it was on fire.

“Hello, there,” he purred.

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound came out. You just stared at him. Then he started to saunter toward you, slowly closing the gap that separated you, and you almost couldn’t breathe.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a sideways grin. “Aren’t you a pretty little flower, hm?”

Your heart fluttered and your lungs pulled in a sudden gasp of air, that sharp smell filling up your senses. He was right in front of you now. He was right in front of you and you could undeniably feel the heat radiating off of him. Your heart pumped faster, the adrenaline in your veins saturating every tissue. That tingling in your spine came rushing back as his tongue flashed out of his mouth to run along his lip.

“Can I, uh, help you with something, little flower?”

The last sounds of panicked voices faded, and it was completely silent. You were alone. With him. Fear tried to wrestle for a place in the front of your mind, to pull you away, to make you run back toward the door, but the allure you felt was too pervading. You remained still, trying to steady your breath while the gaze from his black-rimmed eyes seemed to swallow you up. Sirens started to echo in the distance.

Then your voice found its way out of your mouth, “I… I just wanted to… um, to get closer.”

His eyebrows shot up and his grin widened as a low hum rumbled in his chest. Your brittle nerves nearly shattered when he lifted his hand and gently took hold of your chin, lifting it and stepping forward to press his chest against yours. “Mmm, this close enough?”

His gloves, they felt cool on your skin.

Taglist!

@youmaycallmebrian​ @heavymetalnarwhal​ @neverputsaltinyoureyes @jokersqueenofchaos​ @into-crazy​ @killingjokee​ @astheworlddturns​

[softbiker]

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: some language, excessive sun exposure, nudity (but no smut)

Word count: 5.4k (why am i like this)

A/N: This fic is very self-indulgent - it’s short on plot and long on summer vibes. Also, this is a reader insert fic, but I hate writing Y/N and using second person narration, so reader has been given an ‘Avenger alias’. Hope you like it. :) Basically, Bucky deserves this, and we deserve for summer to never end. <3 I hope you all enjoy it, and as always let me know what you think!!

P.S. here’s the playlist inspired by this fic

“Geronimo!”

Sam’s battle cry is the only warning before he takes the plunge; Bucky scrambles from his place on the boat deck, shielding his book with his towel and his hands in a last ditch effort to save the pages from water-logged ruin. He scowls as Sam resurfaces, breaching the water with a laugh and blinking to clear his eyes.

“Hey - watch it, bird brain.” Thankfully, his copy of Ender’s Game remains safe and dry, despite Sam’s carelessness. Wiggling his hips, Bucky scoots further back on his towel, away from the edge of the boat and hopefully out of the splash zone.

“You’re the one complaining about getting wet at the lake, Barnes,” Sam quips back, lazily swimming towards the ladder. “I’m not to blame here.”

“Doesn’t mean I want my book getting wet,” Bucky mutters. A bead of sweat slides down his neck - several beads actually; he can feel how flushed his face is in the dog day heat of a July afternoon. As he lays on his belly, pineapple printed beach towel spread underneath him; his sunglasses slowly slide down the bridge of his nose, his face too slick with sweat to hold them up properly.

“C’mon, guys,” Steve sighs. He couldn’t look less concerned if he tried - long limbs sprawled in the water, his star-spangled ass wedged firmly in a neon blue floatie, a can of beer in one hand. A pink patch of color has bloomed on his chest and spreads across his shoulders with each passing hour, despite regular reapplication of his sunscreen. “Can we not do this all weekend?”

“Mm, I’m with Steve,” a voice pipes up, languid and sleepy, from the sun deck along the top of the boat. “I don’t wanna listen to you two bickering for the next three days.”

Bucky’s mouth goes even dryer and his cheeks burn with a different kind of heat, tongue thick in his mouth at the sound of her voice. Embarrassment creeps up in him - why does he always let Sam’s ribbing get to him, damn it?

“Hey - he started it, Angel,” Sam holds up his hands in surrender, his own towel draped across damp shoulders. There’s a crystal droplet of water on the tip of his nose. “I’m just trying to have a good time.”

She peeks over the ledge from her coveted sunbathing spot, pushing her oversized sunglasses up on her head so she can fix him with a skeptical pout. Bucky rolls a couple inches sideways, leaning on one elbow to lift his gaze up to her. The sun blazes behind her, casting a vivid white corona of heat; the baby blue lurex of her bikini glitters against her skin, her limbs shining with coconut oil and sweat. She’s gathered her hair up on top of her head, but a few adorable baby hairs have escaped at the nape of her neck and her temples, curling sweetly in the humid, hazy air.

She’s only been with the team for a few months - new to the Avengers, and to superhero-ing in general. Operating alone for years, and cleverly flying under the radar, she’d found Tony Stark waiting for her in a refugee camp on the coast of Greece with a disturbingly complete dossier on her, as well as a job offer. Within moments of meeting her, the team dubbed her “Angel” - in slight awe at the way her glowing fingers healed Clint’s broken ones during their brief introductory handshake. From then on, she’s been their undisputed MVP, saving their accident-prone skins so many times they’ve already lost count.

“You know - that smells like bullshit, Sam.” The barest hint of a smirk tugs at her mouth, and even squinting in the sun her eyes are bright.

Sam sputters, playing at mock offense.

“Excuse me?” he says, a hand pressed to his heart.

“Just leave Bucky alone,” Angel rolls her eyes, letting her sunglasses drop back to shield her from the glare off the water. “And Steve? You might want to use a higher SPF, or you’ll need me to heal that later.”

Satisfied, she stretches back on her towel up on the sun deck, one arm long and lazy above her head, the other reaching for her phone - restarting one of her podcasts, Bucky thinks. Tiny wireless headphones tucked in her ears, she’s always listening to them; there’s a true crime one that she loves, but he can’t remember the name. Looking down at his chest, Steve seems to just notice the ripening sunburn on his skin. With a sigh, he flips himself out of the inner tube and into the water, swimming the short distance to the boat and pulling himself up the ladder in search of sunscreen.

Bucky ducks his head back down to his book. He tries to read, focus his eyes on the words in front of him - but, surprisingly, he’s almost too relaxed. He feels heavy, lazy, down to his bones; his eyelids droop and the words on the page run together. It’s not unpleasant, though - the heat has soaked right through his muscles, and for the first time in ages he finds that he’s not sore, not aching. Just a little tired, like a cat in the sun. Stretching and settling on his towel, he tucks his head in the nest of his folded arms and closes his eyes.

When Angel had proposed a lake weekend, inviting the team out to her family’s place in the woods, everyone had leapt at the idea. A few days spent in pure laziness, hours wiled away on the water or with a book, with no one to rescue and no battles to fight - it sounded too good to be true. Pure summer paradise.

Beneath him, the boat rocks dully on small waves. He feels himself lulled into a trance as his body sways gently in the same rhythm, back and forth. Paradise, Bucky thinks as he drifts off.

**********

That night, the sun lingering late in the sky, cicadas humming in the trees, the guys grill out on the deck at the cabin. It smells like heaven, fresh corn and burgers and mushrooms; inside the house, Wanda slices tomatoes and Angel stirs caramelized onions on the stove. At the island, Natasha patiently mashes avocados for her famous guacamole - made famous by the fact that it’s frequently her only contribution to family dinners.

“Wow, Nat, I think you actually got a tan,” Wanda smirks. “Right there, on your arm?”

“That’s just a freckle,” Nat scowls. “Which is why I use high SPF and don’t lay in the sun for hours.”

“Hey, at least you won’t get skin cancer,” Angel laughs, not looking up from her onions. Their smell wafts through the kitchen, mouth-watering and tangy sweet, mixed with the fresh and smoky air from the open window to the deck. Outside, the laughter around the grill bursts in a loud crescendo, Sam slapping Clint’s back as he doubles over in a fit of giggles.

“Sounds like they’re having fun out there.” Nat raises a sarcastic eyebrow as she glances out the window. Angel turns to look, too, her eyes pulled to the soft glow of the porch under the string lights overhead, the setting sun just beginning to burn red and gold through the trees.

Sliding off her barstool, Wanda skips over to the sliding screen door that leads out to the deck, pulling it open just enough to stick her head through.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, nearly shouting to be heard over the boys’ loud hoots of laughter. None of them answer, still caught in the flush of whatever hilarity had set them all going. Rolling her eyes, Wanda tries again. “Hey! Are we at least ready to eat? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, yeah, kid, we’re pulling ‘em off the grill right now,” Clint sighs, wiping his eyes. Even from her place by the stove, Angel notices Bucky’s bright open smile, so rarely seen it makes her do a double take. His color his high, his tanned cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink; his hair is still wet from the shower, combed back from his forehead in a way that’s almost boyish, the tips just beginning to dry in soft brown curls.

Swallowing thickly, Angel drags her eyes back down to the onions and turns the burner off.

They gather around the long picnic table on the deck, sliding and shuffling around each other, a veritable summer feast laid out in front of them. The boys at the grill didn’t disappoint: Sam proudly slides a platter of corn on the cob next to the kebabs he made, while Clint carries a tray piled high with fresh burgers (and turkey burgers, at Nat’s request). Toppings and sides come single file from the kitchen - fresh sliced tomatoes, crisp lettuce, fried plantains and guacamole. Bucky’s mouth waters with each new dish that arrives at the table, his knees jammed underneath the table next to Steve.

“This spot taken?”

Angel smiles as she slides into the seat across from him; she had washed her face when they got in from the lake, fresh and clean, and pulled an old college t-shirt over her swimsuit. The scent of her coconut lotion drifts across the table. Bucky clears his throat.

“N-no. Go ahead.” He wishes his smiles were half as warm as hers, half as easy and sweet.

Her nose scrunches as she beams a little wider at him and stretches her legs underneath the table, her ankle resting against his calf. The brush of their skin sets Bucky’s nerves on fire, and he keeps expecting her to move, to flinch away. But her leg stays where it is, resting against his, as they laugh and eat with their friends; and every so often when her eyes catch his he wonders if he’s imagining the spark in them.

**********

If it’s possible to get a concussion from tubing, Sam will have one by the end of the day.

Bucky’s head is already swimming and dizzy from being thrown from the inner tube half a dozen times, skipping across the surface of the lake like a stone - he’d always thought Steve was a wild driver on a bike, but in a boat, with two of his friends pulled behind and gripping the handles of a rubber tube? Steve is an absolute maniac.

Inside the boat, Angel leans against Steve’s seat and grips the railing to keep her balance, watching the boys behind them on their wild ride from hell.

“Are you sure you should be going this fast?” she speaks up, a little nervous. “Do you even have a boating license?”

“Don’t need one - I was born before the cutoff date, got grandfathered in,” Steve yells back over the engine and the rush of the waves underneath them. Glancing back and seeing Bucky and Sam still hanging on, he cuts the wheel sharply, the boat arcing through the water in a donut that sends them cutting over their own wake. From the boat, it’s a mild discomfort, the deck bouncing on each wave; from the tube, it’s game over.

She winces as it happens - the two of them go completely airborne on the tube, and with a final scream Sam loses his grip and tumbles sideways, knocking Bucky off into the water with him. Without their weight, the tube sways in the wind for a moment before it drops back to the water, upside down and empty.

“They’re down!” Wanda laughs, and Steve cuts the throttle down, idling slowly back to where the bright blue and green of life jackets bobs in the water a hundred feet away.

As they pull up alongside Sam and Bucky, Wanda drops the ladder and Angel makes her way to the back of the boat, pulling the rope to bring the tube back up to the boat.

“Oof,” Sam huffs as he hauls himself up the ladder, immediately unsnapping the buckles on his lifejacket. “I think I’m done - yeah. Yeah, I’m definitely done.” He shrugs the lifejacket off his shoulders and drops onto a seat at the front of the boat. “Hey, why don’t you get out there and let me drive, Steve?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Steve smiles innocently behind his sunglasses, his hair windblown and spiky. “I think I’m just getting the hang of driving this thing.”

“I think you need a little more practice, punk,” Bucky groans from the ladder. “But not with me back there. I thought Hydra scrambled my brains enough but-” he grabs a towel and scrubs the side of his head, trying to shake the water from his ears. “-you’ve got me mixed up like a fruit salad up here. Jesus.”

There’s always a downbeat, an awkward breath, when he makes jokes about Hydra. Steve winces a little, and Sam purses his lips; Wanda looks away, pushing her hair behind her ears. Bucky feels his cheeks flush, frustrated and embarrassed.

“It’s probably just early-onset Alzheimer’s,” Angel giggles, breaking the silence. “I mean, you’re pushing 102? 103?”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Bucky narrows his eyes at her.

“I don’t look a day over 30, you know,” he huffs, feigning offense as he hip checks her on his way to the cooler for a beer.

“Ok, boomer,” she sighs. She’s wearing a necklace today, a single cowrie shell nestled at her collarbone, and she’s changed out the blue bikini for a tie-dye one that makes him thinks of cotton candy. With his metal hand, he snaps the cap off his beer and takes a swig, raising a brow towards her in question. Angel shakes her head. “I’m good - but I’ll take a water.”

They pass around the bottles of water, and a couple of snacks; it’s only early afternoon, and they’re loathe to waste any of the beautiful day, all of them sprawled across the boat, sunning themselves liberally. Wanda wonders aloud what they should do, if everyone is done getting roughed up on the tube.

“Well, we could drive around to the waterfall - maybe go cliff jumping,” Angel suggests, wiping watermelon juice from her chin. The huge Tupperware bowl of fruit they brought has gone down swinging between her and Steve, Sam picking through to find the strawberries.

“There’s a waterfall?” Steve sits up, a slice of cantaloupe in his hand. Angel nods, picking a seed from her teeth.

“Yeah, it’s around that way - not too far from here,” she turns and points around a bend in the shoreline, towards the north end of the lake. “We could at least just take a drive over there - the breeze would be nice.”

They all agree on that - it’s a cloudless day, brilliant and sweltering without the slightest wind to stir up the air across the water. Sam swipes his brow, more damp with sweat now than water, and takes a swig of his beer.

“Let’s go, Angel.” He raises his bottle in salute. “Before we all die of heatstroke.”

It’s a small waterfall, just a stream coming down from the hills surrounding the lake, and running faster today because of the last week’s rain; but the cove is lush and blooming with trees overhead, humming with the lazy buzz of insects and busy calls of birds. Angel kills the engine near the entrance and lets Steve drop the anchor - the water here is clean and deep, and the cliff face rises stark and bright out of the water, the rocks stained with age.

“Oh, wow - it’s so pretty,” Wanda smiles, snapping a picture of the waterfall with her phone.

“And quiet,” Bucky observes. He can’t hear the sounds of other boats on the water, the cries of other swimmers on the lake.

“Yeah, nobody ever comes back here,” Angel shrugs. “It’s kind of a secret little place - my family are always the only people here.”

One by one, they peel off their shirts and tug their lifejackets on, diving into the sun-warmed water. Angel leads the way towards the waterfall, showing them all a small break in the rocks with a natural set of steps and handholds she found with her brothers, and they climb up the rocks bit by bit, happily exploring.

“You ever climb all the way up there?” Sam asks, pointing to the top of the waterfall, where an outcropping of the rock juts out over the water.

“Yeah, a couple of times,” she nods, looking up. “We used to jump from the top. I never liked it much - I’m a little scared of heights.”

“Race you Tin Man,” Sam punches Bucky’s arm, and without waiting for confirmation, takes a running head start at the cliff wall, jumping up to the first handhold he sees and working his way up bit by bit. Bucky scowls, but not one to ignore a challenge, he follows close behind, overtaking Sam in a matter of minutes as he scales the wall with just his hands.

Hauling himself up over the edge, he stands above the waterfall, looking out over the lake. It’s still only mid-afternoon, and the glare of the sun on the water is nearly blinding. Far away, tiny boats circle and weave across the surface, their paths leaving figure 8’s in the waves. Below, he hears Wanda and Steve and Angel talking, cheering Sam on as he climbs the last few feet to the top.

“I win,” Bucky smiles as Sam’s huffing and sweaty face appears over the edge of the rock.

“I hate you,” Sam pants, but he takes the hand Bucky offers and scrambles up to stand beside him.

“Hell of a view.”

Sam props an arm on Bucky’s shoulder, an endlessly annoying habit he has, but Bucky refrains from smacking his hand away. They stare out at the water as Sam catches his breath.

“Yeah, it is.”

**********

When they finally make their way back to the boat, the sun has crept along the horizon towards the late afternoon angle, and their arms and legs ache from climbing the cliff walls over and over. Wanda massages her shoulders, slicking her hair into a little wet bun on top of her head. Angel follows behind her, dropping her lifejacket on her seat and wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

Last one up the ladder is Bucky, his arms heavy in the water, eyes stinging, but happily tired from a long day spent doing nothing important. He can’t remember the last time he got to do something like this - just be, just have fun, nothing hanging over his head and no thoughts of tomorrow. He pulls up the ladder after him, folding it onto the deck, and perches on the edge of a seat next to Angel, wondering where his towel has gone.

“Oh - oh, Bucky, you’re hurt,” Angel sits up and leans closer to him. He holds his breath, her face inches from his own - but her eyes are down on his hand.

His flesh hand, which is currently bleeding all over his bright blue swim trunks.

Shit. He hadn’t even noticed - hadn’t felt it at all, but he must have cut it on the climb. The cut runs cleanly through the pink flesh of his palm, welling blood that trickles down his wrist, mingling with the water that still clings to his skin. It triggers something, makes his brain stumble, the bright stain on his thigh - his shorts are probably ruined. He opens his mouth and starts to say something, but the sound sticks in his throat.

Smooth, soft fingers slide over his as Angel grabs his hand. Covering his palm with her own, she frowns down at the wound, as her hand starts to shimmer and glow. He feels the heat of her power soaking into his skin, brighter than the sunlight overhead. It starts to flow down his wrist, and he wants more of it - he wants to bask in it.

Too soon, though, it’s over. The cut wasn’t all that bad, and it only takes a moment to heal. But her hand lingers, palm brushing his, the tips of her fingers tracing his pulse on the delicate underside of his wrist, where the pale pink stain of blood lingers.

“Better?” she asks, looking up at him, long lashes shading her eyes. Tentatively, he allows his own fingers to trace her wrist.

“Yeah. Thank you,” he smiles.

“Any time.”

**********

That night, as the sun sinks down and the fireflies float lazily up from the warm ground, they gather around the fire pit in front of the house. Spread out in canvas lawn chairs, they toast their marshmallows on wire coat hangers, squishing them between graham crackers and chocolate squares. Steve is suspicious of the treat at first, unsure about the pairing and perpetually wary of sweets.

“Just try it,” Wanda rolls her eyes. “It’s the perfect treat, trust us.”

Skeptical, he sinks his perfect American teeth into the crackers, through the gooey marshmallow chocolate layer, the melted treat sticking to his lips as he pulls away. He chews thoughtfully, quietly, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb as he considers. The rest of the group awaits his verdict, nestled in their chairs with their own s’mores.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve agrees, shoving the rest of the dessert into his mouth. He licks his lips appreciatively. “You’ve got a point there.”

“You know, I think you would’ve had to give up being Captain America if you didn’t like them,” Clint smirks, one cheek stuffed full. “I mean, who doesn’t like s’mores?”

“Yeah, but is that technically an American thing?” Sam wonders, reaching for the package of graham crackers.

“Well I’ve never had them anywhere else,” Wanda counters. She’s nursing her second pineapple ale of the evening - a drink she discovered when they stopped into a grocery store for supplies, and insisted on buying 2 packs to bring to the cabin with them.

Bucky isn’t paying attention to the Great S’mores Debate, not even a little bit. He can hardly hear them talking; he stares across the fire, warm sparks drifting like the fireflies above, as Angel licks chocolate from her fingers. The bright pink tip of her tongue darts out against her fingertips, savoring what’s left of the treat; he finds that his own mouth is parched and dry, a curious kind of hunger growling low in his belly, despite having had his own fill of dinner and s’mores. As she slips her pinky finger into her mouth, her eyes catch his from the other side of the flames, the firelight dancing in her eyes as she holds his gaze. The corner of her mouth twitches up just slightly, and she winks.

She winks.

Then, as the conversation takes another twist towards some kind of dessert or another, she quietly slips from her chair and walks away unnoticed, picking her way down the familiar trail to the dock in the dark.

Bucky glances around the group, and gauging that their conversation should serve as enough of a distraction, mutters some kind of excuse about needing the bathroom before getting up to follow.

Seconds later, Natasha turns to look at them - Angel’s form just visible between the trees and Bucky trailing along behind. She smiles widely over her beer, before settling back into her chair with a sigh.

“Finally,” she huffs, taking a sip. “Took them long enough.”

“Oh my god, right?” Sam raises his hands in exasperation. “I thought I’d hit my 100th birthday before that dickhead made a move-”

**********

She’s sitting at the edge of the dock, past where the boats are moored for the night, one knee tucked up under her chin as her other leg dangles with her toe in the water. She must hear him coming, his footsteps intentional and loud to his own ears on the wooden planks, but she doesn’t turn around. The lake is soft and still, wearing moonlight like a a silk robe, rippling reflected light across the surface. Above them the sky is cloudless and star-filled, cooled to a rich deep blue after the blazing bright day.

“Sometimes I would come down here at night with my dad,” she says, when he stands right behind her, unsure if he’s allowed to sit, if he should ask. She tips her head up over her shoulder. “We’d fish a little - threw them all back, though.”

“You didn’t keep ‘em?” Bucky asks, settling down beside her on the dock, letting his legs hang over the edge.

“No,” she shakes her head, scrunching her nose. “I felt sorry for them. Didn’t wanna hurt them, you know?”

He just watches her, the soft line of her profile in starlight, a smile blooming in his heart.

“Always been an angel, huh.” He doesn’t mean to say it, at least not out loud, but once it’s out he finds himself glad.

She looks at him then, not answering, but searching out his gaze with her eyes - they flit between his own, pupils wide in the dark. He licks his lips, wonders what she’s looking for, what she sees.

“Have you ever been night-swimming?”

Her question comes out of the blue, catching him off guard. He blinks - her mischievous eyes never leave his face.

“Um. I-I don’t remember,” he fumbles. “I think so. Way back, during the war. Not so much for leisure though,” he smiles ruefully. “I just knew I smelled awful and didn’t wanna risk being caught with my pants down, literally, in broad day.”

It startles a laugh out of her, a loud one, and his pride swells, inflating in his chest. The smile stays fixed on his face as he looks back out at the lake.

“Wouldn’t mind sometime, though,” he hints. “It’s beautiful out there at night.”

“Let’s go then,” she grins, using her hands to push herself up to stand above him. He blinks up, dumb at the flash of her smile.

“But, well…” he falters. “I should run back up to the house, I don’t have my trunks-”

“So?” she interrupts with a careless shrug. There’s something in her smile, and he doesn’t quite understand what she means until she reaches for the hem of her t-shirt and-

Oh. Oh.

Easy as that, smooth as a wave, she peels her shirt over her head, tossing it to the side. Her soft cotton bralette comes next, unhooked and slid down her arms, dropped onto the pile with her shirt. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he swears, but he can’t bring himself to lower his gaze. She turns away with a little smile as she shimmies her shorts down, kicking them behind her to join the rest of her clothes, and he thinks he might combust if, oh god, there go her panties-

The cool splash of water as she jumps in jolts him back to himself, wakes him from the trance he fell into at the display of her body, her sweet summer skin, still smelling of coconut and watermelon. Her head bobs up a couple of yards past the dock, treading water.

“You coming or what?” she dares, feeling less bold now, but what the hell - she made her move.  The water has cooled since the sun went down, and a little shiver runs through her. Yes, she certainly made a move. She bites her lip and watches him, waiting, hoping.

When he stands, she holds her breath - will he leave? Will he turn her down? Will he still be her friend? Then he reaches a hand behind his back and tugs his shirt up over his head, throwing it down onto the dock next to hers.

He’s every bit as beautiful by moonlight as he is in broad day - she’s always thought so, but kept it to herself, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Now though…she admires him, as she allowed him to admire her; watches closely every long line of his body revealed to her as he undresses, the golden tan he’s earned the last few days on the lake, the course hair covering his chest, the sliding shadows of muscle beneath his skin…

Before he can second guess himself, Bucky dives in and joins her, popping up out of the water just a few feet away and slicking his hair back from his face. She smiles, playfully backing away; he grins right back as he gives chase, following slow but determined.

“See? Fun, right?” Angel giggles, feeling her heart beat a wild rhythm and hoping he can’t hear it. Bucky chuckles back, not answering, swimming just a few inches closer. The outline of her body glows in the moonlight, though he tries not to stare beneath the water.

“You’ve definitely convinced me,” he agrees. They drift out a little further - still not too far from the dock or the shore, but their little game of cat and mouse leads them out several yards. “You bring all the boys out here? Is it gonna be Sam’s turn tomorrow?”

“Hm…I haven’t decided yet,” she muses, pretending to consider it. “I think I’d ask Steve first - unless you think he wouldn’t be game for it.”

“Trust me, I know Steve Rogers,” Bucky laughs. “He’d die of embarrassment.”

“You’re probably right,” Angel grins. “Then maybe it is Sam’s turn.”

“Aw, you’re breaking’ my heart, Angel,” Bucky pouts, giving her the full force of his baby blues, a look he only ever reserved for his mother. Angel doesn’t fall for it; instead, she rolls her eyes and splashes a handful of water right in his face.

“You’ll be fine,” she shrugs, but hides her smile by ducking her head half down, nearly concealed in the water.

“No, I won’t,” he insists. He’s barely a foot away from her now. “I’m wounded, Angel. Really. I’m real hurt - I need your help.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah - I may not survive. You gotta help me.”

“Well, I think that’s in my job description.” Her eyes are full of moonlight, her face inches from his own. “Where are you hurt?”

He grabs her hand and places her palm firmly over his heart.

“Right here, honey,” he whispers, silly grin firmly in place. “You hurt me real bad.”

On cue, her palm starts to glow, the light filtering up through the water in glittering ripples that flicker across their faces. Just over his heart, his skin warms at her touch, a surge of energy and light and life straight into him, deep and true.

“Anywhere else?” she asks, her own voice so soft, barely heard over the cicadas in the trees.

“Yeah…here.” Taking hold of her other hand, he draws her arms up around his shoulders. His smirk twitches. “Must’ve pulled something climbing those cliffs.”

“Uh huh, sure,” she rolls her eyes, but ignites her hands anyway, the healing warmth soaking into his sore muscles and the ever-tender skin surrounding his metal arm. Not one to complain, he never mentions the trouble it causes, constant weight on his shoulders and neck, often giving him tension headaches at the base of skull. But here she is, melting it all away with a touch.

Slowly, cautiously, he lets his hands slide around her waist, thumbs gently brushing her last rib. Beneath his palms he feels her breath stutter and catch, her heart picking up. Their feet accidentally kick one another as they attempt to keep treading water, and she lets him wrap one of her legs around his waist to keep from kicking her.

“Anything else?” she whispers. He traces her face with his eyes, unable to distinguish her own glow from that of the moon beaming down on them. With a slow nod, Bucky rests his forehead against hers, shares a breath.

“Here,” he says, and tilts his head the last couple of inches until his lips meet hers.

In an instant, he feels warm all over; though his eyes are closed, he can see the light behind them like sun through closed blinds. It nearly burns, hot and holy and aching sweet, and his toes curl with it. She breaks away for a moment, just to smile so blindingly, sunbeams breaking beneath her radiant skin - and dives back in, laughing into his mouth as he tightens his hold and her hands go to his hair.

Adrift in a summer-warm lake, under a swollen July moon, they kiss and laugh and touch and play.

Under a moon half as bright, they glow.

[haven-in-writing]

Queen of Peace

A/N This is a self insert with no specific pairing. So I guess it’s a  AvengersxReader fic! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything and I have spent a lot of time perfecting this plot so I hope you guys enjoy it!

Also, this is set four years after the first snap, so half of the world has been gone and Lang hasn’t made it out of the quantum world yet.

The thrumming in your veins pulsated rapidly, your heart heavy with the weight of knowledge. What had yet to pass was approaching and you knew there was hardly any chance that this would work. The opening to the portal was about to open, your opportunity to fix this grievous issue was several worlds away. Kissing your daughter's forehead lightly, careful not to wake her, you leave the letter you had written and your locket, an heirloom, and quickly stalk away to your ride. The sacrifice would be worth it in the end.

Gripping your sword for comfort, you feel the bifrost hit you with a wave of energy. The magnificent colors hummed with life and vibrancy unlike anything you’d seen before. She knew this would be your last lift, old girl was giving you a beautiful farewell. 

“Blessed be the travelers that have you as their guide, my colorful companion,” you whisper as you feel yourself touch the midgardian soil. Your arrival seems to have caused quite a stir with the midgardian people, as many of them in their white building began rushing outside. You quickly teleport yourself to the last place you stayed when visiting the silly creatures planet, landing in an old ghost town.

“Welcome to Tex-ass?” You quietly ask yourself as you read the sign that wasn’t there the last time. The wooden home shaded by a large willow tree looked just like you had left it, if not a little worse for wear. It would have to do for now. Not that you would be visiting long anyways. The mortals would catch up to you quickly, you had no doubt. 

Not bothering to change or refresh yourself, you start a fire under the large kettle in the corner. Softly flicking your hand the large pot is filled with water, enough for the visitors bound to come. Setting your sword on its holder attached to the wall, you quickly work in the old kitchen. In the garden outside, there are remnants of vegetation left from that summer's harvest. 

The old caretaker must have known I was coming, you think as you carefully manipulate the different vegetables to grow. Gathering the bunch in a wicker basket, you make short work of the stew. Finding some rabbits were easier than you thought, catching three that were mature and plump. Stirring the vegetables and cooking the meat was a welcome distraction. The methodical process gave you time to think, approaching a group of wary superheroes that would assume the worst had you on edge. They couldn't hurt you, but that wouldn't help them trust you. So lost in thought, you almost missed their entrance.

Of course they would send in the spider first, she's good, the thought briefly flickered through your mind. Continuing to stir in the rabbit with the vegetables, you address the woman staring you down.

"One would say staring so pointedly is improper etiquette," the light tone meaning no more harm than a mother's teasing quip. 

"Says the woman that left a gathering without a proper goodbye, or an introduction for that matter," the spider with hair like a flame quickly retorted. You could feel the grin coming from the other woman, and taking that as a good sign you turn, laughing lightly at the quick response she managed to come up with. 

“Introductions would be a waste of time considering there is little time left for me as is, though I’m sure it would ease many of your team's concerns,” you quickly state as you feel uneasy tension from the group beyond the door.

“It would be smart to just tell us who we are before we have to assume the worst,” the spider says nonchalantly.

“Be a dear and fetch my nephew, he owes you all a proper introduction,” you wave your hand as you speak, “I believe you know him, Thor is quite hard to miss.” You laugh lightly as the dots connect in the spider's mind momentarily. It was unnecessary for her to make her leave to retrieve your nephew as he had a habit of eavesdropping. He bounded through the small door, excitement radiating from him. 

“By the Norns, I thought I would never see you again!” Thor exclaimed loudly in the cozy space. He bounded up to you and gripped you in a fierce hug, you hand caressed his hair lovingly. You had truly missed the darling. 

“Thor, do tell your friends to make themselves at home, I haven’t much time I’m here strictly for business,” the regal tone he had heard from his own mother reflected in your voice as you got down to business. 

As he regaled the team with how your sister was his mother, the Queen of Asgard, you made quick work of the rabbit stew. Using a couple of barely legal time spells the meal was ready, summoning a bottle of Pinot Noir to complement the stew. You noticed several eyes carefully calculating you as you work, not that you minded. The table was bare and needed setting, time to put some boys to work here. 

“Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind,” you gestured towards the cabinets and towards the table, they worked out the rest. 

“Now, tell me, what has happened here on Midgard to cause such a power surge through the cosmos?” Your question imposing a tone of authority naturally. Without hesitation, Thor relayed the events, filling you in on how he had been searching and had found a few of the infinity stones, and how they had lost them to Thanos, taking half of the world out with him. 

“Thanos has already been here... Thor, this isn't your whole team now is it?” The question pauses everything in the room, silence taking her queue in the old wooden home. 

“It’s been four years since the incident, y/n.”

[elmidol]

Rogue Order - Chapter 2 (of 4)

Summary:  You are a barista in the coffee shop that Armitage Hux goes to every morning. He’s polite, however has never cracked a smile. One day, you decide to try to change that by giving him a little treat. Things wind up going much better than planned.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Pairing: Armitage Hux/Reader

Rating: M; This chapter contains nsfw content (masturbation)

for @terry2227​

notes: Modern Day/Coffee Shop AU; outline for fic was written by terry2227

Chapter Two

 Taking multiple orders and enjoying the sight of freshly fallen snow the previous day had indeed aided you in selecting which flavor of coffee you would serve Armitage when he arrived in the morning. The discussion of hot chocolate had not faded into the background as expected. Instead it had inserted itself repeatedly, encouraging you towards a semi-sweet flavor. You readied the ingredients before Armitage was set to arrive meanwhile your co-worker, Remi, took care of other matters in First Rogue.

 You opted to grab a sugar substitute to help prevent a sugar rush then subsequent crash while he worked; from there you ground up a semi-sweet dark chocolate into a finer composition along with some ginger and cinnamon. The cardamom and cloves were pre-ground, and the salt and white pepper were also easy to secure. Mixing the ingredients together did not take very long. You put them all into an airtight container, shook it, and then set aside the container until Armitage was visible through the large window.

 Armitage Hux was running behind schedule by four minutes when he entered the coffee shop. It was time that he hoped to make up during the drive into the city. Thus he did not spent much time speaking with you as he otherwise might have. He walked up to the counter and opened his mouth to state the usual when you spoke first instead, informing him that you had already selected the flavor, if he did not mind. Armitage closed his mouth, pausing. He had forgotten that this had been prearranged the previous day. Clearing his throat, he nodded and asked the price of the drink. You stated the amount that he paid for his usual. Aware that it would be rude to press the issue--and not having the time to do so--he withdrew his wallet from his pocket, took out the cash, and handed the bills to you.

 His eyes tracked your every move as you turned your back, changing places with your coworker in order to prepare his drink. Armitage considered the fine powder that had been premixed. This you measured out into roughly three tablespoons that you deposited into his cup before pouring in some of the shop’s freshly brewed coffee. You poured in a minimal amount of dairy-free creamer, mixed the drink again, put on the lid, and brought the cup over to him. “The flavor?” he asked whilst sliding one foot backwards in retreat.

 “Chocolate chai. It shouldn’t be too sweet,” you responded, earning a nod of acknowledgment from Armitage. You found yourself holding your breath, wondering if he planned on tasting the coffee in front of you. He was late, which you knew. It was little surprise when he offered a small wave with two fingers then headed for the door. Your mood threatened to devolve into a semi-melancholy state, however he called over his shoulder that he would tell you his opinion the next morning. That set your heart fluttering like he often did merely by walking into First Rogue. You rocked forward on your feet, drawing up on your tiptoes then rolled back into a proper standing position.

 Remi was not oblivious to these actions, and she shot you a knowing look when the door to the coffee shop closed behind Armitage’s retreating form. Unlike another of the baristas that you worked with, Remi was not one to push boundaries or make public the fact that you were obviously smitten with a patron of First Rogue. You liked that about her, appreciated it more in that moment than you ever had before. Once the shop emptied, the pair of you could gush about things, could giggle like school girls or whatever might come to pass. In the meanwhile, she was satisfied to offer that look then return to her work as you did the same, a smile spreading widely across your face.

 On the other side of town, at the turnoff to exit and head for the city, Armitage glanced at the chocolate chai coffee with interest. He had not yet taken a sip despite finding that, in the closed quarters of his vehicle, he quite enjoyed its scent. Armitage considered the fact that he should try at least a sip before the beverage chilled. He waited until he approached the next red light then cradled his hand around the cup, tugging it upwards and out of the holder towards his mouth. Its scent was more appealing as he brought it closer. Saliva gathered, forced him to swallow before he took that first drink.

 The warm liquid pooled over his tongue, toying with his taste buds. There were layers of flavor. Hints of sweetness coupled with spice along with the more familiar taste of First Rogue’s coffee blend. The chocolate portion, which he had initially believed would be sickeningly sweet, had a light bitterness to it that he found to be palatable. Armitage took a second sip within seconds of the first then a third. He replaced the drink into the holder due to the light changing from red to green. Though he had recovered only two of the four minutes thus far of time, he decided that he would make the most of the day. This drink in particular soothed his mood. He would have to remember that. Perhaps keep a series of notes for the various flavors that you experimentally handed to him—if, of course, you were interested in continuing this trend.

 Armitage glanced again at the clock on his car’s dashboard. It struck him that you had been attentive to his interests alongside his usual order. He, on the other hand, knew your name and profession. Your schedule, although that fell under profession in his opinion. He did not know much else about you, which he had never much given thought to. When you had questioned him regarding hot chocolate, he had failed to inquire about the same. This was the first time he felt that perhaps he had been rude to you. Were his manners always so lax when he was not at work?

 He could recall your face, the general shape of it and the color of your hair, however if he tried to place color to your irises, he was left second-guessing himself. This was not a desirable position. Reliance upon a faulty memory could doom a business deal; Armitage prided himself on memorizing each detail of a transaction along with the faces, names, and basic information of those involved. He did admittedly take for granted such items when it came to his personal life—was that what you were, a part of his personal life? It was more intimate in nature than simply to say that you worked at a coffee shop that he frequented. You were no colleague of his, yet before this moment he had not considered you as an individual that would potentially reach the role of casual acquaintance. To refer to you as a friend or companion would be premature and far too intimate given the limited amount of information he held.

 This would be remedied the following morning, during which time he could deliver his impression of the chocolate chai coffee. Depending on how much work he finished over the day and what arrangements he completed in the evening once he was home, Armitage would decide if he would return to his regular drink or not for a stretch of days. His usual order assisted in preventing headaches, of which he frequently suffered due to stress that was work related though equal parts because of Brendol’s interference with his life. He grabbed hold of the coffee at the thought, drank a more generous amount than previous, and noisily swallowed the liquid, not enjoying it quite as much as mere moments ago. He ran his tongue across his lips then sucked on his tongue as though that would resummon the flavor that had barely had time to caress his taste buds.

  ---------

When midafternoon rolled around and your shift came to an end, you did not leave First Rogue as you might otherwise have. Instead you grabbed one of the smaller tablets of paper that was available to you along with a pen then moved to a table near the window. The light was not too glaring despite the way it reflected off gathered snow. Judging from how Armitage had requested his usual the previous day, you were aware that there would likely be mornings where this would be repeated. In the meanwhile, composing a list of the coffees you wished to present to him—for as long as he would allow—would offer you things to look forward to. You could have more flavors prepared or else ensure that you had all ingredients. This way you could select one of the flavors based on Armitage’s disposition when he walked into First Rogue.

 Should he state that he enjoyed the chocolate chai coffee, you would have to introduce him to a cafe mocha. You would make more fresh chocolate powder and make whipped cream. Due to this, it would have to wait until you knew his opinion—and you would have to ensure that he was interested in having more flavors ahead of time. Not that whipped cream would not be used if he decided that he was not.

 If he was inclined to sample a more sweet drink, you were excited to serve him a caramel macchiato. It was a more basic flavor, true, however that simply made it more readily available on days when you were not forewarned what mood he would be in. Vanilla syrup—sugar free and non—as well as caramel sauce were in large supply in First Rogue. As was gingerbread coffee, you reminded yourself. With a hum, you scrawled that onto your list.

 Ristretto would be closer to his usual drink. You flipped the sheet of paper over to start a page of more ‘basic’ drinks that you could give him when he did not want to stray too far from his norm. Espresso Romano if you could confirm that he enjoyed the taste of lemon.

 “I wonder if he would ever want any food.” You tapped the end of the pen against your mouth while furrowing your brow in thought. Where you had suggested food pairings to other customers, you had never broached the subject with Armitage. Would he be put off by the idea?

 As you considered this, you found yourself curious as to what topics in general would be open for conversation. This man may not spare you a second glance in a romantic view, however he was clearly comfortable for casual conversations. Though perhaps that was generous? You had spoken more than he had on each of the occasions. That might be his personality, you reminded yourself, not to be easily dissuaded. You would begin with something more light, albeit branching away from First Rogue related content.

 “Not work either.” This you stated under your breath. There were no customers that would eavesdrop. The only patron inside First Rogue was one of the regulars, an older woman who dropped by to have time for herself before she was set to pick up her grandchildren from school. You rested your elbows on the table, cupped your chin, and glanced at the woman. With this you were reminded just how simple it was to socialize. Armitage Hux made your heart race in your chest, however you spoke to him regarding his coffee order. Just the same as you spoke to this woman, whom you had also conversed with about her family and hobbies. She enjoyed sewing, reading books, and had three drama series that she loyally kept up with.

 Armitage kept to a tight schedule, which meant that he might, too, watch a regular program. The news perhaps. It was a good starting point. You would watch the nightly news and select a topic to speak with him about when he arrived at the coffee shop the next day.

  ------------

Unsurprisingly, Brendol had indeed soured Armitage’s mood by the day’s end. He lowered himself onto the couch in his home. The television droned on, some news report that he was hardly paying attention to. Instead he worked to think of something else—someone else—to assist in improving his demeanor. Within his mind he began to map out the contours of your face. Each angle carefully studied until his crude rendition was as close an approximation as he could make it. The next morning he would take an extra moment to improve the accuracy of future recollections.

 Armitage conjured up the flavor of the chocolate chai coffee, the slight spice that had rolled over his tongue. In the past he had thought little of you beyond your occupation. With the peppermint coffee and the discussion of hot chocolate, his view had shifted to a certain sweetness. Now there was spice, which caused him pause. Did that spice translate into your personality?

 Throbbing in his head jerked Armitage back into reality. The newscast reported the weather for the week. The morning would see roughly an inch worth of snow. It was the weekend that would be more quarrelsome with temperatures rising a fraction only to plummet, the likelihood of ice high. His original plan for the weekend had been to go into the office for additional progress on a new project that he would be undertaking the following month. This had been one of the issues that Brendol had harassed him over—not that he worked more than necessary, however that he should have done more and been more innovative in his career. Nothing ever pleased the man, not truly.

 With the weather report, it was clear that his plans would have to be altered. Armitage started to compose a list of what materials he would be required to bring to his home over the next two days. Only when Millicent, a small tabby cat two years of age, slunk out from the covered bed in the corner for attention was he properly drawn out of thoughts from work, not visiting them again until the next day.

 In the morning, Armitage was more preoccupied with his visit to First Rogue after readying for work to think of business or Brendol. He patted Millicent on the head on his way out the front door, locked up, and began to rehearse what he might say if you should ask him why he stared at your eyes; he would note their color this time. Tiny flakes of snow descended from the sky at random intervals. They wet his eyelashes so that he was forced to swipe a hand along his face when he entered the coffee shop. As he lowered his arm back to his side, he scanned the counter. One of the other baristas was taking an order from the man in front of him.

 He wondered if you had scheduled to take a day off; he was relatively certain he knew your schedule—it struck Armitage that this might be strange, however he ignored the notion.

 Entering First Rogue behind a familiar redhead, you felt your smile growing despite being four minutes late for your shift. You had sent Remi a fast text, and she was covering for you. The owner would not mind much; there were more times that you remained in the store extra than you arriving late or leaving early. This was, for you, a nice thing about the town. Its community was one you had grown fond of over the years; a portion was transient due to the local and city schools, while the more steady populace were supportive of one another in good times and bad. Due to this, you were already in a good mood. Seeing that he had stalled, observing his head turn in search of someone—in search of you—was pleasantly surprising.

 “Good morning,” you chimed, earning the privilege of watching Armitage jump in startlement. He twisted around, drawing backwards a step and tightening the muscles in his face in an obvious attempt to conceal his emotions. Not for the first time, you wondered about his personal life and what had led him to be like this. Then paused, realizing that he was doing something he had not in all the time you had been in contact with him. Armitage Hux was staring into your eyes. Heat seeped into your cheeks, spread throughout your body. “Are you in the mood for a new flavor?”

 “Hmm.” Though he hummed out that sound, feigning consideration, there was a sense that he had already made up his mind on the matter before he had walked into the shop. “For today and tomorrow, yes.”

 You nodded then walked around him. Armitage turned to follow you with his gaze, walking forward as the other male patron of the establishment grabbed his drink and headed for the door. Remi shifted back to the register to assist Armitage in paying for the coffee--she knew to ring him up for his regular beverage, as you covered any difference with the tip he so often left otherwise would pay it on your own—which allowed you to walk towards the ingredients that you had readied. Two days in a row, you mused, which meant that you wanted to leave a good impression so as to not dissuade him from continuing this pattern.

 “Did you see—” you began in unison with him saying: “The weather this...weekend...” You had stopped abruptly, whereas he trailed off. You looked over your shoulder at him, nodding encouragingly so that he would resume where he had left off. “Does it prevent many of your regulars from coming into the shop?”

 “Err, I suppose it depends on how bad it gets.” Your hands were in constant motion, readying and preparing all that you needed to put his drink together. “I live close enough that I can come into work even if it’s for a shorter shift. We’ll close only if it’s too hazardous, which I don’t think will be the case here. How about you? Do you have work?”

 Vertigo was not an immediate threat, although you did notice that you felt slightly lightheaded over the fact that Armitage had been the one to strike up a conversation, even if it did have to do with First Rogue. It was the sort of topic you had been intending to bring up. The pair of you were on the same page with that, and you each, as far as you could tell, enjoyed conversing with the other. Remi, meanwhile, had busied herself with tending to two other customers that had entered the shop; one was another regular and the other a new face.

 Armitage slipped one foot in front of the other, keeping pace with you as you darted about behind the counter while carrying out the final steps of making the beverage, whatever flavor it happened to be. Coming from others, he might not have welcomed the question or else been indifferent to it. From you, on the other hand, he found that he was pleased you had asked. “In a way. I am not on the schedule, however I do plan to bring a few items home with me. I may spend the morning here, if that is alright.” He gestured towards the corner by the window and hoped that you noticed he was indicating two tables rather than one. They were smaller, square, and allowed only for two chairs each.

 You looked in that direction whilst walking towards him with the coffee, which you handed to him. “That shouldn’t be a problem at all.” It suddenly struck Armitage that he had not checked his watch the entire time since your arrival. He did not know if he was running late or not, and was not stressed about the matter—perhaps that would sink in later, after he moved into his car. For the meanwhile, he inquired as to what flavor you had given him today. “You should try it and guess.”

 A snort escaped him, and Armitage felt his mouth shifting into a smile that he more often than not concealed from the world. Genuine. Amused. He lifted the coffee to his mouth to hide the expression, felt his face heating a little and knew that it was covered in a slight rosy flush. Your cheekiness had been unexpected. There was such a contrast with your attitude compared with Brendol’s. Where Brendol made Armitage want to hide away, you were a breath of fresh air. Brendol was vexing. You were…

 Armitage took a sip as you had suggested, his eyes locking onto yours. You did not glance away; in that moment, he realized that you had for so long. You had been more shy with him. Not timid, however less bold. He had offered no reason for you to be kind to him, yet there it was. Your eyes wide and your lips parted. Your breathing was not as level as it had been before he had smiled. Your chest rose and fell, your breasts--Good lord, he nearly choked on the hot coffee.

 “Gingerbread,” he said, his voice low, his mouth still warm from the drink.

 You were trying to recover from the shock of seeing his smile, which had been far better than you had imagined it would be. His reaction to the coffee flavor was not negative. Nothing was ruining the moment. Except when he stated that he had to get going to work and would see you in the morning. There was little to say to that. Not that you trusted yourself to speak. Surely your voice would crack. You gave a wave of your hand, staring after him and not caring that Remi and even some of the customers were watching you.

 For Armitage Hux, the incident remained with him for the entire day. He found himself distracted on more than one occasion. The taste of gingerbread coffee--not his favorite of the ones he had been given—and the sight of you staring. The image of your breasts. The end of the work day did not arrive fast enough. He greeted Millicent, set down the items he had brought home in preparation for the weekend, and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, he closed the door to prevent his cat from interrupting.

 His hand went to the front of his pants. Armitage closed his eyes, conjuring your face in his mind’s eye. Now he knew it better. The various angles, the different expressions. The way your pupils had dilated as you watched him smile. He thought again of your breasts. His cock throbbed, hardening and making his breath catch. He worked open his pants, slipping one hand inside and withdrawing his erection. He stroked himself, twisting his wrist as he moved at a languid pace.

 What did you taste like? The question was posed as he jerked his cock, as he thought again of your smile, of your desire to please him and offer him new flavors of coffee. He wanted to spread your legs open and fuck you. To watch you squirm as he worked his fingers into you, opening your wet cunt so that he could fuck you.

 Armitage’s breathing grew even louder. He growled, the sound rumbling through him. He moved his hand even faster, flicking his wrist, thrusting his hips forward and fucking his hand though he wished it was you. The image in his mind changed in scenery. You on his bed instead of the coffee shop—though, he had to admit, bending you over the counter and risking being seen through that large window was suddenly an exhilarating prospect. Yet on his bed, screaming his name as he made you cum.

 “Fuck!” His entire body trembled. Armitage let his head fall back, felt it hitting the door, which gave a light thunk at the impact. He teased his slit, toyed with the sensitive flesh at the head of his cock with the pads of his fingers, and then resumed fucking his hand in earnest. The sounds of him masturbating echoed in the bathroom. Yet what he heard was the moans—your moans—in his head. What did they sound like?

 You should try it.

 Your voice, a teasing lilt. “Fuck,” he growled again, shuddering as he came, his cum spilling over his hand. He opened his eyes and stared at his reflection in the mirror. At the flush in his cheeks, which was darker than what he had worn as a result of your reaction to his smile.

 He wanted to see that reaction once more. Wanted to take you out of First Rogue so that his fantasies could include other locations more naturally. Or perhaps to alter them from fantasy into reality. It was not merely sex that he craved from you either. In truth, you were the highlight of his day the majority of the time. He looked forward to seeing you each morning. Armitage thought of sharing coffee with you after the pair of you fucked. Hot chocolate was another option—that would entice you, would bring a smile to your lips, wouldn’t it?

 Running a hand along the length of his face, Armitage decided that, come the weekend, he would pursue this, would pursue you in earnest. The poor weather was proving to be a sort of blessing in disguise.