#I don’t like filling silences with useless chatter

[the-winds-of-destiny-xxx]

.

[lovrily]

speed of sound

steve harrington x reader | part 1 of 3 | 6k words

◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ

as will byers' older sister, you vaguely know steve harrington. upon becoming steve harrington's (randomly and abruptly selected) lab partner, you realize you know him even less than you thought.

warnings: fem!reader, byers!reader, shy!reader, bickering, lab partners, classmates, starts in season 2 ends in season 4, frenemies to lovers, slow burn, pining, "unrequited" love emphasis on the air quotes, steve is popular and reader is not, doting mother joyce, running with the headcanon that jonathan dropped out of high school, hurt/comfort, language, blood/injury warnings level to what's on the show

PART ONE → 1984

When you knocked, Steve opened the door. 

An unpleasantly dry air curled into your nostrils as you shuffled in, breezing by him and sinking into your seat at the back of the lab. Something citrus was there, too- cleaner or something equally sterile. Your eye caught on the two dozen beakers and one dozen test tubes at the other lab stations; the beakers filled with clear liquid and the tubes filled with something distinctly pink. What is that?

“It’s just food coloring,” Steve mumbled. You nearly jumped as he slipped back into the seat next you, folding his arms. He wore that one light blue jacket that looked like denim but wasn’t, the one he always wore. A strand of chestnut hair hung over his eyes when he readjusted. “Miggins is pissed.”

Normally you might have argued, but it was true. Miggins was your chemistry teacher, and his name was perfectly fitting. He was somewhere between forty and sixty and had a comb-over. That was all you really noticed about him. Your mind was usually elsewhere during his class. 

Miggins glanced over his shoulder after a moment of intentional ignorance. “Oh. Hello.”

You flattened your lips into a small smile. “Hello. I’m sorry.”

“Finally gracing us with your presence?”

You opened your mouth to offer another apology, but Miggins was facing the board again before you took your next breath. 

“Told you,” Steve whispered. His breath ghosted over your hair, not quite touching your skin. He sat up and you did not look at him. This was sophomore year, so sitting next to Steve still made you stiff. You would still be stiff junior year, and senior year, but maybe not as much. Maybe more. But for different reasons. 

“It’s seven in the morning, quit breathing down my neck,” you hissed. 

He made a face. “So angry.”

You shot him a tiny glare, and he laughed with his mouth closed, eyes still glued in fake focus on Miggins. This was his game. Steve Harrington was a senior who everybody knew and everybody loved (or despised), but more importantly, he was your lab partner. Miggins drew names out of a jar to make pairs at the beginning of the semester. He drew Steve’s name first, and then, when your name came next, it absolutely humiliated you. Steve had plenty of friends in the class and it was pretty damn obvious that you were not his first pick. 

But guys like Steve adapt. Anybody who is quiet and also goes to public school just knows. Guys like Steve get to know you and entertain you just to by extension entertain themselves, because they have to. If he hadn’t struck up this game between the two of you; the useless bickering and the teasing and the whisper screaming, then he would have been impossibly bored. You wouldn’t have fallen impossibly in love with him, either, but unfortunately he had decided to pick on you and thus- this was your curse. 

Miggins turned you over to your projects. 

“What is this?” you asked, relieved when chatter filled the room once more. Sitting in silence listening to your own breath was torture. 

“What do you mean?”

“What are we doing? With the beakers, what’s the assignment?”

Steve snorted. “I don’t know.”

You set down your pencil. “Are you kidding me?”

“This is your job. This is what you do.”

“Do what?”

“You listen, and pay attention. And I help.” He smiled like a politician. 

“You don’t even help.”

“I try.”

You stared at him for a moment. Long fingers drummed on the desk, dangerously close to your side of the wood. He got prettier each year. Your freshman year and his junior, his hair wasn’t long enough to push back over his forehead, but now it was. His brows were darker and his eyes looked wider. He was always taller than you, not by a lot- but now, by a decent amount. Really it didn’t matter. You would probably still like him even if he had green skin and no hair. 

Steve’s brows crossed. “Are you planning something?”

You leaned back with a shivery feeling crawling up your neck. “No.”

“You looked pensive. You had a pensive look,” he crooned. 

“Ooh, vocab word.”

“Mhm. Learned it just for you, sweetheart.”

Your head snapped up at an embarrassingly sharp rate. But his eyes were already back on the packet in front of him, caving and trying to decipher the instructions for the assignment himself. You sat there and watched him like you often did and listened to your heart thumping in your ears. 

Steve had a girlfriend until a few days ago. They broke up on Halloween; you heard. Her name was Nancy Wheeler, and you knew her almost well. She was gorgeous. Your little brother, Will, was best friends with her little brother, Mike, and ever since Will went missing last school year, it felt like your lives had become irreparably intertwined. She spent a lot of time with Jonathan after Barbara Holland passed away. They were best friends, as far as you knew. You didn’t have a best friend, really, but you couldn’t even imagine how hard that must have been. You heard she was there when it happened, and that Steve was, too. How bad did it hurt him? Did he care a lot, or just a little? 

The two of you were teetering a thin line. Few people in Hawkins knew about the Upside Down. This should have been enough to nudge you into ‘friend’ territory, rather than just ‘bickering lab partners’. But for whatever reason, it hadn’t. Not even close. 

“Are you gonna help with this or just keep eyeballing me?” 

His voice drew you out of your thoughts. You sat up and pushed your hair out of your face.

“Yeah. Give me the packet.”

. . . 

When Will went missing your freshman year, your Mom was the first to realize what happened. The monster, the world underground. All of it. And then she told Jonathan, but she never told you. You found out about it anyway (as you often do) and asked her why she never told you. 

“Well, sweetie, I… Jonathan wasn’t supposed to know, either. I don’t know. I was so worried about Will, I didn’t want to worry that something might happen to you, too.” Her words. The sentiment made sense, but it ended up being useless. In the very late fall of 1984, evil returned to Hawkins, and this time you knew about it. 

“He’s insane,” Max remarked. 

Dustin grinned out the window beside her. “He’s awesome.”

You blinked out the boarded-up window behind them, narrowing your eyes. Steve stood there amongst the junk clutching a baseball bat dotted with nails. He swung it around and sucked in a breath, as if to bolster himself. Wearing that same blue jacket. Dart the demodog had escaped from Dustin’s house and more like him were out there lurking in the shadows, sniffing you out like prey. 

Ridiculously enough, you and Steve had only had one conversation about demogorgon matters prior. 

“How’s Will?” 

You glanced up from the bunsen burner. It was an uncomfortable angle befitting a conversation topic in uncomfortable territory; clunky lab goggles digging into your nose, hair pulled back in a less than flattering knot. It had only been three weeks since school started, and Steve had barely even begun poking fun at you, barely even begun playing your little game. His expression was calm but his wide hands gripped and un-gripped the thermometer, like he was trying to find feeling in his hands again. 

“He’s good,” you had nodded. Unsure. Steve knew about as much as you did about the Upside Down. He had seen a demogorgon- you hadn’t. Maybe he knew a little more. Regardless, your reasons for being involved with the entity were nowhere near the same. Steve had Nancy. You had your brother. “Thanks for asking.”

“Yeah. He, uh… yeah. That’s good, that he’s okay.”

And that was all. Now you were here, babysitting. You had a soft spot for Will’s friends (though all of your other spots were just as soft) and if they were going to go traipsing through the woods in search of a monster; it seemed better that there be two adults rather than one. Well, almost adults. Steve could not be called ‘adult’ by a long shot, and unbelievably, you were even younger than him. 

Truthfully, if you had been given the option, you would have gone with Will that night. Joyce was still hellbent on keeping you ‘out’ of the Upside Down business. Whether she realized her plan had already failed, you weren’t sure. 

Max turned to you. “Should we do something? He’s going to get himself killed.”

You could only cock your head in response, heart thumping in your ears. “I’m sorry. I don’t think he’ll listen.”

“He might listen to you,” Max bit. A glimmer of confusion rippled over your face, and then, a screeching sound tore across the metal wall of the bus and sent all of you reeling backwards. 

Talons dug into the steel. As they tore down the wall, jagged and molten, Dustin shouted- “FUCK! OH MY GOD!” and then repeated the tail end of the phrase over and over again while Max and Lucas barreled towards the gnarled steering wheel. She tried to wrench the door open and Lucas yanked her back, too shaken to say anything other than, “No!”

Your stomach leapt into your throat as you lunged for the door. Lucas peeled Max off just in time, and you threw it open, slamming it shut behind you. He’s dead, you thought, Steve’s already dead. 

But he wasn’t. You rounded the hood of the old school bus to find Steve driving his nailed bat into the neck of a demodog. It yelped and fell to the ground, writhing and diseased. Something sprayed your cheek. Steve teetered backwards and exhaled, running a hand over his face. Hair stood up on the back of your neck as you watched. 

The demodogs were dead. All of them. There was a pile of them on the ground, but their limbs blended together in bloody harmony, making it impossible to tell just how many of them Steve had actually killed. 

Your tongue darted out over your lips. A cloying taste filled your mouth, and you sniffled. Surprised. 

Steve’s head shot up, and he reared the bat in your direction.

“No!” The word tore from you. 

He made a noise that was something in between a curse and a wheeze and dropped the bat. Completely dropped it, and the nails made a thwacking noise as they drove into the dirt. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he panted furiously.

“I thought it was going to get inside the bus.”

“You-”

“I thought it was going to hurt the kids,” you ignored him. “And you-”

“Stop.”

“-might’ve already-”

“Stop,” Steve murmured, walking forward and rambling off words. “Stop, stop. C’mere.”

Fear filled your belly like acid. “What? What is it?”

“Stay still. You- seriously, stop it.”

You dug your heels into the ground and crossed your hands behind your back. “Okay. Sorry. Okay.”

Steve occupied the space in front of you, blocking the forest and the carnage decorating it. His eyes raked over your face and his brows flicked downward, eyes flicking up. “What is that? Is that your blood?”

“There’s blood?”

“On your…nose…” he replied choppily, leaning in closer. Distracted by whatever had painted your face. Then he reached up and swiped the pad of his thumb over the tip of your nose, there and gone in less than a breath. Your shoulders stiffened and your heart beat on the surface of your skin, everywhere. “You don’t feel that?” he murmured. 

You swallowed. “Feel you?” 

“No, the blood. Your nose doesn’t hurt? Nothing got you?”

Idiot. “No, nothing got me. It probably landed on me when you killed the demodog.”

He examined your nose for a moment more, like he didn’t believe you. All you could do was stand there. This is hell. 

“Hey!” The door to the school bus blew open and Dustin tumbled out, hat sliding off his head. “Are you guys alive?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Steve replied, turning away from you. An icy breeze blew over you and the forest opened up once more, corpses and their slashed necks all on display before you. A moment torn in half. He was back on the bus before you even took one step. 

. . . 

All semester long, you had pretended to not recognize the string tied between the two of you. The Upside Down, the demogorgon. Now the demodogs. The string was getting longer and coiling up in front of you like a ball of yarn, a supernatural eyesore. But after that night in the woods, with winter close on fall’s heels, it became impossible to ignore. 

“Steve,” you whispered. The classroom was silent. Miggins sat at his desk with a book up to his nose, reading intently. 

“Hm?”

“We need to talk.”

He looked up at you like you were crazy, but his voice wavered. “About what?”

“Everything.”

His eyes went a little wide. “What does that mean?”

“The demodogs. The Upside Down, Will. All of it.”

He sunk back in his seat but tilted his weight until he was leaning against your desk, head dropped. “What about it?”

Oh. You sat up a bit, moving away. Was he taking you seriously?

“I just… I don’t know, I thought we should talk about it. We never do.”

“You want to talk about it?” he whispered, breath tangible against your shoulder. Miggins glanced up, and you separated, sitting stick straight in your seats. After a moment, he looked away. You glued your eyes to the wrinkled poster hanging over the door. Snow Ball, December 8th, 8:00 PM. A disco ball gleamed behind the chunky letters and each sparkle looked like snow. Your heart swelled at the sight of it. What it would feel like to have Steve’s hands on your back, soft and barely there, swaying like awkward teenagers do. But you would laugh about it. And his breath would tickle your nose, because he was that close. 

“Anybody home?” Steve murmured. 

Your head snapped back to him. 

“Yes, I want to talk about it,” you whispered. Even with Will safe and the kids settled again, it was weighing heavy on your brain. “You could have died last week.”

“I didn’t, though.”

“I know, b-”

“Pretty badass of me, actually.”

“Steve.” You looked right at him for what felt like the first time. He adjusted his head like you sent waves down his spine. “I’m being serious. Why did you go out there by yourself?”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “I wasn’t gonna let the kids go out there.”

“I could have gone with you. I should have. You wouldn’t let me.”

“No,” he scoffed. 

“Why not?”

Instantly his reply came- “No.” And then again, a moment later. “No fucking way.”

One of those rare moments passed where the two of you were actually looking at each other, rather than glancing at random posters on the wall or blinking at the desk. Still, it felt like he was staring straight through you, like you were clenching your fists hoping to become solid and yet all you were was mist in the air. 

“Alright,” Miggins huffed. “You’ve had enough time to go over the instructions. Turn your bunsen burners on.”

Steve sat up like someone had kicked him. “Alright. What are we doing?”

You breathed a sigh of relief as voices filled the silent room once more, talking and laughing. One hand reached out toward the bunsen burner. “Flame painting.”

He made a face. “Oh?” And before you could touch the burner, he flicked your hand away. “No, I’ll get it. Put your goggles on.”

You looked at him. “I don’t mind doing it.”

“No, it gets hot.”

You took a few breaths. 

“It’s a bunsen burner, Steve.”

He ignored you, lighting the flame as you slipped on your goggles. The instructions were quite simple. A list of colors and reactants laid before you on the worksheet, a guide to painting fire. Potassium chloride made purple, lighter fluid made blue. Road salt made orange, but that seemed redundant. Only a few of the options were available to actually try. 

“What’s your favorite color, Byers?” asked Steve. 

Byers. The tips of your ears flushed. “What’s yours?”

“Not what I asked.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “Green.”

He snatched the packet up and read over it, squinting like it was written in Latin. “Okay, yeah. Alright.”

“Okay?” you laughed. 

“Yeah. We can do that.”

His eyes roamed over the tiny jars of reactants in front of you. You followed his gaze and then gave up, just watching his eyes move. His irises were perfectly wide, round like marbles, warm like chocolate. He looked softer, somehow, then he had in the past. Though his attitude was certainly rougher. 

Steve took a small jar of white powder and cranked it open, setting the lid down on the desk. He ogled at it for a moment in his hand, veins flexing beneath the soft skin of his inner wrist. You swallowed, the back of your neck hot, too distracted to stop him before he brought the jar over the open flame and flipped it over. 

The fire roared and screeched like a braking car. 

“Steve!” you hissed. Then, horrifically, he smacked his hand down on top of the flame to put it out. “Steve!”

He cursed and recoiled, knocking into the burner plate and burning himself some more. Heads whipped around, everyone staring at him. When their eyes flicked to you in passing, you stiffened. 

“What?” Steve panted. “Something happen?”

His friends laughed up front. At the sound of it, Steve made a face, something that read like fuck off. A few of them glanced at you like an afterthought. That funny feeling came over you again, sinking in your stomach. 

Steve Harrington was not your friend. He deliberately chose not to be, in fact. He never said hi to you in the hallway, or sat by you at lunch, or even followed you out of class. You were a meager source of entertainment for one hour every weekday. 

Stuck together. 

“Is your hand okay?” you asked quietly, suddenly sobered. He shrugged. 

“No. Fuck.”

“Let me see.”

He raised his hand as if to let you look and then stuck his middle finger out. A glare shot out from your eyes like lasers. 

“Really?”

“Your fault. I need to run this under cold water, hold on.”

“Steve-”

He walked off and said over his shoulder- “Your fault.”

“Steve!”

“Oh, my god, it’s not really your fault. I’m kidding. At least it was green- fuck, this hurts.”

. . . 

Snow smothered Hawkins like icing one week later. The treetops and road signs were rusted with frost, and so were the mirrors on your car, steam gathering in the rearview as you drove. Blue lights flashed in the school windows and silver streamers trampled by heels hung over the door. When you pulled into the parking lot, there was a car next to your usual spot, already parked. Your eyes dropped to your lap instantly, afraid no matter who might be in there. 

Jonathan’s eyes caught yours in the rearview mirror, his tall frame cramped into the backseat of the Volkswagen. He flattened his lips and smiled a little, like he knew you were nervous but didn’t know what to do about it. Will sat beside him and doodled into a notebook, but looked up at you once the car stopped. 

“Honey, you are so beautiful,” Joyce cooed. 

You glanced over. “Thanks, mom.”

She smiled a corny smile until one grew on your own face, taking over your mouth and eyes until your cheeks were sore. Joyce wasn’t a beautician by any means, but she had done her best to make you look fancy- and she was beautiful herself. The most beautiful woman you had ever seen, really. Thinking about it made you think of Nancy Wheeler, and how beautiful she was, and then you were just sick to your stomach all over again when you had spent the entire drive to the school swallowing your nausea. You promised yourself you wouldn’t spend all night thinking about Steve. He probably thought school dances were stupid. He probably wouldn’t be there. 

You hadn’t even planned on attending the Snow Ball, but Joyce convinced you. Memories are important, she said, and just because you enjoy doing things by yourself doesn’t mean you can’t make important memories by yourself. You are your own best company, baby. 

It was a really nice sentiment. You enjoyed doing things on your own and often did. What Joyce didn’t realize was that you hadn’t chosen this life for yourself and it was actually the fault of your crippling inability to communicate with your peers that landed you alone on the night of the Snow Ball, but she absolutely did not need to know that. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get your hair all big,” Joyce murmured with her eyes still on you. She took to your face, grabbing you by the chin and shaking. “I just can’t figure it out!”

“Me neither.”

“Like, how do all the girls do it?”

“I don’t know, mom,” you laughed, wiggling your head back and forth until she finally let you go. “I can’t do it either.”

“It’s only your first dance, we’ll get better. We’ll have to buy more of those rollers next time. Bigger ones. Maybe a bunch of little clips, too, to get ‘em to stick better.”

“Okay.”

“For your next Snow Ball,” she kept talking, rambling on and staring at you in adoration. “Or Prom.”

Whatever happens tonight might convince me never to go to Prom, you thought. When she finally snapped out of her doting trance, your heart catapulted into your throat. Her hand landed on the gearshift and you thought you might throw up. 

“This is where we leave you,” Jonathan teased.

Your lip curled. “Don’t go.”

Joyce frowned. “Oh, honey. Do you really not want to go? Or are you just scared?”

Tears pricked at your eyes. Heat stung your cheeks like bees, buzzing over your neck and cinching your throat tight. It was so embarrassing to be crying over a thing like this. 

“I’m just scared,” you shrugged, whispering to mask the tears. It worked, seemingly, and Joyce shook her head in response. 

“Everybody in there is going to be doing their own thing. What’s there to be scared of?”

“I know.”

“Our Snow Ball was last week,” Will mumbled. “It was fine. Nothing bad happened. And nobody came up to me or bothered me.”

“What about the one little girl who introduced herself to you? The one you told us about?” Joyce prodded. 

Will’s face was blank as printer paper. Jonathan snorted. 

“Alright,” Joyce huffed. “What-ever. We’ll be back at ten. Go on, kiddo.”

As you pried open the frozen door, Jonathan called, “You’ll be fine, Y/N.” You glanced back at him and wrinkled your nose, like you would not be fine, but his words were comforting if nothing more. A cracking noise like ice sounded from behind you as Joyce rolled down all the windows on the Volkswagen, singing, I love you, Jonathan and Will a meager choir behind her. 

She drove off like she knew you would get back in if she stayed. 

With her gone, a tear broke free and rolled down your cheek. Penny loafers covered your feet, snow dusting over the small strip of exposed skin around your ankles. All of your dresses were from church years ago, not anything like what girls wore to school dances, so you had settled for a mid-length skirt the color of sage and a copper sweater- knit chunkily enough that you could roll it up to your elbows and have it fall almost flatteringly, a pair of two tiny green crystals piercing your ears. 

It wasn’t what you imagined, maybe, but it was what you got. From Joyce. And that alone made you proud. You swallowed (most) of your tears and went inside. 

“No first of spring, no song to sing. In fact, here’s just another ordinary day.” 

Stevie Wonder’s voice echoed off the gymnasium ceiling, the dance floor a thick crowd of bodies sucking up sound. Blue lasers beamed around like flashlights. You stepped over fallen streamers and white paper circles, some of them cut to look like snowflakes. There was nothing grand about your entrance. No one turned when you walked in, but they didn’t when the next gaggle of girls came in behind you, either. 

You exhaled. It would be easy to blend in here. 

“Byers?”

You whirled around. Oh, come on.

At a punch table dressed in blue plastic was a lean figure in a half-removed suit, blazer draped over his forearm, charcoal gray button-up remaining. His hair was styled as it usually was- immaculate- but there were no strays, no signs of wild highschool partying. You were pretty sure that kind of stuff only happened in the movies, anyway, but you also weren’t the person to ask. 

You stretched on a suspicious look. “Do I know you?” 

Steve laughed shortly, a smile breaking loose on his face before it settled into a crooked one, settling on your eyes and staying there like there was something to really watch. You almost turned around, maybe something behind you had caught his attention, but he started talking. 

“I, uh- I didn’t think you’d be here,” he said softly. His stuttering wasn’t nervous, only humble, an honest process of what was unfolding. Or maybe he was just a good actor. You folded your arms in front of you and stretched out your neck, shrugging. Quit looking at his arms, you creep. 

“Me neither. Are you- where are your friends?” 

Your stuttering was nervous. 

“They’re, eh- somewhere.”

“Exciting.”

“Very,” he nodded instantly. Still smiling. His mouth hung open a bit, like he had just eaten something hot. You both went quiet. That familiar feeling dropped in your stomach like a ship anchor. 

You look ridiculous. 

“I won’t keep you,” you started. 

“No, I was just thirsty,” he said, waving a cup at you. “Do you want one?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, this gown is worth millions, I can’t risk spilling anything on it.”

He laughed until he didn’t, brows flicking up and down like he was having this conversation without really thinking about what to say next and just saying it. 

“It’s great, Byers.”

“What is?”

“Your clothes.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

“Oh,” you nodded, glancing down. A tiny scoff left your lips. “Thank you. That’s nice of you.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” Liar. 

“Quit making that face.”

“What face?”

“Like you think I’m lying.”

“I don’t!”

And there you were, back at it within minutes. He stared at you for a second while shaking his head, features drawn in an argumentative pose, waiting for the perfect comeback to strike. Then his nodding slowed and his face softened in a way you had never seen before, but wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. 

“Do you want to dance?”

You poked your head out and gawked. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he retorted. “Stop it.”

“Okay. I mean- yeah, okay.”

“It’s not a punishment, Byers,” he said, stepping away from the table. Heat snaked up your spine and clung to the back of your neck as he approached, excited and horrified. That dominant, always-slightly mortified part of your brain screamed at you to back away and go wait in the parking lot for Joyce. 

You dug your penny loafers into the floor and took a deep breath. Steve breezed by you and his hand was on your wrist suddenly, holding softly but gripping tightly enough to lead you into the swathes of students taking up the gym floor. About halfway into the mass of people your heart started beating on your face, so hard you thought you might pass out. Right on time, Steve stopped, sliding his other arm onto your other wrist and draping your hands over his shoulders. 

It took every ounce of restraint in you to not gulp like a coward. 

“I don’t actually know how to dance,” you murmured. “It might be bad. I’m sorry.” 

Steve made a face. “Nobody here knows how to dance. This is a high school. Look at these people, Byers. They’re swaying like cornstalks in a brisk wind.” 

You laughed, and another smile broke open on his face like a cracked coconut. It seemed like he tried to dissolve it, but it remained there at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Ever present. 

Suddenly two hands were on your waist, spawning out of thin air. Oh, my god. 

“Are you always this stiff, Byers?”

“Shut up.”

“Is it scoliosis or something?”

“Steve.”

He laughed, and it vibrated against your skin, the sound of it buzzing in your ribs. His fingers had crept to your back without you even realizing. His thumb pressed down there between a wide-knit thread of yarn, playing with your sweater. 

“This really is nice,” he murmured. “I meant it.”

“I believed you.”

“No, you didn’t,” he mumbled. You almost laughed before clocking the look on his face; pensive and drawn, his eyes focused on the space between your shoulder and jaw as he lifted his right hand to draw a lock of hair from where it had become tangled in your sleeve. 

You shivered when his knuckles grazed your neck. And then the thought bubbled up in you at once, enough. This wasn’t what you wanted. What if his friends put him up to it? What if he was just trying to get you to come home with him? You wanted Steve, not one lone dance at a stupid Snow Ball he would forget about by tomorrow. In hindsight, maybe you were thinking rashly here, but your fear was real. This moment meant the world to you, and the idea of it meaning little or nothing to him made you sick to your stomach. 

“Steve,” you murmured. 

His eyes flashed to you. “What?”

You both looked up then. Something flipped inside of you, like a switch. He was waiting for something, not expectant, but hopeful. 

“Yeaaaah, Harrington!” 

You snapped out of his embrace. Behind you, Steve’s friends pumped their fists in the air, the others snickering to each other and hiding it behind lazily placed gestures. Laughing at you. The realization was painful but not surprising. 

You backed away from Steve and started making your way out of the crowd. Tears welled in your eyes, and you tried to force the acceptance to come on faster than the grief. 

“Aw, come on, Byers!” they hollered. You sniffled, back to Steve and his friends, back to everyone. Warmth came up behind you, a hand grazing over your elbow. 

“Y/N,” Steve bit off. 

“It’s fine.”

“Y/N.”

You turned. He came right up in front of you, even closer than you had been before. When you sucked in a breath, he did, too, his head tilting down to look over you. His breath fanned out over your nose. The two of you stood there, silent. Stevie Wonder echoed around you. “I just called to say I love you, And I mean it from the bottom of my heart.”

A tear broke free and rolled down your cheek. Steve cursed; an instant, instinctive sound, the same way you hiss at a paper cut. He flinched backwards a tiny step. One hand came up to run through his hair, brows knit together. 

“Goddamnit,” he breathed. 

And then he disappeared into the crowd. 

You sat alone in the parking lot a few minutes later, leaning against the lamppost next to your usual parking spot. Joyce wouldn’t be back to pick you up for at least an hour, but your sweater was warm enough to cloak you if you rolled the sleeves down, and anything was better than staying inside. A chunk of snow fell off the car that was parked next to yours when you arrived- a burgundy BMW, polished underneath a few specks of regular winter-water-damage. There were plenty of spaces open up front near the door. Still, it was alone in the back lot, neighboring your own spot. 

You lied to everyone about the evening being “quiet but pleasant,” when you got in the car. Joyce clapped and squealed like a little girl. Back at home, you settled into bed with the sweater still on, a pair of fuzzy pajama pants kicking up static underneath your comforter. 

There was a knock at your bedroom door. 

“Come in.”

It creaked open and Jonathan poked his head in, glancing around like he was wary to enter. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you murmured, face buried in your pillow, blankets up to your neck. “How was your night?”

“Good,” he shrugged. “I just… School is stupid.”

Your act must not have worked on him. “I know.”

“I mean, I didn’t even finish it.”

“I know,” you snorted. 

“Well, I just wanted to tell you it’s stupid and if you had a bad night tonight that it won’t matter in the long run. At all. Seriously. But I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you hoped it would be.”

You poked your head out from underneath the covers, a little lighter. “Thanks, Jonathan. That’s really sweet.”

“Sure. Love you.”

“I love you.”

He shut the door and you clicked off the lamp. As darkness enveloped you, the knit bindings of your sweater clung to you, your skin hot as an iron. You threw the covers up and ripped it off, hurling it across the room where it landed with a pathetic little pitter on the carpet. You fell asleep sure of two things:

You would rather die than go to Prom. 

Steve Harrington did not deserve the benefit of the doubt that you gave him. And you would never, ever let him make you feel that stupid again.

◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ thank you for reading!!! thoughts or comments or reblogs or literally anything are appreciated! thank you 4 being here and i hope this fic makes you happy and i will post part 2 at the end of this week <3

[callsignhoney]

being phoenix’s back seater ➤

pairing ➤ platonic!natasha "phoenix" trace x reader

genre ➤ angst, fluff

———

you and phoenix hail from the same squadron

the black aces

she hasn’t known you for long

you’re pretty young for a wso, all things considered

it was kind of a combination of your youth and your sometimes annoying but mostly endearing curiosity that led phoenix to adoring you as she does now

however, this affection was not immediate

for a while you were convinced she hated you

and maybe she did a little bit

you were replacing her former back seater who had been with her since flight school all those years ago but was leaving the navy to start a family

in came you: fresh out of tech school and way too eager

you didn’t know her routines, her patterns

you had little to no field experience and hadn’t even been in a plane all that much prior to getting stationed with her

you were lacking in every department except for theoretical knowledge

you were not her partner

for a long time the two of you upheld this kind of grumpy senior officer, overeager newbie type relationship

you struggled fitting in with the others at first

you were nerdy and awkward and talked too much but you really meant well and were always willing to learn

that had to count for something, right?

you were the comic relief for your squadron

you were happy to be

you didn’t care if they laughed at you, at least you made them smile

the bullying wasn’t actual bullying

it was teasing at best

like giving your siblings crap for just existing

your team saw and appreciated that you really were trying

to learn to do your job

to learn how to work as a team

to be their friend

to be phoenix’s friend

you thought she was the coolest person you’d ever met

so calm, so level headed, so precise and succinct and talented

she’d been to top gun!!

she was so cool and you would have done anything for her to just like you

but phoenix

she genuinely held disdain for you

you thought it was all just a joke and that made her dislike you even more

she was ranting about you one night a couple months after you had joined the squadron

it was later on in the evening and you’d heard some of your squad was drinking in the common room

you were barely old enough to drink but you finally could, so you decided to join them

you arrived just in time to hear phoenix ranting about you and how incapable and annoying you were

(phoenix) they just don’t know how to do anything, they’re practically useless. they think everything’s a joke. they never stop talking just on and on and on like they don’t know how to shut up and just do their fucking job. i get a migraine just thinking about them half the time

you did not join them for a drink

in fact, you did not join them for anything after hearing what phoenix had to say about you and the murmur of half-drunk agreements given by your cohorts

you let the distance between yourself and the others grow back to what it once was, no longer fighting a one-sided battle to cross that gap and be accepted by them all

you stopped talking

and

to be completely honest

it terrified phoenix

there was radio silence from you unless you were telling her a trajectory or a location or some useful piece of info

she thought she’d be relieved the day you finally stopped chattering away the entire time you two were in the air but really it was unsettling

it was too quiet

she didn’t like the deafening silence without you filling it with pointless stories and anecdotes, little comments about how pretty the sky was or how cool a maneuver she’d just done was

she thought you might be sick with how suddenly your demeanor changed

she asked you about it once you were back on the ground from patrol

(phoenix) hey, are you sick or something?

(you) what? no, why?

(phoenix) you’re just weirdly quiet today. i’m not used to being able to hear myself think

this continued for several days

after months of nonstop chatter and excitement from you

after all of the energy and passion you had, all the life you had given this team

the squad felt desolate when you withdrew

like something had scooped out the core of the unit and left it hollow

the whole squadron was worried about you

you had just gotten….. quiet

very quickly, phoenix realized just how much she actually loved your personality

you weren’t always the most serious, but you could make anyone laugh

you were this light that burned so brightly and could make anyone’s day a thousand times better

you weren’t the best at your job, but you were still new and you were trying

you were trying

and she had hated you for it

that wasn’t fair to you, and she was incredibly ashamed of how she had treated you

she didn't know how to address it for a while

she hadn't realized you'd heard her that night and was incredibly concerned that smth had happened to you to make you this quiet and withdrawn

idk maybe a family member died or you were struggling w mental health, she really had no idea

she just knew that she was worried about you

she cared about you

she had tried to keep a distance between you two bc she didn't want to replace someone who had been her best friend

she didn't want to move on from what had been so comfortable with her last wso but yet here you were

weaseling into a little place in her heart and doing your goddamn best

the others were just as worried as she was

whenever she brought you up to them they had no answers; no one knew what happened to make you start acting like this

she started by being gentler with you

she didn't demand or expect things of you that you wouldn't know

not because you were incapable, but because you were learning

she tried to be more helpful, explain things more patiently

she started spending some time with you while off duty, being more friendly in general

she wanted you to know she was reaching out a hand

and you were confused as all hell

hadn’t phoenix just said that she couldn’t stand you and now she was being nice??

it didn’t add up

you let it go for a while

then she was asking to get a drink with you on a night off like it was totally normal for the two of you to go out together

(you) are you feeling okay?

(phoenix) yeah, why?

(you) you’ve just been… really nice lately

(phoenix, laughing) what? is it that weird that i want to grab a drink together? am i not allowed to be nice to you?

(you) it’s just kind of weird considering….

(phoenix) considering what?

you mumbled out a little confession of eavesdropping that night

phoneix’s face just dropped

she hadn’t really meant that

she wasn’t really annoyed at you, she was annoyed at losing her friend

she was holding a grudge for something that was not your fault and she shouldn’t have been upset about

you just happened to be the easiest thing to make a scapegoat

and you thought she hated you

(phoenix) god shit i’m so stupid. i am so dumb. i didn’t— i’m sorry you heard that i was just—

(you) you were just speaking your mind but it’s fine. i know i’m loud and annoying and overeager—

(phoenix) no! no. those are literally everyone’s favorite things about you!

(you) people like…. that i’m annoying??

(phoenix) yes, to be honest. it’s endearing in a weird way that i still don’t understand. but how talkative you are and how curious you are and how fucking smart you are, it just makes you an amazing person. i’m sorry it took me so long to see it

you went out to drink with her

there were a couple others from the squadron there too

one of them shot a text to the group chat without you in it (y/n supporters anonymous) along with a picture of you beaming while a group of people laughed at something you said

[21:41] they’re back, ladies and gents

you went back to your normal self

your playful banter while up in the air was a sound for sore ears

you made hours long flights so much more bearable

yes, you were genuinely annoying sometimes but you were still one of the funniest, most welcoming, friendliest people phoenix had ever known

you

well

you became phoenix’s best friend

in an “agent of chaos” x “mom friend” kind of say

anyone looking at the two of you would think that phoenix can’t stand you

but she can, she does, and she will continue to

anyone who has a problem with you can go through her

you are her pain in the ass

no one else gets to say anything about it

a prime example:

hangman

hangman happened to be coming through the base your squadron was calling home for a couple months

you ran into him and went on one of your ramblings about how the double seater f18’s had to be engineered to be able to keep up with the single seat planes during missions despite the extra weight and size of having to fit a second person in the cockpit

he was later complaining to phoenix about “some smart ass kid who wasted ten minutes of my time talking to me about some engineering bullshit for the f/a-18f that i couldn’t care less about”

in walks you from afar

(hangman) god, hide me, i cannot deal with this annoying kid again

(phoenix) i know you’re not talking about y/c/s. i know damn well you’re not talking about my back seater

she shut that down real fast

then stuck hangman with you for a considerably longer tangent about some other nerdy engineering thing you know about f18’s just to make him suffer

hey

being annoying comes in handy sometimes

especially if it irritates hangman

you went to top gun yourself eventually

you were paired with a wso-less pilot and spent your time working together as a team

you’re still good friends with beluga but he just doesn’t compare to flying w phoenix

eventually phoenix gets called back to top gun, along with 11 other graduates

you are not among those chosen

phoenix tells you the details she can, including that she’s been assigned a new back seater for whatever mission they’re training for

(phoenix) his name’s bob. literally just bob. like his actual name is his call sign. he’s hilarious, a little shy but sweet. i think i can make it work

you were immediately terrified of getting replaced

she got along so well with bob right off the bat

you had to fight for months for her to just tolerate your presence

she spoke of him so highly, how he was able to so quickly fall into rhythm with her

he was literally everything you weren’t when you first got assigned to the black aces

capable, talented, easy to get along with

the best of the best

you hadn’t even met the guy and you felt like you would never be able to compare to him

phoenix got chosen to fly the mission

you never doubted that she wouldn’t

she came home safe and eventually flew back to the squadron

the black aces went out the night she came back, celebrating her return at a bar your squad often frequented

you felt so out of place

you were happy for her, proud of her

of course you were

and you were elated to have her back

but

you’d gotten it in your head that you weren’t good enough

good enough to be pheonix’s back seater

good enough to be a wso

to be in your squad

to do what you do

who are you to do these things and to have people rely on you when you could so easily let them down? when there are so many better options?

phoenix noticed your change in demeanor the second you hesitated to hug her while picking her up from the airport

that is not y/n behavior

you should have been skidding to a stop, throwing the car in park, jumping out of the driver’s seat, and racing to tackle her in a hug

maybe she’d become a little greedy with your affection

maybe she’d gotten too used to your undying admiration

but she knew something was going on

she cornered you at the bar when you wandered away from the group

(phoenix) what’s wrong?

(you) what? nothing’s wrong. why would anything be wrong????

(phoenix) y/c/s

that was really all it took for you to spill your guts and all your insecurities to her

she had this internal conflict of deciding whether to laugh bc of how absurd you sounded or to let her heart shatter a little at how easily you believed she’d replace you

instead she did the good thing and gave you the assurance you desperately needed

anyone else, she would not have been as gentle

but this is you we’re talking about

that soft spot she’d developed wouldn’t let her react any differently

(phoenix) i’m not gonna replace you. you’re my back seater, y/c/s. you are. and that’s not gonna change just bc i was stationed somewhere else for two weeks. we’re a team, y/n. you understand?

(you) yeah,,,,,,, it’s weird hearing you call me by my first name

(phoenix) and i will never be doing it again

phoenix is all tough love but there’s an emphasis on the love part

she rarely if ever will tell you how much you mean to her and how much she cares about you

it’s really through her actions that you’ll see it

the little things

coffee just how you like it

tickets for a movie you’ve been excited about

calm reminders for things you’re still learning

patience and understanding

she still acts like she can’t stand you (and sometimes she can’t but a little suffering is worth keeping you around in the long run) but anyone who knows her isn’t fooled

you are her weakest point, her softest spot

but she’ll be damned before she admits it

especially to you bc there would be no living that down

be as annoying as you want because phoenix’s affection for you is undying at this point

nothing you could do could change that or make her want to get rid of you

you’re her ride or die

literally

you are her best friend

and she wouldn’t have it any other way

[cupids-crystals]

Midnight Blue (B.B.)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Two resident insomniacs find company in the quiet hours of Stark Tower

Notes: no major warnings, brief mentions of Bucky’s past but mostly fluff. Avenger reader, no reader pronouns.

It wasn’t often that Stark Tower was silent. Between the ongoing science fair in Tony’s lab and the busy Avengers that occupied the space, there was always a cause for commotion. 

You didn’t mind the noise; the chatter had become a constant over the years, filling the open spaces and leaving no room for unease. 

The clamor would usually subside sometime around two in the morning, the quiet hours lasting until the sun rose again a few hours later. The majority of your teammates took advantage of this stillness; it was a time for rest and relief, two things that did not come easy to the encumbered heroes. 

For you, the quiet was daunting. With the blissful moon overhead and the world at rest, there was nothing to distract you from the shadows in your mind. You preferred to spend your nights in the dimly lit common area, avoiding the thought of sleep altogether. 

Leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at the empty stools tucked away neatly, you counted down the hours until normalcy found you again. A stifling silence filled your ears, interrupted only by your quiet breathing and the pot of coffee brewing in the background. 

The clock on the wall read just after four; another hour or so and Steve would join you before his morning run. Natasha would follow, then Sam, and the rest of the Avengers would eventually trickle into the common space. 

You sat in wait, fingers tapping the ceramic mug in your hands. No amount of caffeine could make the time pass faster, but your hands felt empty without the warmth that it provided. 

Your gaze shifted to the floor-length windows overlooking the city, wondering how many people sat awake in their homes below, matching your state of restlessness. Your attempt to count the lit windows was interrupted when you heard the careful footsteps of your teammate coming down the hall. 

Bucky paused in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure of whether to enter or to turn around and retreat to the safety of his bedroom. The dim overhead lights did little to disguise him, reflecting off the austere titanium prosthetic and making you aware of his furtive presence. 

The super soldier hadn’t been at the tower for more than a few months, in which time he had been practically glued to the side of his lifelong friend, Steve Rogers. You had yet to become acquainted with the impassive brunet, but that didn’t mean you welcomed him with any less acceptance. 

“Coffee’s hot, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

He regarded you blankly, eyeing the mug in your hand before offering a gruff ‘thanks’ in return. You gave a tight-lipped smile in his direction before turning your attention to the clock. 

4:25 a.m. 

Bucky fixed his coffee in silence, debating whether you’d like him to stay now that he’d interrupted your respite. He might have enjoyed small talk before the war, but the world was a different place now, and he found himself tongue-tied and useless in most modern-day exchanges. 

The mug that Bucky grabbed was deep red in color, intricate in its design and surely more expensive than necessary. He’d learned quickly that Tony loved subtle displays of wealth, and he yearned for the simplicity of the chipped, faded dining set that his family had owned in the 40’s. 

He snuck a glance in your direction while stirring creamer into his coffee, mind racing in search of something to say.

“D’you think Tony has ever bought anything that wasn’t luxury?”

Your eyes widened at Bucky’s sudden inquiry, turning to find him leaning awkwardly against the counter beside you, separated by a few feet of open space. Without hesitating, you replied, “He’s been known to enjoy some pretty cheap booze, but his shot glasses are crystal, so I don’t think that counts.”

Bucky snickered softly, raising the mug to his lips to hide his amusement. He had heard you before, murmuring to yourself or pacing the living room while the rest of the tower was still. Even when distant memories clouded his mind, he felt safe under your tireless watch. 

You glanced at the clock again. 4:28 a.m. 

Bucky cleared his throat softly, wishing that he still possessed the charm that he did in his youth. If he was twenty-something again, he’d know exactly what to say; if he was twenty-something again, he wouldn’t be awake in the first place. 

You seemed to sense his unease, moving towards the kitchen table and gesturing for him to follow. He did so without question, taking a deep breath and sliding into the seat across from you. 

“So,” you began, moving your mug across the dark wood. “What’s on your mind, Sergeant?” 

He felt the apples of his cheeks heat up at your use of his ranking, and he hoped that you couldn’t see the blush that undoubtedly covered his visage. Only Steve knew of the events that plagued his mind , but he felt the urge to tell you anything you wanted to know. 

“Just the usual insomnia. I smelled coffee and figured the caffeine might help with the day ahead.”

You nodded in agreement, wondering how long Bucky had suffered from your shared malady. Had he sat in bed, waiting for the sun to rise while you did the same just down the hallway?

“S’nice to have someone to talk to. Usually I talk to myself – or Tony when he’s pulling an all-nighter.”

He hummed at the thought, remembering the few times he’d heard you pestering the genius over midnight coffee breaks. 

“I hear you sometimes,” he confessed, eyes going wide with the realization of what he’d said. You’d surely find him off-putting now. Maybe the rumors that he’d heard floating around the tower were right after all. 

You smiled softly, amused by his revelation. “You should’ve joined me earlier.” Bucky blinked at you incredulously, surprised by the lack of disdain in your response.

“I should’ve.”

An easy silence came over the room, as if the two of you were age-old friends with no secrets left to share. Bucky sipped his coffee thoughtfully, wishing that he could go back to the nights spend in a rigid panic, thoughts of Hydra weighing him down. He knew you would’ve been a source of comfort, even if he was too timid to ask. 

“This can’t be healthy, y’know,” Bucky spoke, almost afraid to ruin the sudden blissfulness that came with the quietude. “I mean, do you ever sleep?”

“Do you?” you quipped, raising a brow in question. 

“Good point.” 

You laughed softly, a euphonious sound that made Bucky light up with pride. Maybe his self-imposed isolation was in vain; the world couldn’t be terrible with people like you filling the empty spaces. 

The two of you talked quietly across the table, recounting past missions and telling anecdotes without regard for the time passing by. Eventually, the sound of Steve’s alarm rang through the air, much to your shared chagrin. 

Bucky leaned back in his chair, sighing and running his hand over his face. Soon, Steve would stumble into the kitchen, surely confounded by the relationship that had bloomed in the still hours of Stark Tower.

You fidgeted with your empty mug, tranquility written across your features as you watched the super soldier across from you. 

“I’m glad you joined me, Bucky.” 

“I am too,” he affirmed, lips pulled into a small smile. The sound of Steve’s shuffling footsteps could be heard down the hall, signaling the beginning of a new day. 

“Same time tomorrow?”

[djarinsbeskar]

PAMARTHE ARC 2.2: HOMECOMING (CHAKAVAL)

A/N: Better late than never! I feel I kinda rushed this part but it's been weighing on me so I want to just release it into the wild and hope for the best! Updates will probably be a little far between for the forseeable as I have to divide my time between Stitches and A Sensual Summoning. It is only temporary, but just a heads up!

Note: given the number of anons I have received and not posted recently about a) their dislike of Stitches, b) their dislike of medic as a reader insert, or c) general nastiness, I'll be taking a military approach to this. The sins of one result in the punishment of all. If you don't like Stitches, read something else.

Word Count: 10.5k

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warings: SMUT! (unprotected sex, anal play, anal sex, anal virgin, overstimulation, semi-public sex) language, angst (incl. mentions of death and grief).

Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Companion Guides

“Kyr will be back the day after tomorrow.”

Kai explained as you all made your way out of the Tipsy Hart, the child tucked into his arm from where he had settled earlier in the evening.

“Why do you guys…rest for a few days, and meet us at the Seat once he’s back.”

This was the part you had been dreading.

The…living part.

The lull in the action and abatement of distraction. When you would be forced to exist within an environment where every turn reminded you of something else you had been trying to forget for the last six years.

The losses, the suffering.

The emptiness.

Your life had been split so drastically between your pre- and post-Rebellion selves. Before, life had been full of people and everything that came with them. People and their voices and footsteps. With their laughter and tears and arguments and memories.

After the Rebellion…you were a voyeur. An outside observer to the lives of those who came through your clinics. Never a participant. Never submersed in the messiness and candid fullness of a life spent with others.

In the last year though, you had begun to regain some of that. With Din and his ad’ika. Complete with new sounds and memories, but there was always a part of you that feared the collision of both worlds. The tectonic shift of before and after…and the fallout you would have to deal with in its aftermath.

Bantha balls.

You hoped Kai hadn’t noticed the way you stalled, coming to a stop by your hired speeders.

He did, if the pinch between his brows was anything to go by.

Din – naturally – was no help. Silence was the Mandalorian’s preferred language, and he never felt the need to fill it with useless fodder. It was a trait you had learned to find extremely attractive once you figured out how to interpret it.

But at this moment, it was deeply frustrating. Especially when it left you on the front lines of communication with a mind beset by simmering anxiety.

“We—Kyr packed up the house after…you know.” Kai tested warily, rubbing the back of his neck to expel some of the nervousness tensing his muscles.

The bombardment. That was what he meant. The attack that had killed your mother and finally emptied your family home of its last occupant.

“He didn’t toss anything, always said you’d come home eventually but eh—yeah, it’s all there, yours now.”

He was overly garrulous. Nervous chatter belying his uncertainty in how to broach the sore subject of death and grief. He was a damned commander of the New Republic Defense Fleet. You would think he was good at this sort of thing.

Your stomach sank, taking in his fractured words.

The house.

Your family’s house.

Your house?

Most people would be thrilled to own a home point blank, let alone a home that sat overlooking the north sea and surrounded by pockets of forest and rolling hills where pylbucks and nerfs grazed freely.

In your peripheral, you noticed Din move minutely. A shift of his weight. Natural – it always looked natural – but deliberate. It was a question in the drop of his hand to his belt, the roll of his shoulder back. A query that his eyes branded on your skin from where he stood.

What house?

You had – perhaps foolishly – believed you might get away with not having this conversation. That you could flee to the safety of the Razor Crest in order to avoid and confusion over why – now that you were on Pamarthe – that you wouldn’t choose to stay in your childhood home.

Was it any wonder that a bounty hunter of his caliber picked up on that discrepancy with a single shift in movement? You knew better than that.

Dammit.

You didn’t want to talk about this. At all. There was a constantly looming fear in not knowing where to begin. That the problem would continue to expand indefinitely like the universe you were all suspended in. A speck would turn into a rock, would turn into a planet, would turn into a star, would turn into a damn blackhole sucking every part of you into it, and crushing you under the weight of your own grief and trauma.

You just…wanted it all to go away.

“Maybe…maybe the Crest would be better—” you heard yourself try weakly, a useless argument.

“The harbor is hours away, little fawn—” Kai refute easily, rocking the child who was dozing like a natural, “Buck’s Cove might be a bit of a trek, but it’s still closer.”

Fucking Kai.

“It is late—maybe Nana has a room free—” you tried, valiant and desperate while still trying to monitor your tone lest it reveal the stress guiding those words.

Noticing Kai’s immediate confusion though, alarm bells blared in your head – too close – and you were forced to backtrack. It was easier to deceive by agreeing.

“No, no you’re right,” you chuckled, the sound thready, “no point in paying for a room we could get for free.”

There.

That should get him off your back. Only now, you would be forced to face the very foe you had been trying to avoid. Your gaze remained steady on your friends golden eyes as suspicion turned to concern in a fraction of a second.

The warmth of his hand bled into your skin when he cupped the back of your neck in comfort.

“Welcome home, little fawn,” he rumbled quietly instead of addressing your previous conversation, “and you are home.”

Fear creeping up your throat, you tried to suppress it by pretending that it didn’t exist.

Right about now…Rhydian would be calling to say stay put—that he was on his way to pick you up.

But the holotransmitter was silent. The dead couldn’t speak. That fucking silence. How different it was to the comfortable, effervescent silence you shared with Din.

This silence was the stalking quiet of a well-placed paw, expertly avoiding twigs and crunchy leaves. The silence that had a lone doe lifting her head from grazing because something just wasn’t right. The silence that preceded the devastating blow of an attack of fangs and claws.

You were being hunted in your own mind by fond memories that turned thorny with loss.

You nodded, Kai’s fingers squeezing lightly into your skin when you flashed him what you hoped was a convincing smile.

The younger Carria brother looked like he might say something else, but a fussy squawk from the child had him turning to Din instead so he could return him to his buir’s hold.

Something incomprehensible passed between the two men during the exchange. You couldn’t tell given that Kai had his back to you—but whatever decision the stag had made in that moment as the child settled comfortably in Din’s arm, was immediate.

“Look after our fawn?” he asked and your heart leapt.

Our fawn.

It was an innocuous word to focus on.

Did he mean ‘our’ as in Clan Carria as a whole? Pamarthe? ‘Our’ as in Kai and Kyr with whom you had a long and close history with?

Or…did ‘our’ mean all of the above? With Din and the child included.

Your brain grabbed onto the word greedily, ignoring everything else and focusing on it with the magnifying glass of hyper-fixation. In some shadowed place in your mind, you knew it was just a cover; the many definitions of ‘our’ meant nothing really. It was merely something to think about that wasn’t your house and the ghosts that walked its’ empty halls.

You glanced up in time to see the tail end of Din’s subtle nod.

His silence was so much more…soothing.

It was all Kai needed too, and when he nodded back with a quick clasp to the Mandalorian’s shoulder, Din didn’t recoil or – thankfully – sever the commanders arm. You never would fully understand the intricacies of ‘man speak’.

Kai gave the warriors pauldron a brotherly smack and – that settled – turned off towards the steep, winding pathway that led to the Seat of the Stag, throwing a three fingered salute over his head as he did so.

“See you in two days, lovebirds!”

Something was off about you.

Din’s suspicions had risen the moment the commander mentioned your home. A surprise, really. He never knew you owned a house.

It was very…domestic.

He wasn’t quite sure whether that association made him uncomfortable, or if his discomfort came from the fact that he didn’t mind equating you to domesticity one bit.

You played a good game, as though nothing was really wrong.

But the Mandalorian had learned your body better than his own. Even in the growing darkness of twilight, he saw how your gaze became distant—clouded by an unconscious fog. The strain at the corners of your eyes and the pinch at your lips he had mapped so often with his own.

Something was bothering you.

Something Din suddenly felt he should know.

What an odd sensation.

Neither of you had ever gotten this close to either of your pasts before. You had never been on Aq Vetina – Maker knew that would be weird – and the covert he was part of had already been scattered by the time you came to be travelling with him and the kid. You hadn’t even seen his face.

If he felt disconcerted by the idea of you encountering his past, he could only imagine what it was like for you right now.

You had…nothing.

Nothing to hide behind. No beskar shield to ensure the appearance of impassive strength. No impenetrable armor to protect the rawest wounds.

You had…

Him.

He was donned in beskar, armored by the strongest steel.

He could protect those raw wounds and tear-stained cheeks. More than that—Din wanted to.

But…he didn’t know how. What steps to take or words to say. He had no plan, and going in blind was foolhardy at best, damaging at worst.

He followed your speeder now – unusual things – at a pace far slower than you had travelled to the cantina with. The whip of your sort, cowl cape in the wind belied your speed. Sometimes, it seemed as though you weren’t even aware of it—a jump of acceleration when you caught yourself going no faster than an Alderaan beach snail.

Over ridges and through narrow glens, the uneven landscape would disorient anyone who didn’t know where they were once more discernible landmarks disappeared behind them. He didn’t know this land. He couldn’t take the lead, as much as his instincts might tell him to.

This was your planet. You had grown up here.

The intrusive image of a small girl – the child you had been – sprang to mind against the backdrop of your past. Grassy plains and windswept hair tangled with the leaves and twigs of your adventures. Small copses of trees that seemed so ordinary looked so differently when he placed you among them. Using the wide trunks during hide-and-seek or taking advantage of the high limbs to read in peace.

Then the image shifted…to that same little girl with hints of him in her.

His throat went dry and he shook the thought from his head viscerally, veering off course momentarily.

Fucking hell.

He was not thinking about his child. Your child. That was a damn treacherous road he feared he might not be able to return from once taken.

He resolutely trained his gaze on your back and away from the vision of a little girl with her moths eyes and fathers hair. Even distracted, you guided the speeder effortlessly down pathways and shortcuts across the hills on your way to a saddle pass between two long ridges of stout mountains.

It looked as though the waves themselves had ruptured up against the coastline—freezing in rock on either side of the pass in a daunting eclipse of unscalable stone. Pockets of woodland and smatterings of settlements blinked past you both, thinning out the closer you got to the pass until you entered it and a wide, grassy glen greeted them.

The farther in you led him, the more wildlife appeared.

When Din said the mountain ridges were unscalable, he didn’t take into account the gravity defying creatures that hopped along the vertical rock. Hooved and horned, the Mandalorian was only able to detect one such beast before it skirted back up the mountain, leaving a trail of scree in its wake.

Then, there were the most bizarre birds.

He only noticed them when the kid cooed at the rustling grass either side of their speeder. His thermal vision picked up the small, long-legged fowl – flightless, apparently – with a long beak that pinched the nesting material of other animals before fleeing off back to its’ own nest.

Thieving little bastards.

So engrossed as he was in the activity that nightfall brought, he didn’t notice how quickly they were approaching the exit of the pass.

Beyond, wide open space greeted him in a panoramic whoosh—stretching farther than his vision would allow.

How fucking big was his island?

He underestimated the size of the scope of territory your alor had.

Sea and sky alike clashed against the horizon, and it was that exact horizon you seemed to be leading him towards. There were very few settlements this side of the pass, none that Din could see as he scanned the area for threat anyway. Waves crashing in the distance grew in volume, a resonance of some great breast roaring.

Perhaps, a mythosaur once sounded like this. Like the waves of a Pamarthen ocean.

On and on you led him and his mind meandered back to the fact that you were leading him to your house. Maybe it was the realization that you had roots somewhere that wasn’t with him and the child that he couldn’t seem to shake.

Real, tangible roots.

Not an old gunship and a thin sleep mat.

You never mentioned it. But then—you hardly ever said anything about Pamarthe unless it arose out of necessity and even then, it was sparce.

Could he really blame you though?

Tragedy changed people. Like metal that was time and again re-melted, re-cast, re-forged. A violent process necessary for the person you grew to be. He wasn’t the same child taken in as a foundling by the Mandalorians, and you weren’t the starry eyed rebel you were when you left your home to join a war.

Coming to ride along the coast once more, he spotted your destination sitting pretty against the backdrop of that roaring ocean and stormy skies.

A house.

Why was he expecting something else?

It was…just a house.

Perhaps it was because he always associated you with clinics or the Razor Crest that he expected something else. But just a house, though?

Din wasn’t sure he knew anyone who owned a house. The people on Sorgan owned houses, he recalled—but your home looked nothing like the reedy dwellings made for such a humid climate.

Incompatible with the Pamarthen islands, the wind alone would have probably destroyed Sorgan houses in no time.

No, yours sat strong. A white, stone structure with small durasteel shuttered windows overlooking a dirt pathway that led to the edge of the cliffs it stood a distance from. It was big, and a sadness loomed over it that he couldn’t quite place.

A house that shouldn’t sit empty, but did.

You had slowed down considerably, hit with the same image as he had been. Crawling to a stop—the Mandalorian came to hover beside you, his eyes scanning your profile. He saw you swallow, eyes glued to the house.

“Kitten?”

You didn’t respond. Your chest lifted beneath the half-cut drape of the front of your cape with a deep inhale. The sea air was good, so he heard. Wait—you were the one who told him that. Must be some truth in it then.

He was still watching you when those pretty eyes flickered to his through the visor.

“Sorry, needed to catch my breath.”

Liar.

He nodded instead.

Choose your battles, idiot.

Whatever else he might have said was lost in the dust as you took off again, and he was forced to scramble to catch up—still getting used to these damn speeders that started up on a jump of speed.

He couldn’t shake the feeling though, that he was chasing you towards the very thing you had been running from all these years.

It was just a house.

You had been chanting the same thing since it came into view. As it came closer until you stood in its shadow, dismounting the speeder you had unconsciously parked near the empty landing space that was never usually absent of a ship.

At least there would be space for Din to land the Razor Crest tomorrow.

You walked up the overgrown path that was once worn down from foot traffic—but now hardly visible under the grass and weeds now covering it. Mired down by the thought of overgrown shrubbery, you didn’t notice the durasteel front door getting closer until you were standing right in front of it, the window shutters dark and lifeless.

You couldn’t put this off.

The door slid open with a slight buffer, stiff from lack of use.

It had been over six years since anyone used it regularly, you supposed.

Must and a faint smell of mildew defined the sentimental aroma of home. That scent you could never quite pick up anywhere else; the nostalgia and memory attached to it too ingrained in brick and mortar to travel with you off-world.

But like the pathway hidden by overgrown weeds, it was still there. The faintness of perfume after hours of wear, picked up for a split second before it disappeared again. It was still there though, and that was all that mattered.

One nightmare had been confronted and bested, at least.

The front door opened into the main living area where most of your family’s activity took place. A wide space for a kitchen, seating area and even a separate table for formal mealtimes that was hardly ever used for anything but homework. Later, it was the constant home of gloves, jackets and helmets your brother never failed to throw onto when they got home that drove your mother stir crazy.

Had…had it always been this big?

Your eyes drank in what the shadows and doorway of moonlight allowed. Generator was probably shot again. Sheets of preservative shields covered all the furniture but, at a glance, it appeared that everything was in its’ place as it had been the last time you were here.

Except its’ occupants.

The last surviving one was currently standing covertly outside the door, like a robber—contemplating entry and considering fleeing. Searching for anything of value that might be worth taking a step inside. Anything…or anyone.

Had it always been this quiet so far north of the Seat?

You never noticed it before.

Maker, usually this house was a clamor of noise. Half the time it was you yelling down the stairs for Rhyd and Rhain to shut up when you were trying to study for an upcoming exam and that command going unacknowledged as they rough-housed and used their outdoor voices inside.

Only when your mother threatened them with her ancient, wooden ladle did they finally cop on and listen.

They wouldn’t dare make a peep after that final warning. Or, they took whatever horseplay they were up to outside.

Why did you always tell them to be quiet?

A sting of tears burned the backs of your eyes, the ghost of your little brother racing through the room with yells that he completed the Hurdles and was now a real pilot. Your mothers shriek at his success as her ghost came out of the kitchen to wrap her youngest child in her arms—who, despite his claims of being too old for hugs, snuggled close.

A sting of tears burned the backs of your eyes, the ghost of your little brother racing through the room with yells that he completed the Hurdles and was now a real pilot. Your mothers shriek at his success as her ghost came out of the kitchen to wrap her youngest child in her arms—who, despite his claims of being too old for hugs, snuggled close.

Why?

When you hated this silence so much.

You yearned for the chaos of your brothers and the singing of your mother, while also craving the silence of the Razor Crest and the intimate pants of Din’s moans in your ear.

You just…wanted it all.

How greedy you were.

How naïve to think that was possible.

You still hadn’t walked inside.

How long had it been now?

Din was probably noticing your weird behavior if he hadn’t already. Which he probably did hours ago. You really needed to give the man more credit when it came to reading people.

What kind of excuse could you offer him though?

Sorry, I’m just having an existential crisis over the death of my entire family that I never told you about because we’re only fuck buddies but I’m actually in love with you so really, I want to tell you these things but I don’t want to terrify you emotionally in case you take to the hills and leave me in this silent house that’s the reason for you leaving in the first place because you asked me why I haven’t walked inside yet.

Wow.

That was a mouthful even in your mind.

And you still hadn’t taken a single damned step through the door.

What if your footsteps echoed? You hadn’t thought about that before. What if the house spoke back to you and reaffirmed that no, they didn’t just forget to take their shoes off when they came home and were somewhere else in the house out of sight.

What if the house echoed and confirmed that it was empty and had been empty for years?

What if it echoed…and you were forced to accept that they were all gone?

You couldn’t do this.

The only step you took was one backwards without realizing. The Razor Crest was fine, you had spent a whole year on that ship quite comfortably. Why bother changing things now? The Razor Crest was where silence was welcome. In this house—it was perverse.

“Don’t—” you heard Din begin.

You were dragged back to the present by a little green alien.

Wadding nonplussed through the small gap you had created by stepping back and into the home you grew up in. His little feet were too small to cause much noise, let alone an echo. He entered where you could not with ease, heading looking left and right at everything he could; exploring.

Din had obviously put the child down and was now cursing under his breath as he reached down to grab the little menace, inadvertently stepping over the threshold too.

And just like that…air filled your lungs and life re-entered your silent home.

“Dammit, kid—where are your manners?” the warrior sighed defeatedly as he scooped up the child who made it quite clear that no, he did not want to be in his buir’s arms. He wanted to explore every inch of the place, and had nearly made it under the first of many preservation shields before Din intercepted.

It all happened in a few seconds, but in that time the impossible became achievable, and you stepped into your old home that was once again filled with noise.

You exhaled, the tole of this battle exiting your body at the victory, leaving you exhausted.

“Let him explore,” you heard yourself saying, taking another step and another, until you were able to pick the wriggling alien from the Mandalorian’s arms and place him back on the floor once more, “it’s been too long since there’s been a child in this house.”

Shadows covered most of his helmet, the glint of moonlight along the curve from the open door shifting to the side to watch you. Then, a warm, strong hand wound down intimately over your lower back, bringing the warrior closer to you.

“You okay?”

Your heart fluttered. He had been checking on you ever since you came out of hyperspace earlier today. Usually, you would find it annoying, but this was his way of vocalizing his…understanding that this was fucking difficult, and touching base with you.

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips as you looped your arms around his neck loosely to pull his forehead down to yours, tempted by the heat, “I am now…”

You could hear him inhale sharply, his free hand cupping under your jaw to keep your eyes on his visor. Thumb rubbing beneath your bottom lip, you caught the pillowy cushion of flesh between your teeth at the affection. The intimacy. The fact that you still hadn’t forgotten the way he stopped a handsy drunk from touching you and how your mother would probably have loved the stoic warrior and his son.

Your hands skirted up under the back of his helmet, wisps of wavy hair curling around your fingers and the flush heat of his skin under your hands making you shiver with the contrast from the chill of the house. It hadn’t been heated in years. While sitting on a northern coast, what else were you expecting?

“I have a job for you,” you smiled at his grunt of awareness, his eyes evidently more happily distracted by your body as his hand dropped beneath the end of your short cape to the swell of your ass, “since I’m shit at engineering, I need—”

“Wait,” he rasped, lifting his head from yours.

You blinked – blindsided – and held your tongue. He pushed his gloved hand into the back pocket of your tight pants casually, while his other hand adjusted something at the side of his helmet.

“Say that again.”

Now you were just confused.

“What?”

“Say. That. Again—” he repeated, slowly.

“I’m shit at engineering?” you questioned, the words drawn out from your lack of understanding and having no facial expressions to read if you were saying the right thing.

Din chuckled quietly, a husky noise that went straight to your cunt as the deep timbre embraced you with warmth. Well, guess you didn’t need the heating after all.

“Just needed to record that so I have proof that you aren’t in fact all knowing,” he admitted, victory lifting his tone. Somewhere behind you both, something clattered – sounded like crockery – from the kid’s unsupervised nosing.

You didn’t even spare a glance at the mess, your cheeks heating. This infuriating man, you—

His laughter cut your offense in half, paper thin and you couldn’t even remember why you had been so affronted in the first place, when he was filling a place you had feared entering with one of your favorite sounds.

When he was quite done, his low chuckles petering off into rumbling affection when he dropped his other hand to fill it with your ass too. He kneaded them casually and with such easy arrogance that it was difficult not to flush further and push back into his hands.

“You’re shit at engineering, go on,” he teased.

“Fuck off,” you snorted, leaning back with a chuckle of your own, “go see if the generator is working and if not, fix it.”

“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he growled, heating your blood as the sound travelled through your veins to inject your heart with the erratic thump of an atrial fibrillation you should be trying to calm but found yourself smirking instead, playing along.

“You should know that already,” you purred, “keep up, sunshine.”

“Keep an eye on the kid while I do?” he rumbled after a beat, his wandering hands indulging.

“Don’t I always?” you retorted.

“Mm…good girl.”

You really did flush as dark as you possibly could at that. The man was just not playing fair at all today.

You wondered briefly as he released you to brush past you to go outside, what had brought on such a touchy, public display of affection. For months it had be relegated to the darkness of hyperspace and you weren’t quite sure when it changed.

If you were to be logical, objective—and look at the situation as if it were happening to other people, your first instinct would be to say it was do to the familiarity she – not you, someone else – was experiencing on her home planet. And he – not Din, some other masked warrior – was feeling territorial.

Hm.

That made sense.

These people weren’t strangers to you; they greeted you through touch and in a language Din didn’t know. Beyond that, they didn’t know how to read Din the way you did. They couldn’t see his face or observe his dissatisfaction. Apart from fucking you right there in front of them, his hands-on affection was the only way to lay claim and, in a way, show how unavailable you actually were.

Ten years ago, if someone told you a man was doing that to you—you would have huffed and puffed and raved on about your burning independence and how dare anyone think they could contain that blaze by trying to possess you.

Din wasn’t trying to own you though.

Nothing Din did was ever indicative of objectifying anything, to be honest. His ship was his home, his weapons and armor were his religion, his ad’ika was his family and you—were his equal.

Equally desired as respected.

Such a curious sensation. Enjoying when a man became territorial over you. Enjoying it because, well—you did it right back to him. Like hell you would let any of these other does near him.

The flare of jealousy that thought inspired surprised you.

The shuffling patter of little feet from the kitchen to somewhere in the living room had you chuckling. Disarming the first shield of what you correctly assumed to be the dining table filled you with a melancholic happiness at seeing the familiar, carved durasteel.

A dull almond color, it was framed with steel carvings your father had painstakingly completed to personalize the piece that would decorate the home he made with your mother. Leaping stags and graceful does were paired with the feline beauty of the lions from your mothers clan. The table was an extension of the embroidered cloak he gifted her when they were first engaged.

The kid was currently mesmerized by the mighty antlers of the stag that was carved in such a way that it appeared to be supporting the entire table form where it stood at the base.

You smiled, sitting down cross-legged on the floor with him.

“This was always my favorite too.”

His ears twitched as he looked at you with large, starry eyes. A nudge of instinct in your mind told you to continue, your fingers following his little claws along the antlers.

“You see how many points his antlers have? He’s a monarch stag because he has so many,” you explained, the sheer size of the Pamarthen stags famous across the galaxy, “more than sixteen! Maybe we’ll get to see one while we’re here.”

He chirped, his hand wrapping around your thumb that was stroking over the stags wide snout. You couldn’t be sure if the little bogwing even knew what numbers were, let alone how to count. Going by the amount of food he could consume, you doubted he knew the meaning of too much that was for sure.

As if you could blame him. If you could eat whatever you wanted and not put on an ounce of weight—you would be a food monster too. You got to your feet, leaving the child to explore some more while you made your way to the mess of crockery he left on the kitchen floor.

Speaking of, you hoped Din brought some rations with him. There wasn’t anything in any of the—

Food greeted your gaze when you pulled open the first cupboard. Not much; bread, nerfmilk, cheese, some salted meats and—Maker you hadn’t had one of these in ages! The tell-tale bright yellow box containing twelve perfectly baked, berry stuffed buns.

Not just any berries either. Fiore berries. The bright blue fruits named after the wildflower that grew in abundance over the islands were some of the sweetest, most velvety rich deliciousness you had ever tasted. You were addicted to this flavor; in jams, candy, and most especially—these pastries.

Your smile softened at their presence.

Kyr.

You might have said Kai, but over the years of your friendship and the slightest period of ‘more-than-friends’, Kyr never failed to encourage your appetite for fiore berries and gifted you with them whenever you wanted them.

How did the rhaer have time to leave your groceries?

You chuckled, shaking your head at his likely excuse; not wanting to deal with politics and escape the Seat for a few hours.

At least you would have something to feed the little menace with tonight. Him and his father.

Just as you were thinking it, the power came on with a groaning flicker of lights and hum of the sub-generators around the house.

Huh. That was quick.

Light brought with it greater clarity. Filling the space with a warmth that had been missing in the darkness. Your eyes drank in everything, all those pieces of furniture still covered and the daunting stairway up into further darkness that awaited you later.

“Wasn’t in bad shape,” Din mentioned, wiping his hands clean as he walked back through the front door, closing it finally, “needs a new intercooler for the engine, though.”

It’s needed a new cooling system for years.

“I’ll replace it for you.”

Your eyes flickered up to his visor, when he came to stand on the other side of the counter you had wiped down in order to slice some of the bread. He waved your thanks away with a grunt and turned to watch the kid re-emerge from behind one of the furniture shields once he heard the rustle of food being prepared.

He waddled as fast as short legs could carry him and all but boosted himself onto the counter with…

Your eyes flickered up to Din’s, surprised.

Magic?

“Hey—kid,” Din crossed his arms when the child reached out a greedy little hand for the piece you had just sliced, “is this how you’ve been getting into places you’re not supposed to be in?”

“Looks like it’s not only mudhorns and Trandoshans that he can move.”

Din snorted, looking sideways towards the stairs. You saw the cogs working loudly in his head.

“Go check, you don ‘t need my permission,” you turned your attention back to the bread, setting it aside so you could slice the block of cheese too.

Din wanted to make sure the house was safe, but didn’t want to intrude. It was sweet—but there was a selfish part of you that wanted someone other than you to go upstairs for the first time. If Din was offering to be your scapegoat in that then—you weren’t above taking advantage.

“Take him with you—let him pick a room,” you tagged to the end, figuring that if the kid chose then you wouldn’t have to.

You were rather tired of making decisions today. You just wanted someone else to do it.

Din didn’t question it, scooping the little bogwing up along with a slice of bread for him to nibble on so he wouldn’t be fussy.

It left you alone; an eventuality you hadn’t factored in when you sent the two of them on their inspection. Popping a shard of cheese into your mouth, you focused on the heavy sound of Din’s footsteps above you instead of the dark corners of the house and thanking every single deity you knew of, that you hadn’t had to come here alone.

It was a nice place you had.

Din thought as much as he ventured through the upper hallway, checking there were no threats squatting somewhere they didn’t belong. Every room was different, but contained the same preservation shields that made them all look similar. Except for two.

One had the shields down. Pilot helmets of various eras lined one wall and the bed was turned down with military neatness. The kid liked it. Din had given up trying to make sense of the intuitive fondness his ad’ika had for the most random places and people, but when he struggled out of his hold once more to wander around the bedroom, Din knew this was once such place.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and watching the kid explore.

He deserved something like this. A bedroom, a space of his own where he could play and just be a child.

Finding the bedroom to be safe, he left the child to explore his new found favorite room so that he could check the rest of the rooms.

The other room that was different, was the one that was significantly larger than the others. It faced the ocean—large windows with their shutters down blocked what must have been a breath-taking view to wake up to each morning.

He disarmed the shield covering the large bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Maker, it was soft. Very soft. Too soft? Possibly.

The shutters made the room pitch black, and while he could appreciate the view would be nice—he was more relieved that there was the possibility of removing his helmet even briefly. Though, he was still a little unsure of that—it went against every instinct to take it off when on-world, especially a populated one.

Was this your parents room?

Maker’s Helmet, they wouldn’t be happy knowing the man who fucked their daughter every night was sitting on their bed.

The frame creaked under his weight as he pushed himself back to his feet quickly with a mental apology for the disrespect.

The floor was easier to deal with.

Bucks Cove was a secret gem of Clan Carria.

Small, intimate—it stretched in a crescent of sand and rock beneath the hidden staircase overgrown with brush and brambles that led to your family home. The cove overlooked the wide, uninterrupted expanse of ocean stretching outward to infinity and itt was so easy to become lost in the idea of being the only person on the planet.

Towering cliffsides framed it with the emblematic white rock face that met with greenery at its edges. Smatterings of boulders – marbles thrown by giants – jutted up from beneath the shallow waters in varying states of erosion. They interrupted the waves as they broke against them, providing cover, shade and texture to the otherwise flat cove.

Sprawling several dozen meters from the base of the cliffs to the ocean at its’ thickest point—the cove could appear invisible as the high, dangerous cliffs framing it dissuaded most from getting close to the edge they would need to approach in order to spot it.

Only if you knew what you were looking for, or knew where those stairs were—would you know that Bucks Cove existed.

That was where you sat hours after you arrived at your house, arms around your knees and bare feet buried beneath the cool, grainy sand after realizing you had no appetite.

The little bogwing had taken a liking to Rhydian’s old room, spending his time exploring the surfaces and under the bed before the softness of the pillow proved too tempting and he was out like a light. It made sense, Rhydians’ was the only room that wasn’t covered in dust and preservation shields—the kid had much more freedom to play.

Someone else had been in his room in the time since Kyr packed the house up, and you didn’t need to be psychic to know it was Kai.

Din had been kind – awkwardly so – when he returned back downstairs after scoping out the house for danger. He had seen the empty bedrooms and the tell-tale signature of those who once lived in them. He had taken the plate of food you rustled up, a silent jerk of his head for you to sit together like you normally would—back to back.

A deflective “you choose” was met by silence. The warrior relented on the topic, which you were grateful for—going back to eating the cheese and cured meats you had laid out.

It was only later, when you convinced him that no one came this far north of the Seat and he could take a shower without worry—that you managed to go for a stroll by yourself.

Finding yourself looking out at the oceans of Pamarthe once more, you sat. Truth be told, you never thought you would see this image again. But there it was; Llyrian and Amhra’s eternal dance of wind and waves. The rush of water smashing against the rock and drowning out the loud noise in your head.

That was where the Mandalorian found you after he noticed you were gone once he was out of the shower, and worry began to gnaw at him.

You hadn’t noticed the time passing.

You didn’t make any indication that you saw him, but he didn’t try to mask the crunch of his footsteps through the sand, or the rustle of his cape against his back.

His shadow fell across you from behind, and when he crouched down beside you on the sand—the fresh smell of soap tickled your nostrils from his damp hair beneath the helmet. It caused you to look over at him finally, to that familiar T-visor you so loved.

“Hey,” you muttered quietly.

“Hi,” he rasped after a moment, reaching over the short distance to cup the side of your neck in silent question, his thumb gliding along the line of your jaw.

You were helpless to lean into the hold, that strength that supported you so effortlessly putting your mind at ease. Sending him a small smile, you turned your gaze back out onto the water, the night sky staining it black with the unattainable stars above suddenly within reach as they were captured in the reflection of the waves.

He shifted beside you, a grunt of stiffness absently alerting your subconscious that you should really check on his ribs and shoulder, before he sat fully on the sand and leaned back on his hands. A vulnerable pose, you came to realize. He wasn’t poised for any attacks, he wasn’t on guard. He was simply…relaxed.

“So…this is it,” you opened your arms out to the sea, sucking in a breath at the pitiful welcome you had given him to your home planet. All you had done was fret and complain and mope since you got here. Weren’t you supposed to be showing him the sights or something like that?

“What do you think?”

Wait. Did you say that?

It slipped out unintentionally, your eyes rounding in realization as they snapped to his visor sheepishly.

“I mean—”

“If you had told me when I was a kid,” he interrupted with a low gravel, “that planets made almost entirely of water existed—I wouldn’t have believed you.”

You cocked your head, curious—toes wiggling beneath the sand and letting the rough caress of it tickle your feet.

“Your home planet?” you ventured to ask.

“Aq Vetina.”

You never heard of it, but more than that—you never expected him to tell you its name.

“It has no oceans?” How odd.

He shook his head, still staring out at the endless waters.

“None that I can remember anyway,” he admitted.

He had made to continue his sentence—an intake of breath and rumble of syllables that lay trapped behind his teeth as he caught them. Considered them while you considered him.

You couldn’t help but feel that this was important. As much as his name, as much as his armor. This was something about his life before his Creed, much like this cove was your life before the Rebellion. And he offered it to you freely…

“I like it,” he finally said, surprising you with his candor.

I like it.

So simple a statement, banal some might say but you found yourself storing it away in the box that had always been filled to the brim with suppressed fear and anxiety. It deserved to have something nice in there for once.

Expression softening, you considered something different. Without him—you didn’t think you would ever have found yourself on these shores again.

“I used to think you needed an ocean to have sand,” you smiled, “you can imagine my surprise when I saw Tatooine for the first time.”

Din chuckled then, dropping his head with a shake at the absurdity of your words and your heart grew about three sizes too big for your chest.

“You weren’t wrong, as usual,” he snorted, sitting up to slide one of his arms around your waist. With a tug, he had you rolling your eyes with a vacant smile, as you turned to straddle his lap, “Tatooine used to be covered in water once.”

“So…what you’re saying is—I am always right?”

You were teasing him, your arms hooked around his neck and a playful grin a permanent fixture on your lips while he dropped his hands back to your ass—your legs spread invitingly to frame his large, armored thighs.

The man was obsessed with your ass lately, not that you were complaining. It was a decadent stroke to your ego that after so long, he was still ravenous for you. As you were for him.

It was evident in the thickness of his voice—the decided huskiness of misdirected thoughts as he pulled you closer to him.

“Unless it’s about engineering.”

You whacked his shoulder lightly to his amusement, regretting ever letting him record that. Though—now that he was wearing his helmet…an insidious little fiend inside you wondered if that was the only thing he was able to record.

“I was right about you, wasn’t I?” you hummed, running your hands down his chest plate.

That caught his attention, his head cocking sharply while he nudged your forehead with his own.

“Right about me how?” he purred, intrigued and failing to hide how much he wanted to know the answer as it streaked across his tone.

“When you dislocated your shoulder,” you reminded him, “I—”

You cut yourself off, embarrassed. That was years ago—how could you expect him to remember? How did you remember? A medic’s memory retention—that was it.

“You said I didn’t seem like a bad guy… he finished for you, a bounty hunter memory apparently equally as good.

Flushing dark, you dropped your eyes to nod slowly.

Maker, this man would be the death of you.

He gripped the back of your neck, not unlike how other members of Clan Carria would—but firmer, more possessive as he made you look up at him.

“And now?” he growled quietly, the hot air of his breath escaping under the lip of his helmet and skirting across your chest.

“Now…” your eyes flickered left and right across his visor, your hands finding his utility belt to undo nimbly.

Now I love you.

It was on the tip of your tongue, nectar sweet and ready—but your courage fled. You covered it with your hand undoing his fly so you could push your hand in to stroke his hardening cock and listen to his breath hitch instead.

Your lips parted on a lazy smirk, flattening your palm down to fondle his balls. Dropping your mouth to his neck seal and the delicious sliver of skin just beneath his helmet—you flicked your tongue over the tawny, freshly washed skin. He groaned—and a narcotic of power hazed your mind.

His finger in your hair, you didn’t resist when he dragged your face up to rest your forehead against his—watching yourself in the reflection of his obsidian visor and seeing the feelings you had for him reflected like the stars in the sea.

“Now you’re mine,” you whispered hotly, eyes darkening under the moons glow and basking in the feral snarl of approval it elicited from your lover.

“Say it…” you continued, his cock a heavy weight in your hand now, his low groan music in your ear while you ground your hips shallowly in time to your hand, “say it, Din--£

“Yours,” he panted out, voice strained and fingers bruising into the supple flesh of your thighs. His forehead dropped to rest on your shoulder, “yours, kitten.”

Pride filled you, an intoxicating wine you luxuriated in. Yours.

Stars, you wanted to take his helmet off—wanted to kiss him, caress his scruffy jaw and smooth out the frown between his brows with your lips. But the moon was bright as it bounced off the waves, there was too much visibility and you both knew it.

But he was here, and it was enough.

He grunted your name, his body a furnace beneath you as hot hands trailed up to the band of your pants. You gasped when he dealt a hard slap to your ass when you dared remove your hand from inside his pants, gentling him with a purr as you licked your palm so you wouldn’t be stroking him raw.

He was so solid. The veiny underside pulsing against your hand and the swell of his girth preventing your fingers from touching. It still baffled you how in Malachor he fit inside you half the time.

“Did you bring spare pants?” he rasped thickly, caramel sticking to your lips and making you swipe your tongue across your bottom one.

The filthiest groan left him when you focused on massaging the head of his cock, stroking up over it diligently and giving it the slightly squeeze to push beads of precum from his slit down to coat your hand.

You nodded – yes – and before you knew it, he had gripped the band of your pants and ripped the once durable material down the seam, your ass pushing out of the rip that widened with each violent yank until your bare pussy was kissed by cool air.

Fuck, you loved when he was brutal—when he used that strength on you. It was too fucking addictive.

You told him as much in whispered secrets, mewling his name as a lick of shivers rippled over your skin from the contrast between his body and the air. It didn’t stop you from grabbing the hem of your top though, and pulling it over your head—your breasts instantly engulfed by his hands.

“Fuck, kitten—I love these tits.”

You arched your back, his thumb running over pebbled nipples and the weight of your breasts in each hand encouraging your hips to work over his plated thighs as small spasms of arousal shot from where his hands touched you.

You submerged yourself in him. Eyes closed and focusing all your senses on him—sounds, smells, sensations…he was a drug you could never quit when every hit was as good as the first. Better even.

“Tide’s coming in—we don’t have long,” you whispered, pulling his cock from inside his flight suit to smack sloppily against your swollen clit. Neglected so far, each slap sent a frisson of electricity through you and caused wetness to pool, twitching thrusts and whimpers for more while he growled possessively.

“The tide can fucking wait.”

Then he was inside you.

Gripping his base, he pressed into you from below—filling you with his heft and giving you no time to adjust as inch by inch he sank into you. A moan choked in your throat, your legs quaking above him and every involuntary movement had you gasping with unrestrained pleasure.

Maker, he felt so good. And today had been so fucking hard, you needed this.

You rode him like that. On the shores of the sea, his wet cock sliding in and out of your cunt with every frantic lift onto your knees before you sank back down on him greedily.

The burning in your thighs didn’t matter. The stress of being home didn’t matter. All that mattered was him and you, on this beach in this moment.

Sea foam tickled your toes from where the tide was moving inland, a film of water creeping ever closer completely ignored by both of you when he gripped you under the thighs to flip you over onto your back. It splashed against the wet sand, hair soaked and body shining as he resettled between your legs.

Notching his cock back at your entrance, your head fell back into the sand when he filled you once more.

“Maker, this cunt…” Din growled, pushing your thigh up and opening you wider for him to drill into you.

Your moans bounced off the cliff side and tangled with the roar of the ocean as your Mandalorian fucked you harder into the sand. Like he was trying to bury you, bury every bad fucking thing that had ever happened to either of you.

Furious, desperately—he pounded out every second of melancholy from you after a difficult day, filled you instead with blissful nothingness as your mind emptied with a primal instinct to mate. All you needed was him. Him—inside you, fucking you forever. Nothing could be better, nothing felt more right.

Salt on your tongue, the ocean kissed you where he couldn’t. Lapping against your skin and into your hair, the warrior joined it with a rough tangle of his fingers at the base of your scalp.

Splitting your walls around his cock with every full thrust, he dragged along your nerves and short-circuited the synapses of your brain that fizzled with desire. They exploded in a collection of miniscule orgasms along your skin, to his growling praise of “take it, take all of this cock—” until it culminated in a cry of unadulterated bliss when he dropped a hand to your clit to rub at the little nub frantically and sent you toppling over the edge.

“C’mon—keep going, kitten,” he compelled you, refusing to stop.

His hips were tireless and his thumb on your clit even more so as the sting of overstimulation melted into pleasure once more. He had you shattering around him again in no time—clawing at his neck seal for purchase as sand dried and caked over your bare body and settled into the fabric of his flight suit.

He filled your vision and you preened under the size of him hovering above you. Consuming you. Claiming you.

“You’ve got another one for me, don’t you?” he purred huskily, slipping out of you with a squelch of wetness and a flush of raw nerves at the sudden emptiness.

Strings of release hung between you, only to be broken when he turned you onto your stomach.

You whimpered, shaking your head even as you pushed your ass up—onto your knees, and pressed your fingers between messy lips and pushed them higher. To your untouched rear entrance that sat puckered and glistening from your arousal dribbling down to it.

He sucked in a breath, your lip caught between your teeth when his cock twitched violently—jutting up from his body with unsatiated arousal. Stars, he looked like a god. The ethereal blue light of the moon and the shifting surface of the water casting curls of luminescence across his armor and helmet.

He belonged in stories sang by bards, awe-inspiring and immortalized.

You wanted a sliver of that mighty being he emulated, wanted his eternity.

“Only if you fuck me here…” you heard yourself whine, circling your ass lightly with two fingers, smearing all that viscous release over it.

Your muscles jumped at the contact – unaccustomed to it – but with a little resistance, your fingers breached that tight ring of muscles and Din groaned in a rumble so thick, so sinful—that you had to clench your pussy to stop from orgasming prematurely from just the sound.

“Maker, kitten—fuck.”

One of his hands squeezed the turgid shaft, his free hand running reverently up the back of your sandy thigh to watch as you fingered your ass gingerly.

Cheek pressed onto your forearm to keep your head propped out of the water, you whimpered when you pushed too deep—raw from your impatience and a twinge of pain the result.

“Easy…” Din rumbled, forming a gloved hand over yours, slowing your pace to guide your fingers in and out… in and out… “that’s it…relax—”

His voice was crooning the praise, even as he knelt up behind you properly—lining himself up and steadying you when you pushed back against his crotch. He hushed your protesting whines when he pushed back inside your cunt though, growling for your patience.

A harsh slap fell to your cheek, then another, and another when you didn’t stop—a snarled warning in your ear when he started fucking you again. Timing his strokes to the sloppy thrusts of your fingers not yet used to fingering your ass, he made sure you were always full.

Maker, it was so good…so fucking good—

“More,” you begged, arm cramping from the awkward position and forcing you to pull your fingers out of you to splash into the water beside you.

“Filthy fucking thing—you want me to fuck this little hole, baby?” Din scoffed, massaging his thumb over your entrance as his hips continued to piston his cock into your pussy with long, hard thrusts.

Your head dropped forward—ass pushing back against him and choking on moans for more while he pulled off one of his gloves to toss forgotten on the sands. He replaced your fingers, hooking his thick thumb inside your ass and the size of just that digit had you jerking with the pressure of pleasure it resulted in.

“Fuck—fuck fuckfuck—” you moaned, spasming around him, your knees trembling.

“If you’re too full now—you’ll, fuck—you’ll never be a-able to take my cock—” he chuckled darkly, his vocoder sharpening his voice to an alluring snarl. His words, however, sparked that competitive streak inside you even though the fog of lust.

“Don’t—don’t u-underestimate me,” you panted, leaning forward so his cock was forced to slip out of you when he withdrew. You were playing with fire as you crawled a few steps away, looking over your shoulder at him all the while, “I want you to be the first.”

You were throwing a cheap blow with that one. Looking at him with tempting innocence, knowing he was a hot-blooded male who craved your body and everything he could get from it. Being the first one to fuck your ass would be too good to resist. For either of you.

The Mandalorian knew what you were doing though. He groaned at the restraint he was being forced to display while he contradicted that control with the greedy addition of another finger deep into your ass, stretching you further. You mewled. Arched your back at the pressure but finding a delicious – unique – pleasure laced alongside the discomfort.

Dropping a hand to your clit, you flicked the swollen button to loosen your muscles, your hips rocking against your hand while Din continued to war with himself.

Growling something in Mando’a, he finally relented. And fuck, it blinded you.

The next thing you knew, the fat head of his cock – slippery with your essence – was pressing against your tight ring of muscles. He was massive. Bigger than he felt at your cunt. Rubbing your clit frantically, you encouraged him with panted reassurance—driven wild by his shallow thrusts between your cheeks.

You cried out when his intention shifted and he pushed—your fingers nothing compared to the girth of him as his head breached your entrance and had you fuller than you had ever been before. Stars dotted your vision and you couldn’t catch your breath, sharp pants all you were capable of when your walls throbbed around his intrusion.

Burning pleasure ripped through you as new nerves were ignited and played with, your orgasm brutal. It squirted over the sand with violent jerks of bliss while your fingers continued to work on your clit shakily.

Din was no better. He was quaking with restraint, planting his hand on your shoulder lest you move back too quickly amidst your orgasm and hurt yourself or—possibly, move away. He didn’t want either, he wanted you right here where you were, under him and completely boneless with ecstasy.

“S-so tight, Maker—fuck—” he groaned, the chokehold you held him in too much even for him, and it only took a few short snaps of his hips for him to come deep inside you.

You felt him in your throat—filling you with cum while only his head was notched inside your ass. You were bloated with it, shaking with the temptation of deeper but knowing there was no rush. He could fuck your ass an inch deeper each time for all you cared—you were floating on the reality that he did.

He had taken you the way no man ever had before.

“L-Love you…” you panted quietly against your forearm, arm braced onto the sand by your face while he worked through his release, grunting your name when his high abated and he eased the head of his cock out of you.

It made you hiss, a noise that encouraged his affection as he gentled you with a heavy hand tracing down your curves.

If he heard you hiss—then surely he heard…?

“Did I hurt you?” he rasped, leaning to the side for so his hip could support his weight despite the shallow water around you, worry laced in his tone.

Ah. Maybe not…

You shook your head, turning with ragdoll limbs to nestle against him and released a sigh of contentment—rather than the sighs of apprehension and loss that had been escaping you all day.

It was just another thing you loved him for, and you had all the time in the world to tell him each and every one of those reasons. Right now, his soothing hands running over your sore muscles and graveled words of secret affection were enough to get you through the night.

A night you had feared would break you in the end.

It didn’t because despite your fears, you weren’t alone in that house anymore.

Crack.

Freeze.

The nocturnal glint of vision went unnoticed amongst the underbrush, the noise and stomping and destruction of the party up ahead covering a misplaced paw.

Follow them.

Darkness.

Wind and rain.

Glass.

Tap tap tap.

Hello, child.

[fruitycasket]

Still Here

Jack is still kickin’ around in his body, believe it or not; even though Anti’s taken it for himself.

Word Count: 723

Notes: A goofy silly idea. Also up on Ao3, but I don’t feel like linking anything right now just look for name RottenFruitz if you want to see it there, instead.

It was nighttime when Jack finally surfaced from the depths of Anti. He had no idea how much time had passed, whether it had been a few hours or several days, or even longer—moments where he could fight his way out of the jail cell it smashed him into were extremely far and few between. Mostly, he slipped out when it was relaxed, not bothering to hold him back. This was one of those times. He squeezed himself to the forefront of the creature’s consciousness until he could feel again, then hear, then see. It let him stay. For a second his body roared in his ears, he could hear the blood pulsing in his veins and his heart beating, the swell and contraction of his lungs, the rumble of his stomach, the soft noises of his tongue as it flicked over his teeth. There was blood in his veins that was a degree hotter than his own.

(At least, he assumed it was blood.)

When the sounds and sensations finally quieted, the monster spoke, its voice drilling right into his brain rather than being spoken out loud.

“Behave, or you go back.”

Jack looked down. He was sitting on the coffee table, his body casting a shadow over Chase as he slept on the couch. The TV was on behind him, bathing the room in blue-ish light and inaudible chatter. “You behave. Creep.”

The monster made a noise, so deep and rumbling he almost didn’t register it as laughter. “I’m only looking this time. It isn’t your business, anyway.”

" Your business? It's my body!"

"Is it?" the monster asked.

The question was genuine. He could feel it, uncomfortably close and pressing so hard into his consciousness that it might have come from his own brain.

It asked again, "Is it?"

"It is," Jack tried to sound venomous but ended up unsure, "That's my face, my everything ! You took it from me."

"But is it yours now ? I’ve changed it. Everything about it I made to suit me . If I gave you control you would be useless in this flesh. It isn't yours anymore, and even if it was, when was the last time you controlled a body at all?"

There was a long silence. The monster's content filled Jack's head.

Jack retreated, his senses dulled. Anti was right, even if his body was his own, would he be able to use it after spending so long in… whatever this was? Some weird, dream-like place of shapes, emotions, where senses and physical things didn't exist? He could barely remember the first days he’d been stuffed down there, it had been hellish, nauseating. Now it was less so. Now when he came back up, he had to adjust a little, get used to feeling again. It was fast, only a minute or so, but what would he do if that time steadily got longer? If one day he couldn't readjust?

It really would be Anti’s body, then.

When he returned, he only had one request. "Just… don't hurt him, please.”

In that moment they stared at Chase's sleeping form and felt a shared sense of sympathy, which Jack had not been expecting. Of course, it was different; their thoughts had yet to ever truly sync and he didn't ever want them to. Jack saw Chase as a friend, an equal, and his desire to protect him came from compassion, not possession. Anti only saw a…

"Pet," the monster used his hand—at least, he called them his, he hoped they still were his—to pet Chase's hair.

"Toy, more like," Jack told it.

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes."

Anti felt, or saw…? However it worked, it understood the image Jack conjured up in his head and felt his disgust. Jack received amusement in return. "Either way, it's mine."

"He, not it."

"Whatever. Be quiet or go away."

Jack considered his options. He didn't want to go back down again, he decided, not while there was nothing horrific happening he needed to hide from. Anti's question had given him a newfound fear of losing himself inside the monster's mass, whether that meant becoming a part of it or simply forgetting how to be human, he didn't want that to happen. He'd stay as long as he was allowed.

He'd stay here, with Chase.

[33roda]

Kaeya X Dom!Reader <3

tags: tiddy sucking (m!receiving), butt fingering, (m!receiving), brat taming kinda, gn!reader I think !!

____________________________________

Yet another exhausting Abyss Order attack, finally over with.

It was a quite difficult one at that, having required a whole army of knights at the gates of Mondstadt, so Kaeya invited the team to a drink at Angel's Share, out of all places. Even after all the energy that used up, he's still in the mood for drinks?

Well, that didn't matter anyway, because either way, you would've been forced to go either by Kaeya or by Lisa. You sat quietly next to Kaeya, listening to him chat with the other knights.

"Ah, another success.. Of course, we couldn't have done it without our Honorary Knight here," he chatted, sounding as sarcastic as ever. "You truly are a new storm after all."

He rested his hand on your shoulder while holding up his third glass of sparkling wine of the night, chuckling at how Amber was already tipsy after one sip of beer. Jean held her up, furrowing her eyebrows tightly, looking for where Lisa went. Probably off to flirt with the new naive bartender. Everyone's enjoying their time here while she had to babysit Amber and Lisa?

"Of course, Y/N. It is truly an honor to celebrate this with our new Honorary Knight." she stumbled as she continued holding up Amber and wiping her drool with napkins, her slurring drowned out by the noises in the background. You let out a polite smile, showing your appreciation to everyone on the table.

"Thank you, Grand Master. It was a pleasure working with you today." The table was awkward. Too formal, too stiff, but Kaeya didn't seem to mind it, just smirking and slowly sipping on his wine. You almost started wondering and fantasizing about when it'd be time to leave, but as soon as you thought of that, you felt Kaeya's hand slide off your shoulder and started gently caressing your thighs. Ah, expected. Of course there had to be an ulterior motive to his invitation, not that you minded. Taking advantage of the loud, distracting chatter in the background, he ducked his head next to your ear just enough so you could feel his hot breath against it.

"You sure look bored, Y/N. Quite rude of you to not respect etiquette," he whispered against your ear and chuckled. "I have something more fun for you later. Meet me outside the bar once the rest leave."

Ha. Finally, something interesting this night. You had nothing to lose anyway, so why not entertain his request? his actions motivating you to just get the night over with, you try to be more friendly with Jean to lessen the tenseness in the air, her unaware of the touching and groping exchanged between you and Kaeya underneath the table.

Lisa would never seem to return, and Jean eventually got tired of the Outrider hiccuping and slurring on her words next to her, deciding it was best for everyone to just go home. Exchanging goodbyes to everyone, Kaeya escorted them outside, looking back and shooting you a wink and a smug smile before leaving the tavern. Oh what you'd do to wipe that smug smile off his face, and you'd be sure to do just that tonight. You started packing up your stuff, taking your sweet time with it, thinking about how you're keeping The Cavalry Captain waiting. You can already picture how he'll be squirming and begging to be touched.. What a pretty sight, you thought, as you exit the tavern door to be greeted with silence for a second; then the husky voice of a grumpy-looking Kaeya.

"Took ya long enough, Honorary Knight," he raised an eyebrow, waiting for an excuse or an apology, getting a figurative slap in the face when he got teasing instead.

"Oh, so sorry, Captain, did my touch make you so needy in there you couldn't wait for a few minutes?," you cooed, giving him as much of a smug smile as he was giving you earlier.

"Hm," he scoffed. Resistance? from a new knight like you? that's new. He was known to be irresistible, to both men and women, being all dolled up with his fancy fur and chains. At least he still has you in his hands, he thought.

Thank Barbatos the streets were empty ‒ if anyone saw you leading the Captain to your house in the dead of the night, the rumours would not sound pretty for either of you. But rumours were the least of your concerns, being in your room with Kaeya holding you against the wall and leaning down to whisper in your ear as you twirled his ponytail in your fingers from behind.

"Getting you here was easier than expected, Y/N," he taunted, "I'm starting to think you've wanted this for some time."

"In your dreams," you looked up at him. To be honest, he was a very attractive man - looking down at you with half lidded eyes and that smirk that never seemed to fade. He shot down to kiss you, but it was too early, you thought. He had to earn it. You grabbed his ponytail, forcing him to throw his head back and expose his pretty little neck to you. His eyes going wide as you started tracing circles on his exposed chest - now that was a sight to appreciate. Funny, he's the captain yet his skin felt smooth and silky against your calloused hands.. now you understand why he liked showing it off so bad. Switching hands to grab him by the face, you snickered, "It seems like you've been the one planning this, Sir Kaeya. Actually, how about you let me be your master tonight, hm?"

"You think it's that easy? Insulting of you, Y/N," you raised an eyebrow at the disobedience, even with your hands grabbing his cheeks, his words coming out slurred. Should've expected that from a smug fuck like Kaeya. "Prove yourself to me."

"You really are a brat. Not surprised, honey." you said, letting go of his cheeks and immediately diving into his chest to lick and suck at it, leaving it with red and purple bruises. Sliding your fingers across his wet chest and under his shirt, you flicked his nipple with your thumb before squeezing it, feeling him shudder standing in front of you. "What's wrong? can't handle it? need to lay down?" you didn't even let him finish before shoving him down into the bed, impressing him with your sudden strength. Giggling, you pinned his wrists down next to his head. "Just let me have my fun with those pretty tits of yours." Surprisingly, he didn't complain - instead, he just bit his lip and turned his head to the side, allowing himself to be touched. "Such a good boy, really,"

"Th-this is just a one time thing, Y/N, don't get your hopes up," he stuttered out between little gasps and squirms, "I promise you, I'll be stuffing you full tonigh- ngh!" he choked, feeling you move his shirt to the side and start lapping at his nipple. If he wasn't hard before, he sure as hell is now. Riling him up was easier than expected - although he'd never admit that. You continued nibbling at him, feeling his hardness underneath his pants on your stomach. Poor Kaeya, getting hard just from this?

"Sensitive, are we?" you commented between licks. "No wonder you love showing off your chest so much. Makes me think how you'd like showing the rest of you off?"

"You'd love to see that, huh?" he remained smug.

"Why yes, I would, Captain," you purred. You started unbuckling his belt and stripping him all the way down to his underwear, leaving so much more area for you to lick, kiss, and just ruin. "Such a pillow princess. Are you like this with everyone else?"

"N-no!" he exclaimed, looking insulted. "Just strip me already, Y/N." Honestly, it was pretty funny how he tried to mask his horniness, even with his dick as hard as ever under you, face flushed and breathing heavily.

"I'm not stripping you unless you call me your master. And if you strip yourself," you held up his chin with your fingers, "I'll just leave you here, naked and horny, with no pleasure at all. Your choice, Kaeya."

"Master.. please, please strip me - I need more, anything, please," he sounded like he was about to cry. How adorable, his pride crumbling right before him, all just so he could have your touch..

"Good boy."

You pulled down his tight blue underwear down to his ankles, freeing his oh-so-pretty cock. He was certainly impressive, but unfortunately, his dick would be useless to you tonight. "How pretty," you hummed, tracing every vein with your fingers, feeling every throb. "You want more, don't you? I want to hear you beg for more."

"More, please, I n-need you to touch me master, please," gasping, he tried rutting against your hand, rubbing himself on you, anything - but failing. "I want it so bad,"

Having the Cavalry Captain being your little bitch wasn't so bad after all. Laughing at his little whines and pathetic attempts to get off on your hand, you grabbed him and started pumping gently, watching his reactions in pure amusement. His usually striking eyes shut closed, eyebrows tight, his mouth wide open - it was all a sight to behold. Groans and whimpers filling the room, he continued trying to thrust harder into your hand, chasing his release. But baby, he had no idea the plan was entirely different than he thought.

He really thought it was just a bit of teasing, then you'd make him cum with your hands, or fuck you tight. But you stopped pumping him, leaving him whining and begging for more, a look of pitiful disappointment on his face. It almost made you feel bad.

"It's not gonna be that easy, pretty boy," you slapped his thighs, "legs up for me baby."

"H-huh?" he looked genuinely confused, still in a daze from the sudden disappearance of your hand on his cock. Not letting him waste any time, you lifted his legs all the way up by yourself.

"Can't even take orders?" you smacked his ass, making it jiggle and let out that filthy noise. You were impressed how loud it was, honestly. "What would the other knights think seeing you like this, Kaeya? maybe you want them to hear you get fucked? see you all spread out for your master?" Not even giving him a chance to respond, you shoved your fingers in his mouth, he could only hum little "mmphs" and nods in your direction. "I never knew our Captain would be such a slut," you watched in amusement as he coated your fingers in drool, looking up at you in desperation. "I'll give you exactly what you want." smiling at him, you rubbed your saliva-coated fingers against his hole for a few seconds before shoving a finger in to prep him. He wanted more, evidently, by the way he kept humping down against your finger with hesitant moans.

"Y-You're doing it all wrong," he slipped off your fingers with heavy breaths, "let me show you how it's done, master," You raised an eyebrow, and as soon as you were gonna grab him by his throat and punish him, he spread himself out even further with his hands, looking to get a reaction out of you. It was his first time doing this with someone else, but he's definitely fucked himself in front of a mirror before. Who wouldn't love to watch his body like that, anyway?

Shoving two fingers inside himself, he started looking for his spot, erratically humping the air looking for more stimulation, anything; but the most you'd do is stroke his thighs with a smile on your face, teasing him even further. He was obviously just trying to put on a show for you, make you watch him stretch himself out and look at him make the most erotic faces for you - he'd even make sure the whole of Mondstadt heard him get fucked, as if he wasn't gonna wear your hickeys like an award in front of the other knights tomorrow. Watching him fuck in and out of himself, listening to the filthy noises his ass made; you couldn't help but cross your legs a little. "Do you like it, master?" he whimpered.

"I know what you're doing, prince," you answered, "trying so hard to get more.. such a desperate bitch, don't you think?" he nodded in agreement. "Well, since you've been so good.." turning him over, you pushed his face down into the bed. He was already arching his back for you - his pretty hole all wet and ready to get fucked. "You'll still have to work for it, though," you laughed, hearing him groan in protest into the bed. Gently pushing your digits into him, you ordered, "Fuck yourself on my fingers, Kaeya."

Immediately obeying, he pushed himself back onto your fingers, dick flailing under him, sobbing and begging for you to just fuck him yourself - maybe if he obeyed for a little, you'd finally do it? "Such a good boy. And to think you wanted to fuck me?"

You wouldn't let go until you found his spot, curving your fingers towards his navel, making his legs give out from all the pleasure - the Captain was simply a doll in your hands to play with. Even when his legs gave out, only then would you finally fuck him yourself, his tears staining your bed alongside his cum. Fucking his spot even when your arms got tired, you had to make him cum again. His moans getting more and more high-pitched with every fuck into him, squirming and grinding his ass against you, he finally came again with a throaty moan filling the room. You pulled out of him and gave his ass a quick smack, letting him take his breath before turning over to face you. His cum all over his stomach and chest was a sight to remember, dick twitching, his face blushy and pretty lips open gasping.

Sliding your fingers across his chest, you picked up some of his cum and put it near his mouth, waiting for him to put his tongue out to lick it. He did just that, making eye contact with you, and even holding your wrist in place so he could lick it all up. "Good puppy."

He'll definitely be limping around the other knights tomorrow.. Not that he minded. He'll absolutely be teasing you again at the Knights of Favonious headquarters, anyway.

[h1sl1ttleb4by]

Cg Bakugou x agere reader

Sfw only TW: maybe sad??

Y/n-your name

S/c- skin colour

H/c- hair colour

E/c- eye colour

H/s- height

F/c- fav colour

‘Thoughts’

Y/n side:

‘How great another day at school yay’ you could just hear the sarcasm drip from their thoughts almost like they’d said it aloud. The class was loud, overbearing. Students chattered catching up and loud belts of laughter filled the classroom as they waited for their teacher ‘I don’t even wanna be a hero’ An audible sigh left her before a loud cheery voice spoke “what’s wrong, pebble?” Of course it was Kirishima, anyway the h/c would’ve been ecstatic to see him but not todays. ‘If kiri’s here then so is…’ A loud, almost crackling voice interrupted their thoughts. “Their probably just sour that they know they’re not too smart” He smirked looking down at the h/c h/s frame ‘ Bakugou… I knew he wouldn’t be far behind, I swear one day I’ll…’ The classroom door opened catching everyone’s attention as their teacher entered “Alright class, that’s enough” his voice tire, his face full of exhaustion. ‘I swear does that man ever sleep’ “Today’s lesson is…” Y/n looked out the window zoning out, oh how they wished to be an artist. Drawing writing designing making people feel deep ridden emotions, but father had other plans ‘Of course being his only blood kid he wanted me to take over his company, but I don’t even have a quirk why would he…’ Before they could finish that thought a ruler was slammed against the desk in front of them causing them to jump, resulting in falling out their chair and on their butt. Laughter erupt throughout the class and for once the small teen felt something inside of them shift, cause tears to brim. They didn’t normally let their classmates bother them but the over stimulation cause their agere to appear. Tears flowed as they began to panic their breathing picking up as the class laughed harder. Aizawa looked down upon the teen with no clue of that mindset they were in he spoke lowly “If you want to be a hero, you can’t cry like a baby when you lose attention and get caught” The teen stood up wiping their tears on their sleeve “I never WANTED to be a stupid hero and I don’t care for your dumb little lesson! I didn’t wanna be here okay, I never wanted this stupid life” Tears overfilled their eyes as their voice dropped to above a whisper “and neither would mum” their legs wobbles as they felt the weight of everything slowly push down on them as if getting it’s own back for all the years it had been ignored. Aizawa’s face shocked his tire expression having changed from the sudden outburst of one of his best students as they slid to the floor. The class dropped silent, the sound of sniffles heavy as everyone realise just how harsh they’d been. Not letting them fit in or make friends always calling them the weaker link because of their quirk-less nature. “Alright that’s enough” A harsh scratched voice filled the silence as the usually loud teen approach the smaller one, picking them up as they wrapped their arms around him. Looking ar his sensei he nodded and mumbled “I’m gunna take them back to their dorm” with that they left the class. Y/n sunk further into his arms as if to hide from the world ‘Great going y/n, now everyone’s gunna think you’re pathetic, you useless worthless…’

“Oi” A gruff voice pulled the h/c teen from their thoughts “mhm?” The small sound leaving them, to afraid of saying a full word incase of giving away their regression. “Stop over thinkin’ tch, everyone has a breaking point nerd. You held up longer than I though” He watch as the shy teen he once bullied looked up at him with sparkles for eyes “Really!!?” He nodded as they jumped around the room a small smirk covering his face “I have to go back to class, I’ll check in later” He turned to the door as they called out “Cya, Bakugou!!” ‘Maybe he’s not so bad after all, oh I should change before anything’ walking over to their wardrobe they pulled out a f/c onesie and some matching fuzzy thigh highs, grabbing their stuffie and their phone they opened Disney+ and played Wreck-it-Ralph. Grabbing their f/c paci they started the movie.

Bakugou side:

‘I’ve never watched someone break down like that’ Class was as boring as always to the blonde but his mind had plans to wonder the small teen earlier ‘The way they clung to me it was almost child-like… maybe they’re an age regressor’ The boy had learnt that time while being friends with Mina and Denki at UA though he’d never admit that. 25 minutes go by before the bell rings it was-piercing noise and Aizawa releases the class “Bakugou, stay a minute” As his classmates scurried to lunch Aizawa turned to the blonde “you handled today well, very mature. I’d like you to take this work to them and help them catch up you have the rest of your lessons off to do so” And with that he sent the teen away, as Bakugou walked towards the dorms he thought about what Aizawa had said ‘Very mature? Well done? For reacting normally? They were upset god damn it it’s not my fault those nerds are too dumb to understand when enough is enough’ As he walked towards the h/c’s dorm he stopped hearing muffled voices ‘what the…’ without thinking the blonde barged in ready to attack only to find… “y/n?” There in front of his eyes was y/n in a f/c onesie with matching socks and a paci. A stuffie sat beside them as they watch something on their phone.‘That’s cute, they’re definitely small’ Noticing his presence the h/c teen panicked spitting their paci out and hiding under the cover, only peaking out when they heard him chuckle “Come out little one, I already saw you baby” Slowly crawling out of the covers they stared into his red eyes with wide eyes and huge pupils ‘Almost like a kitten’ Looking between the shy teen and their phone he spoke up “so kitten, whatcha watching?” The nickname making the h/c blush, in a small voice they responded “W-wreck it Ralph” He plopped down next to them making them lift slightly, just enough to pull them into his chest “Nice, cause I’m watching it with you” Even though it was already half way through neither complained, the small teen snuggling into his chest dozing slightly. “I can feel your head getting heavier little one, go to sleep” And with that the h/c dozed of in the teen they once found loud and aggravating, now finding comfort and warmth…

A/n: This is my first time writing like this and it took FOREVER to do but I enjoyed writing so if you have anything you wanna see lemme know!! Stay safe luvs <3

[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.  

[cyborg-franky]

The Best Mistake

Written for @chocolate-n-cheese a commission for them! I hope you like it!

Law x GN Reader Preskip Law SFW fEeLiNgS Word count: 2, 057

You hadn’t been part of the heart pirates for long, everything was still relatively new, the way the ship itself worked, the times which everyone sat down to eat together, the duties needed to keep the ship in working order. It was all so new to you. The feelings that caused your heart to be heavy and your mind a scrambled mess were especially new.

Staring across the sea, the water and sky blended together, shades of black splashed with each other, only the waves and stars showed the difference. You leaned on the railings and frowned, not even the twinkling stars in the sky above, the gentle sound of waves could calm you down like they usually did.

Before you’d set sail as a pirate you’d never had to feel the emotions that currently churned your insides, caused you sleepless nights. It wasn’t fair, you’d gained a freedom just to be chained down within. You let out another shaky sigh, your breath visible in the air.

You debated going back inside but standing out in the fresh air admiring the beauty above you seemed a much healthier way to deal with the inner conflict then sulking in your stuffy room staring out the porthole into the pitch black.

The door opened and you didn’t bother turning around, it might have been one of the others coming out for a smoke break, getting some fresh air or also coming to stare into the night hoping the answers to their problems would just fall on them.

“How long have you been out here?” You blinked hearing your captains voice, you gripped the railings harder, hoping he didn’t think too deeply into your white knuckled grasp.

“Not long, why?” You mumbled, still not wanting to face the handsome man.

“I’m a doctor, I don’t think it’s wise to be out in this cold for long” Law chuckled and followed your gaze into the night sky.

“I’m guessing you and sleep are also not on first name basis?” He added, you sighed and nodded, finally allowing yourself to glance at Law. “Me either”

“You never sleep captain” He shrugged his shoulders, another deep and pleasing to the ears chuckle. “Hmm maybe”

You both stood in a comfortable silence, neither of you were the type to fill the silence with useless chatter. Law let his gaze drop form the sky to where you clutched at the rails, still holding on for dear life, your shoulders tense, the expression your face seemed so serious for someone who was meant to be out stargazing.

“I am also here for mental wellbeing, like any good doctor” You turned to face him, at first unsure what he meant by that, he cocked a brow waiting for you to tell him what was really bothering you. He had a gift at knowing when something was being hidden from him. No one on the crew could get away with lying for long.

Any prank, mess up, trick played Law knew about it. So of course, he’d be observant enough to know your body and mind were on edge around him. It was always when you were both alone. “Nothing, it’s really nothing” You cringed when you didn’t even believe what you’d said, the tone in your voice took on a tremble.

You carried on saying nothing, the silence stretching out further and further, the waves were the only sound that pierced the silent cold night. He tsked and turned around, leaning his backside against the rails now, arms folded over his chest as he stared at the sky in another direction. “I know you better then you think I do”

“What do you mean by that?” You asked, glancing at him with a concerned expression. Had you given away too much to him? Did he know about the feelings you harboured for him like some silly teenager? It was too much of a cliché to be in love with your captain.

You’d read too many crusty old romance novels in the small library the polar tang had, if this was a romance story he would look into your eyes with his beautiful grey ones, lean in close, his lips brushing yours in an uncertain kiss, the admittance of feelings.

Pushing those thoughts aside you felt the extra warmth on your face, shaking your head. Law smirked, he’d seen the array of expressions change on your face as you’d stared ahead. “You are amusing, you say there’s nothing worth talking about, but your face betrays you” Law pointed out.

“I’m just being predictable”

“Hmm”

There was that awful silence that hung heavier and heavier between the pair of you, neither of you seemed in a rush to break it. But the oppressing air was becoming too much for you, you took a shaky breath and faced him full on now.

“I have feelings, feelings that are eating away at me, have you ever been in love? Have you even had this tightness in your chest whenever you think about that person what brings you so much joy? But you are unsure how they feel about you, it feels like a knife twisting” You blurted out all at once, you were proud of yourself for being able to say it all coherently and not burst into tears.

His eyes widened ever so slightly before he was able to get control of his face once more, dropping his arms down by his sides, stuffing inked hands into his pockets he tried to think “Yes” Was that it? You bared to him your soul, your biggest weakness, laid out what was making you vulnerable and all you could get was a stinking yes it wasn’t a yes or no question Law! Your mind tried to reel in your amazement at how nonchalant Law was being.

“Yes?” “Yeah”

“Care to elaborate?” You prodded and he shrugged his shoulders once more, again staring at the night sky as if you could possibly drop the conversation now? “Well, it’s how I feel right now, and I hate it”

“Having feelings can be fatal, love sickness is a potent illness” You could tell he was feeling nervous with this line of conversation, how he once again adjusted his position, arms folded over his chest once more, turning around to face the sea.

“I.. I know that… it just hurts but then it has this pang of hopefulness, from a look, a gesture, it leads you on, makes you think there could be more” You didn’t want to cry, it was too cold out here, you didn’t need tears to freeze to your face.

You let yourself slide down the rails, sitting on the cold deck, staring up at the sky, please don’t cry you whispered mentally. You dug your fingernails into the palm of your hands to ground yourself, little crescent moon shaped appearing in their wake.

Law joined you, much to your surprise, especially after the lecture of getting too cold. He itched his neck, a hand running through his black hair, an actual audible sigh, Trafalgar Law didn’t sigh this was crazy. But you even saw the breath leave his lips, into the air, a tell-tale sign.

“You’re in love with me, aren’t you?” He asked, he didn’t face you though, he must have known you’d go bright red and the implication of him knowing. You thought you’d hidden it well, you forgot how Law was able to survey his surroundings and assess situations, why didn’t you think he could do the same with people?

He rubbed his arm, you’d never seen Law look so small, so unsure of himself like he did at this moment. “Law?” You asked and he glanced at you, his expression wasn’t like anything you’d seen on the confident and cocky pirate.

“I’m not a good person to love” You blinked at his tone, his absolute dismissal in the idea. “I’m damaged, distant” He itched his chin and you waited, it hurt to hear him list off all his flaws, no, what made him human, right now the surgeon of death was showing his human heart.

“Law, I know you have flaws, everyone does” You shuffled closer to him, your legs touching, the extra warmth was very welcoming.

“I don’t think you know the half of it” He chuckled, smirking at you, there it was, the mask he used to hide behind was reforming on his face, you didn’t want it, you placed your hand on his knee. “I love you” The look on your face, the firm expression, you dared him to add anything else.

He sighed again, looking down at his inked hands in his crossed legs. “I know that, I do, I’m glad, I didn’t want unrequited love to be another thing to worry about” He was trying to hide behind his dark sense of humour now.

“I think you should let me in” You squeezed his hand, he didn’t move away, he didn’t flinch, he simply allowed you to get closer to him. “I could say the same to you” He grinned when your mouth hung open at his response.

“Okay” you mumbled “That’s fair” The atmosphere changed; it got a litter softer from the admittance of feelings between you both. You shivered and hid your hands in the sleeves of your sweater, the dark-haired man wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“Why are you being like this?” You asked, he was never soft.

“Out here alone with you?” He looked at the sky above, he thought back to a time when he was with Corazon, sat under the night sky, a fire keeping them warm, it was such a fond memory, it brought no sadness, the nostalgia brought with it something that sanded Law’s rougher edges.

“You bared everything to me” He glanced at you, his arm around you now, keeping you warm against his chest. “You made yourself vulnerable for me, what sort of person, captain would I be if I left you raw and open, I’m a doctor remember” He itched his neck again, something he did when he struggled with word.

It was rare, but it happened.

“What do we do now? I love you… your... what fond of me?” You knew it would be too much to get someone like Law to say the L word right away, but his nod was enough for you, at least right now, you understood him.

“Should we perhaps…” You played with the draw string of his yellow hoodie, twisting it around the tip of your finger “Try it? Try us?” You suggested, you couldn’t look at him, didn’t want to see his expression if that was the last thing he wanted.

“There is no you might get hurt you will, that’s the sort of life I lead” Law mumbled, he felt it was true, everyone he’d loved had come to a nasty end, at this point he decided it was easier to not let anyone get close, it would save them the pain.

“So, what, what if I’m okay with that? What if I really don’t mind, I can handle myself, I’m also a pirate, did you forget that? I’ve almost died in battle, I don’t think having you feel for me is going to be what kills me, Law you are terrifying in the nicest possible way but it’s abit much to think your that dangerous” You watched him look up, making eye contact with you, the smirk you were so used to returned.

He laughed and leaned back, it was such a nice sound, it was an actual laugh, you’d managed to get something that wasn’t condescending out of your captain, you felt your chest puff out with pride, but you still waited his response.

“You really want to try it?” “Yes” “Even if it’ll end bad?” “Even if you drive me insane and make me want to jump off the side of the ship, I want to try it”

Law stared at you a moment, trying to arrange his thoughts, you could tell he was going through a list of pros and cons in his mind, the way her chewed his lip. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you” Law sighed pulling you against him.

This was going to be the best mistake you’d ever made.

[liz-allyn]

shudder; part 6/6 [agent mobius x reader]

Series Summary: Pre-Loki series. You are one of the most dangerous variants the TVA has ever recovered, but Mobius knows what makes you tick. Five times he made you shudder, and the one time you returned the favor.

Words: 4.4k

Chapter Warnings/Tags: smut, language, soft daddy kink, sex in otherwise unsanitary conditions, writer's horribly pathetic attempt at dirty talk

A/N: Here it is guys. I struggled with this chapter a lot, also mad respect for gn!writers. I don't think I succeeded in keeping it neutral (welcoming feedback on how I can improve) so I removed that tag.

You watched a small fire crackle in the darkness of an elevator shaft, being used as a chimney. Rain spilled down the walls, running over old steel and concrete, but at least you were no longer in it.

Once you had had the strength to move off the beach, you found a footpath scaling up the face of the cliff which led to an abandoned mining post.

The population of Olympus-V had steady decline for decades, either by migration, poverty, or famine. The planet had been practically barren for years, save for some mining operations to squeeze the last of the planet’s natural resources.

It was in one of those posts where you were now taking refuge with Mobius. You sat on the ground near the elevator shaft, your clothes still soaked, while Mobius fiddled around with building a fire. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself and tried to keep your teeth from chattering.

“You know how many centuries it took early man on Earth to figure out fire?” Mobius mused as he tended to the flames. “I mean, it’s not a competition or anything, but other civilizations had it down in like a few decades, max.”

You rolled your eyes miserably. “I got him killed, you know,” you replied, not having the energy to follow Mobius into another one of his “fun-facts-about-history” rabbit holes. You’d been quiet for a while, with Mobius having to hold both ends of the conversation. The grim tone in your voice gave him pause.

“The new guy,” you clarified, your tone flat as you spoke of your deceased partner. The last time you and Mobius had spoken, he had sang his praises. “It was only our fourth mission together and he’s dead. Because of me.”

Mobius sighed and turned away from you, “That’s one interpretation.” He dropped another piece of coal into the flame and came to a stand. “Or,” he added, “you could say he was a great analyst who made rational, competent choices and was working with the best data he had. The fact that he trusted you doesn’t make him any less responsible for the outcome.”

He idly wiped his hands on his pants, carrying on and providing no harbor for your self-pity, “I probably would’ve done the same thing.”

“No. You wouldn’t.” Your tone was icy. “Because you weren’t there.” You glared at him from across the smallish room you were huddled in, bitterness souring your voice. “You sent me away, remember?”

He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his head slightly. “I had no other choice,” he parroted the same old response.

That wasn’t an answer that satisfied you. At all.

“Why?” you bit back with a mocking tone, coming to a quick stand. You pulled no punches. “Because the TVA told you to? Because if the Time Lords—”

“—Time Keepers—”

“—Time Fascists,” you hissed, “think that I have a crush on you, they'll zap me out of my useless existence?”

He glanced over at you, smirking with his head tilted slightly. He replied with a voice as sweet as caramel, “Are you saying you have a crush on me?”

Your shoulders dropped. “You’re insufferable.” You turned away, wishing you could find a different mine.

“Hey, considering my recent valiant and heroic efforts to rescue you,” he replied, “you’d think you’d be a little nicer to me.” You let out an exhausted sigh, but he kept going - cool as a cucumber. “I thought we had a thing going there. I mean - first, you kiss me—”

You spun on your heel. “Kiss you!?” you scoffed.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “On the beach.”

“I was resuscitating you!” you argued. “You call that a kiss?”

He shrugged innocently, a sparkle in his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” he responded matter-of-factly. “But, uh, yeah - it was a little underwhelming.”

He grinned slyly. You wanted to simultaneously melt into him and burn him alive. You scoffed, shaking your head incredulously.

“What was the point?” you exclaimed. “What’s the point of rescuing me if I’m nothing but a - a tool? A blunt hammer for the TVA to snuff out anyone that steps out of line?”

The pain in your voice was unmistakable, and Mobius dropped his playful banter.

“You think I’ve enjoyed spending the last - however long it's been - hopping around the timeline hunting people who are no different than me?” Your heart ached with every word, “You think I enjoy killing?”

“No,” he answered, weighed with guilt, “I don’t.”

Your rage flared. “Then why won’t you just let me go!?”

“I can’t,” he quietly explained, eyes cast down. He wouldn’t even look at you.

Fuck this infuriatingly charming, cowardly little TVA sheep-whore.

You felt the venom pooling on your tongue. “God! You’re such a company man, aren’t y—”

“I can’t!” he raised his voice in a way that you’d never heard before, stunning you into silence. He lifted his gaze and looked at you solemnly, his expression filled with regret. His words were weak, broken - barely above a whisper. “...Let you go.”

You stared blankly at him, reading the tragedy written on his features. With his defenses down, you could clearly see every word: I don’t want to let you go. I need you, forever. You are mine and I am yours and nothing else makes sense beyond that. I’d do anything to keep you safe.

Were those his thoughts, or yours? You didn’t know anymore.

Mobius reached up quickly and loosened his tie, before deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

You were staring like a deer in the headlights. “Wha-Wai-what are you doing?” you blurted uncomfortably with a furrowed brow.

He rolled his eyes. “Not catching hypothermia, if that’s alright with you,” he snarkily said as he pulled off his jacket and shirt, revealing a soaked white undershirt beneath. You remembered that you both were freezing and wet. “I’m drying my clothes by the fire. We still have 10 hours and 23 minutes until we hit the radiation peak.”

Ah yes, you had almost forgotten.

Ten hours until the end of the world, or at least of Olympus-V. And because Mobius’ TempPad was unbelievably conveniently out of juice, and unable to open another Time Door, you were pretty sure you had about the same amount of time left to exist.

Mobius confidently felt otherwise. He rattled on some jargon about needing a massive source of energy to power the TempPad - something about electromagnetic waves, solar bursts, radiation of a dying star, the “sweet spot” between a steady charge and a gruesome death. You honestly stopped listening back at the beach.

You were too busy questioning his motives and your own. Were you happy that Mobius was trapped with you, about to be swallowed by the sun? Or were you furious that he idiotically ran right into an apocalypse and now you both were going to die.

He quipped that at least that technically made him a hero; maybe he’d get a plaque in the TVA cafeteria. You would’ve made some kind of cheeky comeback, but you were already dying inside at that devastating thought.

“Not to be too forward, but you should probably do the same,” Mobius added, bringing you back to the present situation where he was undressing in front of you. “You’re shaking like a chihuahua right now.”

You were about to question the puzzling thought of him being in a place in time to observe a chihuahua, but then he pulled his wet t-shirt over his head. You turned your gaze away reflexively as soon as you spotted human flesh.

Here you were - former soldier, mercenary, and spy, and fearsome hunter of the Time Variance Authority - blushing like a shrinking violet. It’s not that he didn’t have a point, it was just--fuck, he’s undoing his belt— is this real life right now?

“Don’t worry,” he scoffed flippantly. “I’ll even turn my back to preserve your innocence and sanctity.”

He was being facetious but it made you wonder if he had any idea how un-sanctified you were. Your eyes widened at the thought: Did he watch that on the highlight reel too?

Now he was pulling his slacks off, and you were tracking in real time again. He kept his promise and had his back to you, allowing you the privacy to undress. And you did.

You peaked over your shoulder to see him lay his clothes out in front of the flames. He dragged over an old canvas tarp he’d found - pieces of which he’d stripped off for kindling - and moved it to a safe proximity from the fire. He sat down in the middle of the tarp, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around him.

And he kept his underwear on - boxer briefs, you’d called it - not that you were trying to look below his waist or anything.

Once he was at rest, he rubbed his hands over his bare arms to create friction. You mirrored his steps one-by-one, until you were also sitting in your underwear on the canvas with your bare backs inches apart.

You both were quiet for a long time, facing opposite directions, surrounded by the cold darkness, and the sound of trickling water. You could still hear the waves thrashing and the rain bartering on the rocks outside. The crackle of the fire - the way the flame danced and dimly lit your surroundings, brought you a sense of peace. It was almost... romantic. Even if it was the end of the world.

“I know this is my fault,” Mobius declared, breaking the silence. You could hear struggle in his voice. “I know I was supposed to stay within my lane. My purpose is to preserve and protect the timeline, and that’s it, it’s just....” He sighed, and you listened carefully, hanging on his words. Was this doubt?

It sounded like he was trying to understand himself. “Something’s different now,” he explained, with a little bit of wonder and fear. “When we’re together, I feel… like I’m someone else. And I’m not who I was before. Before you.”

You quietly listened, thinking about how much you identified with what he was saying.

“My head is telling me it’s all wrong,” he said, “that I’m making a mistake. That I’m playing with fire.” His next thoughts brought the tiniest grin to his otherwise grim voice. “When I’m with you… I feel like a dope… Reckless.” The smile faded as his thoughts sobered him. “Dangerous.”

In the silence that followed, you wondered again whose thoughts you were hearing - his or yours.

“How can something that feels so right be wrong?” he mused openly - for you, the Time Keepers, and all the Sacred Timeline - to hear.

The question that hung heavy in the air had such a clear answer, of which you were certain. Your mind raced trying to think of how to respond, how to explain. You simply couldn’t find the words.

So you turned your body towards him. You reached over Mobius’ shoulder gently to cup the side of his face, and pulled him into a kiss.

It was slow and chaste, projecting every intention and emotion that you lacked the words to describe. Each time you moved your lips, you took another breath; you wrote another line of your love letter to him. He sank deeper into your kiss, as your souls tangled and caught fire.

And then you felt it.

You were positioned behind him, with his back to your chest when a burst of lightning crawled up his spine. A desperate shudder racked his body. He pulled away from you breathlessly, his eyes closed, as you both panted and glowed with the heat of the moment.

“If I didn’t know any better,” your lips curled into a sultry smile, “I’d say I was making you nervous.”

He opened his dark bronze eyes at that, drinking you in. He couldn’t help but mirror your mischievous smirk. In an instant, he snatched you up and pulled you onto his lap. You kissed him hungrily, straddling him, as his hands glided over your body.

Your mind went foggy, as any composure you had in the situation was evaporating. His lustful kisses scorched your skin as they traveled down your neck. He lifted you higher so that he could drink more of you in. You gasped and sighed at how your body reacted to him, your fingers digging into his scalp. He groaned with pleasure as he found your open mouth again, your tongue a welcoming partner.

He pulled you in tighter, your hips grinding further into him. You felt his want, hard against your body, and you felt the last of your innocence pooling between your legs. The friction made you let out an un-sanctified moan, breaking away from his kiss. The sound of your voice intoxicated him.

You were in a controlled descent backwards as he lowered you to your back.

When did you start trembling? Has it really been that long since your last time?

Your hands danced across his chest, triggering goosebumps. Even his skin wanted you. You writhed beneath him as he positioned himself between your legs. You were bursting like a firecracker with anxious need. Your hands groped him, nails gently grazing - traveling down his torso and beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He gasped as your fingers wrapped around his organ, fluttering his eyes shut at your touch. You were on autopilot, your physical need in command of your body, as you attempted to pull his stiff erection from his boxers.

Mobius snatched your hands and you froze. He pulled your arms up, grasping your hands tightly, and pinned your wrists to the floor on either side of your head. You were hit with a wave of confusion, followed by shame.

Maybe you’d read this wrong. You looked up at him, half-expecting to read an expression of disgust.

What you found was the opposite.

His eyes— gentle, dark, and focused intently on you— telegraphed a message for you to read carefully:

You were not the one in control here.

You felt the wind of butterflies deep in your core as you realized he had clear goals for you in mind. He was asking you - imploring you - for command of your body. For the record, he already had it - whether or not either of you were conscious of it.

You lay still, save for your chest’s gentle movements, as his eyes unravelled the layers of your being. Trapped in his gaze, you were stripped bare in more than just flesh.

You were time travelling again - years into the past. The pages of your chapters fell away, until you felt like a pupil again, watching your master navigating the geography of your body.

His grip softened, giving your palms an affectionate squeeze before he released your hands. His leering gaze was already gliding down your valleys, and his hands followed, letting his fingertips brush the delicate flesh of your forearms as they travelled.

All your mind could do to focus was count your every breath as his touch and kisses grazed your skin. You wondered how long it had been for him. You quivered at the thought of him planning this moment.

He took time tasting you with each kiss - down your chest, your belly, the crest of your hips. You lifted your core with his encouragement, allowing him to pull away your last remaining piece of clothing. You were finally unveiled before him. He sighed softly, mind buzzing, as he delicately spread your legs apart.

He moved so slowly with intention, relishing each moment. You were on the verge of losing it and he had yet to touch your most sensitive areas. He could feel your hips squirm with anticipation.

“I want you,” he pacified you, “more than anything.” He tenderly kissed the inside of your thigh. “But I need to know that you want this too. Without a doubt in your mind.”

You were desperate by this point, way past “willing.” Regardless, he met your eyes, waiting patiently for your consent.

You were consumed with lust. “Please,” you stuttered in passionate exhilaration. You could barely recognize your own voice, “You can do anything you want to me.”

His face twitched into a sinful smirk. “I know.” There was that confidence again. “But that’s not what I asked.” He steadied his composure and fixed himself in your sights once again. You gazed at him with a more sobered expression, giving this moment the respect he wanted.

He watched your lips now that he had your attention. “Tell me you want me to make you feel good,” he seductively implored. “Tell me you want me to take you, here and now. I need to hear you say yes.”

The way he asked for your consent could’ve put you over the edge by itself.

“Yes,” you practically moaned under your breath. It was a sinful, thirsty plea. “God, yes, please. I want you to touch me.”

That ignited his fuse.

He lowered to his elbows, positioning his arms beneath your legs. His mouth was on you, leaving you aghast at the force. It was like he wanted more than just to please you - he relished in devouring you, like a frozen dessert on a hot summer day. You jolted and gasped, more from surprise than pain. He took note anyway, and steadied his animalistic pace.

It wasn’t long until your eyes were rolled in the back of your head. You were thunderstruck, arching your body and moaning with ecstasy.

The way his name sounded each time it sprang from your lips made him drunk. Every time you uttered it, you felt him tense and groan. It was a perpetual cycle. Your hips would reflexively buck from the intense pleasure and he would just hold on tighter. He forced your thighs apart as you encouraged him to unleash more rapture on your body.

This was not a particularly new position for you, but it was good. You weren’t sure where he got the experience, but he was really, really good.

And if “Sacred-you”— “NC-17-rated,” “parental-advisory-warning-labelled” badass-you—could just see yourself now: writhing on the floor while being laid out by an older man, one whom you’d rarely seen out of a brown suit and tie. You didn’t think this man knew how to fire a gun before, but you were practically mewling for him like a kitten.

And god, he really seemed to enjoy it.

You warned him that you couldn’t last much longer. You felt the tension building inside. You wanted desperately to satisfy him, to feel him inside of you, to have him enraptured with you. But unless he slowed down, you were going to lose it right here with his mouth on you. You knew he had needs, and you began to plead with him to let you fulfill them.

You pushed down on his shoulders, begging him to let you have a turn. He pulled away, pausing only briefly.

“Uh uh,” he chastised you with a wicked grin. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He was back on you before you could reply, this time reaching two of his fingers into your core.

Your head dropped backwards at the sensation, and now you were obscenely begging him for more. You’d happily given up any attempt at controlling what happened next, focusing solely on the nuclear fission in your body.

You blossomed for him as his fingertips pulsed on the most sensitive flesh inside inside you. Muscles you didn’t even remember you had repeatedly contracted. He impurely hummed and he lapped greedily at the fruit of his labor.

You were gasping for air, beaded with sweat, as you came down from your high. He leaned over you to witness the sunset of your orgasm. Eyes full of lust, he pulled himself free of his boxers and discarded them as he watched you.

When you glanced down to see the stunning sight of his stimulation, it re-electrified you. You pulled yourself into a sitting position on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your legs straddled him eagerly as he lifted your hips over his member.

The erotic sound you both made as you slid down his shaft was sinful enough to cast you both into hell. You kissed him, open-mouthed, and tasted yourself on his tongue. Now that you were on top of him, wrapped around him, he seemed more frantic and less calculated with his movement.

He was gazing up at you like a lustful teenage boy, letting himself be taken by passion. “God...” he whispered, suddenly less skilled with words. “You feel so... ah!... s-so beautiful...”

“You’re so hard…stretching me so tight,” you groaned into his mouth, and he growled in agreement, nodding his head.

He broke away from the kiss, “God - yes, ah, you’re s-so tight, baby...” You grinned excitedly as you climbed and descended his length. You moaned like a porn star as you rode him.

“I can call you that, can’t I?” he said through his own breathless moans. You glanced at him in confusion. He looked concerned. His hands braced your hips as you continued your movement. “Is that okay?”

“Wha-what?”

“The pet name,“ he explained through sighs, “B-Baby? I-I don’t want it to sound de-demeaning, or... patronizing—”

Okay. Now he was overthinking it.

“It’s fine,” you urged him to move on, growing more frustrated, but now he was babbling nervously.

“I could call you something else—”

“—don’t care—”

“—’s’important to me that you know I respect you, and I’d never—”

“I don’t care, I—You can call me whatever you want. Please, daddy… Just— fuck me…”

You crashed your lips on his, but felt his breath hitch as he tensed you immediately. You either said something very right, or very wrong. The sex had all but come to a screeching halt, as you reluctantly met his eyes.

He gazed at you thoughtfully, gears turning.

Timidly, you searched his face for judgment, for any sign of disapproval, but instead, there was a look of almost— awe.

You watched the change in him as the devil overtook him. His eyes turned three shades darker, pooling with lust. His expression of wonder melted into a devious smile. Your dirty talk awakened something in him, like he was remembering a long-forgotten visceral part of himself.

He scooped you up and laid you on your back again, pulling himself out of your body. You only had a brief time to revolt, until he sat up on his knees and he lifted one of your thighs up, pulling your leg over his shoulder. You watched curiously trying to figure out what he was doing, until he gripped your hips and pulled you downward— over his shaft.

You let out a painfully delicious cry as he bottomed out inside of you. He hungrily watched your expressions and relished in the sound of your moans.

His hand braced the inside of your other thigh, holding your legs open so that you were spread at the right angle for him. As soon as he began to thrust, you were done for.

You groaned with ecstasy. “That’s... it..,” he praised you, eliciting more cries from you.

There were no more performances. There was no more pageantry. No more room for pretending to be anyone other than who you are.

You were coming undone for him, and he watched every moment. Every dirty thought and fantasy you ever had might as well have been written on your body. He studied each line.

“Oh god, Mobius—yes,” you babbled as you squirmed.

“Yeah?” he breathed, teasingly. “Does that feel good?” You nodded frantically.

Sweat beaded down his chest as his hands roamed to find your sweet spot, and another desperate wave of ‘yes’s flooded out from your lips.

“What did you call me?” he enticed, his mouth watering for your response. “What name did you call me before?” You were struggling with words, but he wouldn’t stop until he coaxed the right one from you.

“Say it.”

You tangled your fingers in your scalp, turning your head away. He thrust into your hips a little deeper, and you cried out obscenely.

“Say it,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I wanna hear you say it again. I wanna watch you say it to me.”

More lewd noises dropped out of your mouth, as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “Yes, please, I love what’re… doing t’ me… I need it, daddy…”

He groaned with a lecherous smile, biting his lip. “You are so good for me.”

Lust was dripping from each word as he drew them out. His honeyed, Southern accent had returned. His eyes were blown black as he cooed with praise, “You make me wanna be so bad.”

You were gone after that. Your head tilted back, crying out through another climax. He could hear his own voice—that’s it that’s it—moaning in the distance somewhere, but he was enthralled with your little pleas. The tones of your voice washed over him; he used them to quell the blaze inside.

He knew everything he wanted to do to you, and everything you wanted him to do. And he couldn’t get past the feeling, as he buried himself deeper inside of you, that this was all... familiar.

This picture of you, spread out gloriously beneath him, was impossibly familiar. He imagined a bed that wasn’t his own, and light blue cotton sheets that couldn’t have been his, and the sunlight peeking from a sheer curtain, and falling across the ecstasy-filled face of his lover that he couldn’t have ever married...

That was....you.

Your voice was echoing in Mobius’ head. You whined and whimpered, glowing with passion, signaling that you were moments away from your climax. And then he was here - on Olympus-V with you, and he felt you tighten and flutter around him.

The sight of you, writhing beneath him as you reached orgasm, pulled a deep moan from his chest. White hot light flooded his vision. His body jerked and reacted in unison, filling you with his seed.

For someone for whom time had little meaning, he was now obsessed - trying to catch and hold back each fleeting moment. He leaned forward, his body spent, and you pulled his chin down into a longing kiss.

His mind was spinning. His lungs were still taking deep breaths. He pulled away slowly and rested his forehead on yours, his eyes closed as he struggled to make sense of what was real and what was a dream.

“I could never let you go,” he declared, deep in contemplation. You didn’t quite understand the connection in the present moment. You didn’t remember.

“Then stay with me,” was your gentle reply.

He gazed once again into your eyes with a knowing smile. “Always.”

A/N: And I'm leaving it there. For now. Please reblog with feedback, or send me a message on your thoughts. This is my first attempt at writing in a long, long time. Also it's my first attempt at smut so be nice with your feedback :-)

THANK YOU to all of you for your wonderful comments. Please reblog for support!

@generalhugzzz @isaxbella749 @yodaboo @aloyssia @simsiddy @coloursforyourportrait

[slightlymore]

red

part of the ‘soulmates collection’

(slytherin) doyoung x (ravenclaw) fem reader

others: (gryffindor) haechan | renjun mentioned like once 

genre: one-shot | smut | angst | fluff | romance | enemies to lovers | slight dark academia vibes | fantasy au | inspired by hogwarts but only for the names and separation in houses. this is a university setting with different magic (different spells, no wands etc., slytherins have some cool ass rooms and very questionable powers) 

warnings: oral f and m, penetration, unprotected, marking m receiving, body possessiveness in a magical way (? i made this up lol I hope its not that weird. like the plot point is a little cringy but I found it hilarious as I wrote it so I hope you don’t get mad at me when you discover what’s it about lol); a lot of bickering and insults; swearing

words: 9.5k (lol) 

requested by anon that wanted academic fights turn into mad sex aha I got inspired by that to make a longer fic with more depth to it (if it's alright) hope you like it! this is one of my favourite pieces I’ve written so far!!!! 👀👅👀

_____

As the rays of the sun hit the announcement board, your eyes darted on the pages filled with small characters. 

A little crowd of people started to chatter behind you, trying to see the ranking sheet as well, but no one dared to come close enough to push into you - the Ravenclaw Prefect. 

“Renjun? Whose dick did you suck to get 6th?” a voice giggled before a loud smack transformed the airy laugh in a dramatic “ouch”. “Lee Haechan, I swear I’ll-” but you didn’t get to hear the rest as your vision got suddenly blurry with rage and your ears started to whistle when your shoulder got bumped forcing you to make a few ungraceful steps to the side. 

“What’s that face for, YLN?” 

You tightened your fists. 

You could have recognized that annoying voice in a thousand others: Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin Prefect and the person you hated most in the whole universe. 

“Ah, right,” he hit his fist on one palm turning his head with fakely widened eyes. “You’re second place. Again.” 

You hated Kim Doyoung and everything that had to do with him. 

His voice? Hideous. 

The fragrance of the fabric softener on his clothes? Repugnant. 

His favourite dishes at the cafeteria? Revolting. 

His favourite authors? Idiots. 

Everything reminded you of him and one time you had a literal meltdown in a supplies shop as every notebook and pen has been seen in his backpack at a certain point. 

“I see that manners are still very difficult for you to master, Kim,” you spit out his last name. 

Doyoung laughed. “I apologize profusely for not following useless societal rules such as manners the way your finite mind intends.” 

An echo of little “ohh” surrounded you but abruptly stopped as you threw a venomous glance at the little crowd behind you. 

“Is this what you’ve been doing to get in the first place? Not following the rules?” you cocked an eyebrow at Doyoung. 

The tongue inside his cheek moved around for a few seconds before he crossed his arms on his chest and got closer until his feet clashed with yours. 

You didn’t step back. 

“Is this an accusation?” 

You pursed your lips as if thinking and Doyoung let you put on the little theatre act before he could hear your “Maybe?” 

A single dry and unamused scoff came out of his lips as his eyes stared you down from head to toes. 

“So you’re resorting to - this?” he gestured vaguely. “You’re that bitter that you couldn’t keep your first place for two whole semesters now?” 

“Oh? It hurt so badly the first time that you kept track of it, baby boy?” you cooed. 

The new nickname threw him off for a split second and although he was quick to come back to his usual expression you noticed it and you smiled triumphantly. 

The crowd was collectively holding its breath. 

He opened his mouth to say probably something stupid as usual when the voice of the professor interrupted you and the spell got shattered. 

“Come inside little roosters. Preserve that energy for the class debate.” 

Previously silent to not miss a single exchange you had with Doyoung. everyone suddenly started to chat while making their way inside the classroom. 

You both still didn’t move a single muscle, your eyes still trained on each other like predators. “I said-,” the professor clicked his fingers between your faces, “-come inside.”

_____

“I can’t fucking believe this.” 

Your university was overall a good place with good and proficient rules. You followed them all and you enjoyed it. But there were also a few rules you suddenly realized you hated. Like the “your seat in the study room will be your seat for the rest of the semester and whoever seats in somebody else's seat during the year, said somebody can slash their shins”. 

You would have loved to see Doyoung sitting at your place. His long legs could use some kicking. But unfortunately, something even worse happened. 

He was sitting right in front of you. 

“Why are you here?” you added, throwing your bag on the desk in front of him and making a few of his papers fly on the floor. 

Doyoung sighed seeing his stuff gently falling around and raised his eyes with the most venomous smile he could pull off. 

“The Gryffindor gentleman over there-” he indicated towards his previous’ semester desk, “took my seat so I had to find another one.” 

You followed his pointed finger and spotted Lee Haechan in the midst of popping a chewing gum bubble. 

He winked. 

You rolled your eyes. 

He made an obscene gesture revolving a tongue in the cheek and hand motions. 

You returned the favour with your middle finger. 

“And you had to sit here of all places. You let a Gryffindor snatch your place.”

Doyoung licked his lower lip before taking it inside his mouth for a moment. 

“Miss ‘manners’ and miss ‘following the rules’ is mad that I, mister ‘fuck useless rules’ and fuck ‘useless manners’ didn’t smack a boy in the head to get a desk?” 

You breathed in slowly and exhaled before you could scream at him. 

“I don’t want to see you every day in front of me.” 

Doyoung pinched the base of his nose before speaking. 

“Listen, I also don’t want to see your face this close every day for a whole semester but it is what it is. All the other seats are taken. Stop whining or go and suck Lee’s dick to get his desk instead.” 

You scoffed incredulously and plopped down with force, ignoring the boy’s sighs as the movement made some other papers fall. 

"You're insufferable,” he whispered. 

"I am insufferable?" you stopped taking the books from your bag then suddenly dropped the heaviest one, making the whole desk tremble. 

Doyoung looked at you then smirked. "You're in a worse mood than usual. Is it because you couldn't reach the top?" 

He leaned in as if about to share a secret. "Are you frustrated that I'm always in your mind 24/7?"

His dark eyes looked like two abysses and suddenly you felt like falling into them. Then he blinked once, slowly, and you blinked too, the sudden silence chatter of the study room bringing you to the surface. 

Fuck Slytherins and their weird-ass magnetic eyes. You wanted to smack him in the fucking face. 

"So I see you keep wanting to be ridiculous as always," you replied but you both realized how soft your tone got. 

You cleared your throat - don’t talk to me anymore! it said - and you opened your books, eyes unable to look at Doyoung's face. 

He got the hint and leaned back into his seat amused, playing with his pencil. It rolled on his fingers, then on his knuckles and when he placed it on the desk with sudden force you jolted. 

"If you want to surpass me, stop staring at my hands and get on studying."

Doyoung had to slide away with his chair for you to not reach his throat and choke him.

_____

"So do you want to choke him with his tie or do you want him to choke you with his tie?" "I want to choke you." Haechan smirked. "I'm not sure I'm into that stuff but we can try it out." "I can't believe you did this to me." "Ah come on. Everyone is having fun. He's having fun. You're the only one taking it too seriously." "I am not taking it seriously. I'm just annoyed every time I see his face. 'The best option is to reinvent yourself'" you mocked Doyoung's voice during philosophy class. "You can reinvent the world first. What kind of selfish nonsense is that?" "Slytherin nonsense. But still, he had good points to his discourse- ahi." "Go and be his friend then." "I would, but I'm stuck here with you because--ahi." 

"You're always getting hit, Lee," that voice interrupted your discourse. 

You rolled your eyes and breathed out so heavily that for a split moment you thought someone transformed you into a horse. 

"Hit on, by girls." "I will hit you too if you don't leave my desk," Doyoung smiled peacefully.  "Well," Haechan got up slowly, "I wouldn't mind that either."

Doyoung bit his lower lip amused and to your absolute shock he winked at your friend. Haechan laughed and left you two alone. 

"What was that?" 

Doyoung sat down ready to get to work. "Huh?" 

"Were you friendly just now?" 

Doyoung blinked at you as if processing the question. "Yeah? I am friendly usually."

"Why are you not friendly with me?" 

Doyoung's expression suddenly trembled on his face like a mask. He looked up surprised and for a split moment, he appeared weirdly younger, with his open lips and wide eyes. You stared at each other for a few seconds and it was the first time you didn't feel like opening up his guts.

But then he smiled and it all got back to you. "Because I hate you,” he explained.

_____  

The ball was okay. A normal ball just like all of the other boring balls you were forced to attend each start of the semester. No alcohol, at least not offered from the university but definitely offered by the older students. All said students dressed well, but following the decency rules which led to boring outfits. 

Your red dress was the boldest thing around and Ravenclaw cheered upon your entry in the Grand Hall. 

A cool Prefect? Yeah, you had to be one if you wanted to beat Kim Doyoung. 

At the moment everyone liked him more since he let his people smuggle liquor into the university but you weren’t about to fall to such low standards to win. 

But food? Hell yeah. 

It was not illegal and everyone wanted to have pizza instead of finger food made of hell knows what. 

“Y/N, if you continue like this, I’ll probably fall in love with you,” a random dude smiled, helping himself. You smiled back at him, glad that cute guys wanted to talk to you. 

“Well-,” you started, ready to bat your eyelashes, but the guy suddenly jolted, the piece of pizza he was holding literally flying from his hands and landing on his face instead. 

You yelped, bringing your hands to your mouth in shock, staring at the way it slowly slid from his nose down on his impeccable white shirt. 

“Shit,” he threw the pizza away on the bin at his right and made his way through the crowd with spicy tomato sauce in his eyes. 

“You got all kinds of pizzas and not my favourite topping,” Doyoung suddenly materialized near you with a dramatic sigh, scaring the shit out of you.  “You!” you turned your head to him and pointed your finger at his face. Doyoung stared at your fingertip then at your eyes. “You did that to the guy just now!” 

The boy blinked at you as if you were crazy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shook his head but when he took a piece of pizza and started to munch on it, one hand waving at you and walking towards his friends, you noticed the way he smiled.

_____

A few hours later, people were scattered around the campus, most of them in bed “sleeping”, some of them actually already sleeping since it was almost morning. 

The prefects were still in the hall, wrists twisting and eyes annoyed at the chore of having to clean up after the ball. 

“It’s going to take you only half an hour, my children,” the headmistress chuckled brightly. “You’re prefects for a reason. Other children don’t have your advanced magical power and would end up cleaning for a whole day. Responsibilities. Am I right?” 

“She could clean in 5 minutes yet here we are,” the Gryffindor prefect mumbled after she left, leaving behind an obnoxious perfume cloud. 

If the ball would have at least been fun, it would be different now, cleaning while at least being a little euphoric. 

But not only was it the most boring and uneventful party ever, you also had to do Kim Doyoung’s part since he was as slow as a snail. 

“Get your shit together. We can clean much faster if you get your ass up,” you stared him down with hands on your hips.

Doyoung looked up at you from the chair he was sprawled on, one hand to sustain his head, the other twisting while his finger lazily transported a flying bottle of beer across the room. 

“I am working.” 

You scoffed. “You’re the best at object moving. If you wanted, you could also finish everything in 5 minutes.” 

The boy tilted his head to the side, suddenly focused and amused. “Are my ears failing me, or did you just compliment me?” 

“If you need my praise to do your job, then yes, Kim, you’re very good at this type of magic.” 

Doyoung chuckled happily and got up. With a smack of his lips, he rolled his wrists and all the trash disappeared from the floors and tables appearing into the trash cans instead. The Hufflepuff prefect whistled, impressed, and the Gryffindor sighed upon realizing he had worked his ass off for nothing. 

You put your tongue in your cheek annoyed but also secretly happy he actually did it. “Floors.” 

Doyoung took out his tongue in the most annoying habit he had. Your eyes involuntarily darted towards it and he smiled. 

“You’re such a snake when you do that.” “Okay, crow. Deal with your floors yourself then,” he passed you and walked towards the exit. 

The other prefects already left, too tired to deal with your bickering and probably relieved that someone else could clean up much faster. 

You stared at his back, annoyed, then twisted your wrist to pull his body back towards you. His black jacket moved as if a gentle breeze blew across him and Doyoung stopped. 

“Wait, sorry-” he laughed and turned around, his voice echoing in the gigantic empty room ringing inside your skull. “-were you perhaps trying to do-” he twisted his wrist and you yelped, feet dragging across the pavement as if your body was being pulled by an invisible force until you clashed on his chest, “-this?” he finished. 

Your hands were up on his shirt and for a few moments your brain couldn’t think anything besides, first, how good he smelled, and second, it was the first time for you to actually touch each other. 

“If you’re so good at this, then clean the floors as well, so we can finally go.” 

He stared you down.

“Ask nicely.” 

You scoffed incredulously. “I’d rather clean it with my own hands than do that.” 

He smiled. "You want to kiss me so badly, Y/N." 

“I-- what? Are you drunk?” 

“Why are you so flustered?” 

“I am--not-” you grabbed the hand he raised to cup your face, “flustered! I am appalled.” 

“I want to kiss you.” 

Breathing has never been a difficulty for you and you’ve always laughed at main characters in books talking so extensively about air, but at that moment, your hand still holding Doyoung’s one, your chests pressing against each other and his eyes, fuck, you actually started to slightly pant. What was wrong with him? 

“If you stopped using your snake powers-” “This is no power. It’s just you being attracted to me,” he finally cupped your face and this time you didn’t move away. “Check on it. You can pull away.”

He was right. But if that wasn’t some slytherin doing then you were probably going crazy because you saw your hands move almost on their own on Doyoung’s shoulders. 

Then you actually leaned in and he met you halfway. 

Your limbs were trembling when he brushed his lips on yours and to your surprise, they were warm and soft. 

Then he pulled you even closer and you whined for no reason besides your brain yelling ‘this is so nice!!!! we love dopamine!!!’ at you. 

And you sought for some more. 

When you licked his lower lips, Doyoung’s hands had a tremor on your waist but he was quick to adjust to your sudden burst of passion with the same energy. 

Of all the things that you anticipated that night, making out with Kim Doyoung was definitely not one of them. Then why you felt relieved as if finally doing somethig you’ve ached to do for so long?

Did he want to kiss you? 

He was currently kissing you at that moment? 

Absurd. 

Yet there you were, panting and desperate for each other, unable to stop drinking each other’s breaths. 

“I’m taking you to my room,” he whispered and the look in his eyes was something you’ve never seen before.

____

Suffocating.

You were suffocating as your breath was taken away from your lungs at Doyoung's every touch on your back. 

First your neck with his cold knuckles, then your spine to reach the zip of your red dress. He opened it slowly imitating the pace of his soft lips on your jaw. And when the fabric fell to your feet you turned around, your arms quick to pull him into a messy kiss, while his hands fell on your hips, pushing you towards the silky bed. 

You sat down and got quickly on your knees to be able to reach his face again. 

Doyoung, standing near the edge of the bed, closed his eyes when you drifted your attention from his lips to his neck then chest, placing a kiss on the newly exposed skin every time you made a button pop open. His abdomen twitched every time and when you reached his navel you palmed his torso up, enjoying his shaky breath when the shirt fell off his shoulders.

A little chuckle coming from you made him look down at your sultry face, the hue of the red lights and lit candles dancing on your skin. Then he stared at his own body. Dozens of kisses adorned it in the colour of your lipstick.

"If I can't mark you, I can at least do this," you raised one eyebrow at him, hands gently dealing with his belt. "Who said you can't mark me?" "Hm?" you opened his pants zip and you could have sworn that Doyoung's eyes flickered. "You really want to go around all covered in hickeys?"

The boy smiled and cupped your face, his thumb slowly caressing your lower lip. "Do it where it can't be seen then."

So you let your tongue out on your amused lips and leaned down to reach the skin above the waistband of his underwear. Your tip wetted his skin making his take in a deep breath. "Is here alright?" you whispered against his warm body.

Doyoung's hand found his place on your nape and you took it as consensus, gingerly taking his skin inside your mouth and sucking on it. A red spot already started to form and you sucked again near it, and again, before suddenly placing a kiss on his clothed bulge instead. 

Doyoung drank air through his teeth at the unexpected touch and his fingers got to your shoulders, pushing you into the bed before your legs could wrap around his waist. 

His tongue inside your mouth was as delicious as the silk your body was rubbing against. It made its way down your neck then chest and when it reached your perked nipples your knees buckled and you grabbed that red silk with your fists. Little soft whimpers escaped your lips and they became louder as Doyoung's fingers got between your legs. They scratched the lace of your panties and you lifted your hips as he dragged them down. The boy, then, palmed your skin and placed open kisses on it from the ankle down and every touch closer made you lose a bit of your self-control. 

You really were about to fuck Kim Doyoung. 

What kind of sick and twisted situation was that? 

Were you bewitched? 

Did he do something to you?

But when his lips reached your dripping core, tongue quick to collect your juice, it didn't matter. 

If this was the consequence of you getting bewitched, you wanted it to happen every day. And you told him. You hand gripped his hair and your back arched, profanities quickly spilling out of your chest. Doyoung cupped your ass, pressing his thumbs into your flesh and you let your thighs drape over his shoulders. 

Why was he that good? It honestly offended you to find out that Kim Doyoung aced pussy eating too besides everything else. 

And when he stopped to breathe, you saw his eyes and his juicy lips. 

It was the sexiest view you’ve ever seen in your life so you yanked his head toward your face and he obliged with a panting smile. 

Making out while his long fingers pumped inside of you was the highlight of your university career, and you cared about the curriculum a lot. 

And when he curled them upwards, touching spots inside of you that made you lose vision, you were ready to beg him to do it to you as often as possible. 

"Cumming- I'm--ah-" 

Doyoung got back between your legs and added his tongue to the action again. 

It was too much. 

His books flew from his shelves as you reached the highest climax of your life. 

He chuckled, peppering your shaking body in soft kisses. “I thought you weren’t good at object moving.” You breathed heavily a few more moments before finally finding your voice again. Doyoung reached your lips and you shivered upon feeling his hard cock resting between your legs. He stared at your expression as he lightly hit your oversensitive clit with its tip then rubbed himself between your folds with a sigh. “You’re the one good at moving, so please, move.” The boy bit your lower lip, stretching it out a little before sucking on it, one hand to cup your hip and the other grabbing the silk near your head. He got you so wet that he didn’t need much to easily slip inside of you. He cursed with heavy breath and you wondered if your nails were leaving marks on his back skin as he moved his hips. 

You didn't have Doyoung only in your brain like usual, thinking about him day and night. You finally had him physically so deep inside that you thought you were about to lose your mind. 

So this was it, the sweet overwhelming sensation of being in the present instead of chasing something in the future. 

It was just like everyone described it to be, everything. 

But it wasn't a moment in time or space as you’ve anticipated. It was a person and that person, you realized, was Doyoung. 

If your mouth wasn’t busy spilling his name out of it inside his soft lips and if his hums didn’t make your whole being vibrate, you would have probably laughed at the destiny. 

"You are, so fucking, hot-," you whispered breathlessly, eyes barely able to stay open to drink in his image. "So you admit it. You think I'm sexy," you could see his smirk even in the red darkness of his room. "I wouldn't let you ram into me like this if I thought otherwise." "Oh really? And yet I was here thinking you were doing charity since 'no girl would want to make my dick wet'." You chuckled before the sounds could get interrupted by your high moans instead, the frustration that phrase gave to Doyoung translating into his hips thrusting even harder. "I take that back." "Are you trying to say that you want me to slow down? You can’t take this?" "Oh, no, I love how you're fucking me as if you hate me." "But I don’t actually hate you”, you wished to hear at least for a split second but no word came out of the boy's lips, his hips slowing down instead as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

It was as good as his fast thrusts, his strokes so fluid and deep it made you grunt every time he pressed into you. He was so good that it irritated you. 

"You really like to do the opposite of what I want, huh?" "Yeah," his voice inside your ear made your skin get goosebumps. “I love your frustrated expression and mannerism.” "Ah, shit-" you dug your nails into his back as the bed started to creak. "A good girl like you swearing like this? Who taught you?" "It's your influence." "Am I turning you bad?" "Yeah. Every time you're around I want to do bad things and I have no idea what's going on." You didn't expect to be that honest but Doyoung's intimate presence was like a drug, making you feel so high that you were ready to get twisted by him in every way he wanted. 

No. You desired it. You wanted Doyoung to play with you and for once you would not resist it at all. You would beg for more.

And when he actually took you there, in a place where your thoughts did not exist anymore, where only his touch grounded you, the hand that pushed you over the edge and the one bringing you back up, you did just that. You asked for more, shaking uncontrollably on his luscious bed and he did what you wanted. For once he granted every wish you had and even beyond that.

_____

Your desire to leave his room that night was not as strong as you anticipated. 

Doyoung arms didn't want to let go and you didn't fight him at all. 

Sighing, you got back to his chest and didn't comment on the way he tightened his hold on you. If this wasn’t the way people-that-hate-each-other-but-like-to-weirdly-fuck-for-some-reason behaved, it would be a concern for your conscious mind and not for your fucked up one. 

His scent was inebriating and if you didn't know the way he could make you feel, you would have thought that it was the highest form of aphrodisiac. 

And maybe it was actually making you feel high because under your lids you could have sworn that the room slowly changed colour. 

You opened your sleepy eyes and stared at the wall behind Doyoung’s shoulder, blinking hard. 

It was dark blue, almost black, with a myriad of little bright lights. 

The candles went out and the room did get dark after Doyoung rolled over breathless, his cum dripping slowly on your thigh, but you were pretty sure there were no stars before. 

And when you shifted to rest on your back you almost choked on your own spit. 

You weren’t looking at the night sky. 

No. You were inside the sky. 

Purple, whites, yellows and pinks all melted together to form galaxies and cosmic dust. 

No roof, no walls, no pavements, just the bed, Doyoung and you in the middle of everything. 

Your fingers dug into the arm Doyoung had thrown across your chest and perhaps you made some type of sound because the boy opened his eyes to stare at your profile. “Do you like it?” he murmured. Your head snapped towards his face and his eyes reflected the infinite little lights as if he held two other universes inside of them. “How is this possible?” He smiled sheepishly. “Slytherin rooms. They change based on the owner’s mood.” You felt your mouth open on its own. “This is your doing?” Doyoung hummed and closed his eyes again, pulling you towards him to hold you like before. You let him place his chin on top of your head and breathed in his scent yet again. 

“So the red room?” “I was horny.” You smiled. “And how do you feel now?” “A little less horny. If I’m not careful you’ll see a whole star engulf us soon.” “This is so unfair. We don’t have such cool rooms.” “Or maybe you do but being Ravenclaws you’re all thinking of boring, brown looking rooms.” 

You rolled your eyes even if he couldn’t see you and gently, you placed a hand on his chest, close to your face and above his heart. You could feel the calm and peaceful beats in syntony with the night sky. To know that inside that boy’s mind could be such beauty made your heart not beat as calmly as his heart did. 

You had no idea what you were doing, hugging so intimately with your sworn enemy, and maybe it was the romantic vibe that made you do it since there was no rational explanation to any of it, but you raised your face to meet his lips. 

And you just kissed him. Slowly and softly, barely brushing them with yours. 

Doyoung opened his eyes for a moment, as if surprised, but upon feeling you pressing yourself on his body he closed them again and pulled you on top of him. 

The universe didn’t change, although, when you let your tongue inside his mouth, slowly, as if having all the time in the world at your feet, the stars flickered and got brighter. 

“Are you trying to see a star up close? I can make it happen without you rubbing yourself on me,” he smiled on your lips. “What happens when you suddenly lose control?” Doyoung’s pupils trembled and the room started to shake. You knew it wasn’t real but you still jolted and looked around terrified. “Let’s find out.”  

_____

"I, saw, you, leave, with, Kim, Doyoung, last night," Haechan chanted teasingly as he sat down with his breakfast tray. 

You wanted to keep a poker face but your facial muscles weren't under your control so you smiled. 

"Oh!! Look at her! Oh my God. So- wow. Okay. Okay," Haechan tried to compose himself. "Is he any good?" he leaned in lowering his voice. 

You sighed and nodded. "So fucking good."

Haechan squealed and hit your shoulder before wrapping it with one arm and wobbling you around. 

"Stop it!" you hissed amused. "Everything hurts." "EVERYTHING HURTS! So he's got a monster cock."

"Shut up!" you pressed your hand on his mouth scandalized as Doyoung made his way inside the cafeteria with his friends. 

You breathed in slowly and just as slowly you exhaled, trying to relax. Haechan made an effort to appear calm as well. "Sup, Kim." You smiled. 

The other boy looked your way as he walked behind your table. "Hey, Lee," then he turned to you. "Y/L/N." 

And left. 

Just like that. 

He looked at you for one second and continued on his way to the Slytherin tables. 

No smile. 

No acknowledgement. 

Cold just like before. 

As if nothing had happened. 

You stared at his back, feeling your limbs heavy like stone. Turning around slowly, you grabbed your fork and started to eat in silence. "Hey." Haechan lightly bumped your arm with his shoulder. "He's probably just feeling awkward." You munched slowly and took it as an excuse to keep quiet. "Hey, come on." "What?" Haechan sighed. "You can say that you're disappointed that he-" "I don't know what you're talking about."

_____

For the first time, instead of feeling rage inside your gut, you felt anxious. 

Doyoung was in front of you, face almost hidden under his hair as he typed into his computer. He greeted you as he usually did before the, well, before you let him see the deepest parts of you, figuratively and physically. But after that single “hey” no other words came from his part. 

It wouldn't have been that weird if only a few hours ago he didn't kiss your lips in heaven. 

When you woke up that morning, the night sky wasn’t there anymore. At his place were clouds. White fluffy clouds in the middle of a pink sky. 

It was breathtaking and you felt like flying. 

And he did kiss you softly. 

And now he acted as if you weren't even there. 

Maybe Haechan was right. Maybe he was feeling awkward. It's not like he could suddenly act lovingly in front of the whole campus. You were still enemies after all. And maybe you were also right. 

You've just fucked. It's not like you started to date. He had no obligations towards you. 

Yet, when his fingers drew your spine and his sigh caressed your lips, it didn't seem just fucking to you. 

Was Doyoung like that? Was that his personality? Was he doing that to all the girls he brought into his room? Making them cum multiple times and showing them his soft side? Was that a well-plotted plan? Was he trying to hurt you? 

You were ready to let him do whatever he wanted to you the previous night, yet at that moment, under the bright sunlight of the study room, you felt sick. It was a weird feeling. It grabbed at your throat and travelled down to your heart making it difficult for you to breathe. 

You trusted him with your feelings and you let him see your vulnerable side. 

Did he laugh? Was he feeling triumphant now? Did he win a battle against you? He had you on his palm? Because, God, he did have you on his palm now and with only a twist of his wrist he could get you into his arms again. 

And you would have let him.

You hated it. You fell so hard it hurt everywhere. You were dizzy and confused and you couldn't look at him anymore.

_____

It was easy to avoid Doyoung for the following days. It was almost too easy as if he was trying to avoid you too. So walking towards the library you jolted hearing his low voice inside one of the classrooms. You stopped in place and after a few seconds of thinking you peeped inside. Then you gulped and hid under the door window. 

He was resting his hips on the professor's desk, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed on his chest. In front of him was standing one of the most beautiful girls you've ever seen. 

She was talking with a peaceful tone and Doyoung suddenly laughed. You got up and quickly walked away.

_____

"How the fuck would I know?" the girl asked. 

Doyoung rolled his eyes. "Your dad designed them. You must know more than me."

"Listen. We're the only house with mood rooms because we're the only people who can control their emotions. It's not my fault you're a terrible Slytherin and your room has been pitch black for the past days." 

Doyoung sighed in irritation. "What the fuck does that even mean though?" 

"Usually mourning."

The boy shook his head. "No one died."

"Then it can be a general pain. Or confusion," the girl explained. 

Doyoung raised his gaze on her. "What would I be so confused about?" 

She shrugged. "You're the only one that can know. Chill out maybe and stop thinking when you're inside of it. I'll ask my dad how to turn it off and I'll let you know. Now leave me alone, I'm busy," she said and left the classroom.

_____

"Hey," Doyoung said. "That's my pencil."

You looked down at your fingers and furrowed your eyebrows. 

"No. This is mine."

The boy sighed. "I can sense it's mine."

"I legit bought it yesterday. And what are you? A psychic? 'I can sense it's mine'." 

"I'm a Slytherin. We're snakes. Everything I lick is mine. And I can sense that's mine." 

Your mouth opened slightly and you waited for him to laugh but Doyoung remained serious. 

"That has to be a joke."

"Okay, keep it. It just makes me feel giddy when things I own are used by other people." "Because you're selfish." "It's a real sensation. I know when something I licked is being used by somebody else," and he raised his eyes on you. You stared back and the weight of his words made your throat close. 

I hope it doesn't work with people too, you wanted to ask, but the noise on your left interrupted you. 

"Can I talk to you?" the same girl from a few days ago suddenly made her appearance near your desk. Doyoung looked at her surprised. "Yeah." "Bring me to your room," she ordered.

_____

You shouldn't have been there. 

It was useless and it would only make you further lose your mind. 

But your feet descended the Slytherin corridor, nose following the trail of the girl's perfume until arriving at Doyoung’s door. 

You remained still for a moment and after a few seconds of indecisiveness you suddenly turned around going back. 

That was too creepy. You had absolutely no reason to be there. If Doyoung wanted to fuck that girl, so be it. 

But then you stopped again. 

Fuck. 

Just, just a little glance. Just a tiny little glance. Just the colour. Just to be sure. 

You didn't turn around to actually see anything. With your back towards the door, you twisted your wrist, doing the most illegal thing one can do inside the campus - transparency spell. A tiny portion of the wall disappeared at your silent command and you could see the red hue spilling outside of it on the dark pavement at your feet. 

It was enough and you barely saw the stairs when you got out of the basement.

_____

"You weren't lying when you said it's pitch black. It even absorbs magic light."

Doyoung sighed. 

The girl presumably turned around because Doyoung heard her voice more clearly when she spoke again.

"Okay, so this is what we're gonna do. Sit down somewhere and relax." 

The boy let himself fall on the carpet with a grunt. 

"Close your eyes."

He obliged even if he could have let them open too for all it mattered. 

"Now, think of someone of your choice." 

Doyoung's mind automatically drifted towards you and the room besides being dark, felt suddenly very cold as well. 

"No, okay, Doyoung, change the person." "She's the only one I can think about." The girl sighed. "Well, at least we know the reason for all of this. God, it's so fucking cold, try to not think about anything for a second!" 

"It's hard, okay?" 

"Okay, fuck. Think about her but imagine something else. Think of a good memory you have with her."

Doyoung sighed irritated and furrowed his eyebrows even more. "I don't think this is going to work."

But when he let his mind imagine your panting expression underneath him, a slight red hue started to create from the floor going up to the walls. 

The girl exulted. "Yes! Don't stop. Continue thinking about that!" 

Doyoung opened up one eye as the girl exulted again and he could finally see the furniture in his room. 

It was a dark red, not the bright red he actually had his room painted in when he held you into his arms, but enough for him to not get a headache 24/7.

"Well it's not like I can think about--that, every time I need to be in my room, can I?" he got up. 

The girl knew what red meant and she chuckled. 

"Don't you have any other good memory with her besides fucking?" 

The room got bright red. 

The girl laughed even harder. 

"Ah, shut up." "Hey, I helped you out." "Barely," he plopped on the bed and put his face into his palms. 

It could have been considered a gesture coming from embarrassment if the lights didn't start to get dim again. 

"God, you're really all over the place, huh?" she sat near him. "What happened? Is she your ex?”  

Doyoung sighed and directed his gaze upon an indistinct point in front of him. Maybe he was tired, or maybe it was the dark room and the fact that Doyoung didn’t even remember the girl’s name, making her a safe stranger, but he whispered. 

"I made a mistake. I thought she was into me so-- fuck, I went down on her."

The girl made a surprised sound but waited for the most important part. 

“Well, she’s not into me, but I am.”

"You're so stupid!" 

"Yeah okay, thanks."

"We're Slytherins! It's not like we don't give head because we're prude, it's to prevent this! You horny dumbass." "I thought she liked me! I had no idea she'd- fuck someone else right after!" Doyoung grunted frustrated and fell back on the bed, the room getting to the pitch-black from before. 

The girl let the silence calm him down a bit before talking. 

"I am sorry. I had things used by others but I don't know what it feels like with people."

"It's not necessarily painful but- knowing the reason, it's just-" 

"Yeah. You just have to let her go so the bond is receded. Like with things, you know?"

"It's easy to let go of a thing that's yours. How can I manage to let go of her?" 

The girl sighed and remained in silence.

_____

You had no idea how you managed to remain seated in front of Doyoung that morning. 

His complexion was paler than usual and his eyes were very tired. As if he didn't sleep enough last night. Or at all. 

You had to breathe in and out slowly to ease the pain inside your stomach. 

"You look terrible."

Doyoung's dark irises under his low lids made your skin crawl when he looked up at you. 

"Is someone keeping you too active to get enough sleep?" you asked again, trying hard to get back to the tone you both were used to before. 

The boy tightened his lips in a mockery smile. "Yeah. As discussed, I have no problem keeping my dick wet."

"Well-," you frowned with a raised chin, your lips forming a pout for a moment before you forced them to keep the poker face, "-I started to see someone lately too."

He looked unbothered. "As in dating or hallucinations?" 

You ignored his comment. 

“We’ve already been on three dates,” you lied. 

“And you’re telling me this because-?” 

You shrugged. “Conversation.” 

“I hate small talk.” 

“Is there something you don’t hate?” 

“Silence. And smart people, which given your latest test results, you’re not.” 

You had no idea what it was. 

You and Doyoung had always called each other names, insulted each other’s intelligence and the sorts, yet at that moment, maybe because of your failing tests, the alignment of stars or the fact that you were actually in love with him, you burst into tears. 

It took Doyoung a few good seconds to realize that you were wailing in front of him.

“Hey?” 

He crouched on the desk to be able to see your face from underneath your arms. You hid it even more. 

“Y/N,” he lowered his voice. It was as soft and delicate as when he whispered your name under the sky. 

You suddenly took your stuff and ran away from the study room.

_____

Doyoung was slowly but surely losing his mind. 

One day, two days, three days and you were still nowhere to be seen. 

His room has been different shades of grey, which was better than black but now the walls had water running on them and the floor was constantly wet. 

Altogether, not a good time. 

“Holy shit, are you that depressed?” 

Doyoung raised his eyes from the book he was reading before rolling them so far up that Haechan thought they wouldn’t come back anymore.

“What do you want?” 

The Gryffindor took a step inside the room with hands behind his back and took a lazy stroll to where Doyoung’s dresser was crying. “Your flowers are all dead. Throw them away.” “They keep appearing every time,” Doyoung started to read again, the little line between his eyebrows showing how hard he tried to understand whatever the pages were trying to say but failing. 

“I’m here because it’s boring to not have you yell at Y/N in the study room as always,” Haechan spoke again nonchalantly, fingers rubbing against each other, as to get rid of the imaginary dust they collected from Doyoung’s furniture. Given the situation, the room probably made up piles of mud as well. 

"Who's the guy?" Doyoung suddenly asked. 

Haechan furrowed his eyebrows. "What guy?" 

"The one she's fucking."

The other blinked at him surprised. 

"You mean, Kim Doyoung?" 

The Slytherin's eyes widened and Haechan saw how he looked with flushed cheeks for the first time in his life. 

"Aw, come on. Of course, I know everything."

"If you know everything, then tell me who the fuck this guy she's been fucking beside me is!" Doyoung got up from the bed. 

"There's no other guy. What are you talking about?" 

"Fuck, I felt it how he touched her and it drives me crazy!" Haechan opened his mouth to talk but jolted, eyes staring at Doyoung’s arm extended to hit the wall behind his head expecting to see a dent in the hard brick from how much force he put into that.  

"Is it you?" “Uhm? What the fuck?” "Answer me." "Okay, first of all, take a step back."

Doyoung leaned in even more and Haechan gulped. 

"Okay! Okay, gosh. No. There's no guy fucking her as far as I know."

"Where is she?" "I don't know." "What kind of friend are you if you don't know it?" 

Haechan crossed his arms on his chest. "Am I seriously getting scolded on friendship values by Kim Doyoung right now? You that made her cry in the common room? You that made her rest her weapons in front of you just to see you treat her like scum? After using her? We don’t have mood rooms but we have things like hearts and mouths which we use to, you know, ask other people how they feel-" "I don't have enough patience and you know that."

Haechan breathed in and out before finally opening his lips again. "She's in the dorms. Obviously. Where the fuck would she be-"

Doyoung turned around on his heels like a tornado and walked towards the towers. 

"She doesn't want to talk to you!" Haechan told the other boy's back but he wasn't sure he heard him.

_____

She doesn't want to talk to you. 

Fuck it. 

Doyoung knew he was self-centred and he knew that your absence had something to with him but for once he really wanted to be wrong. 

Used you? You really thought Doyoung used you? When you used him and then got somebody else to touch you like that? 

Fuck, if Doyoung were in his room at that moment it would probably resemble a killing storm. 

"Hey, you can't be here," some random guy stopped him as Doyoung stepped into the Gryffindor common room. "How did you even enter-" 

"Shut the fuck up." 

Doyoung looked around, eyeing all of the different doors and chose left, venturing down the corridor, for once - and cringingly so - listening to his heart. 

Haechan was right. You didn’t have real mood rooms but he could physically feel the energy of each and one of them with his heart. 

He knew it was your door before even getting close to it, the feeling coming from it making his blood boil in his veins just like he would feel when you were around. 

With a twist of his wrist, he tried to open it but it didn't work. 

"Are you seriously trying to barge into a girl's room like that, Kim?" a scandalous voice said behind the door. 

"How did you know it was me?" Doyoung placed one palm on the wood. 

"Only you could force open a door without even knocking," you replied. "And the spell is made for you specifically, so I know."

The boy rested his forehead on the door and closed his eyes. "You were waiting for me." 

The silence on the other side made him sigh. "Open up. Let me talk to you." 

It got even quieter than before. "I wasn't waiting for you. You had no reasons to come," you finally whispered. 

Doyoung twisted his wrist and the door in front of himself vanished from his eyes. Apparently, you didn't anticipate he'd be able to use the transparency spell since you didn't even preoccupy yourself to block it and he could tell you didn't even sense it, so concentrated on your thoughts. From your perspective the door was still there and, previously leaning against it with your back, you rolled on it now and unknowingly imitated Doyoung's position, foreheads almost touching if not for the layer of old wood. 

"What do I have to say?" he asked, looking at your face. He saw how you bit your lower lip at the sound of his voice and the genuine sadness in your face made him even angrier at the whole situation. "You don't have to say anything," you finally replied. 

Doyoung's jaw muscles tensed. 

"Please, please, open this goddamn door." 

The intensity of his voice made you raise your head and your senses got sharp again, feeling the energy he put into using his spell. 

With the twist of your wrist, the door flew open and you finally saw Doyoung's face. 

"You used transparency," you suddenly looked furious. “You know you can’t do that inside the university.” "Fuck, I was," he stepped in. "What if I was naked?" "Nothing I haven't seen before." 

You rolled your eyes. "You make me so frustrated."

"I am making you frustrated? Then what about me, huh?" 

"What would you even be frustrated about if you don't even care about me? You tease me and you insult me and then you make love to me like a desperate man and then you go back to being your selfish, deprecable self. What is this? Why do you keep playing with me? Is it fun? You find it amusing to see me like this?" 

Your words completely floored him. 

"I can ask you the same thing. I can feel it inside my chest when someone else touches you and it drives me fucking insane. I made a mistake and I gave in thinking you had some feelings for me and that I wasn't just a fuck toy you could use one night and throw away." 

Your mouth fell open. 

He could feel it? He could feel you? So you did belong to him?

"This is crazy. You hid something like this from me! Now you have access to what's going on with my body without my consent!" 

"I had no idea I was in love with you, okay? It has never happened to me before. I don't want to know either when someone else eats you out! I just- you’re here hiding in your room and crying as if you have feelings for me or something when you let someone else-" he stopped. 

You looked at his reddening neck and closed eyes. 

His breath was shaky and you realized how you've never actually seen him angry or upset before. 

"No one has done anything to me, Doyoung. Unlike you, who fucked that Slytherin girl after showing me the fucking heaven. Did you do that to her as well? Sweet talk? For what? Is this your hobby? Making girls fall in love with you?" 

The boy shook his head in confusion."What are you talking about? There's no Slytherin girl."

"The one that had the urgency to see your room?" 

He pinched the base of his nose with a grunt of realization. "She helped me to figure out why my room was pitch-black and why it's currently grey with wet fucking walls."

"Oh yeah? Because to me, it looked very much red."

"You've been spying on me?"

You huffed and sat down on the bed like a child when they're found guilty but they're too proud to admit it. "You used transparency just 5 minutes ago too,” you justified yourself as if you were equal now. 

"And did you see me fuck that girl?" 

"I didn't want to actually look inside like a creep! But you were pretty much horny. The corridor got all red."

"I was thinking about you! And now I’m also thinking about you and I’ve been thinking about you all of these days and months and probably all of these fucking years since I first met you.” 

Your brain felt like mush. 

"Then you knew? You treated me like that because you liked me? Only children tease the person they like."

"I didn’t know. I had no fucking idea before. And apparently, I am a fool for not having realized before and fuck, perhaps I’m a child as well then. I’m insecure. Because I wanted you to think about me too. And perhaps you don’t even remember but I’ve tried to be nice to you before and it didn’t work. But you started to give me attention when I made you mad. It was easy and playful and I saw how you often smiled when I turned my back to you and- fuck, I got hopeful. That you’d start to feel the same.” 

“I do feel the same, for fuck’s sake! I am in love with you.”

Doyoung swallowed dryly. “Then why-” 

“It was me.” 

The boy furrowed his eyebrows. 

“That morning after I left your room I took a shower, and-,” you looked around as if trying to find the courage to say what you had to say, “- I was thinking about you, so-”

Doyoung understood before you could finish the phrase and you saw his face fall. 

“Wait, is it possible? Even if you do it?” 

You scoffed incredulously. “You’re the Slytherin here. Until a few days ago I didn’t even know you had magical spit making you feel whatever I did to my own pussy!” 

Doyoung closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as if he needed a moment.

“But I researched it when you told me about the pencil. It has to do with some weird-ass Slytherin shit where couples own each other’s bodies. Most people find it hot to know when the partner is-” you cleared your voice as it got suddenly tiny from talking about that shameful topic. 

“So no, I did not let anyone touch me. If you were smart enough you would have noticed that it didn’t happen anymore after you treated me like shit.” 

The boy looked as if his soul left his body.

The silence engulfed the whole room and you avoided each other’s eyes. 

But then it got disrupted by his movements. With slow steps, he walked the space from the middle of the room to the feet of the bed where you were sat down. 

With weak limbs, he let himself down on his knees in front of you and slowly he let his face fall into your lap. 

Your breath fell short. With trembling hands, you caressed his nape, lightly as if afraid to touch him, then his hair, patting it gently. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a fool this whole time. Like, I am so stupid.” His voice was muffled by your clothes and his arms wrapped your waist even more while saying it. 

“You’re the smartest person I know. But you could’ve just asked instead of assuming.”

He shook his head. “Yeah. Hey Y/N, so I can feel inside my gut that you orgasmed hard just now. Who did it? I thought you liked me.” 

He raised his head again, his hair messy on the forehead, eyes lit up by the sun coming from your big windows and violent red cheeks. He looked young and vulnerable and suddenly the whole situation seemed so ridiculous that you laughed. 

“I am sorry,” you chuckled and cupped his face. “You’re right. It was a weird situation. We should work on communication. And you should work on not being so insecure.” “You also assumed I fucked a girl just because I was talking to her.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. We both have to work on that, alright?” 

He sighed relieved seeing you smile. 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you about that whole thing before. But I swear, I had no idea my feelings for you were that deep.” “Does it not work with mere crushes?” He shook his head. 

"Well, do you know what I want now? For you to obtain my forgiveness?" you asked. "Me to kiss you." You flicked his head. "You will never drop that attitude of yours, will you?" He smiled even more. "I love to see you like this."

“I want something else,” you explained. Doyoung turned his head to the side. “Me eating you out?” 

“Oh my God! No!” you tried to get away from his hold but he pushed you back on the bed and crawled beside you. “But that pussy is mine-” “Shut up!! Don’t say that ever again! You still need to apologize some more for that. Now I can’t even masturbate.” “You don’t need to masturbate if you have me.” “I fucking hate you so much.” “I love you too. So what was the thing that you wanted?” 

“It’s just-- it’s unfair. So I-- also want to know.” “You want to own my cock?” he chuckled in the crook of your neck. “Why do you really have to use such words?!”

“You can do it. You just need to go down on me too.” “Even if I’m not a slytherin?” “If you’re in love with your slytherin partner, you don’t need to be one to be tied to them like that.” “Pants off then. Now.” _____

Haechan walked through Doyoung’s room with a chuckle, trying hard to avoid all the flowers that suddenly started to grow tall until reaching the ceiling. 

With the corner of his eyes he also noticed the way all of them started to turn red and with a disgusted face, he moved faster, exiting it and closing the door behind him.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s 2021 Birthday R&S

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an R&S which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This was released on 24 July 2021 ]

[ Chapter One: Model Aircraft Competition ]

The cicadas outside the window are clamorous, and the dark green trees cover the blazing sun, casting shady and cooling patches.

This is an incredibly ordinary late afternoon. The summer vacation is about to arrive, and the classroom is filled with the buzzing chatter of students, as rowdy as usual.

Gavin is asleep on the seat next to the window. Sunlight passes through the crevices of leaves and linger on his shoulders, bright and indolent. However, he isn’t actually sleeping, and the conversation between his deskmate and the student in front of him drift to his ears clearly.

“Hey, are you going for that model aircraft competition the teacher mentioned a few days ago?”

“I heard all the middle schoolers in our city will be participating. Those who get prizes will have extra marks, and the person who gets first place can visit the Aviation Headquarters!”

“Then again, you’ll need the capabilities to win. If you're participating, I’ll watch.”

“Hehe, you speak as though the person who lags behind in every subject can bag a trophy.”

The two of them attack each other with taunting remarks. After lapsing into a moment of silence, they suddenly turn their gazes to Gavin simultaneously.

Gavin’s deskmate pokes his arm and calls out to him.

“Gavin, you aren’t asleep, are you?”

The figure wearing a blue and white school uniform remains plopped on the desk, unmoving. A slightly muffled response drifts from him.

“What is it?”

Gavin’s deskmate and the student sitting in front of him look at each other, then speak excitedly.

“Do you know about that recent model aircraft competition?”

Gavin lets out a “mm”.

“Aren’t you going to participate?”

“We had a discussion about it, and felt that in the entire class, you’re the only one with the capabilities to win a prize. The others are just a bunch of useless troops, and they’d be of no use even if they went.”

Gavin stirs slightly. His deskmate looks at him with anticipation. In the end, he simply cushions his head using the other arm.

“Not interested.”

“Huh?”

His deskmate stares at the back of his head in utter disbelief.

“Your dad’s a military officer, and you’ve seen more real planes since young as compared to the number of models we’ve played with. This competition is basically made for you.”

Gavin doesn’t respond. In the sunlight, a few strands of hair on the back of the youth’s head stick up disobediently, clearly showing that he isn’t in the best of moods.

At this moment, the dismissal bell rings. Along with the cheers from students, the classroom erupts into a state of chaos.

Gavin finally sits up. After stuffing the English book he used as a pillow into his sling bag, he turns around and leaves the classroom.

After the figure vanishes at the door, Gavin’s deskmate turns to the student sitting in front of him, expressing puzzlement.

“Why do you think Gavin doesn’t want to participate? A few days ago, I saw him at the bookstore outside school buying an Aeromodelling Atlas.”

The student in front of him shrugs, signalling that he has no idea.

“Maybe he got bored.”

[ Chapter Two - Proof ]

When Gavin reaches home, his mother has yet to return.

Placing his bag down, he suddenly notices a new post-it note on the fridge. On it, there’s a menu written in delicate handwriting: Stir-fried tomato and scrambled eggs, fried stuffed tofu, stir-fried duck with pineapples.

There’s a smiley face drawn on the last line, and the words “The dishes Little Gav loves to eat” are written at the side.

Only then does Gavin remember - his birthday is coming.

Every year, his mother would start preparations way in advance. It’s as if in her eyes, this particular day is even more worthy of celebration as compared to all other festivals.

And this year is no exception.

The post-it note is a little crooked. Gavin uses a fridge magnet to straighten it, then returns to his room.

The small room is covered with traces of youth. There are posters of basketball celebrities on the walls, and there's a globe and a few books on the desk.

After hesitating for a while, Gavin pulls open his bag and takes out a pamphlet. On it, there’s information pertaining to the model aircraft competition.

He reads the information seriously. A breeze blows the the white curtains, and the lights and shadows of dusk outline the youth’s straightened back profile, casting specks of light on a book. The words “Aeromodelling Atlas” can be vaguely seen. 

While reading, he suddenly recalls the words his deskmate said-

“Your dad’s a military officer, and you’ve seen more real planes since young as compared to the number of models we’ve played with. This competition is basically made for you.”

His grip on the pamphlet abruptly tightens. Gavin rolls it into a ball and tosses it on the table, getting up in frustration and leaving the room.

Everything in the living room is clean and tidy. The school uniform he had changed out of is drying in the balcony. The large uniform drifts with the wind, and the air is filled with the fragrance of soap.

Even though there are clear traces of diligence and attentiveness, certain things can still be seen.

Model robots and clay crafts are displayed neatly on the left side of the built-in cupboard. However, there’s nothing on the right side.

All the cups and plates form a complete set. However, one cup is placed upside down on the cup rack. Although it has been a long time since it was last used, its owner wipes it spotlessly every day.

It’s as if the person she’s waiting for has always been around. Disappointment has repeated itself in endless cycles, but she continually harbours hope.

Gavin ignores such traces. He walks over to the fan in the living room, furrowing his brows as he squats down.

This fan has been spoilt for several days. Each time it’s turned on, it releases a strange clacking sound, akin to a heavy wooden door being pushed open with great effort.

-

When Wardia steps in with a bag of groceries, she sees Gavin half-squatting and studying that fan which has been broken for numerous days.

She calls out to Gavin.

“Little Gav, the fan is spoilt. I’ll ask a worker to fix it tomorrow. Don’t mind it.”

“When you called yesterday, the worker said that he wouldn’t be free these days. He probably won’t be able to drop by tomorrow either.”

Gavin pushes the outer shell of the fan lightly, and the white netted cover stirs gently, letting out a muffled buzz.

“No need to call for a worker. I can fix it.”

Wardia is stunned for a moment. Then, her eyes crinkle into a smile.

“When did our Little Gav become so incredible?”

Gavin stands up, his tone very certain.

“Leave it to me.”

Wardia casts a contemplative glance at Gavin. He’s going to be 14 soon. At this age, children tend to think about a lot of things, and may be exceptionally sensitive in certain areas.

Since a particular point in time, he had already been working hard and learning how to become a man with an indomitable spirit.

She can only nod.

“Okay. Mommy bought green beans today. I’ll prepare you a cooling soup later to alleviate the summer heat.”

With this, Gavin responds by heading to the kitchen to get a bowl to soak the beans for his mother.

The green coloured beans are immersed in water. Some float and some sink, and their colours are clear.

Wardia looks at Gavin. After a moment of hesitance, she speaks in a light-hearted and leisurely tone.

“Little Gav... Daddy took up an urgent mission recently and was sent to a very faraway place. He might not be around for your birthday this year again...”

“Mm, I’ve got it.”

Gavin’s tone is very indifferent. It’s as though whether that person returns or not has nothing to do with him at all. Wardia wants to say something, but after opening her mouth, she turns around, forcefully suppressing her emotions. 

Gavin carries the bowl with both hands. When he sees his mother’s back, he suddenly grows quiet.

Why harbour hope when one clearly knows the ending?

After dinner, Gavin returns to his room. The pamphlet is still on the desk. He pauses for a moment, then reaches out to pick it up.

He’s going to be 14 years old soon.

Becoming one year older is something his mother looks forward to even more than he does. Because of this, she feels even guiltier with every year of his father’s absence.

Even though he knows he doesn’t need that person to wish him a happy birthday, he hopes that his mother can be a little more genuinely happy on his birthday.

Gavin makes a decision.

He smoothens the pamphlet on the desk. In a serious manner, he fills up the registration form on the back with his name. When he sets down the pen, his eyes sparkle with a certain determination.

He wants to participate in the model aircraft competition, and he wants to get first place.

He wants to use something he likes to prove to that person that he has already grown up, and has become even more incredible than he imagined.

“I’m going to prove to you that I can still do it without Evol.” He repeats resolutely once more.

If that person left this house back then because of how small and weak Gavin was, he’d definitely have a slightly different answer when he sees the current Gavin.

He’d definitely want to... return and see this family.

[ Chapter Three - Wings Waiting To Fly ]

Aeromodelling books and scattered materials are piled up in Gavin’s room. When Wardia enters while carrying chilled green bean lily bulb soup, she sees Gavin sitting cross-legged on the floor, using a vernier calliper to measure the wingspan.

Wardia carefully steps across the spare parts, placing the bowl on the desk.

“Little Gav, why are you so diligent in this competition? You’ve been fiddling around in your room for several days.”

Gavin wipes sweat off his forehead.

“This is a really large-scale competition. The teacher says that the person in first place will get to visit the Aviation Headquarters. I want to have a look.”

He’s determined not to tell his mother the true reason.

Wardia nods, giving him a “work hard” gesture.

“In that case, Little Gav must continue working hard and strive to be a guest at the aviation base.”

Wardia pauses, then looks at Gavin seriously.

“But Little Gav, even though this is a very rare opportunity, you must remember that no matter what happens at the end, Mommy will be happy for you. Because I know that you’re doing something you like, that you’ve worked hard, and have obtained happiness in the process. And that’s enough.”

Gavin nods.

“I know.”

“Oh yes, Mommy also wants to use this chance to discuss your birthday plans with you.”

Wardia grins while posing a question.

“What does Little Gav want as a birthday present this year? And what kind of pattern do you want your birthday cake to have?”

“Do you want to invite your classmates over to celebrate with you?”

Wardia prattles on endlessly as she counts the plans she has for his birthday on her fingers. That pair of beautiful eyes are layered with gentleness, but also hide a twinge of guilt.

It’s as though she’s exerting her all to ensure that other aspects are done even better to make up for that guilt.

After Gavin ponders for a while, he shakes his head.

“I’ve already grown up, so there isn’t anything I specially want as a birthday gift.”

“I just want Mommy to always be happy.”

When Wardia hears Gavin’s words, she’s taken aback for half a second. Her eyes stir slightly.

After this, she walks over to hug Gavin gently. Gavin has no idea why his mother is suddenly doing this, but he puts down the blueprint of the aircraft wing, reaching out to return his mother’s hug.

Wardia speaks softly yet resolutely.

“Little Gav, even if you become an adult in the future and become a man with an indomitable spirit, your birthday is still an important thing.”

She pauses.

“Because this day doesn’t just belong to you. It also belongs to everyone who loves you, and the people who have prepared and looked forward to this day for a very long time.

After his mother leaves the room, Gavin looks at the blueprint of the plane which is just beginning to take shape. He repeats what his mother said softly.

“It also belongs to everyone who loves you, and the people who have prepared and looked forward to this day for a very long time...”

Those clear eyes seem to be filled with an even greater determination to win the prize. He picks up the vernier calliper and continues measuring the wingspan.

[ Chapter Four: Heading In Another Direction ]

There’s only one week till Gavin’s birthday.

That huge pile of materials in Gavin’s room has turned into a beautiful white plane with blue wings and smooth lines.

At the competition venue, that white aircraft model ascends, spins around, flies upside down, and lands under Gavin’s control. Everyone is astonished at how perfect it is.

Without any reservations, Gavin wins first place.

The person handing out prizes is a certain officer from an aviation base. He places a small plane-shaped badge into Gavin’s hand.

“You referenced the air freighter Y2251 for the style, didn’t you? I could tell from a glance.”

Gavin nods, and the officer pats him on the shoulder.

“You reconstructed it very close to the original. Being this outstanding at such a young age, I believe your father will definitely be proud of you when he knows about this.”

Gavin lifts his head sharply, staring at the officer.

“Do you know him?”

The officer who handed him the award chuckles.

“I met him at an international meeting in the past. He’s a very outstanding soldier.”

Gavin doesn’t speak further. He lowers his eyes, tightly gripping that badge which symbolises the sky.

-

At night, Gavin sits at the edge of the window, lifting the small aviator badge to his eyes, staring at it meticulously under the moonlight.

The badge isn’t large, but the wings on it have been engraved vividly. It’s as though in the very next second, it could break free from the heavy fetters of metal, flying freely towards the horizon.

Gavin looks at it for a very long time, then reluctantly shifts his gaze away from the badge.

The summer evening breeze passes by his lapel, bringing with it a cooling and refreshing scent. The trees in the courtyard are very tall, and the sprigs of blossoming plants stretch to the edges of the window, touching his ankle.

This is the first time he has attained honour based on his own strength. Does this mean he now possesses the strength to be acknowledged by others?

He looks at the badge. Finally, his eyes crinkle into a slight smile, unintentionally revealing the wilfulness and pride that a youth should have.

Using his hands to support himself on the edge of the window, Gavin turns around and leaps back into his room. He locates a plain white envelope from his drawer, then picks up a pen. On the address line, he fills in his father’s current location, then stuffs the badge into the envelope solemnly.

After hesitating for a while, he scrunches up the envelope slightly. A few creases immediately appear on it.

Only after he leaps over the wall and heads out to slip that envelope into a mailbox at the corner of the street does Gavin release a soft sigh of relief.

This is a proof of pride, and it’s also an invitation from a youth. 

An invitation for the person whom his mother cares about to return to this place, and spend a birthday together which could constitute a “reunion”.

Gavin stands in front of the mailbox, lifting his head to look at the star-studded sky.

Tonight, the Milky Way seems to be brighter than in previous nights. Sagittarius emits a resplendent light, and the bow formed by stars points towards an unknown, faraway place.

[ Chapter Five: Indentations of Growth ]

On the early morning of Gavin’s birthday, Wardia cooks him a bowl of longevity noodles, and there’s even a soft-boiled egg burrowed underneath the noodles.

“Happy birthday, Little Gav.”

“From today onwards, you’ve grown one year older.”

His mother smiles as she says her well wishes to Gavin. After he’s done eating the noodles, she holds out a measuring tape.

“Shall we measure how much taller our Little Gav has grown this year?”

“...okay.”

Gavin is slightly resigned but accustomed to it as he stands next to the pole in the corridor. 

Right now, he has already grown much taller. In a serious manner, Wardia uses a pencil to draw a mark near the roof of his head.

“Our Little Gav has grown much taller. Wow, one, two, three... four centimetres.”

His mother keeps the measuring tape and Gavin steps away from the pole. There are numerous deep and light indents on the white body of the pole - traces that witness one boy’s growth each year.

"Looks like I won’t need to measure you next year. Little Gav has already grown taller than Mommy.”

Gavin immediately cuts in, his tone extremely certain.

“I’ll protect Mommy.”

Wardia taps Gavin’s forehead lightly.

“Mommy doesn’t need to be protected by Little Gav. Mommy will protect Little Gav. I’ll celebrate your birthday with you every year until you grow up.”

“What will happen after I grow up?”

His mother grins as she turns around and enters the kitchen. Her gentle voice drifts to Gavin’s ears, and sounds a little hazy.

“After you grow up, you’ll meet someone like Mommy who is willing to celebrate a lifetime of birthdays with you.”

While his mother starts busying herself to prepare Gavin’s birthday feast, Gavin decides to fix the fan in the living room.

With the successful experience of aeromodelling, Gavin picks up the instruction manual and fixes that clanking fan very quickly.

The fixed fan starts rotating to and fro in a leisurely manner, releasing a cooling wind. Gavin closes his eyes to feel the breeze, and his hair is blown up, fluttering messily.

“It’s fixed.” Gavin opens his eyes, turning his head to look at the time.

Noon passed not too long ago, and it’s still very early.

Gavin thinks for a moment, then heads into his room to retrieve the model aircraft. He sits on the steps of the courtyard.

A chunk of paint on the model aircraft cracked a few days ago. Gavin holds a small brush, slowly giving a fresh coat of paint to the tailplane.

The cicadas on the trees are noisy as always, and the brilliant sunlight filters through the leaves, falling on Gavin’s face.

While using the small brush to mend the plane with layers of paint, Gavin occasionally lifts his head towards the nearby door.

Judging by the time, he should still reach today, no matter how late it is.

Birds soar in the sky, and the sun continuously shifts to the west, until it brings twilight with it, turning into a semicircle about to be swallowed up by the horizon.

Gavin sits on the steps for a very long time, from noon till late afternoon, and until the beautiful lines on the model aircraft have been mended, laying beside him quietly.

Yet, that door doesn’t get pushed open.

A few leaves are blown by the wind, and they fall on the wings of the model aircraft. Gavin reaches out to pick the leaves up.

He grips the leaves in his palm, lowering his eyes and thinking about something unknown to anyone else.

With a sudden creak, the sound of a door opening drifts from afar, and footsteps land on Gavin’s ears.

Gavin instantly straightens up, but he quickly faces away.

The tender dusk envelops him, illuminating the slightly upturned corners of his lips.

[ Chapter Six: A Heart of Well Wishes ]

The people who pushed the door open are his maternal grandfather and grandmother.

Carrying a birthday cake, they brim with smiles as they walk towards Gavin.

His grandfather grabs Gavin into a hug.

“We wish our Little Gav a happy birthday.”

His grandmother lifts the cake, waving it at Gavin.

“Grandpa and Grandma specially bought a cake to see you, and to celebrate our Little Gav’s birthday.”

“Thanks, Grandpa and Grandma.”

Gavin receives the cake from his grandmother and heads towards the living room with them. Before walking up the steps, Gavin casts another glance at the door.

The door remains quietly caged in twilight, waiting alongside Gavin.

But even until the evening grows dark, it is never pushed open again.

Wardia notices Gavin’s abnormal silence. When she follows his gaze and looks at the door outside, she realises something.

However, Wardia doesn’t say anything. She simply pauses, then is full of smiles as she opens the cake box.

“Here’s wishing our birthday boy a happy 14th birthday!” His grandparents grin while singing the birthday song.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...”

After singing the birthday song, his mother looks at Gavin, speaking gently.

“Go on and make a wish, Little Gav.”

Gavin stares at the cake and remains silent for a while. Then, he speaks quietly in his heart.

It’s fine if that person doesn't return. It’s fine if he isn’t acknowledged. Anyway, he has celebrated his birthday today, and has grown one year older.

He can fix a fan for his mother, and can use his strength to protect this home.

So-

It’s fine.

-

After dinner, the family sits in the courtyard to enjoy the cool air.

Hearing from his mother that Gavin won the first place in the aeromodelling competition, his grandparents are extremely surprised.

“Little Gav is truly incredible. Isn’t it really difficult to build models? What reward would you like? Grandpa and Grandma will give it to you.”

“There isn’t anything I want as a reward.”

However, his grandfather is very stubborn.

“You’re still so young. How can there be nothing that you want? Just suggest something, and treat it as a gift from your Grandpa and Grandma.”

At this appropriate time, Wardia cuts in. “This is a well wish from your elders, so just accept it.”

Gavin lowers his eyes and thinks for a moment. Then, he lifts his head and responds softly.

“In that case, I want our family to be like this every year in the future.”

He pauses, his eyes carrying within them slight warmth and ease.

“We’ll eat cake together, talk together, and sing the birthday song together.”

"That’s such an easy feat. Every year in the future, Grandpa and Grandma will bring a cake and celebrate Little Gav’s birthday with your Mommy.”

“It’s a deal.”

The evening breeze blows past gently, blowing up stray hairs in front of Gavin’s forehead, revealing a pair of clear amber eyes. He turns back to the courtyard and watches as his grandparents and mother engage in small talk and laughing to their heart’s content.

This is a complete family which has been mended with love, and it has much warmth and many things to look forward to.

It encases the youth’s heart, enabling him to not feel lonely at this moment.

The Milky Way is as magnificent as always. Beneath the brilliant star-studded sky, the tree which has been growing in the courtyard for a very long time stands quietly, as though it would remain this way every year.

Cheri’s Reflections:

Imagine if the letter wasn’t sent because Gavin forgot to put stamps LOL T^T

Not-so-fun fact: Wardia died when Gavin was 15, so this is the last birthday they spent together...

And MC not reading his letter back in Loveland High and leaving him waiting for hours hurts even more now because it probably reminded him of how he waited for his father to no avail

✈️ Spreading Wings Date: here

✈️ Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[script-nef]

Compensation | Gojou Satoru

Category: fluff

3k words; Dinner date [5/6]

← Previous chapter | Masterlist

The door clicks behind you as you retire into your room after another day of work. Fatigue aches at your bones and the bed is soft underneath as you flop onto it. Investing in a cushiony blanket and mattress is probably one of the best decisions you made in your life. If not the best. 

Drifting away into dreamland sounds amazing. If not for All Might.

“A text is here!” 

“Toshinori…” Even though your favourite character is Hawks, there’s no way you’re not setting Yagi as your ringtone. Groaning, you blindly reach for the phone while not moving your smushed face. Comfort prioritises over the ability to breathe. 

Gojou: Hey! T minus an hour to our reservation! Get ready!

Ah, this. Gojou has made good on his promise to make up for the dinner you missed thanks to his theatrics. Something bubbles in your chest.

Since the beach incident, which ended fine with everyone happy and well-rested, something shifted. In the relationship between you and Gojou. Tensing in the neck, quicker palpitation sometimes. Like the feeling you had when you went on that flight to Shinjuku and also at the beach. Repetition is making it concerning. Maybe a trip to Shouko is overdue.

Gojou: Wear smth nice! Me: ? What? Gojou: They have a policy about ties n dresses or smth. Or we can show up in jeans n see how they react! Me: Let’s not. Gojou: K then! C you in 56 mins ;)

There it is again, the bubbles. Shaking your head to dislodge the feeling, you get ready for dinner.

Joints pop as you rise, lazily gathering towels and clothes. Something nice. If it’s a place with attire regulations, it must be pretty high-class. Or maybe he’s just messing with you to see what you would wear. Better not take any chances. 

Thirty minutes and your muscles are much looser thanks to the hot water. The fragrant smell of your shampoo and body wash puts you in a good mood as well. You quickly slip into a dress, a present Gojou got for you some time ago. It’s a soft and flowy one with intricate snowflakes decorating the ends. It became one of your favourites pretty quickly. 

Rhythmic knocks on the door alert you of Gojou’s arrival just as you’re done drying your hair. After checking in the mirror to see if everything is fine, you open your room door.

The only thing same about him from his usual self is the hair and smile. His casual outfit is replaced with a black suit, presumably the one he bought weeks ago when he tagged along with you to buy Ken-chan a present. Somehow it looks better on him now than it did before. Probably the antique hallway lighting than the department one, it just gives him a more cozy vibe. The blindfold is gone, replaced by sunglasses. His gorgeous irises are still hidden from your view. He cleans up well. 

“M’lady.” Bowing slightly, he stretches his hand out for you to take. You oblige with a giggle. The whole gentleman thing is cute.

“You’re on time for once! No, wait, you’re early!” Time seems to elude Gojou all the time. In the years you’ve known him, he’s never come to a meeting on time, let alone early. Especially ones about him by the higher-ups. There was one time where he didn’t even bother to come but Masamichi-san dragged him by the ear. Unfortunately, there’s no photographic proof which could have been used to mock him with.

“Of course I’ll come on time. Oh, you’re wearing the dress I bought you!” Gentleman vibe goes out the window, him returning to his hyperactive self. It’s still pretty cute. Where the hell is this coming from? There’s a constricting feeling in your throat. 

“Oh, you’ve never seen me wear it. It’s one of my favourites now, and I thought you’d like to see it. What do you think?” By now you’re out in the courtyard, illuminated under the moon. Skipping up ahead, you spin a bit, letting the dress flow out. He doesn’t say anything for a while. “Gojou?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Eh?”

“You look… beautiful.”

The softness in his voice catches you off guard. You stop in your track, the clothing falling and resting against your legs. This is a Gojou you haven’t met before, one with such sincerity and tenderness. He steps up, taking one of your hands in his. Something tingles inside your stomach, like fireflies buzzing around and lighting it up with warmth. What’s happening right now?

“I mean it. You’re dazzling.” 

Fire burns under your skin, originating from where he’s holding you and threatens to consume your entire body. The flutter in your stomach is nothing compared to this. Time stops. The only thing you can hear is his breathing and your heart beating. 

Moonlight cascades over him, showering him in an ethereal glow. Snow white hair shines brilliantly and something seizes at your throat. He slowly lowers his lips to meet with the back of your hand, pressing a light yet somehow heavy kiss. 

You're not moving. Not breathing. It feels like you're standing on a sheet-thin glass, a bottomless abyss underneath you. If you move even a centimeter, take even the slightest of breathes, the moment will break and you'll plummet down. 

Lungs scream at you to breathe. You can't. Not while he's still holding your hand with such gentle sincerity. Heat travels to every cell in your body and the flicker inside your stomach gets unbearable. 

The moment finally ends when his lips detach from your hand. Air slowly returns as he runs his fingers over your knuckles. When he peers down at you, there's just a momentary flash of piercing blue behind his sunglasses that makes your breath hitch. 

"Shall we go?" 

Shooting you a sweet smile, he doesn't let go of your hand and marches on forward. You barely remember to keep up, brain scrambled and chest exploding.

“This is an exclusive place. How did you get reservations this fast?”

“My stunning good looks!”

“Gojou.” 

“Apparently someone cancelled their reservations. Looks and luck. What don’t I have?”

“Humility.

“That cuts me, [Name].”

Stifling laughter, you look out of the window and onto the street. A few weeks ago the view would have been amazing, but now that you’ve experienced flying, nothing measures up to it. There hasn’t been another flight break as you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him for one, since he was so busy, but the exhilaration of the trip never quite left your body. 

When you turn your attention back to him, there’s a lit candle on the table and Gojou’s resting his head on his hand, staring at you. The intensity can be felt over his sunglasses.

“What’s up with the candlelight?”

“No idea.”

Attempts for small talk are useless. A silence sits in the air. Not the comfortable kind that you normally have with him, working in your office while he takes a nap on the sofa nearby. Or the one when he unceremoniously interrupts a break in the garden by coming up and resting his head on your lap, enjoying a soak in the sun with you. Or when you’re eating in the cafeteria together.

Something is just off here. It might be because of… his act earlier. Just thinking about it is enough to bring the blush back. But no, it's more to do with this place. It's much nicer than your school, expensive chandeliers and tablecloths, the air of refinery that everyone else naturally oozes. But it’s distant, detached. It doesn’t suit you or him. Eventually, you break.

“Why did you bring me here?” The smile disappears off of Gojou’s face and his brow scrunches in confusion.

“I thought girls liked this kind of thing!”

"Well, yeah, it’s exclusive for a reason. But I… don’t feel comfortable here. I’m grateful that you brought me here, and I appreciate all the effort you put into this to secure a place for us. It’s just that this feels way too serious to make up for a missed meal. I feel terrible that you went through all that trouble for me. I’m fine with somewhere more casual and comfortable, not the most expensive place you can take me.”

“You think this is the most expensive place I can take you? I’m wounded.” Gojou grips at his heart but the easy-going smile tells a different story. You give him a tentative smile back, worried he might be offended underneath his smile.

“Unless you want to stay here? I’m fine with that as well, this is completely up to you.”

“Nope, it’s up to you. Wanna head out then?” He holds his hand out again. You take it without a second thought. 

“Where is this?”

“My favourite restaurant! They have the best dango for dessert. And of course, the main menus are good as well.” He’s so consistent. 

Customers and chefs alike stare at you two when you walk in. Which is expected when Gojou’s dressed in an immaculate designer suit that’s in complete contrast to the humble and cozy interior of the shop. Some avert their gaze when they realise they’re being rude, but you can see them sneaking a peek from the corners of their eyes. You’re not dressed up as Gojou is, but mortification still flushes your cheeks. It gets worse when he guides you over to a table, leading you to a table by hugging you from behind. This never bothered you before so why is it affecting you so much now?

“Here you go.” He pushes a chair back for you to sit in. A server greets you with a smile, handing over the menu then disappears again. “Is this place better?”

It really is. Spices and the smell of broth leak into the eating areas, triggering your taste buds and causing you to salivate. People chatter and yell and cheer, the cacophony of noises filling the place with livelihood unlike the cold silence of the previous restaurant. This is somehow more peaceful. A smile blooms on your face. 

“This is perfect.” 

The rest of the night is smooth sailing. Gojou knows your taste in food perfectly, expertly recommending which ones to try out. The food is impeccable and the dangos are exquisite, the perfect blend of sweet and chewy. Conversation flows easily once you’re comfortable and blocking out whatever the courtyard thing was. 

He's been away for a while due to a sudden influx in curses so it's nice to have some quality time together like this. With your belly full and warmth spreading over your body, you were ready to hit the sack. 

That is, if he didn’t offer sake to end the night. 

“Hmmm sleepy…” Alcohol doesn’t taste nice. Fuzziness takes over your brain, like thoughts are all mixing with each other and the room is spinning weirdly. Closing your eyes helps. Lights are way still way too bright and it feels like sweat is pouring off you by buckets. Someone’s calling your name but the wall is so nice and cool against your blazing skin. 

“Didn’t know you’d be this much of a lightweight. Hey, hey, you with me?” Gojou’s blurry face comes into view when you open your eyes. Giggles escape you for absolutely no reason. 

“Gojou!” 

“Yes, yes, I’m here. I think you need to stop drinking. Nanami might never let me see you again.” 

“Your cheeks are so squishy!” It’s soft and smooth underneath your fingers, like he doesn’t have pores. Maybe you can’t feel pores with fingers but his skin is just that flawless. “Drop your skincare routine, baby skin.”

“You had like three cups, how are you this drunk? I already paid so let’s go back to school. Lift your arms?” You obey obediently and something warm encases you. A familiar and delightful scent assaults your nose. There’s a click, a lot of clicks, like someone’s taking a photo. You can’t be bothered looking to check. “Can you stand?”

“Mm…” 

“Guess that’s a no. Keep your eyes closed.” 

Your stomach lurches as you’re pulled onto your feet, supported by something under your arms. Cold air rushes onto your face and makes you whine. There’s a call of “thank you” which you reply in your drunken stupor with “I’ll be back!” Laughter comes somewhere from above. 

It’s dark enough outside that you can open your eyes again. Everything’s still a bit hazy but you can find your balance now.

“You think you can handle flying?” There’s really no way to tell other than to try it. So you nod.

There’s a blank memory between that decision and the moment you arrive at your doorsteps. Literally nothing. You blinked after making that choice and now you’re standing outside your room door. You would have fallen thanks to disorientation if not for Gojou supporting you by the small of your back.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

He stands around while you get ready to sleep, helping you tie your hair and catching you when you lose balance. After washing, you stare at him and he stares right back. The stare-off continues. He finally gets the message when you point at the dress and walks out. It’s a struggle to get out of clothes in an inebriated state but after much wrestling, you manage. 

Climbing into the bed, you’re about to actually fall asleep when there’s a knock on the door. Groans answer it because it’s way too far away. The person opposite seems to get the message and comes in. You peek and it’s Gojou with a plastic shopping bag. Sitting down and making himself comfortable on the bed, he ruffles through the bag.

“Hey, you have to drink this. It’ll help tomorrow.” He helps you sit up but pauses for a second. Your eyes flicker open. He’s looking at your body. “Are you still wearing my jacket? After you’ve changed?”

“Yup! Smells nice!” You bury your face in the lapel as if to prove a point. The grip on your arm tightens and he looks down. 

“It smells nice?” 

“Mhm. It's you. I feel like I'm being protected." He lets go of you, instead choosing to cover his face in his hands. His ears look red. Flicking it looks fun. "Gojou? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Drink the medicine." Even with your messed up, alcohol-ridden tongue, it tastes bad. Attempts at whining and escaping is futile because he's stronger than you. "There you go. Now sleep."

He helps you down this time, brushing your hair with his fingers and cleaning up after himself. It's nice and fluffy inside the covers. Gojou takes your hand again, pressing another kiss on the back of it. Shorter than the last time but the intensity hasn't changed. 

"Don't leave." It’s basically a whisper, but Gojou freezes immediately. There's no sound for a while and you can't see what's happening because of your drooping eyelids. Alcohol is great at inducing sleep. A rustling sound and his fingers interlocks with yours. 

“You want me to stay? I’d almost say you like me.” His voice is low as well, but still with a teasing lilt, like he's trying to help you fall asleep. So considerate. Always so considerate.

"Maybe." The word trails off into a mumble. Alcohol also gets rid of your filters and the understanding of when to stop talking.

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"Dunno… You're making me feel weird things…" Digging yourself further into the covers, you try to block out even the faint lamplight. Having none of that, Gojou pulls you out from the blanket cave, ignoring your whines.

"You'll suffocate in there. I'm fine with doing CPR but Nanami might not. What do you mean by 'weird things'?" 

"I don't know… There was like… this thing inside my stomach when you did the thing out in the uh… place. My insides felt itchy and weird thanks to you. Take that!" It probably could not have been more easier to catch your fist. "Noooo, you deserve to be hit! You did something to me… That's why I feel so weird when I'm around you. Ever since the beach trip… I sometimes get heart thumps when I see you… It doesn't make sense why I'm feeling this… I don't feel it with other people…" 

In an attempt to show how annoyed you are, you try to flail around on the bed but it comes out more as a tiny jiggle. Like a caterpillar. Gojou lets out a chuckle. It sounds like he’s laughing at you. Smacking him comes to mind but you’re comfortable right now so you’ll forgive him. By now you’re just mumbling into the blanket.

"Because like… it's the same. You know? This, this… whatever this is… Like in the movies, the fluffy ones. When the girl falls in love with the guy. They show like the whole thing with like the thingies… The close up, the blush, heartbeat getting quicker in the background… Thump thump, yeah? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Silence is his answer. You know he's still there because his hand is still connected to yours.

Sleep addles your mind. There's a whole lot of words popping up, like "Gojou" and "dinner" and "date" for some reason. But it's too late and everything is shutting down. Softly, slowly, you sink into slumber.

"Gojou?" Still nothing. "Hmmm you're asleep as well, huh? That's fine, that's good. You do so much to save everyone, you deserve a break. Like a hero… So brave, so selfless… Really stupid as well, so immature… Hn, maybe I do like you…"

"Say that again?" Oh, he's back. And he's gently shaking your hand, trying to keep you awake. But your consciousness is slipping away and soon everything turns into a pleasant hum.

The last thing you feel is something soft pressing against your forehead.

Next chapter →

[flowercrown-bard]

To give without knowing (1/ ?)

Inspired by YorkandDelta <3

pairing: Geraskier

word count: 2k

summary: Jaskier finds a wooden figure Geralt had carved and thrown away in the woods and thinks it’s a gift from the fae

read on AO3

next

Witchers didn’t carry pretty trinkets and momentos with them. What use would they be? All they did was take up too much space in the bags and get in the way. So Geralt made a point not to get attached. Not to places, not to people and not to objects that weren’t strictly necessary for his survival. Least of all he got attached to the small wooden animals he found himself carving whenever he was alone with his thoughts and certain that no one was around to watch him craft them. Which happened less and less these days, ever since meeting the bard that refused to leave his side and was doing everything in his power to get Geralt to grow attached to him.

On the rare occasions that Jaskier was away, playing at some court or visiting his friends, Geralt found himself carving the little animals with more vigour than he had before he had met the bard, as if the scraping of the blade scratching over the wood was replacing the noise the bard was taking with him whenever he left. If Geralt were a man of pretty words and poetry he might have looked at the figures he carved to fill the silence left by his friend's absence and thought it poetic and meaningful in a way. But Geralt wasn't a poet. He was a witcher and witchers didn't give objects meaning. They didn’t grow attached. So he dropped the useless figures after finishing them on the forest floor and forgot about them. He didn't care about what happened to them. Didn’t care that he would never see them again. Until one day in early spring he found himself caring more than he'd ever thought possible.

Geralt had just closed his eyes, enjoying the thought of a quiet night of rest in an actual bed at an inn after a day of a brutal fight when the door was thrown open unceremoniously. Geralt cranked one eye open and shot a glare at the bard - dressed in obnoxious colours and with a smile that really shouldn't be so blinding - striding into the room. "You couldn't have knocked?" Geralt grunted, hoping his tone would hide the way his lips wanted to lift into a smile at the sight of his friend. The winter had been too long and if Geralt’s protesting muscles hadn’t made him aware of the movement he had made to get up, he would have probably tried to do something stupid like hug the bard. As it were, the only greeting Jaskier received after all the time spend apart was a grunt and a nod. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his face brightened at the familiar mannerisms. "I think we both know that if I had knocked you would have told me to fuck off. But now that you are in my wonderful presence you would never dare do that." "Jaskier," Geralt said, looking Jaskier deep in the eyes. "Fuck off." Jaskier threw his head back laughing. "Not a chance. We both know you're happy to see me." Geralt rolled his eyes but didn't deny the accusation. He couldn't tell if Jaskier noticed. His friend was too occupied putting his lute down and letting himself fall onto the bed with a content sigh. "Oh the joys of uncomfortable inn-beds," Jaskier groaned, running a hand down his face. "You are free to sleep on the floor," Geralt said with a bemused grin. "Aha!“ Jaskier shot back up and pointed a finger triumphantly at Geralt's nose. "So you do want me to share the room with you!" Of course I do. Geralt huffed and crossed his arms. "You wouldn't leave no matter what I said." Somehow Jaskier's smile got even brighter and Geralt's mouth went dry. "You know me too well, dear friend." Geralt hummed non-committally. Jaskier seemed to take it as a sign to start unpacking. Geralt leaned back and listened with closed eyes to the sound that had become routine; the noise of Jaskier bustling about, of the fabric of his night clothes unfolding, of Jaskier chattering away as he found the best spot to put his lute. It all sounded painfully like returning someplace safe.

For a foolish moment Geralt let himself imagine that they weren't at an inn, but in a place they could call home. The illusion and the routine were disrupted by a noise that didn't belong to their normalcy; the dull thud of wood on wood. Geralt opened his eyes again. His breath got stuck on his throat when he saw what Jaskier had put on the night stand. It was a chunky wooden figure of a bear, the wood unpolished and weakened by rain. The craftsmanship was clumsy at best and Geralt knew exactly why: because this figure had been carved with a dagger I stead of the appropriate carving tools. More specifically, Geralt's dagger. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the little bear. His little bear. No, not his. He had no use for these kinds of things. They didn't mean anything to him after he left them in the woods to rot. And yet... The thought of Jaskier having found one of them didn't sit right with Geralt. It did something strange and uncomfortable to his chest. It shouldn't bother him as it did, but he couldn't help but wish Jaskier had never seen Geralt's clumsy attempts at crafting something beautiful. Not when Jaskier himself was a master of creating beautiful things; weaving flower crowns with clever fingers and spinning tales and songs with his silver tongue. Geralt's eyes flickered up to Jaskier who had gone strangely still. Their eyes met and for a terrifying moment Geralt was certain Jaskier knew. He knew that Geralt was the one who had made this imperfect thing that wasn't worth picking up and Jaskier was mocking him with it. Geralt's stomach clenched painfully and he was overcome with the sudden need to flee. But then Jaskier's eyes crinkled with his brilliant smile and a wave of giddy excitement rolled off of him. "It's pretty isn't it?" Jaskier said and took the figure in hand again, holding it up as if to inspect it more closely. "I can't believe I finally found one too." Geralt stared at him dumbfounded. "Too?" "Why of course. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who hasn't been blessed by the forest spirits." Geralt's brows drew together. Jaskier must have noticed his confusion - or maybe he was just happy to talk and have Geralt listen - for he began to explain with shining eyes. "Those figures appear all over. Mostly in forests but sometimes they appear on the road as well. People have been finding them for decades. Have you never noticed how people put them on mantle pieces or carry them with them for protection?" Geralt schooled his face into neutral expression while his mind was racing. He had never intended for anyone to find his carvings. He had never wanted anyone to find them. They were... They didn't mean anything. There was no reason for people - for Jaskier - to get so excited about them. "They say that it's the fae's way of showing their favour,” Jaskier continued, unaware of Geralt’s inner turmoil. “The figures bring luck to those who find them. Well, at least that's one version of the tale. Over in Brugge they say that the figures are charmed and protect the bearer. One of my old teachers in Oxenfurt always said that someone who finds a wooden animal in the woods is bound to get together with their true love within a year. I always liked that version the best. What do you think, is this the year I finally get my true love?"

Jaskier winked at Geralt and nudged him playfully in the ribs. Geralt's mouth went dry and he forced himself to look away from the way Jaskier's eyes lit up. He told himself the only reason why his stomach was churning was because Jaskier would be disappointed when he realised that there was no magic in these carvings. It had nothing to do with the thought of Jaskier finding someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and leave Geralt for them. "Fae would never show their favour to humans. If those things," he nodded his chin to the bear, "were made by the fae they would probably bear a curse. And they would be prettier," he added in a tone that wasn't meant sound that bitter. Jaskier gasped outraged and clutched the bear to his chest as if that could protect it. "How dare you!" he half-shouted in a voice if utter indignation. "I'll have you know that my little bear is perfect. And it does bring luck. After all, I found you mere hours after finding it." Jaskier lifted his chin triumphantly as if he had won an argument. Geralt huffed. "You call that lucky?" It came out more as a grumble than the playful tone he had aimed for. Geralt hadn't meant it to sound so dismissive, but it was better than letting the softness that rose up in him at Jaskier’s words creep into his voice instead. "Yes I do," Jaskier said with a finality that didn't allow any more protests. "And I would appreciate it if you could stop scowling at it as if you wanted to smash it." Geralt turned away with a shrug that looked more nonchalant than he felt. "I don't care what happens to it," he repeated the thoughts he had had so many times before and that for the first time might be a lie, "It's just a piece of wood. Nothing special about it." "I beg to differ. It's quite special to me." There was something in the way Jaskier said it so softly that made it hard to breath. Something unpleasant squirmed in Geralt's chest. He risked another glance at Jaskier who was looking down at the figure in his hand as if it was something to be treasured. It shouldn't feel so nice to have Jaskier hold something Geralt had made and look at it as if it was precious. It felt as if Geralt had given him a gift. Except, if Geralt actually had done that Jaskier wouldn't look at the figure with shining eyes. He wouldn’t smile like that if he knew who it really was from. No one wanted a gift from a witcher. Least of all Jaskier who had admirers sending him expensive doublets, bottles of wine and other luxuries a witcher wouldn’t be able to afford in his wildest dreams. Anything Geralt would have been able to offer Jaskier would have been nothing in comparison. So Geralt did the only thing he could and always pushed the thought of buying Jaskier nice things as far away from his mind as possible. Trying to gift Jaskier beautiful things that might make him happy was bound to fail for someone like Geralt. But here was Jaskier, stroking a finger absentmindedly over the wood as if it was polished and smooth. Geralt cleared his throat. "I'm glad you like it then." That seemed to content Jaskier, for he rewarded Geralt with a dazzling smile and put the little figure back in the nightstand right in Geralt's line of vision. Jaskier probably did it out of some sense of petty smugness, but as night fell and the little bear that for some reason meant so much to Jaskier watched over them, Geralt couldn't help but feel warm. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so bad if his figures had found their way to a poet after all who could give meaning to them. Maybe sometimes tall tales of fae gifts and blessings from forest spirits helped bring a smile to a bard’s face and bring him some happiness that Geralt wouldn’t have been able to give him otherwise.

Next to him Jaskier turned over in his sleep and pressed his forehead against the space between Geralt’s shoulder blades, sighing contently. Under the curtain of the night Geralt allowed himself a little smile.

Maybe sometimes it wasn’t so bad to get attached after all.

[p33paw]

blue

zhongli x f!reader

summary | zhongli realizes he can’t always protect you

warnings | major character death

word count | ~1.7k

links | ao3

Standing in the grass, illuminated only by the moonlight's cold midnight silver is a man. He holds in his arms a woman. She nearly glows, the moonlight turning blue where it mixes with her skin, reflected back to him. She turns her head toward the man, the rise and fall of her chest shifting the silk fabric that blankets it.

"Will you tell me about the glaze lilies again?" She asks.

The man takes a breath before speaking, a heavy inhale that shifts both of their bodies, tightening his hands where they hold her.

"Of course." He says, barely louder than a whisper, before he begins to lecture.

The depth of his voice makes his spoken words seem louder, projecting his speech outwards. Though, where his voice is usually grounded, there's a tremble, an uneasiness. It breaks as he finishes speaking, looking up with eyes that drip gold, fixed to the face of the woman in his arms.

She sighs to him. "Could we go see them?"

The man swallows his words, eyes flicking down the length of her face until reaching her just parted lips.

"Yes." He finally says, quieter than before.

The woman smiles, small, private, missable by the man. She shifts her head in, resting it against his chest, tilting her chin in to brush her cheek across the silks he wears.

He keeps her held tight in his arms, one under her knees, the other looping her shoulders. He strides through the misted grass, barefoot, cutting through to an arch that breaks the wall enclosing the garden that they're in. Just beyond it is a forest of bamboo, dense enough to cut the moonlight, sending it cascading down in pulses, scattered by the leaves that it bleeds through.

The man walks confidently, deliberately. He seems prepared for this walk, despite his general state of being underdressed.

Both look ready for bed.

Color cuts under the woman's eyes, deepening them, giving away her exhaustion. It's apparent in the way she moves and speaks, slow, measured. She closes them as the man walks with her, carrying her through the bamboo forest, careful that not a single leaf brushes her and bothers her from her rest.

He only looks at her again once he's reached a pond, lifting his hand until his thumb brushes against her cheek. He uses it to caress, dragging the pad of his thumb to follow her cheekbone to the corner of her eye and further, until he reaches her hair, brushing it back.

Her eyes open again, meeting his for a shared moment of intimacy. Holding the eye-contact, she blinks, slow, before glancing away at the pond she's been brought to. She takes it in, a clear pond set in stone, broken only by an island in the center.

The grass dances with the wind, gently swaying, blades brushing against each other to create soft noise that fills silence. Springing forth from the grass on the island are long stemmed flowers, blooming to display in the moonlight.

They glow, soft, blue where the moonlight reflects from them.

The woman smiles, turning her face back in toward the man. She looks up to his eyes, catching them. For a moment, his serious expression softens as he looks at her, tenderness and age showing in the look he gives.

"I want to lay with them." The woman finally says, before the couple falls back into silence.

The man takes another heavy inhale of the air, perfumed by the scent of flowers and fresh water. He nods, once, then steps forward.

He walks directly into the bank of the pond, then, unwaveringly, into the water. It surrounds him, seeping through his clothes as he trudges deeper into the pool, past his knees, then higher up his thighs. The woman flinches once her body finally hits the water, her dragging skirt and sleeves already saturated.

"I'm cold." She says through chattering teeth, tilting her face into the man's neck and hiding there.

Though the man doesn't say a word, his arms tighten, lifting her higher, until she's out of the water, cradled to his chest. The water encroaches, up his waist, up his chest, then rests there as he wades to the island in the center.

The lift to the bank there is sharp, immediate. He lifts from the water soaked, his garments heavy as water streams from them. He walks as though nothing is the matter, and his clothes weigh nothing more.

He carries the woman to the center of the island, where the bloom of flowers is the thickest, covering the ground like a blanket. He stops there, sudden, tilting his head back to look at the moon.

"They're in full bloom." He says.

The woman hardly stirs, only lifting her head from his neck to look to the ground. When she speaks, it's with admiration.

"It's beautiful." She says, then lifts a hand to squeeze his shoulder, signaling to be let down.

The man listens, lowering her to lay amongst the flowers, careful not to crush any. She musters another smile, though it looks tired, lifting a hand to pluck a single lily and lift it. Her hand slips, dropping the lily to the ground before she can bring it to her face.

The man is quick to catch the flower, lifting it for her until she can inhale, breathing in the natural scent. He holds until she pulls back, seemingly satisfied. Then, he lifts it, tucking it into her hair behind her ear.

His attention catches, his eyes remaining locked to the fresh bloom as it rests tangled in her hair. He grazes along the shape of it, tracing the petals with his fingertips.

"It is." He finally says, a delayed response to her thought. "The glass petals remind me of you." With that, his eyes finally leave the flower, fixing back to the woman's face. "They remind me of how fragile you are. How—" He hesitates, dragging in a steadying breath. "Breakable."

The woman blinks.

"Isn't that why you have your shield?" She asks, voice teasing. "To eternalize me? To keep me guarded?"

"Yes." The man replies back, quick, voice wavering. "I figured with my shield, I'd never have to watch someone I love suffer." Hurt curls his words. "That's what it's for."

The woman blinks again, staring up at the face of the man. It takes her some time to move, but she lifts her hand, slow, intentional, cupping his cheek just the same as he did to her. She brushes his jaw with her thumb, and he turns into it, closing his eyes, pressing his lips to her palm and breathing. The silence is weighted, until broken by the man.

"Please—" He begs out, his eyes still closed, like he can't stand to look at her. "Just let me— let me save you— I can still— I can save you—" His voice breaks for him to breathe, ragged, wet with tears.

He finally opens his eyes, soft gold light radiating from them.

"Please." He whispers.

The woman holds his eye contact, taking a heavy breath and continuing to stroke his cheek. Her face has softened, the exhaustion dragging her eyes deeper and deeper.

"I'm sorry." She says.

The man's eyes close again, squeezing shut. He tilts his head down, lifting both of his hands to hold the woman's wrist, holding her hand to his face.

"Please— please— please—" He whispers, repeated, broken. "I can't lose you—"

The woman lets him speak, until his eyes open. He pleads with them, holding her eye contact as her expression deepens further.

"You'll be okay." She soothes, lifting a hand to wipe his tears. He presses into it with his entire body, buckling over to hover his face next to hers.

She lets him get closer, until they're nearly sharing breath.

"Winning the favor of an Archon, does not deserve me immortality." She whispers to him, "Let me go." As she finishes, she closes the distance, chastely pressing her lips to his.

His body is rigid, all of his focus on the point where they meet, trying to remember every moment of it. When she finally pulls back, his eyes are open, a resigned calm in his expression.

He nods in acceptance.

Another smile melts the woman's face, crinkling her eyes. She looks away from him again, up to the sky, directly to the moon as it illuminates her.

"Thank you, Zhongli." She says letting her eyes shut as he squeezes her hand with his. "For all of my courage, I was always afraid to die alone."

It's the last words spoken, the couple falling into silence, until her breaths get shallower, her body breaking into itself. Just as her breath catches, her eyes open once more, locking onto the man's, a moment of panic and pain clear in her expression, just before she labors her final breath.

As her body finally relaxes in the man's arms, his body breaking into her just the same, a miasma surrounds her. It's gold like the eyes of the man, forming around her body. Nothing breaks through it, shielding her from even the wind.

The man's expression remains unchanged, other than the golden tears that stream his face. He sits with her, running his thumb along her cheek until the moon fades from the sky, and the sun rises, exposing to him what he already knows.

His protection was useless.

***

Everyone knows of Zhongli, of his warm smile, the stories he can tell, the timbre of his voice as he speaks, and the depth of his knowledge. They also know, he leaves town at sunset every day to rest.

What they don't, is that he goes to his home, changes his clothes, and walks out the back entrance. There, resting in his wall, is an arch that leads out to a bamboo forest. It's thick, but through the undergrowth is a trail worn by repetition. It leads directly to a pond.

In the center, an island that breaks the water. Sprouting from the grass are glaze lilies with flowers wider than your palm. He tends to them, bringing them water, rooting their weeds.

Every full moon he sits among the flowers and reads to them throughout the night. It's then that the moon is bright enough for the glaze lilies to bloom their fullest, reflecting blue where the moonlight illuminates them.