#there's at least three women in this whose names start with an S and now that i think about it not that many men really?

[nostalgia-tblr]

fuck i've got an outline now

i think i did actually have one of those "this fic would need to be SUPER long like at least 20k* words" AU ideas while i was half-asleep. behind a cut because i probably can't be bothered to actually write it/i feel like i shouldn't in case people think i am obsessed with weird baby-making plots**

It's basically just your traditional Sylki Arranged Marriage AU where the sylki arranged marriage is because in this AU when they all pop off to Jotunheim in that first movie Thor dies (RIP) and the peace needs to be re-negotiated and oh no now we only have one boy and they only have one girl, best pair them off so they can start making spare heirs Just In Case. It is Hate At First Sight because of that. (Oh, maybe she personally killed Thor? Harsh!) But they have to awkwardly bang on occasion Because Dynastic Reasons, and I think Sif/Sylvie should be a thing in it because why not? What's the point of having more than one female character available if they don't kiss each other a bit? (Let me know if you find out!)

I just think Thor 1 Cold Bastard Loki would pair badly but in a good way well with Just Let Me Stab Everyone Jotunheim Sylvie, u know? And then Odin can die mid-story so everyone gets promoted. And then idk they name the baby Thor I guess. Everyone's probably fine after that, which feels both emotionally real and dramatically compelling, right? Right!

I feel like I only managed 8 chapters last time because literally half the fic was sex scenes, and I probably couldn't do that with this one? So that's an inherent flaw right there for a start.

*yeah shut up.

** D:

[sgiandubh]

The door faces North

This has been, by far, one of the most complex investigations I have ever done in this fandom, and I am truly sorry for the long wait I had to inflict on many of you & for the uncharacteristic radio silence in DMs and comments. During this peculiar journey, I checked, double-checked and cross-checked as many details as I could and I carefully considered at least two different theories, of which I still think they do not exclude each other. I am now confident enough to make not only an educated guess, but also a daring bet on SRH's next whisky move.

Also, sorry for the length of this post. Truly sorry - think of the completely pulverized night sleep I had to give up, in order to bring this to you.

But first, a word on Marple's obvious PR tip on the Hopetoun Estate refurbishment and distillery old/new project. I am fair game enough to tell you the obvious: her overall recounting of the principals is roughly correct, spare perhaps one or two minor details. Correct, but dry - she limits herself to the technical documentation submitted by Golden Decanters and The Hopetoun Estates Trust to the West Lothian Council for approval. She correctly points out that S is not a visible part of the deal, at this point in time and she does a decent summing up of a very, very, VERY plethoric amount of bureaucratic information. She concludes, and I think she is partially right, that he might be interested in becoming an investor (I am taking things a bit further, though). But in doing so, she focuses on the development phase of the project only: the possible connections with SRH and his own spirits business are less, if at all, obvious.

I am going to give you my view of all this charade and, if I am going to mention (and probably repeat) some things already found by her, I am going to focus on the people: this is where the whole story starts to become remarkably interesting, at least to me. After all, I remember promising you some more clarity. Here's an honest, fair play take.

Little did I know, when I started to write about that (now defunct) company, Midhope Castle Distillery, Ltd (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/748597198794670080/the-info-provided-above-is-correct-but-outdated?source=share), that my investigation would turn to this:

... for it was to be just an almost random layer of a juggernaut matryoshka of defunct or still active companies, featuring roughly the same people and no less than 6 different name combinations centered around Midhope, Hopetoun, etc.

The following pics will give you an idea - feel free to open them in a separate tab, for clarity . I preferred this synthetic approach, because otherwise you will curse the shite out of me. But it had to be done, with or without Depon, Advil's Greek cousin (and before you ask a graphologist, this is my handwriting, and nobody else's 🙃):

The only explanation for the whole almost frantic Midhope/Hopetoun crisscross/hopscotch (LOL) combos I can think of is two people trying to secure one (several?) credit lines or to attract significant investors for their project and ultimately failing to do so. But I might be wrong (although I doubt that, thank you). Out of this entire maze ( I swear I now have a migraine), there are only two active companies remaining: Golden Decanters Ltd (renamed GD Spirits Ltd, in April 2022) and Midhope Ltd (renamed Skosk Ltd, in July 2023). It is on them I am going to focus my gaze.

GD Spirits Ltd was incorporated in Berwick-upon-Tweed, England (just across the Scottish border), probably for tax reasons, on March 11, 2015, the nature of its business being listed as 'wholesale of wine, beer, spirits, etc.'. It started with a team of two women: Julia Mackenzie-Gillanders and Ann Medlock, whose names we are going to see over and over again in all the eight corporate avatars. Later down the timeline (LOL for three decades and a half), on January 30, 2018, they were briefly (until July 19, 2018) joined by two very interesting professionals: Mrs. Margaret Boswell, an attorney at the very prestigious international law firm Gide Loyrette Nouel (Paris and London offices)...

...and Ken Robertson, former Corporate Affairs Director at Diageo Whisky, a subsidiary of the international Diageo group, one of the major players on the world spirits' market:

The second company, Skosk Ltd, was incorporated in August 2021, in Perth, Scotland, its nature of business being listed as 'distilling, rectifying and blending of spirits', with the clear intention to align with the exacting criteria prescribed by the 2009 Scotch Whisky Regulations:

[ Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scotch_whisky - sorry, I don't have time to wax lyrical on this, and neither do you]

This time, we only meet again the two distillerettes, Gillanders and Medwick. Up until now, at least, nobody else (attorney, former sales executive, whisky expert) has joined the platoon - TBC? I would not speculate and leave all options open.

There is little to 0 transparency on Skosk's financial situation, at the moment and to be honest, it looks very much like S's co-star (hehe)'s Irish business venture...

... but I was a bit more lucky, and the numbers more chatty, as far as GD Spirits was concerned:

Paging all shipper chartered accountants out there, but to me, it doesn't look great, at the moment. Cash is ridiculous, the net worth is hemorrhaging and the current assets are negligible, compared to 2020, when I think they managed to secure one or two credit lines, but not nearly enough for what they needed. Just enough to pay themselves and their external consultants and cover the operating costs, if you ask me.

The revised Planning Statement, of 8 February 2024, posted first by Marple, echoes my initial guess (COVID blew it up, see link to the first post) and the above assessment:

Mark this: 'Discussions are now proceeding with investors and there is a realistic prospect that work will begin in the near future (2024/2025) to implement the permission.' Given that they will start with the road and parking rehabilitation and upgrading, probably overlapping with the distillery building, it would make sense to begin this autumn at the earliest, with the most urgent: access to the site itself.

The initial Planning Statement, dated 9 July 2020 and re-posted on March 21st, 2024, tells a more detailed story. This is part and parcel of the current project as well, since the revision is just pointing out the changes operated, not the entire rest, which remains unchanged. You be the judge:

Also keep in mind this tiny, tiny thing: the Business Plan is 'submitted (...) under Private and Confidential Cover'. See where I am looking?

The initial plan was (and still is) for GD Spirits to produce their own booze, using Midhope's own barley (this is very important for the rest of my theory!). They even offer an overview of the real impact of their project on the local economy:

20 to 38 initial new job creations for a £ 15 to 30 million investment is not 'huge', madam Marple. Cumbernauld is huge. This? This is rather modest, if you ask me. But hey, what do I know about the labor market, right?

That initial Statement tells also the story they want to tell about the genesis of their idea, the scouting for the right location and a couple of other interesting details:

So they are telling us they started to look for the perfect location in 2018 and oh, hello, they found the Hopetoun Estate rather quickly, already starting the pre-planning application consultations as early as July 2019 (don't get me started, please):

If so, then why did they incorporate not one, but two different companies clearly linking them to the Estate (Hopetoun Estate Distillery Ltd and Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd) the same day and as early as May 23rd 2017 (and both dissolved in December 2022), as my above penciled timeline (LOOOOOL) shows? Who is really behind this project and why this entire ballet? It's like me pre-emptively looking for rental properties in (let's randomly guess) Lisbon, when it's just wishful thinking, heavily projecting and with 0 guarantees I will be posted there, right? I mean, I adore and deeply know Lisbon and I would be thrilled to go there. But I am not currently looking for any rental property, just like that, because that would be a #silly, rookie mistake. In their case, I think there's a different situation - again, you be the judge.

A first answer, as to who is really behind that project, was given by the UK media, back in 2020:

How odd, when we know that both Mrs. Boswell, the well-traveled attorney and Mr. Robertson resigned from GD Spirits in July 2018. Do they still say hi to the two distillerettes? Do they quietly keep an eye on the project? Are they silent partners? Business angels? Shareholders? Time to remind you that under UK law, there is 0 visibility on the shareholder's structure of a company. You just see the officers (Director, Secretary, etc), on the Company House website. On an umpteenth, last- second cross-check, it became apparent that Mr. Robertson remained involved in another company of the distillerettes, Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd (yes, the one mentioned above), until its voluntary strike-off, in December 2022.

Their best laid plans do mention OL, and how could it be otherwise? But all this £ 15 to 30 million hullaballoo for 20.000 people only (who counted them and how?), on a seasonal basis?

High-end restaurant, luxury B&B, event spaces, you name it. Interesting, to say the least.

And, for the people in the back, who still think SRH has a 100 years lease at Midhope (Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, the stupidity!):

This is why he commented as a 'member of the public'. At face value, there is no public involvement into that project. Yet. But it is my belief there is a vested interest in all this, justifying the comment, the visit, those papers rolled in his fist, etc. At first, I thought that was a visit to Lallybroch by the Exec Producer of OL's Season 8, to discuss technicalities - and shared that privately with a wonderful friend only. I mean, why not and still perfectly possible. But then, as I could not sleep tonight and felt guilty to have you all waiting, I started to connect some tiny dots.

Like this one, for a start:

Yes, I know, Marple told you that FIRST, I would not dare say otherwise, because if I did there would be a transcontinental screech. That trademark application was filed at the US Patent and Trade Office in September 2023 and I thought (and still partially do) it was a potential rebranding solution to The Sassenach's EUIPO nightmare (much exaggerated by the fandom's toothbrush experts):

But you also know I am an idiot and I always check people's CVs, when I follow a thread. This morning, the one Distillerette I am particularly interested in is Mrs. Julia Hall-Mackenzie-Gillanders (née Scales) and not like *urv would be.

Her LinkedIn profile is exceptionally talkative, too:

... and a BA (with Honors) in Fashion Design, class of 2005, at the Northumbria University.

The Financial Times article 'From packing boxes to wine deals worth millions', you can read on her LinkedIn page, tells a very interesting story. It is the story of a shy underdog (lots of temple bells clinging, at the moment), who made it by sheer persistence. It starts like this:

'When a painfully shy young woman contacted a fine wine merchant and said ' I have no qualifications- can I help?', she got the job and today is signing deals worth millions of pounds.'

It obviously did ring a bell and if SRH knows she exists (she is married, *urv!), and I dare to speculate he does, it must have struck a deep chord. Would I do business with her? I wouldn't speculate, although I am not very sure. Would he? He'd probably listen very carefully to what she has to pitch, for a start.

And what she has to pitch is also very interesting, in his world. A brief look at the Golden Decanters' website shows a first high-end single malt sourced collection of 4 exceptional expressions already sold out:

And when they mean high-end, they mean gold leaf labelling and all the tralala:

And, some last minute news, too:

Remind me, because I am an old woman, after this white night: wasn't The Sassenach (no comment, we agree to disagree and I am very skeptical), a blend?

We have these dots, then:

Bold Underdog ->spirits business->high-end collection of single malts sold out->business partnership with owners of Midhope Castle, fictional Lallybroch in OL, including a distillery and whisky production with Midhope/Lallybroch barley -> visit by the male lead and spirits entrepreneur (also the fictional Lallybroch laird) to Midhope/Lallybroch and vested interest in the estate's most recent business project....

What if The Sassenach would be included, for a start, in that new Blended Collection? And could it really be fanfic to imagine a future high-end, limited edition, Lallybroch whisky produced at Midhope, with Midhope/Lallybroch barley? It wouldn't be the first time, would it: after all, they did it with that limited tequila batch.

As I said, because I am (remember Someone? LOL) a 'silly cow', I was hoping he wouldn't do it. But my guess is he might very well do exactly that, with those people and under that label.

It's half past eight AM, local time and I need a strong, black coffee.

I rest my case (and I am bracing myself for the screeching). I will answer Anons later, after I come back from the hairdresser's. Appointments must be kept at all costs. Thank you all for your patience.

[jjnonken]

Been a while since I've posted. I've decided I hate Facebook again and for now I'm letting off steam here.

I said before that I'd deleted my long rant and just stuck to a mini-rant. Well, today I'm posting a long rant. Fair warning: This is a rant.

As far as I can tell, there's no good news about the Borderlands movie. They've changed Commander Knoxx's character to be Atlas's daughter instead of General Knoxx, so I guess she'll be Commander Atlas now. That... doesn't matter. Of all the issues I have with this movie, whose daughter she is is probably the least important. Actually, it's not an issue. Her EXISTENCE is an issue, but not which NPC is her parent. Atlas isn't even an NPC, it's just a gun manufacturer, presumably named after its founder. We never see the founder(s) nor, as far as I can remember, hear any backstory. I'm not sure which problem they were trying to solve by the rename.

First problem: We do have to rescue Lilith, Athena, and one other who I won't mention due to spoilers. I can only think of those three. Lilith tells you to kill her if you can't save her... "Better dead than a damsel." Athena engineers her own rescue; you're just the muscle. So there's kind of a dearth of damsels in this franchise. The movie's premise is that Commander uh... Atlas?... needs to be rescued. So, right. Damsel in distress. Kind of immediately contradicts the lore of Borderlands, who has strong women who generally don't need rescuing.

Second is: why General Knoxx's er, I mean, Atlas's daughter? She's a new character. It's like BORDERLANDS ISN'T CHARACTER-RICH ENOUGH, we have to add more just to get the plot started.

Edit: She still shows credited as Commander Knoxx in my web search, including on IMDB. I saw Atlas in the last article I saw on the movie. It's possible it was simply mistaken. I note parenthetically that Knoxx works for Atlas Corporation, and the DLC he's in is Atlas-heavy. Could just be a mistake. Edit to the edit: The Wikipedia article premise mentions her as Atlas's daughter. But she's named Knoxx. I'm fucking confused; which is she?

Next: They have Kevin Hart playing Roland. Kevin Hart is a comedian. Roland is a serious, somber, straightforward guy who never jokes and never laughs, or even smiles. Any humor that happens in relation to him works because it plays off his sober sincerity.

Roland: Oh good, you're not dead. Lilith: That's his way of saying "Hi". Roland: Sorry. Hi.

Why do they need a stand-up comedian to play Roland? Either Hart is trying to branch out and do some serious acting, or... they're making a comedy.

OK, Cate Blanchett is doing Lilith. I don't know if she's the best choice, but I don't know who else I'd recommend. I guess I'm OK with that.

As for Tannis... I love Jamie Lee Curtis, but she's a scream queen that also does comedies. Tannis isn't FUNNY, she's TRAGIC. Again, there's humor, but it plays off her personality, which is informed by her severe social awkwardness. (She's pretty much coded autistic. I don't know if it's canon.) No doubt the trauma she's suffered has exacerbated any existing personality deficits. Or caused new ones. Can Curtis do a sober Tannis? I mean, play her seriously, not deadpan. I don't know. Again, I don't think she's meant to -- this movie is looking more like a comedy every day. Could be worse, but I'm not sure I'd pick her.

Next, we have Claptrap, who is introduced as "The wise-cracking robot" and played by... Jack Black, a comedic voice actor. Thing is, Claptrap does not crack wise. He's hilarious, but that's because, similarly to Roland and Tannis, the game plays off his naive sincerity. He's funny because he's so serious, but clueless. I haven't memorized every line in the entire franchise enough to instantly recall everything that every claptrap robot has said, but as far as I can remember, Claptrap has told MAYBE three jokes on purpose. One is self-referential, spoken by a claptrap who is supposed to be programming the game: "Borderlands? More like Memelands, am I right?" One is spoken right after a hatch is automatically locked, trapping you in the first map: "I hear that getting eaten by bullymongs isn't such a bad way to go." Was that one a deliberate joke? Don't know, so that's my "maybe." And the third is from a side mission called The Iceman Cometh. It's a moderately silly pun that any 10-year-old would be proud of. When you (as a character) don't react, he then EXPLAINS THE JOKE. When you still don't react, he LECTURES YOU on the nature of humor. TWICE. Naive sincerity, not cracking wise. So again, this suggests the movie being a comedy.

So, we have two of the four vault hunters from the first game, Lilith and Roland. The roles of Mordecai and Brick are interesting, in that THEY AREN'T THERE. Why?

Tiny Tina is. She's a psychotic young teen with a penchant for explosives. She's got a connection to Brick, who -- for some reason -- isn't in the movie. She's not the kind of person who needs a bodyguard -- she's the kind of person against whom YOU need a bodyguard. I only bring this up because... ... Krieg is her bodyguard in the movie. Why? I already mentioned her connection to Brick. Krieg doesn't have a connection to Tina, he has a connection to Maya. I don't know when this movie is supposed to take place in the Borderlands timeline, but if Lilith is retired, it'll be between the first and second. Possibly around the time of the Pre-Sequel. We don't see Krieg until BL2, where he's added as the last playable character after the original four plus Gaige. So the timeline doesn't make sense and Krieg's connection to Tina doesn't make sense and Krieg being Tina's bodyguard doesn't make sense. I don't know anything about the actors, I may look them up and try to watch some of their stuff.

Tina doesn't show in the game until BL2, but there's no reason to think she hasn't been around since Borderlands, we just haven't seen her. (But only after the events of BL:PS, since it's Jack's slag experiments on Tina's parents that kill them and drive her into being a vengeful little psychopath.) But Krieg doesn't show up until he becomes a vault hunter? OTOH until then he was living as a psycho... probably on Pandora. So I suppose the timeline might be OK, technically. I'll give them that one. But I still object to the Tina/Krieg connection.

Gina Gershon as Mad Moxxi: Gina is an attractive woman, doesn't have Moxxi's curves, and she's 61. She's pretty hot-looking but I'm not sure she really fits the character, physically. Can she do Moxxi's va-va-voom? Don't know.

Charles Babalola: I don't know him. I try not to get upset at race lifts; I'm used to Sir Hammerlock being the "great white hunter" stereotype, but I suppose it doesn't hurt anything if he's black. At least he's British. This is a weak protestation at most. EDIT: Several people have pointed out that he's canonically black, which I never noticed. Well, OK then, that one's on me.

Bobby Lee plays Larry. He's another stand-up comedian. There sure are a lot of those for a serious film, eh? Also, who the fuck is Larry?

Ryann Redmond as Ellie: nobody's going to match Ellie's unrealistic proportions, but Ryann seems like a reasonable choice physically; basically, you just need a plus-sized woman who can act. I don't know anything about her acting but I presume she's competent, at least. Ellie is a smartass, so wise-cracking from her is welcome. So how come they cast a stand-up comedian as Roland but a serious actress as Ellie? The cognitive dissonance is making my brain cramp.

And Eli Roth has left the project and declared that he does not want credit for his writing. THAT bodes well.

This is supposed to be canon. Canon my ass. This is a TRAVESTY. EDIT: Somebody said it's not supposed to be canon. I read that it is. I'll try to dig up the reference when I get a minute. EDIT 2: Sorry it took me so long, I was busy procrastinating. Now, in my memory, when the first announced the movie they claimed it would be "true to Borderlands", but of course that's changed. I must have skimmed over the more recent "canon" phrasing, sorry. Apparently it's changed to "canon for the Borderlands Cinematic Universe", which is not the same as canon to the games. To me that's seems a bit disingenuous, considering that as far as I can tell, the Borderlands Cinematic Universe consists of one unfinished movie. (And calling it a "Borderlands Cinematic Universe" also seems a bit conceited since their first -- and so far only -- entry has been in Production Hell for 9 years and hasn't even finished.) So my apologies for getting the "canon" claims wrong, but I'm still unhappy and I think they're making excuses. They've taken an Action Movie script, grabbed some names from the Borderlands franchise, and pretended that the result is a Borderlands movie. They did that with Sly Stallone and the first Judge Dredd movie, remember? (Maybe you don't, but I was a fan of the comics. Fortunately the second movie was much, much better.) This makes me think of Stallone's Judge Dredd. (Also the anime version of the Lensman, but that one's pretty obscure.)

Anyway, I have more, but I think I've said what I need to. I may watch the movie out of morbid curiosity. I'm not going to dislike it out of spite, I'm not that hateful. I'll try to give it a chance. I just don't like the odds.

[faorism]

(some/all of this will be going into my current wip coming out soon but i need to riff for a sec about leverage international deciding to actually consider their hitters' limits. significant contributions from my bud cecil.)

there won't be another eliot spencer.

for a lot of reasons, obviously. perfection was achieved early with that hot piece of punchy hands eye candy, and it's hard to become a boogeyman when eliot's name is already a whisper in the night. but there won't be another eliot spencer because leverage international does not fucking allow shit like the (un)knowing exploitation of a hitters body anymore. there won't be another hitter spending their retirement with pains that wont go away and mornings they can't get up and a fog in their brain that steals memories and thoughts and words with the precision of a thief, but these are stolen objects not even the best retrieval specialists could ever bring back.

there won't be another eliot spencer, not under parker and alec's watch.

masterminds (or whatever they decide to call their point) have to budget field time for hitters. as such, teams usually have at least two, so no one is doing consecutive jobs or working after a bad hit. hitters join a team and their masterminds must have a proposal to parker within the year of what alternative role hitters will be trained for over time. eight years is the absolute limit for hitter only assignments, four after that for mixed roles inclusive of hitter, but those twelve years total is pushing it to the very max.

theres no private hot nurses you pretend are just a hook up and are rly actual nurses. theres a league of health care professionals recruited to help. they are better trained than typical US health care orders. no "black people feel less pain/have stronger bones/extra muscles" or "women complain more/have a lower pain tolerance" bullshit in their medical network. no gender essentialism bullshit about bodies or transphobic language or practices. therapy aint mandatory but damn is it recommended hard.

the episode in 2.0 with the woman whose cop ex stalked her planted a seed. like, fuck why dont we check in. and even if there's not an active bad guy doing shit,, getting your life together and recovering from the trauma of victimization? that is hard.

leverage international becomes an ecosystem.

social worker has a bad taste in parkers mouth, so they call it something else. people who care. people who will check in. you are part of our protection forever like let's change the world. you guys are the good guys and can do things we can't imagine. so we are going to make sure you can do your thing, because theres only so much of an arms race we can do with bad guys vs bad guys.

truly an arms race: if it was nate's leverage international, they would be running fire through the world and taking down every fucker around and itll be warfare, as eliot says in the finale of 1.0. and that's how it starts with just them three but idk they didnt have to live like that. they shouldn't, and they teach others they shouldnt either. because how many bad guy security folks are told they have to start hitting harder & bring bigger guns, but they weren't so sure about this job to begin with, and maybe now is a good exit time? and then they end up on leverage's payroll instead.

nate would be disappointed about how slowly they are taking own the bad guys with so many people involved.

but nate would never have come up with this in all his plans. this kind of collaboration just wasn't in his alphabet. because as @july-19th-club argued so well, god love that ornery bastard but nate? nate never had that vision, you know? because this truly an extension of hardison's love. alec is here to make the world a better shelter for those he loves.

and by bre's time, recognition has shifted to "actually, this isn't just the scaled up adult version of a bully on the playground. this is the system. they have a network. we need to build our own."

the jobs are slower and paced because (1) the bad guys are spooked because the fuck is going on why cant anyone keep their money why is everyone going to actual jail; (2) their hitters are getting more ruthless; (3) leverage is like trying not to destroy their crews thru exhaustion; and (4) Plan Fucking Ms are goddamn unacceptable like the fuck nate thr fuck,,, parkers three jobs in tryna run leverage like nate and like how did you joke about that how do you have so casually in your brain like, oh yeah hardison the """"weak"""" one dies.

people are going to get hurt and die, because what they do is dangerous and you cannot account for it all and no one can replicate the magic skill/luck that was working with the OG leverage crew. but. but. if they need to scale back and slow down and have bigger teams and more training or whatever to protect their fucking family then fuck it. that's what they will fucking do.

there won't be another eliot spencer, but he will always be remembered. known. but the legacy of eliots work is not that he was an indestructible force. but the knowledge that every life is sacred and to be protected, not just the ppl you are putting your body in front of to defend but also yourself. and thats? thats love. thats a world truly changing and changed.

[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.  

[thewidowsghost]

The Village (Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader - Olympic AU)

Anonymous asked: Omg hi! First of all, i love your writing so much and second of all, could you nat x fem reader where they are both olympic athletes, meet at the village and just fall for each other??

Natasha Romanoff casts her emerald gaze across the track. She stretches, twisting around to pop her back.

"Right," her captain says. "Once more, and then you guys are done for the day."

Natasha's eyes narrow, focusing on the other end of the track. The finish line.

Exhaling through her nose, she readies herself.

A whistle blows and the three other women on the team start, Natasha in the lead.

Her legs move faster. Her legs lengthening their strides. Her heart racing with exhilaration.

"Good job, Romanoff," the captain tells the redhead.

Natasha grins, brushing her hair out of her sweaty face.

While on her way back to the village, Natasha runs into another woman.

"Oh, I am so, so sorry," the woman says, throwing her towel over her shoulder, and offering Natasha a hand.

The redhead accepts, standing up.

"I'm Natasha," Natasha says, taking in the other woman. Water droplets are rolling down the woman's muscular legs, and the towel thrown over her shoulder makes Natasha guess that the woman was a swimmer. The woman, though well built, had a shy expression on her face, her cheeks dark with embarrassment.

"(Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n)," the woman replies, reluctantly letting go of Natasha's hand. "Again, I'm so sorry."

"It's quite alright," Natasha says. "Of all the people I could run into, I'm glad it was a woman such as yourself.

(Y/n)'s cheeks darken even more. Is she flirting with me? I hope so. "Would you like to come over sometime? Maybe have dinner?"

"I'd love to," Natasha replies, her eyes sparkling.

"Now?" (Y/n) asks and Natasha chuckles.

"Well, how about later?" Natasha suggests. "I have to shower."

"Okay," (Y/n) chirps.

The two exchange numbers and agree to meet in (Y/n)'s issued apartment later that night at five thirty.

The two depart, a giddy expression on both women's faces.

(Y/n) takes a shower, and, checking the clock, she panics, realizing that it's already five o'clock. I'd better start on dinner!

(Y/n) moves to the cabinet, pulling out a box of spaghetti noodles. The scene from Lady and the Tramp plays in her mind and (Y/n) chokes back a laugh.

(Y/n) starts boiling the noodles, moving over and pulling out a cutting board. She dices half an onion, having to stop a few times to wipe away her onion tears. (Y/n) also cuts a few mushrooms. She tosses the onions and the mushrooms into a skilled along with some hamburger meat and some churizo - spicy sausage - and she lets the onions and mushrooms brown with the cooking meat.

(Y/n) puts a loaf of frozen garlic bread in the oven and just as the oven beeps, telling (Y/n) that the oven is at temperature, there is a knock on the door.

(Y/n) starts mentally panicking. She looks down at her clothes, relieved that she'd actually put something kind of nice on before she'd started cooking: a pair of black leggings and a flowery shirt.

(Y/n)'s jaw drops involuntarily as she sees Natasha. The redhead's hair is curled, and she is wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, a red t-shirt, and a blue leather jacket.

"Hey, sorry I'm a little early," Natasha says, her eyes glimmering with amusement. "You look beautiful," Natasha tells (Y/n) honestly, handing (Y/n) a bouquet of roses.

"Thank you," (Y/n) says, taking the flowers, being careful of the thorns. "You look utterly gorgeous. Come on in."

"I was going to tell you that you had a nice place, but our apartments look exactly the same," Natasha says with a grin. (Y/n) laughs, putting the roses in a vase that she'd just filled with water. "It smells great," Natasha says appreciatively.

"It's not that amazing," (Y/n) admits. "Most of it was frozen or came from a box." (Y/n) pulls the garlic bread out of the oven.

"Well, I still appreciate it," Natasha replies, taking (Y/n)'s offered plate. "You're the only one whose cooked for me besides my mother."

"Then, I'm honored to be the first," (Y/n) smiles shyly.

In response, Natasha lets out a rather inappropriate moan when she tastes the spaghetti and (Y/n)'s cheeks flush.

"So, Natasha, where are you from?" (Y/n) asks, taking a bite of a garlic bread.

"I'm originally from Russia, but I moved to Ohio when I was seven with my parents and little sister Yelena. Then, when I was in middle school, I really got into track. I've been running ever since." Natasha smiles fondly at the memories. "What about you?"

"Oh," (Y/n) pauses, swallowing her mouthful of food. "My parents died when I was three, we lived in New York City. I was adopted by this lesbian couple two and a half years later and we moved out of the city. They had this really nice house along the beach and that's where I got into swimming."

"I'm sorry about your parents," Natasha says and (Y/n) shrugs.

"I don't really remember much of them now," (Y/n) replies.

There is a silence for a moment.

"Do you have any pets?" (Y/n) asks, changing the subject.

"I do, actually," Natasha answers, looking relieved to be talking about something else. "I have a black cat named Liho."

"I also have a cat," (Y/n) says with a grin. "She's a Maine Coon; her name is Artemis." (Y/n) picks up her phone and pulls up a picture of her fluffy cat.

"Aww!" Natasha coos. "She's so majestic."

"She leaves fur everywhere, though," (Y/n) says, her eyes sparkling fondly.

The conversation, (Y/n) notes, is one of the most relax she'd had in a long time. Talking with the redhead almost made (Y/n) feel like her life was at least somewhat normal.

Four-and-a-half hours had passed before either woman had realized what time it was.

"I had an amazing time," Natasha tells (Y/n) and (Y/n) smiles warmly.

"So did I," (Y/n) replies, handing Natasha her jacket.

(Y/n)'s cheeks darken as Natasha's hand brushes against her's gently, taking the jacket.

Then, she leans over, pressing her lips softly to (Y/n)'s cheek.

"See you tomorrow morning?" Natasha asks, and (Y/n) looks confused. "For coffee? On me."

(Y/n) grins. "Sure," (Y/n) tilts her head slightly.

Both women lean forward this time, their lips meeting in a soft kiss.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Natasha whispers against (Y/n)'s lips.

"Yeah," (Y/n) smiles. "Tomorrow. For coffee."

. . .

The next morning, (Y/n) grabs her old Letterman jacket from high school, shrugging it on before she grabs her wallet and phone, sliding them into the pockets.

Turning around, she bumps into someone, knocking them to the ground.

"Seriously?" a familiar voice teases. "Is this how you greet everybody? Or is it just me?"

"Sorry, again," (Y/n) says, her cheeks darkening with embarrassment again. (Y/n) offers Natasha a hand.

"I was coming to pick you up for -"

"Coffee," (Y/n) finishes.

"Yeah," Natasha smiles, entangling her fingers with (Y/n)'s. "Let's go."

Word Count: 1184 words

Natasha Romanoff Taglist:

@confusinggemini612

@sofia-r-1604

[thearvariblues]

A Man of Easy Virtues

Just another ‘I’m so sorry but I couldn’t resist’ fics I wrote instead of, you know, doing the important things I should be doing.

This time it’s based on @likecastle‘s post about the kind of pants Jaskier should be wearing (and isn’t wearing, obviously) in the show and all the fanfics.

Warning for almost underage slutty bard (don’t worry, though, he’s eighteen, so definitely not a kid) and no Geralt in sight.

And yes, there will definitely be a part 2.

*

“You don’t understand,” Jaskier sighs and looks down at the tiny, fat tailor in front of him. “I just need a pair of pants that stays up without a hundred tiny ribbons.”

“They aren’t ribbons, young man,” the tailor says. “They are actually called–”

“I don’t care what they’re called. I don’t want them anywhere near me.”

“How would your pants stay up, then?” the tailor frowns.

“I don’t know. You’re the expert!”

The tailor sighs and lifts his hands to fix Jaskier’s partially unbuttoned doublet.

“Young man. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” Jaskier mutters.

“Eighteen,” the man repeats. “Are you aware, young man, that what you’re asking for is very inappropriate?”

“But very practical. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get into appropriate clothes when you’re in a hurry?”

“There are things you cannot hurry up, young man. This is one of them.”

“Have you ever tried telling that to an angry cuckold?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier bites his lower lip. “Could you at least consider–”

“No.”

“I will pay you double–”

“Still no. There,” the man smiles, straightening Jaskier’s collar. “Much better now. Your chemise is meant to be hidden. You wouldn’t want people to think that you are a man of easy virtues, would you?”

“Oh, no,” Jaskier mutters. “That would be horrible…”

*

“Fuck, yes,” Jaskier moans as a pair of eager hands slip into his doublet. “Please.”

“Mhmh,” his lover’s deep voice answers, impatiently tugging at Jaskier’s chemise. “More skin. Right fucking now.”

“I actually don’t think,” Jaskier murmurs between the kisses, “that it will be possible to… Oh, yes.”

The hands slip lower and try to get into Jaskier’s pants. They don’t succeed. The man – the Witcher, for fuck’s sake – growls.

Which is fair, Jaskier assumes, because while the young student’s fingers are roaming freely over the scarred torso and firm buttocks, Jaskier is still fully clothed. And it is going to take forever before he’s naked.

“Drowner’s shrunken ball sack,” the Witcher swears, tugging at one of the points holding Jaskier’s clothes together. “I’d sooner get into a noonwraith’s rotting cunt than your asshole!”

“Yeah, it’s a little complicated, but if you let go for a little while–”

“Oh, fuck off,” the man grunts and before Jaskier even blinks, there’s a long knife in the man’s hand. And before Jaskier manages to open his mouth to protest, the man makes short work of all the points and unceremoniously throws Jaskier onto the bed, grinning.

“Well, fuck me,” Jaskier whispers, feeling his blood rush straight to his crotch (well, at least the tiny amount of blood that wasn’t there already).

“That’s the plan,” the man nods, cutting Jaskier’s chemise open. “The name’s Lambert, in case you forgot. Because I expect you to scream it until your voice is fucking raw.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier purrs.

The Witcher smiles.

“Good boy.”

*

“Melitele’s tits!” Jaskier swears, staring at his pants in disbelief.

Lambert lifts his head from the pillow and raises an eyebrow.

“Problem?” he asks.

“There is, actually. You completely ruined them!” Jaskier growls and throws his currently useless pants at him. “How the fuck am I supposed to get back home?”

“Oh, come on. I was careful not to cut anything but those motherfucking tiny ribbons. It’s not the end of the world. What do you need them for, anyway? I mean apart from driving potential lovers insane with lust.”

“Well, for nothing important. Just holding the fucking thing up,” Jaskier sighs and puts on his doublet, which is his only piece of clothing that’s intact. He’s slowly coming to terms with walking home with his ass bare. Again. Third time this week.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Lambert frowns. “Shit. Sorry, I guess. Would you like my spare pair?”

“Does it have the points, or did you cut them off when you urgently needed to take a shit?” Jaskier smirks.

“I honestly don’t know what the fuck are you even talking about.” Lambert gets up and after a few seconds of rummaging through his bag he pulls out a pair of worn-out leather pants and throws them to Jaskier. “Here. Take them. Guess what. They stay up on their own.”

“They… do?” Jaskier whispers, his eyes going comically wide.

“Honey, when werewolves attack your camp while your Cat Witcher boyfriend is balls-deep in your ass, you don’t have time to tie some fucking ribbons.”

“Cat Witcher…” Jaskier blinks.

As if on cue, the room’s door open and a lean, long-haired blond man rushes in, slams the door closed behind him and starts dragging a large chest in front of it.

“Oh, you’re done. Good,” he says to Lambert. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Aiden, I swear by Vesemir’s flaccid cock…” Lambert groans. “What did I ask you – no, beg you not to do tonight?!”

“I swear I didn’t cheat this time!” the man says, leaning with his full weight against the chest just as someone starts to bang on the door. “It’s not my fault I’m so fucking good at gwent, is it?”

“Good at gwent my ass. I could beat you drunk if you didn’t have another whole pack stuffed into your sleeves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lambert. It’s not a whole pack. Just like… twenty cards or something, usually.” The man grins at Jaskier. The doorknob rattles. “Hey, Lambert’s fuck of the day. I’d suggest you start getting dressed.”

“Just how many did you manage to piss off this time?” Lambert asks, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Not many. I could deal with them in a matter of seconds, but you always say your brother doesn’t like it when Witchers murder innocent citizens.”

“You mean my brother the fucking Butcher of Blaviken?” Lambert laughs.

Jaskier looks up from fastening his (well, Lambert’s) pants and gapes at the two Witchers.

“Your brother,” he whispers. “Your brother is Geralt of–”

“Not now,” Lambert says. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. Tell me, Jaskier, have you ever jumped out of a window before?”

“Four times just this week. Mostly to escape jealous husbands. A jealous wife, in one case.”

“Good,” Aiden nods, letting go of the chest supporting the door and grabbing his bag. “Let’s jump.”

*

The tiny, fat tailor is staring at the pair of worn-out black leather pants laid out in front of him with polite disgust.

“Not possible,” he says for the fifth time.

“Let’s be absolutely clear here,” Jaskier smiles and his voice holds just a hint of a promise of some very unpleasant things that could hypothetically happen to the tiny man. “Do you know my name?”

“No, young man, and I wouldn’t care even if you were–”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove,” Jaskier says calmly.

“Oh,” the man replies and he suddenly seems even smaller than before.

“I am willing to pay you twice your usual fee–”

“Sir, what you’re requiring is outrageous–”

“Three times.”

“I couldn’t possibly sully the name of my shop with such an immodest–”

“Four times your usual fee, and an opportunity to start a fashion revolution.”

The man closes his eyes and nods slowly.

“Four times my usual fee. You can keep the revolution. It’s not as if you can find another man willing to wear something so scandalous…”

*

In a month, almost every young man in Oxenfurt (and several young women) wears the same model of pants Jaskier does. It’s much more comfortable, and also much easier to get into if you happen to get caught naked in a bed you shouldn’t be in, making it an instant hit among the students.

When Jaskier jumps, completely dressed, out of yet another window, this time running from a father whose two sons he just fucked into the bed, he thinks that he definitely has to thank Lambert and Aiden properly the next time he sees them.

Or any other Witcher he meets until then.

They basically saved his life, didn’t they?

[traincat]

I’ve been trying to piece together a few things from your Twitter and Tumblr posts alike and still can’t make heads or tales of things, so would you mind helping out a FF & spideytorch noob? 1) what is currently happening with Johnny in the comics? (I’ve fallen head over heels for this guy, largely all your doing) 2) when’s the last time he and Peter have interacted, canon wise? (And do you think upcoming interactions are likely?) 3) your thoughts on if they’ll have him come out in the near future? (has that ‘biggest change to the fantastic four’ teaser come to pass yet?) Love all your content, thank you!

I'd say no problem but then I started thinking about this current run again and got a headache. But yes, I can do that to save you from reading it, because it is very largely not good.

So I don't think it's unfair to just flat out say the current Fantastic Four run is not very good, largely due to writer Dan Slott's efforts. Slott was previously on Amazing Spider-Man for 10 years, to mixed opinions, but a large portion of Spider-Man fandom, myself included, blames him near singlehandedly for the decline in quality of Spider-Man books over those ten years. I will say, in the interest of fairness, that Slott as a writer has an incredible fondness for the Spider-Man/Human Torch relationship, and that a lot of the recent teamups and interactions between them have been written or co-written by him. So it's all not all negative here. But in general, I personally find Slott's more recent comics (the last seven-ish years especially) to be badly plotted out, messily characterized disasters that feature characters written with all the emotion of a cardboard cutout. That's me putting it nicely.

To explain this fully, you have to understand the position Fantastic Four comics were in from the years 2015 through 2018, both in the fictional 616 universe and in the real publishing world. Following the 2015 Secret Wars event (great if you want some Johnny angst in the background of your plot), the Fantastic Four were disbanded -- Reed, Sue, and their many biological and found family children were presumed dead but in reality were remaking the multiverse, unable, for a reason that was never clearly defined, to reach home. Ben and Johnny were left on Earth. They had an unspecified falling out, likely due to Reed and Sue's absence, and went their separate ways -- Ben joined the Guardians of the Galaxy and went to space. Johnny was featured on both Inhumans and Avengers books. What's notable about this period is that it's the first time since 1961 that there was no Fantastic Four book being published by Marvel. Now the real world reason behind this is both complicated and extremely petty: Marvel really wanted the Fantastic Four film rights. Marvel denied this explanation at the time, stating that the reason was sales motivated, but it was a thoroughly flimsy excuse and Jonathan Hickman, writer of 2015's Secret Wars and overseer of the current X-Men plot, gave an interview saying the decision was film rights motivated. This decision kept the Fantastic Four books off the shelves for three years, up until the Disney-Fox merger, which secured the X-Men and Fantastic Four rights for Disney's Marvel Studios. Marvel then announced that the Fantastic Four book would be returning. So that's a little bit of background as to the precarious place the Fantastic Four currently occupy in the Marvel universe -- it's worth noting that this year is their 60th anniversary, and Marvel has done very little for it. Compare this to the X-Men, whose film rights Marvel also obtained during the Disney-Fox merger, and whose books are currently dominating the publishing lineup. The Fantastic Four definitely occupy an unpopular position, one Marvel themselves is at least partially responsible for forcing them into.

But to move back into the actual content of the book -- the readjustment period Slott wrote reintroducing the Fantastic Four into the Marvel universe can be described as clumsy, at best. It's never fully explained why Reed, Sue, and the kids couldn't return to Earth, something that was explored in Chip Zdarsky's 2017 Marvel Two-in-One, which featured Ben, Johnny, and Doom on a multiversal roadtrip to try and find their family and which I on the whole recommend, despite it having an awkward ending due to being cut short by Slott's announced Fantastic Four main title.

(Marvel Two-in-One 2017 #4)

Instead, the Fantastic Four return to a Marvel universe a little different than how they left it, with the Baxter Building -- formerly the offices of Parker Industries, the company Doc Ock started in Peter's body during Superior Spider-Man that Peter inherited after his defeat and then lost spectacularly when he trashed his own company to fight nazis (good for him) -- occupied by a different fantastic foursome in a plot that goes nowhere and does nothing. This is somewhat emblematic of the early days of Slott's run -- he introduces ideas that fail to go anywhere, including Johnny's rekindled relationship with his other best friend and former college roommate, Wyatt Wingfoot, who he was seen being very cuddly with in the early issues.

(FF 2018 #1) A small group of Fantastic Four fans have argued for a while that if Marvel was to have Johnny come out, a relationship with Wyatt would feel very natural -- they're already close, with Wyatt being an important Fantastic Four supporting character since the '60s. I have some further analysis here on the conspiracy theory that Johnny and Wyatt were supposed to be in relationship at the beginning of this run but that that plot was, for whatever reason, nixed. I don't know that I entirely believe this theory, for the record -- but I do think the pieces line up remarkably well.

Anyway, that didn't/hasn't yet happened, obviously. Slott instead for the most part put Johnny on the back burner for the beginning of his run, up until the Spyre arc, which I have reason to believe is the main story he pitched that he credits with securing him the Fantastic Four title. The Spyre arc suggests that the Fantastic Four's failed space exploration during which they got their powers wasn't just to beat the commies to the moon, as Lee and Kirby envisioned (simpler days), but to reach a specific planet outside of our galaxy. When the team sets out to conquer this mission, they arrive at the planet, but are quickly captured. The planet, they find out, operates like a soulmate AU -- everyone has a fated person that they are matched to via a gold armband. Reed and Sue are soulmates (and Ben is confined to an underground subterranean with the other monsters, because this is a Fantastic Four comic) while it's discovered! Shocker! That Johnny is actually the soulmate of the one the planet's inhabitants, a winged woman named Sky, with the suggestion that this is both why Johnny's previous relationships have never worked and why he loves space exploration -- he was just trying to get to his Soulmate TM.

(FF 2018 #15) "What's going on here? Where are my clothes?" As you can see, this didn't start off super great, with Johnny being separated from his family, stripped naked, and put in Sky's bed with a soulmate armband slapped on him. Did I mention they're only removable if your soulmate takes it off for you? And that Sky has consistently refused despite Johnny asking her to? Yeah. It's bad. (I think it's important to note Johnny's long history as a victim of assault plays into this narrative, whether or not Slott is personally holding that in mind while writing, which I don't believe he is. cw in the linked post for discussions of sexual assault.) There's an additional issue here in that Slott has a history of problematic writing regarding women of color, featuring characters he's created to act as love interests being oversexualized, infantilized, villainized, or some mix of all three, with two examples of this phenomena being Cindy Moon and Lian Tang, both of whom he introduced in quick succession in Amazing Spider-Man. Slott certainly didn't have to write Sky as manipulative or controlling towards Johnny, but that's what he chose to do, and that factors into the bigger picture of unfortunate themes in his writing.

Sky returns to Earth with the Fantastic Four despite Johnny appearing unenthused about the idea and initially generally reluctant to interact with her. Apparently they went on a few dates after this and kind of made up. I don't know because I stopped reading for about ten issues in there but I feel confident I missed very little. It's hard to talk about the Sky plot without referencing Johnny's previous interactions with a character named Lyja, a Skrull whose relationship to Johnny I have a long breakdown of here. It's doubly hard, because Lyja actually showed back up in Fantastic Four during this plot. Lyja's modus operandi has remained consistent throughout almost all of her appearances, which I guess makes sense, because she literally has no storylines that do not involve her being obsessed with Johnny, and this recent story isn't any different: Lyja shows up, Lyja disguises herself as another woman in Johnny's life to get close to Johnny, Lyja gets caught and claims it was all fine because she did it for love. This time she disguised herself as Sky.

(FF 2018 #32) Not gonna lie, kind of proud of him for this one. That's one of my problems with Slott -- very occasionally, he busts out good moments, only to undermine them with the rest of his narrative.

In the same issue, Alicia Masters, the first woman Lyja impersonated in order to get close to Johnny, uses her supervillain stepfather's radioactive clay to control Lyja's mind and send her back to space, and I do think she utilized girl power when she did this. Johnny, left reeling after Lyja's latest attempts to trick him into a relationship, ends this issue by sleeping with Victorious, Dr. Doom's right hand woman.

I know she pegged him. I know it. This scene was a little controversial in Johnny fandom, because a lot of people viewed it as Johnny cheating on Sky and thought that that action was out of character for Johnny. I'm personally of a little different opinion, which is that regardless of whether or not you view Johnny and Sky in a committed enough relationship that Johnny's tryst would count as infidelity when all Johnny and Sky are bound by are magic plot soulmate bracelets, I think Lyja's involvement changes things significantly when it comes to Johnny's characterization. All of Johnny's "playboy" periods, if we can call them that, coincide directly with Lyja having been in and then left his life again, which I think makes a certain amount of sense -- it's Johnny trying to wrest control back after a situation where he had none. None of this is explicitly canon, I have to note, but sometimes in comics you have to do the work yourself. So I think this is a case of something being accidentally extremely in character that Slott accidentally stumbled into because he had these love triangles in mind, not because he put a lot of thought into it.

Speaking of love triangles! Johnny sleeping with Victorious gets more complicated when Dr. Doom announces his intent to marry Victorious -- not because he has any romantic interest in her (this engagement caused a lot of uproar in Fantastic Four because Victorious had been previously referred to as being like Doom's adopted daughter) but in order to install her as Latverian regent in his absence. I'm not going to lie, I love a political wedding. Victorious, for some reason, thinks Doom will be deeply upset that she slept with some closeted blond twink and the member of the Fantastic Four he views least as an enemy and more as an annoyance. Johnny, who Sky is currently not talking to because she "felt" him sleeping with Victorious through their magic plot soulmate bracelets, also feels nervous about Doom finding out about this, which I guess is slightly more valid. Anyway, for some completely ridiculous reason, Victorious decides the best time to tell Doom about this little indiscretion is when they're standing at the altar, which coincidentally the Fantastic Four are also standing at, because Doom asked Reed to be his best man in a not at all homoerotic little setup involving midnight swordfighting and Reed slipping Doom's emerald ring onto his own finger. Sorry to sidetrack into DoomReed territory here but it's just like. It's just a lot.

(FF 2018 #33) Also, Ben walked the bride down the aisle. :,) Look at his gigantic hand.

Anyway then Doom decides he's going to kill everyone in a completely reasonable and not at all overblown reaction to Johnny and Zora having what was most likely both disappointing for Zora and weepy for Johnny sex. And that brings us up to where Fantastic Four comics left us yesterday -- in answer to your "big change" question, that's most likely coming up in the next issue, so it hasn't come to pass yet.

Having gotten all that out of the way -- the last time Johnny and Peter interacted canon-wise was in the recent Empyre Fallout Fantastic Four, at the end of the Empyre event:

It was cute! Slott does right good interactions between them. This is possibly the Stockholm Syndrome talking. I don't know if more interactions are likely imminent -- the Empyre event was fairly recent. On the other hand, Slott does like writing interactions between them. So I'd give it about a 50/50 shot. I was skimming the letter page in the latest issue and someone wrote in asking if Peter was likely to appear in the pages of Fantastic Four again any time soon, so there is definitely a demand.

As for Johnny coming out -- I don't know. It's not a call I feel comfortable making at this moment, which I guess means I wouldn't bet money on it. I'd like to say yes, especially because I think Slott set up, whether that was his intention or more likely not, several good places in his run where Johnny could have come out. The beginning, when he's implied to be living with Wyatt again and where he and Wyatt are paralleled against Ben and Alicia. Ben's bachelor party, where Johnny laments not finding the right person -- specifically person and not woman -- and where Ben tells him to "be brave, Johnny Storm." And the soulmate planet plot, where I think could have had a very different and much better ending if Johnny had told Sky that she couldn't be his romantic soulmate, because he knows he wants to be with a man. But those are just places that I think would have made good opportunities for a coming out story. Instead, Johnny's been involved (dubiously) with three different women over the space of the last 10 issues, which is more heterosexuality at one time than he's been confronted with in the last 60 years. So my thoughts are still that it's going to happen eventually, but quite possibly not anytime soon.

Hope that helps! And that my incredibly long answer about what's currently going on with Johnny in comics sheds some light on things!

[planecrashdreams]

Take My Breath Away

Peter Parker x Stark!daughter

Summary: The Avengers are close to unveiling The Vulture’s plan to destroy the city. They uncover that his son is throwing a ball with all of the most notorious villains within the city. It is decided that you, along with Peter, must attend to gather intel.

Warnings: *violence* *swearing* *fight scenes* *mentions of blood/wounds*

Peter & Y/N are 18

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., call everyone into the lab in 5 minutes, I need to have a meeting.” Tony announces while peering at the screen in front of him.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice floods the entire compound inviting everyone to meet with your dad. You however, were busy doing your homework with the boy you’ve had a crush on for what feels like a century.

“Ughh, not again. What does dad want this time?” You whine getting up from your chair.

“Come on, Y/N, it sounds important, he said he wanted us in the lab.”

“I’m not even an Avenger, why do I have to be involved?” You say slightly annoyed.

You and Peter were the last ones to join the meeting and your dad started talking almost immediately.

“I found a new lead on Vulture, his son Dimitri Toomes is having a party for all of the mafia bosses and criminals and that roam the city. This party is taking place tonight at 8pm. I’m going to get you Nat, and you Steve, to attend this party as a couple to uncover more intel as you can—“

“Wait, but, how old is this Dimitri Toomes anyway? Isn’t he just a kid?” Bucky interrupts.

“Yeah, isn’t he like 18 or 19?” Nat also jumps in.

“I don’t think sending Nat and Steve in for this mission is such a good idea, Tony. He would know not to trust them once he saw them. We need someone younger.” Bruce suggests.

“No, I’m not sending Peter in to do this mission. Peter hasn’t done many missions, and this one involves the mafia and every criminal in New York!” Tony says sternly.

“Well, we weren’t thinking Peter exactly...” Bruce says very quietly.

“NO! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WOULD EVEN THINK TO OFFER MY DAUGHTER TO GO ON A MISSION!” Tony yells loud enough for the whole city to hear.

“Yeah, uh, Bruce, I don’t know how much you’ve had to drink but sending me for this? What!??” You say very frightened and shocked.

“Tony, I know you would never want to do this in a million years, but hear us out. Dimitri is a young man, he’ll be easily persuaded if something strikes his interest. If we send Y/N, she’ll intrigue him and make him lower his guard and he could reveal his father’s plans. If we do this, we won’t send her alone. Someone will be there to watch out for her.” Bruce explains.

“I can’t believe I’m actually having to consider this plan.” Tony confesses.

“I’ll do it if you guys keep a close watch of me. I just want to get it done and over with.” You agree to Bruce’s plan but almost regret it.

“Y/N wants to go through with it, Tony? Are you okay going through with this?”

“Ok. But she goes in and she’s coming back out as quick as possible.” Tony finally agrees.

“We need to get ready now, the party starts in a couple of hours.” Tony leads the way out of the lab.

“Y/N, you’re going to need a dress to wear to this party. Steve, you’re going to be her chaperone and you’ll need a suit. Nat, Bucky, Thor—“

“Mr. Stark? Can I come and help keep watch of Y/N?” Peter interjects.

“Peter I’d feel more comfortable with you staying here in the compound.”

“Please, Mr. Stark, my spidey-sense can be helpful for this and I want to help keep Y/N safe an I kno—“

“Okay! Peter, fine, you can help Steve keep watch. Just be careful, and if I feel you’re not safe I will pull you out from the mission. Got it?”

“Yes! Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Peter beams, now he can keep watch on you to make sure you stayed safe.

Everyone headed off to help prepare for the mission and you headed up to your bedroom to get ready for what you thought was possibly the worst party ever.

Nat hung a few dresses on your closet door for you to wear tonight. But one caught your eye. It was gorgeous, it was a shade of dark blue. The fabric was silky and vibrant. The colour made your mind wander to a certain boy whose favourite colour is blue. Peter. “Well, I guess the night won’t be as terrible.” You thought to yourself happy that you got to feel pretty at least. The dress was a ball gown and sparkled in certain lighting.

You put your dress on and had Nat help you style your hair into a princess braid updo. You did your makeup, a few layers of mascara and a layer of pink peach tinted lip gloss. A simple look, but still radiated beauty. Your wore a pair of little black heels under your dress and went on your way downstairs.

Peter dressed himself in a simple black suit that he wore to the last school dance. He even shaved and gelled his hair a bit. Steve also dawned a suit, but dark grey. They went over a plan of how they would surveillance the party while keeping an eye on you. In the middle of their conversation, you start coming down the stairs. Step by step, Peter comes into your view and you smile taking in how handsome he was, especially in a suit.

Peter gasped looking at you, he couldn’t believe how gorgeous you were and wished he could’ve been the one spending the night with you. Just thinking about Dimitri being with you sent him into an internal rage. But looking at your smile takes him away from that thought. He realizes you’ve been standing there for almost a minute and he hasn’t said a word to you.

“Wow, you look... pretty.” Peter says rubbing his arms.

“Yeah, you really are beautiful, Y/N.” Steve adds.

“Aw, thanks guys. And you both look very handsome.” You say shyly.

Peter looks up at Steve with an annoyed look, jealous that he made a comment about your appearance. Steve just laughs messing with Peter.

You, Steve, and Peter all drive to Dimitri Toomes’ party and discuss what the game plan will be.

“Ok, here’s what I’m thinking, Y/N goes in and scopes for Dimitri, she talks with him and get him comfortable with her. She’ll lead him on with questions about his family business. Once we get enough intel, she calls it a night and we get her out of there. Y/N, you’re going to go by a fake name and say you’re the daughter of the mafia boss, Lorenzo Bianchi. Just make up answers the best you can to his questions. We’ll be in your ear the whole night and we’ll help you talk to him. Peter and I will walk around the party to look for any suspicious behaviour and to keep a closer eye on you. If at any time you don’t feel safe anymore, say “my head hurts” got it?”

“Yeah, I think so. I’m still really nervous about this.” You say scared about the whole situation you were about to enter.

“Don’t worry, Peter and I are with you the entire night. Just act natural and you’ll be okay. We are here.”

The three of you enter and immediately disperse. You enter the ballroom and turn heads as you move towards the bar. As you get to the bar, your eyes meet with a seducing glare. It almost made you uncomfortable but it was oddly alluring. You notice this man is young and clean cut. He was wearing a lighter suit with a dark black shirt. He was very tidy for a criminal.

“That’s him, Y/N. Across the bar from you. Make your move.” Steve says in your earpiece.

You instead have a better idea. You made sure his eyes were still fixed on you and flutter your eyes slightly and order yourself a drink. Just as you predicted, he got up from his seat and made his way over to you.

“Excuse me, miss, I don’t think I know you.” He says with a dark masculine voice.

“You’re right, you don’t know me.” You say slightly shocked at how unintentionally confident you were coming across.

“Beautiful and funny, now I’m sure I haven’t met you before.” He chuckles.

“Dimitri Toomes.” He says now leaning on the bar bench beside you.

“Francesca Bianchi.” You say now making eye contact with the man.

“You’re Lorenzo Bianchi’s daughter? Wow, he never said he had a daughter. A sexy one too.” He says looking over you with a venomous sound in his voice.

Peter was listening to this entire conversation and he was starting to get annoyed by Dimitri’s tone with you. His fist was squeezed tight and his knuckles turned white.

“Y/N, flirt back with him. You’ve got him attention and he’ll be easier to pry if he’s getting your attention back.” Steve suggests.

Peter is now dying inside, having to hear the conversation that’s about to happen. He wants to pull you away and not have you be flirted with by someone who only looks at you as a piece of meat.

“Well, I’m his little girl after all, he wants to protect me as much as he can. He wouldn’t want me to go out and find myself a new kind of daddy.” You say looking deep into his eyes and slightly biting your lip.

Both Peter and Steve stood still, mouth agape at what they just overheard you say. Peter was slightly turned on by your confident tone and how on the nose you were. He was still of course bothered that you were talking to Dimitri. Peter tried to keep his cool for the sake of the mission and your safety.

“Careful what you say, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to say something you don’t mean.” Toomes says towering over you now with a very condescending tone.

“Who said I didn’t mean it? And any way, how do you know my father?” You ask, trying to push for information.

“Lorenzo is a friend of my father’s. My father is working on a plan to run the city better for the mafia. And how do you not know this? Does your father know you’re here?” Dimitri asks slightly suspicious of you.

“My father doesn’t like women being involved with his business. I just want to look out for my father, I don’t want him getting into trouble is all.” You say hoping this puts him off your scent.

“Ah, the delicate princess, of course, I mean, if you were mine, I wouldn’t let anyone touch you, except me of course.” He says now trailing his fingertips along your forearm to your hand.

Unsure of how to react you just play along with him hoping Steve or Peter will help direct your next move.

“You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, Y/N. Try getting more info out of him. He’s buying it.” Steve guides you. Peter at this point is speechless, he was stuck in an internal rage. He wanted to kill this guy just because he touched you.

“Dimitri?” You say with a higher pitch now hoping to sound too cute to decline.

“Hmm?” He hums in response.

“Could you tell me what my dad is planning on doing to make the mafia run better?” You ask fluttering your lashes, not breaking eye contact with him.

“I don’t know, Princess. I think it’s best to keep you out of it. Your father thinks so.” He says looking at you, now taking your hand and pulling you up from your seat.

“We can talk over by the balcony, it’s more private there, and I like my privacy.” He says very ominous. You were now feeling pale, unsure of what he meant by that. As you both move towards the balcony, your eyes meet with Peter’s and he looked concerned. He followed close behind the both of you, not daring to let you out of his sight.

“Now, Princess, I’ll tell you just a little bit to give you piece of mind about your your father. Your father works by conducting drug runs across the borders and selling drugs to smaller criminal groups within the city. Lately, the drugs have been resurfacing and the police have been finding out what groups are in possession of these drugs. Your father made a business deal with my father to make these weak groups disappear. My father in turn, had your father invest in most lethal warfare for taking over the city. As of now, our fathers have almost successfully taking over a stronghold, and they’re not stopping there.” He says, taking pride in his father’s work.

“Wow, I never knew my father would actually be helping take over the whole city.” You say in fake awe.

“But enough about that, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you tonight, darling. In the moonlight you are just mouthwatering.” He says, moving closer to you taking a handful of your hair to move away from your neck. He leans in to start kissing your neck. You jitter from the sudden touch of his hand. As he kisses your neck you step away from him. You could sense Peter was near.

“What’s wrong, princess? I was just kissing you.” He says deep in lust.

“Oh, I.. know it’s just, I’m really thirsty, would it be possible if you could get me a drink?” You ask hoping he would so you could catch your breath and talk to Peter.

“Okay, I’ll be back, don’t move.” He says as he makes his way back to the bar.

You exhale deeply and Peter appears almost out of nowhere.

“Y/N! I can’t believe that guy! I want to kill him, if we weren’t on a mission right now I would do it right now—“ Peter whispers loudly.

“Pete, I’m okay, he’s creepy, but harmless. I got so much intel for him. This plan is working well so far, I’m going to try for a little more, and then we’ll get out of here.” You say trying to reassure Peter, but also starting to blush at how much he really cared about you. Does he maybe like you back?

“You gotta go before he comes back.” You tell him almost shooing him away.

A few seconds pass and Dimitri appears with your drink just in time that Peter wasn’t stood beside you.

“Thanks.” You say taking a sip from the glass.

A few minutes pass and your head starts to spin. Your vision is blurry and and your eyelids feel heavy. You tried to remember what Steve said to alert him.

“My head hurts.” You say mumbling, losing control of your voice.

“You know, you really shouldn’t trust people you don’t know, Princess.” He says darkly. Why did he do this? Did he hear you and Peter?

You lose control of your body and start to tumble forward, but a pair of strong arms catches you before hitting the hard ground.

..........

You wake, arms and ankles tied in a dark concrete room. Where was this place? Am I still at the party? You ask yourself.

Moments later you hear footsteps approaching the door to your concrete room. You close your eyes hoping that whoever it was would think you’re still unconscious.

The footsteps approach closer and closer until they stop directly in front of you.

A hand hits you across the face, you shudder from it and find that it is none other than Dimitri.

“Hello, sweetheart.” He says with no recognizable tone in his voice. You almost revaluated if the man even was Dimitri.

“So, you think you would just stumble into my party hoping to steal all of our information? And by the way I know your fucking name isn’t Francesca Bianchi! Bianchi has no children!” He says now very angry at your attempt to deceive him earlier.

“I saw you arrive at the party with those two men, as soon as I saw that, I knew to pay attention to you. Women who show up with bodyguards aren’t good news around here.” He scolds you.

“Now, do you want to tell me who you and those men are? Or do you want me to beat it out of you?” He says bringing his face down to meet yours, taking your chin in his hand.

“Go fuck yourself!” You shout, heart racing at your courage.

Dimitri laughs and suddenly slaps you across the the face. You can feel blood starting to drip from your nose now.

“Talk like a bitch, get slapped around like a bitch!” He yells at you even angrier.

“Do something stupid like that again, I’ll have kill one of your boyfriends.” He says with a sharp tongue.

Did he actually have Peter and Steve captive? You couldn’t help thinking it was your fault, he must have heard you talking to Peter before he drugged you.

“No! Do whatever you want to me but don’t hurt them!” You yell back at him.

“Aw, does someone have a little soft spot for them? I’m thinking you like the little one. He was so bothersome, following us all night. I just couldn’t get you alone could I?” He says with an irritated tone.

“It’s too bad too, I was really starting to like you, you’re quite the flirt.” He says as he shifts closer to you. You try to move away from him but fail, he picks you up and takes you out of the concrete room.

You now find yourself in tied in a chair in a room with mob men. All of them look intimidating, these men were decorated in scars and appeared quite muscular.

“Now princess, I’m leaving you here to think about what you might want to tell me. I’m going to visit your little boyfriends, if you try anything stupid I’ll fucking kill you instantly.” He says sharply and disappears.

You were beyond scared, you didn’t think much of Dimitri when you met him. You just thought he was a rich kid who thought he was a top dog. But now being at his mercy you were so terrified. You were even more scared thinking about what awful things he could be doing to Steve and Peter.

“Steve!.... Steve, are you awake?” Peter asks quietly hoping that the cap was okay.

“Yeah... I’m fine, my head is spinning a bit.” Steve reassures Peter.

“We gotta get out of here, Y/N needs us, I hope she’s okay, I don’t know what I’d do if she was hurt.” Peter cries out.

“It’s okay Peter, relax, we’ll figure something out and we’ll get Y/N. Just let me think of something.” Steve says now thinking of an escape plan.

Peter struggles in his ropes and realizes his knots were not as tight as they should have been. “Hey, Cap? I think I can get out of my ties.”

“That’s great, looks like someone underestimated you.” Steve says struggling in his ties hoping his were loose also.

Peter got his wrists free and is now working on his ankle ties. As he finishes freeing himself, the door starts opening and Peter resumes to his position when tied.

“Boys, you’re awake now?” A dark voice emerges from the black doorway.

“Why are we here?” Steve boldly replies.

“To answer my questions, that little girl certainly had a lot for me tonight. Now, you have the option to answer and be good boys, or, you can dodge my questions and have her get beaten again. Your choice.” Dimitri says coldly.

“You won’t put your damn hands on her you piece of shit!!!” Peter says, now having a nerve struck after hearing that you have been beaten.

Dimitri laughs at Peter’s reaction, “And what? You think you’re going to do something about it? You’re just a kid, and you’re tied!”

“Am I?” Peter says pouncing onto Dimitri, punching him in the jaw.

“Poor choice little boy.” Dimitri says pulling out a knife.

Dimitri lunges towards Peter with his knife and tries slicing Peter’s arm. Peter dodges Dimitri and elbows Dimitri in the face. Dimitri stumbles behind Peter and takes the opportunity to stab Peter in the shoulder. Peter gasps and lands on a knee in front of Steve. He slowly pulls the knife out of his shoulder and drops it on the floor. This only sets more of a fight in Peter, Peter grapples Dimitri and pulls him to the ground. They both wrestle and each try to knock each other out.

As Peter and Dimitri fight, Steve is in arm’s reach of Dimitri’s knife and uses it to cut the ropes from his wrists. A few moments later Steve has now freed himself and helps Peter knock Dimitri out. Peter exhausted, can still only wonder if you were alright. He didn’t want to take a breath, he needed to save you.

“We have to find Y/N!” Peter tells Steve, now running out of the room.

“Peter hold on, we need to be careful, we don’t know what are doing with her. And what are we going to do with Dimitri? We can’t just leave him like this.” Steve warns Peter of his reckless behavior.

“Do you want me to finish him? Cause I’ll do it!” Peter says very dominantly.

“No! We can’t kill him! We need him for more information. We should tie him up and come back for him once we find Y/N.” Steve explains.

Steve and Peter tie Dimitri to a pipe, making it harder for him to remove himself if he were to wake up.

“We should split up, listen you can climb quietly along the walls and the ceilings and not be seen. I’ll go search areas around here.” Steve leads.

Before Steve could even finish his thought, Peter was already on the ceiling making his way to a room.

“And Peter, be careful!!” Steve’s voice echoes.

You were sitting in a chair with five mutants surrounding you in a circle. Your wrists were bruising from the restraints and they wouldn’t budge no matter how hard you tried.

“Stop struggling, sweetheart.” You hear one of them say. “We don’t want to hurt your beautiful face.”

“Why am I tied up when there’s five of you? Is Dimitri afraid I’ll overpower you.” You question.

The same man turns around and slaps you hard across the face. You cheek stung and became numb in a matter of seconds. What the hell? Why did he hit me?! You think to yourself.

“You don’t talk about Dimitri Toomes like that. Show some respect.” He says enraged.

You decided to push him some more. You didn’t know if it was out of pure courage or pure stupidity.

“Why the fuck would I respect him? He beat me!” You scream.

“That man is the son of Adrian Toomes, he’s among the strongest men in the city!” He defends.

“He’s a child, he’s not strong, I know plenty of stronger men and women than him!” You argue.

The man grows more annoyed and tired of your stubbornness. He pulled his arm back and whipped his hand hard across your face. Your cheek burned and you could taste blood on your tongue. You barely let out a whimper.

“You keep talking, and I’ll fucking end you right here.” He says very seriously.

As Peter is crawling along the walls and ceilings of the concrete hideout, he feels the hairs on his arms stand. His spider senses were going haywire. He sensed you nearby. He could hear muffled voices coming from a room ahead of him, he rushed to the doorway and listened for your voice but instead he only heard cries of pain from you. He crawled into the room and met eyes with you. You smile now knowing you were going to be okay. You wanted to help Peter have a better chance at freeing you. You needed to come up with a distraction and fast.

“Hey, do you hear that?” You say curiously.

“Hear what?”

“There! Did you hear it now? It was a loud slam! It sounds like it’s coming from outside of this room!” You say trying to sound as convincing as possible.

“You better not be lying, Dimitri will torture you and your friends even worse than you imagined.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me. Dimitri might be fighting off both of my friends right now.” You say coy.

The man scoffs and slowly leaves the room not breaking eye contact until he fully leaves. Another man follows for reassurance. Only three men remained in the room. Peter could handle them, these men were much scrawnier compared to the other two men.

Peter slowly crawls down the wall behind you and plans his attack. He looks over to you and makes a web shooting motion with his hand. You nodded, knowing exactly what his idea was.

Peter stuck his wrist out and shot webs at man leaving him stuck on the ground. The other two men were now aware of Peter’s presence and began attacking him.

Peter shoots his webs at one of the remaining men’s wrists, removing his knife. Peter then punches the man’s jaw and swings him down. The other man was more difficult to fight. He was much stronger than Peter anticipated.

Peter swung his fist to make contact with man, the man dodges and makes a quick hit to Peter’s ribs. You could see the pain oozing from his face. You cried for Peter, wanting him to be okay.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Peter says staggering in his place trying to get his momentum back. Peter tried to take another swing and hits the man in the cheek. The man is slightly fazed, but kicks Peter off his feet. The man puts Peter in a chokehold. You yell at the man to stop.

“You want me to stop? I don’t know, I think loverboy could take some more.” The man taunts.

As the man taunts you, Peter loosens the man’s grip from his neck. “It’s going to take a lot more for you to take me down that easily.” Peter huskily replies to the man.

Peter then elbows the man in the ribs, knocking the wind right out of him. Peter removes himself from him and reverses the positions between them. He then grabs the man’s collar and punches the man hard, knocking him out.

Peter steps back still looking at the man. He is breathing hard. You look Peter over, glancing at all of his wounds. His neck was already bruising, his fists were bloody, his clothes were ripped and bloodied, his jaw was bruised. You also notice a large stab wound in his shoulder. When did he get that?! Peter was a mess and you blamed it on yourself.

“Peter... you’re hurt.” You say with tears in your eyes.

“Y/N, I’m okay, please don’t cry.” He says as he quickly makes his way to you.

You could see him breathing deep and hunch in pain when he makes certain movements.

“No, you’re not Peter. Every time you move I can see it hurts you. You were also stabbed, how long ago did that happen? This is all my fault, if I had been better at lying and not trusting Dimitri none of this would have happened.”

“Y/N this is not your fault at all! Please don’t blame yourself for this. Dimitri tried to fight me and he ended up stabbing me. You don’t have to worry about him, he’s not going to hurt you again. We’re okay, and we’re gonna get out of here.” He says now untying you from your chair.

“I put you into a situation where you got hurt, I couldn’t bare to watch that asshole choke you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he actually killed you.” You say now sobbing thinking of what the outcome could’ve been.

“He didn’t, you’ve still got me. I would’ve chosen for him to take me down over you getting hurt.” He says comforting.

“I really don’t know what I would’ve done if one of those assholes had you like that. I could hear you crying. That’s how I found you. They’re lucky I didn’t kill them.” He says now getting very tense. You could feel it, being the only one with him.

“Peter?” You say interrupting him.

“Yeah Y/N?

You lean in wrapping your arms around his neck gently to kiss him. He takes control fast and kisses you deeply and sweetly.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I walked down the stairs back at the compound.” You admit aloud.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you, I just never knew how to tell you and I thought you only liked me as a friend.” Peter says now very shyly.

“And, you kinda took my breath away when you came down the stairs in that dress. You know blue is my favourite colour.” Peter admits.

You cut him off and kiss him again, reassuringly.

“I know! I picked that dress out of Nat’s options for you. I’ve had a crush on you for a long time, Pete.” You confess.

Just as you were leaning in again. Your dad busts the door in finding the both of you in an embrace.

“Y/N! ARE YOU OKAY! THANK GOD I FOUND YOU TWO!” Tony says very relieved.

Steve, Nat, Bruce, and Bucky enter behind and relax finding the both of you safe. Once Steve and Bruce see that you’re both okay, they breakaway from the group to find Dimitri to bring back for questioning.

“Dad! We’re okay! How did you find us?” You say beaming.

“I put a tracker on your bracelet so we could locate you in case of an emergency.” Tony says.

“Wait, I’ve had this bracelet for over a year now. You did just put a tracker on it now right?” You say suspicious.

“...”

“DAD! There’s a thing called privacy! You can’t stalk my every move!!..” As you get mad you slowly realize if it weren’t for your irratic father, you may never have escaped.

“Thanks, dad.” You say running up to him hugging him tightly.

He squeezes back, then realizes who you were hugging moments before when he broke the door down.

“Hey Peter, do you want to explain to me why you were hugging my daughter?” He says protectively.

“Dad! Stop! He saved me, if it weren’t for Pete I wouldn’t have made it.” You say defending Peter.

“And, I love him.”

“Ok.... And we will have a discussion about this later young lady. I don’t like the idea of you using the L word.” He says now leading the way out of the room.

The Avengers follow Tony, you and Peter are left alone for a moment in the room again.

“Thanks for defending me, Y/N. Did you mean that also?” He says softly.

“Yeah I did.” You say placing your hand in his.

You both follow along still hand in hand. “Also, my dad will get over us liking each other. He tells me how great of a guy you are all the time.” You chirp.

“What if he doesn’t? I don’t think he’d think I’m a great guy if I’m dating his daughter.” Peter says slightly concerned.

“Then it’ll be our little secret.” You say whispering to him.

“That’s a secret I could keep.” Peter says now smiling looking back at you.

[captainmarkone]

Chapter One. characters: bucky barnes x reader. warning(s): none for now. introductions first; smut later. summary: being alone with only one friend takes its toll on ones mind. James Barnes is trying to find love, a meaningful connection. good thing he was at a bar the same time as you. a/n: i stan bucky barnes and him needing / wanting the love he deserves! if you see mistakes, no you didn't. mmmkay? credits: lovely divider.

Leaning against the bar, you found your favorite bartender working. Smiling widely, you waved him down.

“Johnny! Come on. I had a long day at work,” you said as he was making his way toward the other end of the bar. He raised his hand, a signal for you to wait.

You groaned softly and drummed your fingers on the wooden bar. Your friends at the usual booth. Every Friday was spent here. A tradition with your friends; co-workers that turned into friends. Practically family. Turning to see the girls laughing, one mouthing “hurry up!” at you.

You grinned and rolled your eyes, continuing to scan the rest of the bar. Eyes landing on a male whose gaze soon caught yours. Staring at each other for a second, you looked away to check the rest of the crowd out. Thankfully, it wasn’t such a full house.

“Okay, what ya want?” Johnny asked, tapping the bar to get your attention.

“Four shots of patron. Two draft beers, one mint julep, and Pim’s Cup. Pleeeeease,” you sang, smiling warmly as Johnny patted your hand and shooed you away. “Thanks, Johnny!”

Turning your head, the male once more caught your gaze, giving you a smile before shifting his eyes to the male he was with. You saw the other male turn in his seat dramatically, staring at you and you held in a laugh. Walking back to the booth where your friends were seated.

He groaned inwardly as Sam made a dramatic turn to face the female he was eyeing. She was cute. Cute enough to have caught her eye. Twice.

When Sam turned back, his grin was wide and he lifted his beer to tip it at him.

“Should go say hi,” Sam said, sipping the beer. Bucky rolled his eyes and looked at his friend. Shaking his head and drinking his own beer.

“No. I will not go and say hi. Because what the hell do I say after that?” Bucky asked, sighing softly. He wasn’t the same ladies man that he was in the 40’s. He was a lot more nervous. And women of this day and age… were scary.

“Man. Go say hi! At least. Say hi to her friends. Make them know you see them, but not the way you see her. Offer to buy them drinks,” Sam offered, and tilted his bottle to Bucky.

All the winter soldier could do was sigh agin. Taking one final sip of his beer and standing. Gaining a little bit of confidence. And he began to stride toward your table.

Your friends had made some comments about the male that made eye contact with you. Seeing it from their seats.

“He’s hot,” they all agreed, laughing as they watched you turn a light shade of pink.

“Oh my god…. He’s fucking coming over,” Ilya said and shifted slightly in her seat as you slowly turned to see him standing next to your booth.

“Good evening ladies. Must be girls night,” he started, smiling at all three of your friends before landing his eyes on you.

“I’m James. And you lovely ladies?” He introduced himself, each of your friends saying their names and introducing themselves. But you were watching him. Now up close. He was… wow.

Feeling you friend nudge you, you cleared your throat and introduced yourself. A smile on your lips as he nodded.

“I’d love to buy your first round of drinks,” James said, nodding at Johnny. “Add to my tab, John!”

James turned to you, smiling. “Might I, uh, get your number? Maybe we can get a drink sometime,” he offered, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Totally,” you said, and dug into his pocket for his phone. Handing it to you unlocked, you created a new contact and put your number in. He even called it to make sure it was yours.

“Great. It was a pleasure meeting you ladies. I’ll text you later. Have a wonderful night out,” James said and walked back to Sam. Paying for his tab and your drinks. He pulled on his leather jacket and winked at you, grinning when you blushed once more. He left the building, his friend lingering to shoot a wink at your friend, Ilya.

“Those two were the hottest men… I’ve ever seen,” Tilly said, laughing as she sipped her drink.

“James looks familiar. So did his friend…. Holy shit!” Amy exclaimed, hitting your arm. “The Winter Soldier! James Barnes! The Avenger!”

The group gasped, watching you closely.

“Y’all. Please stop. You guys act like were gonna date!” You exclaimed, sipping your beer slowly and letting the cold liquid run down your throat.

“Someone’s got a date with an Avenger yall!” Tilly exclaimed, raising her shot glass. You clinked it with hers and down your shot. Groaning at the stinging taste.

But it couldn’t cover the excitement you felt when you felt your phone vibrate and seeing the text from the unknown number which you saved then and there as James.

‘Get home safe. Have a fun night out.’ it read, and Amy, who sat next to you, whooped as she nudges you playfully.

“She got a text!” She exclaimed, the three girls clinking their glasses.

You sat there, feeling those butterflies in your stomach. You haven’t felt those in a long, long time.

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 6)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Six: The Argument

You right yourself quickly, even if it is just to save yourself from your own embarrassment of smashing into the hull for what seems like the millionth time today. Surprisingly, the raised voices above you can still be heard. Whether that means your lock picking skills are levels higher than you guessed or the men can bicker for longer than you thought possible, you cannot be sure. But what it does mean is that with all of them occupied and all in one place, you can now move around the ship with autonomy. You take one step before stopping.

All the crew are in one place…. So could you not just lock them in? It is not the worst idea you’ve had today. And so when you step onto the deck you follow the sounds to the source of the yelling, to find all four crew members in what looks to be the captain's quarters. The heavy wooden door is held open by a piece of stone and so you hide behind the door itself and lean your way around to remain unspotted as you snatch up the stone and watch as the door slams shut.

You stand surprised that so far this has all worked before thinking of putting the stone down in front of the door itself as a meager counter weight before sliding the thick bolts into place to lock the door into the captain's quarters. You hear four versions of many different curse words as you step back to admire your work. Perhaps you weren't such a bad stowaway after all!

“Why does it lock from the outside?” You think aloud, and the triumphant smile you’d been wearing falls. Why does it lock from the outside?

“Open the door.” The captain says sternly but you make no intention to even think about moving toward the bolts.

“Perhaps- perhaps I shall open the door when we, when we…” you start off with confidence that's quickly lost.

“Not to worry, vod. Sounds like an airtight plan to me.” You’ve heard Crosshair ramble enough now to recognize his voice and if not that, you’re fairly certain now he would be the only member of crew to make such a comment.

“Here’s what's going to happen.” You tell them, you’re tired of asking, of being tame. “I’m not opening that door until I have full confidence that we are not going back to Coruscant.”

“We’re going to die in this room.”

“Crosshair, would it kill you to shut your mouth for five minutes?” That’s the voice you’ve heard the least so you assume it belongs to the captain.

“Just take me to the closest inhabited land, and you’ll never have to see me again.” You bargain.

“And get gutted by Nython, no thanks sweetheart.” He sounds like he's leaning against the door, and in your bravery you stand in front of it as well. Letting one of your hands trail over the bolts.

“He likes to lock doors from the outside as well.” You murmur to yourself, reliving the tour of his grounds given to you by one of the workers. You repeat the explanation you were given. There's a long pause and you’re thinking you’ve reached a stalemate when you hear his mysterious voice again:

“Alderaan is a few days away from us.” Chills run through you at the possibility of escape, real escape with a ship and a plan. You try to think of some way to match his offer, to convince him to take you there.

“Please…” your forehead presses against the cooler wood for comfort.

“Unlock the door.” He’s not asking this time, and with hands shaking with excitement and perhaps too much trust, you release the bolts.

The man standing in front of you is a very different one from the first time you saw him. The black tunic is loose but tucked into tactical pants that look decades too old for anybody to still be wearing them. His sleeves are rolled up and you get a glimpse of scars, and a large burn mark of a symbol you do not recognize in his inner arm. And when your eyes meet his, you properly see them for the first time. In here they look almost yellow, but you think perhaps they’re a rich light brown. The red bandana keeps longer hair out of his warm coloured face.

Suddenly you’re self conscious about your ruined dress and tousled hair. He clears his throat.

“Chart a course to Alderaan.” He orders stepping out of the small room, regarding you awkwardly.

“Nice to have ya aboard little miss!” You jump out of your skin when a hand meets your shoulder.

“Wrecker.” The captain chides, this clone is bigger than his twins and is sporting more scars than any of them evident by the large one on his face (complimented with a gnarly eye patch) and with his low cut tunic you can see the hundreds of them leading down.

“Nice to meet you Wrecker.” You say without thinking, having spent years learning poise and politeness.

“Nice to meet you as well, little miss. Over there is Tech who ya met already and that’s Crosshair who swooped ya from earlier,” you smile at Tech and Crosshair who look confused and annoyed perspectively.

“I should probably thank you for earlier.” You say to Crosshair, who huffs, and stomps out of the room with a:

“Don’t mention it.”

“Oh and of course we need to introduce you to our captain-” He starts again pointing to the man with the face tattoo.

“Wrecker get to your post.” He barks before you get his name. Wrecker gives a casual salute before taking off in the same direction Crosshair had, already yelling at his brother, something about having told him so.

“Told you we’d help.” Tech says with a smile, extending his hand. You carefully shake it, eased by his smile.

“Thank you, and I - uh, I'm sorry about the knife.” you add awkwardly watching as the captain crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you could have done damage with that if you tried.” Tech laughs

“She was trying.” The captain adds - not laughing. You apologize again before offering your first name only and with a final shake you let go of Tech’s hand.

“Come on Aaray.” He says “I'll show you around.” you start to correct him, wondering how someone who is clearly as smart as Tech is has managed to butcher your name so badly.

“No, no, I know.” He admits before smirking at the captain. “Hunter was just adamant that you’re an Aaray.” You catch Tech’s smile and the captain’s less serious glare, before he turns away to head out onto the bulk of the deck.

“What is an Aaray?” You ask the following Tech as he sets off.

“Mando’a. Maybe one day he’ll tell you what it means.” Tech says, seeming to enjoy being a shit disturber as much as his taller brother.

Hunter you think to yourself. It’s a nice name.

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

comment to be added! oxox Jessie

[witchygirl99]

finding a photo of your enemy as a toddler, inukag

Ask, and you shall receive.

1800 words under the cut. Not edited. Written at work so it was a shoddy rush job and everything is very vague and you'll just have to accept this.

I'll write a proper, better video gamer AU one day. For now though...

Won't You Say (You Love Me, Too)

The thing is—

The thing is that Inuyasha isn’t meant to be here. Sure, he’s a little drunk. And sure, Koga’s stupid face dared him, because Koga is both stupid, has a face, and that face is stupid. Inuyasha didn’t have to listen, though. Inuyasha could have done a billion other things, like walk away, or laugh the dare off, or – or – could have even gotten himself another drink.

That… That would have been the smarter plan.

Inuyasha hiccups, flinching at the noise. He is so not supposed to be here.

“Inuyasha,” stupid Koga hisses from below. It’s probably supposed to be a whisper. It’s not. It’s like…quieter yelling, but yelling nonetheless.

Haughtily, Inuyasha glares down at his teammate. The window that he’s jimmied open to break into the Priestess House is still open. It’s unseasonably warm for an autumn night, but it’s strangely comforting. At least, Inuyasha thinks so. That could just be the alcohol talking, though.

“Inuyasha,” Koga hisses again, “what do you see?”

He blinks, frowns, and then squints into the dark room. There’s not a ton of illumination from either the moon, or the streetlights. He thinks, dimly, that this is a…bedroom? A bedroom. This is not, in fact, the office that they thought they were breaking into.

[Read the rest below the cut.]

He takes in a deep breath, brain pinging at him worriedly. He knows this scent. It’s familiar. Too familiar. Inuyasha should know whose room he’s in and it’s on the tip of his tongue – his nose? No, that’s not a saying – when Koga makes another hissing sound.

Ugh.

“What?” Inuyasha snarls, so desperate to glare out the window at his stupid teammate and at said stupid teammate’s face that he nearly stumbles. Bracing himself on the little table underneath, he makes a point to roll his eyes when the wolf demon waves alarmingly at him. “What is so urgent that you need to—”

“I hear them,” Koga whisper-yells, because he’s stupid. “They’re just down the street.”

“What?” he exclaims, but this time it’s desperate rather than irritated. “I thought Miroku said the girls would be gone for at least an hour.”

“Well, his intel is shit,” Koga replies. “Now get out!”

So much for sneaking into their offices to find out if any of their playing strategies would be visible. The regional gaming tournament is only two days away, and every single member of the six-person Priestess team has been dominating the competition. Their battle strategies have taken weaker characters and turned them into something surprisingly efficient. It should be impossible. Character stats don’t lie.

And yet. And yet. The women of the Priestess House have made a mockery of nearly everyone there. And the worst of them?

Kagome Higurashi. The absolute bane of his existence. She came onto the scene about three years ago, rising up the ranks. Inuyasha hadn’t even given her a second thought until The Incident last year.

The Incident, in which she—

“Inuyasha,” Koga hisses again, like an angry cat. A cat. Not a wolf. Inuyasha should tell him this. Inuyasha is desperate to tell him this. “You need to jump out the window, you fuck.”

Right. The Priestess girls were coming back. Kagome would be with them and that would be— That would be bad. Not just because of the breaking and entering, or the trespassing. It would be bad because Inuyasha would have to be around her for likely more than a minute, which would mean that he’d have to stare into those dark eyes and that too-kind smile – like they’re friends, which they are not – and then—

“For fuck’s sake, I’m going to leave you,” Koga states, and that finally drills through Inuyasha’s pretty drunk skull. Can skulls be drunk?

No?

Maybe.

“I’m coming,” Inuyasha replies, pushing upwards, but he’s an idiot. The table underneath him isn’t that sturdy, and so his pressure on it to climb back out the window from which he entered sends a picture frame crashing to the ground.

“Inuyasha!”

“Oh my god, say my name one more time and I will murder you!” Inuyasha snaps. Koga is not helping, that fucking fuck. “Hold the fuck on, we can’t let them know—” And he bends down to grab the frame and put it back. Hopefully whoever’s room this is won’t notice.

And then he sees the picture in the frame, practically mocking him. It’s fucking Kagome Higurashi, no more than four years old and clinging to a small baby who looks distinctly unhappy by the entire experience. It’s undoubtedly her. While there’s more chub to her cheeks, those are the same sparkling eyes and that’s the same beaming smile. He would know that smile anywhere because it always makes him feel off-balance, confused. No one just smiles at people, at strangers. No one just smiles at you while they’re getting destroyed in one-on-one battle, and then shakes your hand with that same happy smile when they’ve lost. They don’t use that exact same smile when they see you again later in the year, at another tournament, and only stop smiling when they beat you so badly—

Oh god.

Oh fucking god.

This is Kagome’s bedroom. This is Kagome’s bedroom and he’s in her room and—

Kagome Higurashi at four years old smiles the exact same way, and she’s clinging to a little boy and that’s a big purple dinosaur right beside her on the couch. A dinosaur. She likes dinosaurs, oh god this is the worst—

“Godspeed, fucker,” Koga whispers-yells. “We hardly knew ye!” There’s the distinct sound of bushes rustling. His own teammate has abandoned him. Inuyasha is going to commit murder.

Firmly putting down the picture frame, Inuyasha starts the careful climb back out the window. He’s got one leg out, half of his body strained to reach the little lip in the brickwork he climbed up earlier. His hands grab at the sill, twisting him, and then he sees it.

It.

The purple dinosaur.

It’s on her bed, perfectly placed and disgustingly cute.

“Oh no,” Inuyasha groans, and then promptly shoves himself out the window. It takes him ten precious seconds to balance, and then another ten seconds to close the window and hide the fact he ever broke in in the first place. At the first sound of voices, Inuyasha freezes against the brick, propped up in a little corner and distinctly not looking down. It’s not a far drop, but the last thing Inuyasha needs is to lose his balance, topple into the garden, and then have the Priestess women come running to see what the fuck happened.

He waits, breath nearly held, until they start opening the door. There’s enough fuss and discussion that Inuyasha feels safe in making his escape, running away like the hounds of hell are chasing him. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look back.

When he finds Koga, lounging on the couch and drinking yet another beer at their shared gaming house, it takes a solid ten seconds of very slow counting to remind himself that murder is bad.

Besides, they have a tournament to win on Saturday.

X+X

The next day, Inuyasha finds himself looking for purple dinosaurs on Amazon.

This is, well, not ideal.

“What are you doing?” Hachi asks, eyes narrowed in confusion and then widening in concern when Inuyasha flinches to hide this embarrassing lack of restraint. “Wow, okay.”

“Fuck off,” Inuyasha replies, but he’s too mortified to even make it mean-sounding. He just comes off as pathetic.

There’s a snort in the doorway, and Miroku comes bumbling in with a clipboard. He takes his duties as team manager far too seriously. “What did Hachi do wrong now?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Hachi replies, eyeing Inuyasha again. “He’s the one that went all crazy when I asked him what he was doing.”

“And what was he doing?” Miroku presses. He’s grinning like a fool because he’s the worst. The worst best friend a guy could ask for. Inuyasha doesn’t know why he’s teammates with these idiots. It’s bad enough he’s got to deal with Koga.

“I wasn’t do anything,” he tries, but Hachi’s just shaking his head.

“Looking at his phone. I don’t know.”

Miroku turns to him, a shark that smells blood in the water. “Your phone? Who are you texting?”

“No one,” Inuyasha scoffs. “Fuck off.”

This gets a nod, and he has one moment of hope that Miroku won’t push the issue when his best friend hums. “You’re right. You have no friends outside of this team.”

“I’m not his friend!” Koga yells from somewhere else in the house.

Inuyasha sighs.

“So you must have been watching something.”

“No,” Hachi argues, “he was holding his phone like this. He was reading something, or maybe scrolling?”

“Inuyasha can’t read!” comes Koga’s voice again. They all ignore him.

“You’re not on Instagram,” Miroku hums, playing fucking Sherlock Holmes. “And you’re definitely not on TikTok. Discord is just another form of talking to people, so that’s out.”

Growling, he shoves his phone in the pocket of hoodie and gets up. “I am leaving.”

“Ooh, he’s leaving,” his friend continues, blue eyes alight with something dangerously close to glee. “Fuck, it has to be about Kagome then. That’s the only time you get this pissy.”

“Ha!” Hachi laughs because he, too, is the worst.

“That’s my future wife!” Koga yells from the other room, but that’s just because he’s delusional. As if someone like Koga could fucking rub two braincells together enough to impress her. Inuyasha’s face does a thing at the very thought.

“Oh my god, it is!” Miroku cackles.

“No,” Inuyasha answers, and he thinks he does a pretty good job of remaining calm. “But fuck you, anyways.”

“Are you reading her Wikitubia again?” his friend asks and that is it—

“One time!” Inuyasha yells, storming away from the main room. “That was one time!”

His teammates’ laughter follows him all the way back to his bedroom. Shippo, rubbing at his eyes after his nap – because he acts like a literal child, it’s embarrassing – just stares at him confusedly. “What did I miss?”

Inuyasha doesn’t stop walking. “Absolutely fucking nothing.” He gets into his room, shuts the door with a disturbing amount of care, and then leaps onto his bed to try and suffocate himself with a pillow. The walls of their gaming house aren’t that thick. If he tries hard enough, Inuyasha could hear the shit they’re undoubtedly still talking about him.

One time, Inuyasha pathetically whines in his head. He was only caught staring at her Wikitubia page one time. He was sizing up the enemy. Looking for weaknesses to exploit. That’s the only reason he did it. Just like that’s the only reason he watches her YouTube videos religiously, at least once a day, and always at night once everyone else has fallen asleep.

It’s not because of anything weird. It’s because she’s the enemy. She’s the competition. Inuyasha must figure out a way to destroy her.

Later that night, when he goes back to re-watching an old YouTube video of hers – one Kagome had posted within the first month of her rise to so-called fame – that he sees it.

It.

The purple dinosaur.

Sitting propped up on some pillows, like a prized treasure.

“Motherfucker,” Inuyasha snaps. He doesn’t stop the video, though. There could be secrets. Weaknesses to exploit. Yadda yadda yadda, he’s not in denial, this is only his third time watching it, blah blah—

Kagome smiles in the video and his chest does the thing.

Inuyasha sighs. Miroku can never, ever see his browsing history.

X+X

Tagging: @ideasthatbuildcities​ @wolfcry77​ @alerialblu​ @misspepperpottss​ @sailorbabydoll92​ @willowandfog​ @amethystablaze​ @fawn-eyed-girl​ @noyourenotreal​ @hnn-wnchstr​ @liz8080​ @nsr0716​ @superpixie42​ @itzatakahashi​ @mandirox89​ @inussunflower​ @cstormsinukagblog​ @nartista​ @hopidoodle​ @princessinume​ @lavendertwilight89​ @anxietyaardvark​ @omgitscharlie​ @theinuyashareader​ @ruddcatha​ @umacaking​ @kagometaishostory​ @cammysansstuff​ @sacred-arrow-writes @sacred-arrow @gicu2 @neutronstarchild @kalcia

[fatehbaz]

Betelgeuse is the bright red supergiant star in the shoulder of Orion, and it varies in brightness [...]. This variability was first ‘discovered’ by Sir John Herschel in 1836, or at least this was the first surviving observation to make it into Western science journals. Recently, there has been substantial excitement in the press [...] over a claim that the Aboriginal Australians had long ago discovered the variability of Betelgeuse (plus Aldebaran and Antares) and incorporated this discovery into lore passed down through untold generations [...]. This basic claim [...] has excited skepticism in some quarters. [...] This skepticism can be itemized under the question “How could the Aboriginal Australians discover the variability [...]?” and under the statement “The variability of Betelgeuse is too subtle and infrequent for any casual discovery.” [...] The variability of [...] Betelgeuse can be detected [...]. Hamacher (2018) furthers claims that Australian Aboriginal lore contains unmistakable reports on the long-term pulsations of the red stars Aldebaran and Antares. [...]

It is inevitable that many Aboriginal people over the millennia would watch Betelgeuse sufficiently closely to easily recognize that it varies from brighter-than to much-fainter-than Procyon. No written records are needed for such observations [...]. The first story is about a hunter (represented by the modern stars of Orion) chasing after some young sisters (represented by the Pleiades), [...] while the older protective sister’s left foot (represented by Aldebaran) also fills and empties of the ‘fire magic’ [waxing and waning, the “variability”] [...]. The second story is also a morality tale, with a story about a young male initiate (named Waiyungari) covered in red ochre running away into the sky, where he now sits in a canoe on the Milky Way, flanked by two stars representing two women, being prominent in the September evening skies. Waiyungari is definitively identified as Antares. [...] What is needed is a small set of relatively nearby comparison stars [...], and that is exactly what we have for Betelgeuse [...].  Procyon, Pollux, and Capella are within 23 degrees to 39 degrees, all at comfortable distances for comparison. [...] [For an observer] it will be easy to remember that Betelgeuse [fluctuates and can variably be] brighter-than, roughly-equal-to, fainter-than, or much-fainter-than Rigel.

---

A possible counter-argument is that Betelgeuse’s variability was missed by excellent Western observers, such as Ptolemy, Tycho Brahe, and William Herschel, and hence was not discovered by the Aboriginal Australians. The logic of this counter-argument is unusuably poor because every sky phenomenon has a first surviving discoverer, but this says nothing about earlier observers whose discoveries might not be documented in refereed journals. Arguments by historic ignorance are poor logic. [...]

Are we really to say that the first record in science journals of the Green Flash invalidates Jules Verne’s earlier book highlighting the Green Flash (Le Rayon Verde) dated 1882, or indeed that myriads of sunset watchers the world over have not made many independent discoveries of the Green Flash?

As another example, the phenomenon of mountain-shadows-cast-onto-air-as-cones-of-darkness was first published in the early 1900s, yet this does not invalidate the 1789 painting from the top of Snaefellsjokull that clearly shows the phenomenon (Pocock, 1791), nor does it invalidated the correct description of the shadow from the Canary Islands in Arthur Conan Doyle’s 1884 “J. Habakuk Jephson’s Statement”, nor does it invalidate the long lore of mountain shadows for Mount Fuji and for Mauna Kea. And so on. [...] Another question is whether a discovery gets saved as a report that survives to be seen by modern scholars. [...] In culture without writing, the discovery must become part of the lore passed down through the generations [...]. [S]ome astronomical examples:

(1) The 8th-millennium tightest planetary massing on 26 February 1953 BCE was made culturally relevant for the ancient Chinese as being the start date for calendars [...]. (2) For naked-eye variable stars, the variations of Algol passed into the calendars of ancient Egypt (Jetsu et al., 2013) and passed into complex mythology associated with Medusa, as appropriate for the sky [...]. (3) The knowledge of the very rare total solar eclipses (every 310 years on average from any one location) has passed into the lore of all old cultures [...]. (4) Many more Aboriginal Australian examples [...] [include] the Emu in the sky (mostly defined by the dark clpouds in the Milky Way from the Coalsack to Sagittarius) showing a depiction of the flying bird with an explanation for how the emu lost the ability to fly. [...]

---

Another reason [Western academics can be] skeptical of such claims [...] is that the lore or text is ambiguous [...]. [O]ld lore and documents can and do report events and facts in symbolic or poetic language [... with] myriad of possible decodings [...]. But we do not have such ambiguities for the cases of the three red stars. There is adequate sky lore describing the constellations such that the identification of the stars is clear, with no plausible alternatives. And the Aboriginal lore explicitly says that the star changes brightness, with recurring waxing and waning.

For the question of whether Aboriginal Australians did discover the variability of the three red stars, the direct words [...] provide the proof. For Betelgeuse and Aldebaran, we have firsthand ethnographic documentation from [...] 1921 from Aboriginal groups in the Great Victoria Desert. For Antares, we have [...] documentation [...] from South Australia [...] in 1846, [...] in 1935, and [...] in 1999.

Aboriginal people do tell us, many times over, from multiple communities, that these stars vary in brightness.

--

Bradley E. Schaefer. “Yes, Aboriginal Australians can and did discover the variability of Betelgeuse.” Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage Vol. 21. 2018.

[keanureevesisbae]

Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Chapter 2

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: Mentions of vomit and blood.

Wordcount: 4.5k

A/N: Yesterday was like a dream, seeing the sweetest comments flood in. A big thank you to everyone xx If you still want to be on the taglist, it’s never too late, just tell me 🤗

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

There is one thing that Henry has always wanted in life and that was getting married and having a family of his own. Growing up with four brothers, he always envisioned himself being surround by a beautiful wife, with lots of kids.

But he has reached the age of thirty seven and though he hasn’t got a lot to worry about—his biological clock isn’t ticking—he thought that by now, he’d at least have a wife and one kid.

Now he only has Kal, his loyal canine that he adores with all his heart. He takes a sip of his beer, as he watches some lame romantic comedy. It’s Friday night and as a single man, he could be on a date of course, but his profession as an actor, makes it even harder to date.

Most women are either in it for the fame and his money.

He witnessed his relationships crumble apart and now he is back being single, sitting on the couch with his dog, staring at a television screen. Last year he was thinking about starting a family, but he pushed it aside, enjoying his life as an actor. The movies he did were going great, but after the latest movie he did…

It was kind of a flop. It didn’t meet up to the expectations of the public and since that moment, he has been living a quite boring life, not thinking about taking any other offers. He wakes up, walks Kal and thinks about ways to meet the love of his life.

Henry isn’t so sure anymore about his acting career.

His mind wanders during the movie. He thinks about a future with a wife and kids. He can already see it happening: he would roll over in bed, wrap his arms around the love of his life, to slowly wake her up, before their kids would rush into the room and jump on their bed. He can imagine his beautiful wife sitting on the kitchen counter, with a few mini versions of them sitting next to her, as he is cooking for the entire family.

Henry rubs his face, fatigue kicking in. He shuts off the television and gives the big bear a kiss on top of his head. ‘You want a little something to eat before you go to bed?’ he asks Kal.

Kal wags his tail as an answer, accompanied with a bark.

Henry can’t help but chuckle.

It can pretty hard training Kal, but with the right amount of snacks, this dog can listen to him. Sometimes he even thinks that Kal can read his mind.

They go to the kitchen and he gives him a little kibble before he sleeps. He opens up the newest Doggy Herb bag and notices a slight change in color, but he shrugs it off. He bought Doggy Herb since the day he got Kal, so maybe there is more meat in this one that in the previous ones. He throws some in a bowl and watches as Kal gulps it all up.

The two of them walk up the stairs when Kal is done eating and he gets himself ready for the night. Henry stares at the sink in the bathroom, noticing the space that is left, because he doesn’t have anyone to share it with.

Before he can feel totally sorry for himself, he spits out the toothpaste and walks to his bedroom. He strips down to his underwear and steps into the bed, Kal joining him on the sheets.

He watches Kal falling asleep almost instantly and hopefully Henry can do the same.

But he can’t.

His mind keeps racing, constantly racing. The terrible reviews of his latest movie, the way how women kept saying how they want to have his kids, but none of them is good enough. He wants to fall in love with someone, someone who understands him, who loves him for who he is. A woman that he has an instant connection with. A woman where he can be himself.

When he does fall asleep, Henry dreams about a faceless woman, who holds onto his hand, as they watch their little kids running around in the yard, Kal barking as he runs in between the giggling kids.

That’s all he wants.

Henry is about to give his faceless wife a kiss, when he wakes up from hurling sounds that definitely aren’t his. He opens his eyes, turns on the light on his nightstand, to see Kal puking out his kibble on the new carpet.

Great, exactly what he needs. This is why he can’t have new stuff.

Henry gets out of bed and sits next to his dog. ‘Bud, you okay?’ he asks, but Kal’s legs give out and he collapses to the floor. His eyes are still open, but he whimpers and his breathing isn’t going as steady as it normally is.

‘No, no, no, Kal,’ Henry says, panic dripping through every word he speaks. He tries to find his phone as quickly as possible and Googles ‘Animal Clinics London’. He calls three different clinics, but none are picking up, not even the one that he usually goes to. He sees one that is an hour away, but in all honesty, Henry would arrange a private jet to fly them off to a vet that did pick up the fucking phone and he didn’t even care if he had to travel to another continent.

The phone rings twice, before he hears: ‘Animal Clinic Westside, doctor Olivia Tran, how may I help you?’

The woman sounds friendly, that’s a good start. ‘Hello, I’m terribly sorry for calling at this hour, but my dog is vomiting and I see some blood in it. He collapsed and is breathing really heavily and I don’t know what to do.’

‘Sir, it’s okay,’ she says. ‘Did your dog eat anything out of the ordinary today?’

He doesn’t even know for sure. ‘Not that I know of.’

‘You think it’s possible for you to come to the clinic? I’d like to see the dog.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Henry says.

‘I hope it’s not too much to ask, but could you take some of the vomit with you? Especially the part with some blood. I’d like to check it.’

Doctor Olivia Tran could’ve asked him to bring three human kidneys and he’d bring it, anything for his Kal. ‘I’ll bring it with me, of course.’

‘What kind of breed is your dog, sir?’

‘An American Akita. His name is Kal.’ Henry strokes the fur of Kal, blinking away the tears.

‘I’ll be at the clinic in about forty minutes, mister…’

Henry picks up on what she’s trying to do. ‘Cavill and I can be at the clinic in about an hour.’

They hang up shortly afterwards and Kal lets out a soft whimper. ‘Hang in there, bud,’ he tells the dog. ‘You can’t die on me. You really can’t.’

≫≫≪≪

With a weak Kal in his arms, Henry rushes into the clinic, only to discover that doctor Tran is already waiting for him. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he certainly wasn’t expecting her. He is mesmerized by her dark brown eyes, her perfect lips and her hair that’s in a messy bun, a few strands framing her face.

This woman is beyond beautiful. He can’t believe that someone like her is even real. The way she tilts her head, while she scans him shamelessly from top to bottom, makes him feel all sorts of things.

He concludes he has been single for too long.

‘Mister Cavill?’ she asks, causing him to snap back into reality.

‘Yes,’ he hastily says. ‘That’s me.’

‘Follow me.’ She walks in front of him, into the first examination room. Her fingers tap on the table and he gently places his dog on the hard surface. She strokes the fur on top of Kal’s head. ‘Let’s see what’s with you,’ she says, putting on some gloves. ‘You brought the samples?’

‘Yes, yes, I did,’ he says, clearing his throat. He shouldn’t be mesmerized by the vet in front of him, but he can’t stop staring at her. He hands her the bag and she sets it aside, while she opens Kal’s eyes, looking into them.

Before he can say something else, he hears small footsteps echo into the room. ‘Can I watch?’

Henry looks up, to see a small girl standing in the doorway. This must be the daughter of doctor Tran, because that girl is the spitting image of the woman standing in front of him. The doctor does look young though, almost too young to have a daughter who is at least five years old.

He needs to shake the thought of the doctor off of him, he tells himself. She has a daughter, so there is a plausible chance she’s taken.

Doctor Tran doesn’t look up from her clipboard, while she’s scribbling something down. ‘If mister Cavill doesn’t mind.’

The young girl looks up at him, two hopeful eyes meeting his. ‘No, of course not,’ he says, his heart melting at the sight of the hopeful look in her eyes.

The little girl walks over to the examination table, dragging a stool with her. She stands next to Henry and even when she’s standing on it, she can barely peek over the edge of the table. ‘Mommy,’ she asks, confirming that the little girl is indeed doctor Tran her daughter, ‘should I introduce myself?’

The doctor nods, while she checks the vomit, scrunching her nose. ‘That’s the polite thing to do, sweetheart.’

The girl holds out a tiny hand and says: ‘My name is Vanessa Tran.’

‘Hi Vanessa,’ Henry says in a soft voice, before holding onto her hand, that nearly disappears in his. ‘My name is Henry Cavill and this is Kal.’

Doctor Tran looks up from the bag of vomit. ‘Henry Cavill?’ she asks. ‘Isn’t there an actor whose name is Henry Cavill?’

‘Yeah, there is.’ Henry chuckles, feeling a bit awkward, but also amused that she doesn’t recognize him. It’s nice to be unrecognizable, even if it’s for a short amount of time. ‘That actor would be me.’

Her eyes widen. ‘Oh,’ she says, but she can’t seem to find the right words to say.

‘Mommy, is this man famous?’ Vanessa asks, while not breaking eye contact with Henry. The little girl blinks her eyes, almost in disbelieve that someone famous is standing next to her.

Doctor Tran pulls herself together. ‘Yes, sweetheart, he plays in some movies. He even played Superman.’

Vanessa widens her eyes as well and yet again she looks just like her mother. ‘Wow, Superman is here.’ She starts to giggle, a sound that Henry already adores. ‘So, if you are Superman, you are really strong.’

‘He is,’ doctor Tran says, placing the vomit samples aside. ‘He carried his dog inside.’ Henry can’t help but beam with pride as he takes in the compliment from the doctor.

‘Wow,’ Vanessa says again. She holds out her arms and asks him if he can lift her up. Henry looks over at the doctor, who smiles and simply nods, a non verbal sign of consent.

Henry lifts the little girl up in his arms and she wraps an arm around his neck.

‘I can’t wait to tell miss Sue that I met Superman.’

He can’t help but laugh, the little girl and her comments already making him feel less scared about what can happen to Kal. ‘Doctor Tran,’ he finally says, ‘is everything okay with Kal?’

‘What kind of kibble do you give him?’ she asks, while she is checking his heartbeat.

‘Doggy Herb,’ he answers, while Vanessa is tugging his curls, pulling on one strand until it’s straight, before letting it go and watching it curl together again. ‘Why?’

She looks up. ‘Well, then the news hasn’t reached you yet. We’ve had multiple cases of dogs who started to vomit after they ate the Doggy Herb kibble, some of them included blood. The manufacturer changed something in the ingredients and now lots of dogs have severe reactions to it.’

This woman demands all of his attention, without even trying. She is absolutely breathtaking and if she wasn’t talking about his sick dog, nor had a daughter, he’d ask her out.

‘Oh.’ Henry feels guilty. ‘I thought there was something different about it. I opened a new bag today.’

‘How much did you gave him?’

‘A little bit, at around eleven,’ he answers.

She smiles and without her telling him something, he already feels more at ease. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about. I’m going to put an IV on him, so he can rehydrate a bit. After that I’m going to give him some medicine and I’ll give you something to give him at home. In about three hours, you can take him home with you again.’

‘Really?’

She nods. ‘Really, sir. If you could place him on the floor? That would be easier for Kal and me.’

‘I’m sorry, miss Vanessa,’ he says, before he gently places the girl back on her feet. He shouldn’t feel this desperate need to impress the doctor. However, he can’t help but flex his muscles a little bit, as he carries the dog to the corner of the examination room.

‘Wow, mommy, he is really strong,’ Vanessa says.

‘No wonder he was Superman,’ doctor Tran says. She looks through some drawers and says: ‘I figure you want to wait here.’

‘I do, I do,’ he says.

‘If you want, you can grab something to drink around the corner. Maybe a coffee will help you stay awake.’

Does he look that miserable? Does he look that tired?

‘I can tell you how the machine works,’ Vanessa says. ‘I know how it works.’

‘That would be nice,’ he admits. Vanessa takes ahold of his hand and tugs him with her. He follows the little girl and he sees himself in the reflection of a mirror that’s right next to the coffee machine.

He does look miserable. His eyes are still red from the bit of crying he did when he drove to the clinic and the bed hair looks like multiple crows have been nesting there.

‘My mommy is going to make Kal better,’ Vanessa says, before grabbing a paper cup. ‘You don’t have to worry.’

‘I wasn’t worried,’ he tells the young girl, but the second it leaves his lips, he realized he only said that to impress the doctor. God, he is lying to a little girl, just to impress her mother, who isn’t even in the same room. For all he knows, the woman is married and the girl’s dad is at home.

But, come to think of it, why would she take her daughter to work then?

Vanessa starts to frown and she takes a step to the side, so she’s standing in the doorway. ‘Mommy, can I tell Superman he is lying and that you’re not supposed to lie?’

He can hear doctor Tran laughing. ‘You can tell Superman that, sweetheart.’

Henry feels a little finger poking his thigh. ‘Superman, you are lying and you’re not supposed to lie. My mommy says that you should tell the truth, especially about your feelings.’

He is genuinely impressed. This young girl is really in touch with her own feelings and can verbalize it. That’s extraordinary for someone her age, he thinks to himself. Doctor Tran is doing a good job with raising her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says to Vanessa. ‘I’ll try to be better.’

‘You should, you are Superman after all.’

He has a paper cup filled with coffee and they accompany Kal and the doctor again. She hands Vanessa a juice box and says she needs to fill in some paperwork, but that the two of them can keep Kal company.

Vanessa and Henry stare at Kal, while Vanessa is slowly stroking his fur. It’s obvious that she’s growing more and more tired with every passing second, but she is desperately trying to stay awake. It’s really endearing, if Henry’s being honest and really not helping with his own baby fever.

‘My mommy is also a superhero,’ Vanessa says. ‘Not like Superman of course, but she always saves animals.’

‘Well,’ Henry says, unintentionally loud enough for doctor Tran to hear it, ‘your mom is an even better hero than Superman.’

That confuses her, because she frowns. ‘Why?’

‘Because I play Superman. It’s pretending. Your mom is not pretending.’

He watches Vanessa nod, as she is taking in what he just said. ‘Yeah, you are right. My mommy is a better hero.’ She sighs deeply. ‘Mister Henry, do you have kids?’

God, the girl is barely five or six years old, but she surely knows how to wrench his heart. ‘I don’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not what?’

She rolls her eyes annoyed, probably thinking he is a slow one for not understanding. ‘Why don’t you have kids?’

He clears his throat. ‘I don’t have a wife,’ he says. ‘And you need two people for that.’

Her mouth falls open. ‘Well, my mommy doesn’t have a husband. I’ve always wanted a daddy,’ she admits with bitter sweet honesty. ‘But my real daddy didn’t want me.’

‘Enough, Vanessa,’ he hears doctor Tran say in a stern voice from the other room.

‘But mommy…’

‘No, enough. Don’t talk about that with strangers.’

‘But this man is not a stranger mom. He is Superman, he can help us.’

Doctor Tran walks into the room, an annoyed look on her face. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at her daughter, raising an eyebrow in the process.

Vanessa pouts. ‘Sorry.’

The doctor leaves the room again and Henry asks Vanessa about school, hoping the kid doesn’t start about her estranged father again, though he wants to know more about that and it is a convenience: doctor Tran is single from what she just told him.

He finds out that she is six and can already read what’s on the posters in the examination room. Even though this kid isn’t his own, he can’t help but feel proud, when she recites the entire alphabet and shows him that she can count to a hundred.

But all while she’s doing that, fatigue is catching up with her and eventually she falls asleep against his arm. He carefully lifts her up, hoping that he doesn’t wake her up and walks to the room where doctor Tran is currently doing some paperwork.

‘Oh, she’s asleep,’ she says when she notices Henry standing in the doorway.

‘Yeah, she was pretty tired.’

She smiles, before holding out her arms. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she says, as she holds her daughter close to her body. She leaves the room and probably will tuck her daughter in somewhere. He sits next to his dog, looks at him, looking less and less fatigued and more like his own happy go lucky self.

‘Kal is looking better,’ she says, while she crouches down next to the dog. Kal stares at her, almost with heart eyes. ‘I recommend you switch to something like Purina One, or something like that,’ she tells him. ‘Doesn’t matter, everything but Doggy Herb.’

‘Is it deadly?’ he asks. ‘The other kibble.’

She shakes her head. ‘Well, no, wait, that’s a lie. If you give him lots of it, it can be fatal.’

‘I feel so stupid.’

The doctor looks at him. ‘Don’t,’ she says. ‘From the looks of it, you are a great owner.’ She checks the bag with fluids and says: ‘I want him on the scale for a second.’ She removes the IV from him, but from the looks of it, Kal is too tired to move.

‘Why on the scale?’

‘To determine how much of the medicine he needs,’ she tells him. ‘We don’t want to OD him, do we?’

It’s almost a cruel joke, but he can’t help but laugh. This woman is quite something and he is seriously intrigued.

Henry is yet again going out of his way to impress the beautiful doctor, but her facial expressions don’t give away much. She turns on the scale and writes down what she sees. ‘You can place him there,’ she says, pointing near the entrance. ‘Maybe the view will help him a bit. He should get moving in about half an hour.’ He places his furry companion near the door and Kal can move his head up, staring to the silent outside world, all still too deep asleep. When he looks at the doctor again, she taps the screen of the scale. ‘Now I know how much you both weigh, but I need Kal’s weight.’

Why is he feeling insecure? She’ll probably know that his weight is mostly muscle, that is shows his hard work. He steps on the scale and watches her scribble something on the paper. When Henry steps off, he notices her frown. ‘What?’ he asks.

‘This only confirms what I thought.’

‘What?’ he asks again.

‘Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat.’

She could’ve slapped in across his cheek and he wouldn’t be as surprised as he is now. Kal is fat? ‘Excuse me,’ he says in a defensive tone, crossing his arms in front of his buffed out chest. ‘My dog isn’t fat.’

Doctor Tran doesn’t seem impressed by his facade at all. ‘He is,’ she tells him. ‘An average American Akita weights between the forty and sixty kilos. Your dog weighs seventy kilos, while he should be between the fifty and sixty kilos.’

‘It’s muscle.’ Geez, he never thought he could get this defensive.

The doctor tries to hide a smile and her overall amusement, but she is failing miserably. ‘It’s fat, I already felt that back in the examination room.’

‘But how is he too fat?’

She shrugs. ‘You feed him too much, I guess. I’m not there with you when you feed him.’

‘I give him the prescribed amount of kibble.’ And a bit more, but his dog can’t possible get fat from that, right?

‘Do you train Kal?’

He nods. ‘I do.’

‘And do you give him snacks?’

He searches though his pocket and finds a chunk that he usually gives Kal during training.

‘How many do you give him?’ she asks, studying the snack as she takes it from him.

‘About twelve of those during a training session and I do those about two or three times.’

’No wonder he is fat.’

Does the doctor need to be this crude? His dog nearly died, could she show him some compassion?

‘Mister Cavill, this is the size of a pound,’ she tells him. She breaks it into four smaller bits and adds: ‘Dogs don’t care about the size of their snack. Instead giving him one of those, giving him a fourth, isn’t something he’ll notice.’

Henry sighs deeply, embarrassed of his defensiveness. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘For getting defensive?’ she guesses. ‘Oh no, it’s totally understandable. Someone is saying something about someone you care about. But, sir, it’s my job to make sure Kal is the healthiest he can be. Just give him seventy five percent of what you would normally give him, give him tons of walks and don’t give him the entire snack, just a quarter will do.’

He nods, taking the tips in. ‘Thank you, doctor Tran.’

≫≫≪≪

Kal is finally feeling better and Vanessa has woken up again. She is hanging around Kal’s neck, giving him tons of kisses. Kal doesn’t seem to mind, because he continues to lick Vanessa’s face when he gets the chance. Henry knew that his loyal dog was good with children, but this is on another level.

‘I’m sorry that I called,’ he says to doctor Tran, who is leaning against the counter, her white coat hanging open, revealing a thick looking sweater.

‘Why? Your dog was sick and you called a vet. It’s okay, I knew what I was doing when I sighed up for the job.’ She looks at her daughter and adds: ‘Besides, I think I have a very tired, but very happy six year old for the weekend. She got to pet a lovely dog and met Superman. Honestly, I should thank you for calling our clinic.’

Henry lets his gaze drop on the petite doctor that is standing next to her. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he certainly does believe in attraction at first sight. It has been a long time since Henry met a woman like doctor Olivia Tran. She blatantly told him his dog was fat and told her daughter that she could say to “Superman” that he was lying. She is definitely something else and he hates it that he has to leave now.

‘Well, thank you,’ he says, ‘for helping out Kal. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he didn’t make it.’ He holds out his hand and the doctor leaves him hanging for a good second, before she places her slender hand in his, adding: ‘It’s my job, mister Cavill.’

‘Henry, please, call me Henry.’

She nods. ‘Okay, Henry, I’ll see you in a few weeks, for his yearly shots he needs to have according to his passport and we have to check if you are a strict enough owner, because this little fatty needs to lose some weight.’ She lets go of his hand, before scratching the Akita behind his ears.

‘Mommy, can we have a dog?’

‘No, angel, we can’t,’ she says. ‘So give Kal one last kiss and say goodbye to Henry, okay?’

Vanessa does what her mother tells her to do, because she gives Kal a kiss on his nose and walks over to Henry, who crouches down, so he is about the same height as the little girl. ‘It was very nice to meet you, Vanessa,’ Henry says.

She wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. ‘It was nice to meet you too, mister Henry,’ she whispers, still a bit groggy. She lets go of him and walks to her mom, holding onto her hand tightly.

‘Thank you, again.’

‘Of course,’ doctor Tran smiles. ‘And I’ll see you in a few weeks.’

He steps out of the clinic with Kal and sighs deeply. This was quite something, he thinks to himself. As he walks towards his car, he looks over his shoulder, only to see Vanessa being picked up by her mother, balancing on her hip. The two of them wave to him and he smiles, holding out his hand and waving back.

When he gets into his car, Kal sitting next to him, he lets out a groan. He shouldn’t have a crush on this vet, he really shouldn’t.

But Henry keeps thinking about how doctor Tran stared at him, how Vanessa hugged him and how his dog seemed to be at ease with them, loving the doctor from the looks of it and adoring the attention Vanessa gave him.

He forces himself to stop thinking about this, because for all he knows, this is the last time he would see either of them. He doesn’t even know if his favorite veterinarian will be helping him when he gets back in a few weeks for Kal’s shots. ‘Forget about it, Henry,’ he tells himself sternly. ‘You’re not a teenager anymore, with a crush on someone he can’t date anyway.’

Taglist: @thelastsock​ // @flhorah​ // @sausagefest1996​ // @laufeysodinson​ // @xxxkatxo​ // @memoriesat30​ // @henrythickcavill​ // @crimsonrae​ // @henryobsessed // @madbaddic7ed​ // @summersong69​ // @lyrafraiser​ // @peakygroupie​ // @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ // @mary-ann84​ // @thereisa8ella​ //@crazyandanonymous4u // @xuxszx​

[spooklore]

Souls and Spirits - Reader x Spencer Reid

A/N: Welcome to my first publicly posted fanfiction in almost 6 years! I wrote this  @imagining-in-the-margins​ ‘s Discord fic swap and it was so much fun to write. Thank you to everyone who helped :) 

SUMMARY: The (season 7) BAU Team is out at a bar after a case rough case and the female bartender catches Spencer's eye and a little more.

CATEGORY: Fluff and soft smut

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

-------------------------------------------------

Spencer POV:

It was a long day, long case, long flight, and now I’m sitting through a long dinner.

I was reciting the words of one of our witnesses over, and over in my mind while the team chatted away. My thoughts were screaming the words of a young woman from our case who had just found out that her boyfriend had killed half a dozen women. While I stood on the other side of the interrogation room’s double sided glass the woman mumbled, “What do you say to someone you thought was your soulmate?” and for some reason it stuck with me more than the previous cases.

I partially snapped back to the table conversation so I could hear Garcia giggle and the rare, but welcome, Hotch laugh overlapping. I looked up to Morgan starting right at me, furrowing his eyebrows. I knew this damned look. He was about to call me out in front of the team. Usually I was good at picking up on the conversation and spitting out my own side of the conversation but I wasn’t quick enough.

“C’mon pretty boy, really? What planet are you on that you’re not even talking about Halloween. I’m the one who should be zoning out over here.” He jokingly scoffed at me, then took a drink from the scotch glass he was holding.

“Sorry, I got caught up in the case.” I laughed and shrugged it off. [elaborate]

Prentiss bumped her elbow into my shoulder since she was the one sitting closest to me. “Let me catch you up. The team. JJ and Hotch are bringing their boys, Sergio isn't invited-”

“Even though I bought him the sweetest pumpkin hat for his tiny little head!” Penelope exclaimed before Emily could finish her sentence. Everyone, including me, just stared at her until we all broke out in a contagious laughter.

“I think he would look quite snazzy, Emily.” I chimed in, flashing Emily a soft smirk. Emily sighed, “I promise I will send a picture to everyone then. I would say the party could be at my place but I’m sure the candy is much better in Rossi’s neighborhood!”

“I’m only giving out candy after everyone has had at least two drinks. It makes everything a little more interesting on the adult side while we admire the fine costumes that come across my porch.” Rossi inserted the plans.

I ran my fingers along the hem of the napkin sitting on my lap. “That sounds like a wonderful time…” I looked up and met eyes with JJ. “As long as Henry’s costume isn't too spooky.”

JJ’s face lit up and she reached her hand out to meet my left hand, which was resting next to my drink, and gave it a squeeze. “Prepare yourself, Spence. It’s going to be the scariest costume yet!”

I gave her a big smile in return before grabbing my drink and giving it a sip. Morgan started talking about some hockey team with Hotch and Garcia while I asked JJ about Will's new job.

We got all of our checks and started quieting down before Rossi announced to us, “I hope you all are able to take care of your checks. But maybe I can take care of your drinks as we migrate to the nearest bar?”

The team let out personal cheers and thank you’s. Once the waitress had brought back our cards and change we all stood and started making our way out of the restaurant.

“Maybe while Aaron and I make our way back home we will find a nice hole in the wall with quiet music and serves a good malt, oh wait. They’ve been run out by those techno and indie bars you all like.” Rossi rolled his eyes before exchanging kisses on the cheeks. Hotch and I exchanged a smile and the two men made their way back to their cars.

Garcia linked arms with Morgan and JJ and put her arm around Emily, leaving me to trail behind the group. They continued their chatter as I followed them down the street. The ladies continued dancing to whichever bar caught their eyes while Derek shot glances back at me to make sure I wasn’t too far behind.

Soon enough Penelope hollered at the group to corral us through the doors of a bustling, neon-lit club. Derek followed me in and placed his hand on my back before whispering in my ear, “You better find someone or else I will.” As if it were a threat.

I sat on a stool and ordered a club soda and lime from the bartender, everyone else chiming in with their orders after mine.

Garcia was settling in next to me while Prentiss, JJ, and Morgan stood with their drinks next to her. I slid in a few comments here and there to let the team know that I wasn’t still entirely thinking about what the victim had said to me earlier that day.

Before I could finish my thought; Garcia grabbed my wrist and used my hand to point in the direction of what could only be described, in her words, as ‘chocolate thunder striking down the dance floor’.

We shared a laugh at the sight of Morgan grinding against three women who were enjoying every moment. JJ and Emily audibly cringed.

“Spence, why don’t you follow him out there?” JJ joked as she nudged my shoulder. Emily giggled as she pushed on the other side of me as she loudly whispered in my ear, “Oh, come on! I need to live vicariously through the youthfulness of being single.”

“You’re not in a relationship, Emily.” I tried to banter but I had to speak over her defensive response, “Actually, Sergio is a cat. Nice try. Why don’t you give the floor a spin.”

“I think the floor is spinning already…” Penelope stuttered while gripping onto her barstool. Emily grabbed Garcia’s shoulders and shouted “Or you’ve been taking the shots that were meant for everybody!” Emily helped Penelope off the chair and started to guide her towards the bathroom.

JJ patted my back as she claimed Garcia’s seat and watched the two ladies stumble away. I sipped my drink, wishing for the bitterness of alcohol but in return feeling the tarte lime hit the back of my throat. I felt so alone in this club that trickled with my friends and coworkers.

There was a female bartender who was working at the other end of the bar who caught my eye. She was shaking a cocktail over her shoulder while laughing. I looked back down at my drink.

The silence I shared with JJ didn’t last long. Morgan was swaying back towards us, shaking the ladies off and leaving them in his wake. “Pretty boy or JJ. One of you better take my hand or I pick who’s dancing with me.” My eyes darted directly over to JJ, whose eyes never locked contact with the man who offered.

“I believe this little lady is long overdue from a night out,” Morgan whisked JJ off her barstool and she giggled and waved to me. I waved back to hear Morgan tell JJ, “Will doesn’t take you out enough does he?”

I stirred my drink as indeed, now I was truly alone. Emily was probably holding back Penelope’s hair and jewelry while JJ and Derek were losing themselves in the sea of bodies. It didn’t distract me from feeling the exhaustion wave over me. I stabbed at the ice and lime at the bottom of my glass with a small black straw.

I zoned in on the noise of the ice clinking against the glass over the irritating, base-heavy club music. The stirring grounded me from the stimulation all around me.

That's when I notice a hand with manicured nails tapping the bar top in front of me.

“Hey, you probably didn't hear me! Want another drink?” I looked up to see the female bartender from before standing right in front of me. She smiled big and shyly I returned it. “I-I’m sorry, yeah. Uh. Yes please. Virgin lime and tonic.” I managed to stutter.

“Are you pregnant? If so congrats! You’re glowing. Coming right up, dear.” The young woman danced around the other bartender to get rid of my old glass and grab a clean one.

I was confused why she thought I was a woman conceiving even though I was a man. I understand that ordering non-alcoholic drinks while at a club with friends seems off putting. Instead of worrying about the topic any longer I shook my head and looked back up at her.

She wiped the glass with the apron around her waist, before chatting up her coworker while building my drink. She had an infectious smile, I had to keep myself from being caught staring.

The bartender leaned over and placed my drink in front of me. “Here’s your drink! My name is Y/N so if you need anything-” Someone put their hand on my back which caused me to jump and spill my drink in front of me and onto the bartender.

JJ laughed and grabbed her drink from earlier and giggled while saying “Nice one, Spence.”

Reader POV:

The club soda and lime wedge had spilled onto my shirt, ice falling into my apron pockets.

“I’m so sorry!” The curly-haired man explained and grabbed the stack of napkins next to me to mop up the eight ounces of liquid.

“It’s okay, I’m always prepared for instances like these.” I joked while taking off my apron and dumping the ice out of the pockets. My mind flooded with emotions. I was frustrated. Why did I have to lean against the bar to get closer to this man I didn’t know. I was annoyed. Now my clothes are wet and I have to go change.

What clouded my mind the most was the image of the blonde woman who touched him so affectionately.

By the time I had set my apron on the table behind the bar I had looked back up at the man who locked eye contact with me. He had soft, hazel eyes that looked at me apologetically.

“I’m going to try to find Morgan again.” The blonde woman patted his shoulder and walked off to the floor.

I looked back down at the wad of sopping wet napkins and started throwing them away.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me. Is there any way I can help you?” He searched my eyes for an answer but something let me know he already knew what I wanted.

“I’m not… sure.” I touched my wet work jeans trying to figure out my plan. I had soaking wet pants, without my apron it looks like I had embarrassingly wet myself.

I caught the man in the corner of my eye glancing, scanning me up and down.

“Well, I could help you get out of those pants?” He stuttered while suggesting, a sly smirk growing on his face.

I tried to hide my blushed cheeks from him but I was intrigued. Anyways it was nearly the end of my shift and I couldn’t care less about this job. Part of me chimed in, the good and moral part of me. Why would you risk this fun and great paying job for a man you just met.

But I’ve never felt a stronger feeling of complete sureness about a person like this before.

I am sure he is my person.

I wiped up my hands and placed them on the bar table in front of me.

“Would you really? That would be great actually.” I looked up and smiled at him. All I saw was this shaggy-haired man with a goofy smile on his face staring straight back at me.

He started to stammer before saying, “Wait… really? I mean I would it’s just… aren't you working?”

I laughed and looked over my shoulder at my coworker and shouted at him. “Hey Mike! Is Peter here yet?” I saw him give me a strong nod. “Guess my cover-” By the time I looked back over at the man who was sitting across from me, the words fell out of my mouth.

He wasn’t there. In his place was left a napkin with writing on it. I grabbed the napkin that was slightly damp and scrawled in pen it read,

Check your apron pocket.

I fumbled for my apron that was hanging to dry over the bar rail. I dug my hands into what I thought were empty pockets and found a business card. It read:

SSA Dr. Spencer Reid - FBI BAU Profiler.

Oh my god, he’s a Fed. I’m guessing a really smart one too. Plus some sort of magician.

I flipped the business card over and there was more writing on it in the same pen.

Meet me out front when you’re done.

My mind was scrambling for how much I wanted to see him. Part of me tried to reason, why would I drop everything for someone's name I had to learn through their business card? The arguably better side of me screamed for him.

I ran to clock out and grab my bag. Mike stopped me as I saw Peter taking over my section of the bar in the corner of my eye.

“Hey, everything alright? If you’re in a hurry you can just grab your tips tomorrow. Text me if you need anything. Have fun out there, kid.” He patted my back and nudged me. “Go get him.”

“Thank you Mike! See ya!” I smiled and waved goodbye to them and started to push through the people. Usually I’d slip through the back door but pushing through people seemed safer than walking through a dark alley alone.

But with an FBI agent, I think I might be safe. I had a really great feeling about it anyways.

I pushed the door and felt the brisk fall wind hit my face as I walked outside. I didn’t care for how cold I was, I was looking for him.

I scanned the streets and saw him standing underneath a street lamp and he looked back at me with the biggest smile. I have to admit that it was quite contagious.

I walked up to him and shined under the street lamp with him. Before I could even say hello he started apologizing.

“I’m really sorry again. I see that you got my note, which is good. I was worried about the pen bleeding from the melting ice.” He chuckled.

“It’s okay! Please, it happens more often than I’d like to admit. I can say I’ve never had such a polite and attractive person spill a drink on me.” I looked down at my shoes in slight embarrassment for being so bold, but hey. When am I not.

“If it took me spilling a drink on you to meet then I’m sure it was worth it.” He caught my attention again, making me laugh.

“I would let you do it again, I mean. Only if I wasn’t wearing my favorite jeans.” I gestured to the slightly wet stain on my black jeans.

He shared my humor and laughed along with me. “I hope I can make it up to you. I’m sure you read the card, but my name is Spencer.”

“I did catch onto that! And my name is-” He cut in and said “Y/N.”

“You have quite the memory! Let me guess, it’s the reason you’re a doctor?” I giggled.

“Yes, but not really a doctor. I have three doctorates though.” He spoke with his hands, justifying his genius-ness.

I nodded and tried not to think about my bachelor’s degree that sat on a shelf collecting dust. “May I ask, were those other FBI agents with you earlier?’

“Yes. It was my team, they’re great. I told them I was leaving anyway.” He shuffled his feet.

Part of me sighed in relief knowing that the blonde woman was just a coworker. I watched him glance over at the door, I’m sure watching out to see if his team would come looking for him. “How about we get out of here?” I grabbed my keys out of my purse.

“I don’t really drive, but we can go back to my apartment if you would like?” He looked back at me with a soft smile.

I told him I would love to drive and we walked back to my car which was just around the block. We were laughing and chatting the entire time, he climbed into the passenger seat of my car and I started the car.

“You can put your address in the GPS.” I looked up at his puzzled face as he stared at the GPS navigation touch screen. “Or I can do it for you if you’re scared of it.”

We shared a laugh before I admitted, “Don’t worry. It kinda scares me too.”

The entirety of the twenty minute ride back to his place felt so… natural. Like we’ve done this a million times before.

He walked me upstairs to his apartment and unlocked the door, letting me in first. I took in the sight of his small library that had taken over his apartment. Before going any further I took my shoes off and placed them right by the door.

“Make yourself at home.” He smiled and walked over to a record player and picked out a vinyl with a worn cover, placed it on the turntable, and set the needle on the record.

I was looking at all of the beautiful books and art as the dulcet sounds of soft jazz filled the deep emerald green walls of his cozy home.

Spencer whisked me around and caught me in his arms. I looked back up into his eyes and adored how his eyes complimented the entirety of his aesthetic.

He moved one of his hands to my lower back as I kept my hands pressed against his chest. “You look beautiful.” He said softly.

“Who knew I’d land a date with a handsome man in my work clothes?” I pawed at the cuff of my t-shirt.

He looked down at his attire, “Well these are my work clothes too.” He gestured with his eyes towards his grey suit.

We laughed as we swayed slightly to the music. I playfully tugged on his tie and stared back into his soft eyes. “Remember how you promised you’d help me out of these?”

“Trust me, Y/N, I would never forget.” He grabbed the back of my head and leaned in.

Spencer’s lips locked onto mine and devolved into a small kiss. My heart was beating fast and before I could clear my head from the euphoria, he guided me towards his room.

His room was cozy and he directed me to lay out on his bed. I got onto his bed and laid out for him. Spencer couldn’t wait to get his hands on me and the feelings were mutual.

I undid my belt and he took over with his much larger hands, undoing the button and unzipping the zipper.

He leaned in and kissed me again as he started to shuffle my pants off. I arched my back to help with the process. He carefully set them on the ground and untied his tie and opened a button on his shirt.

I whined softly as he dragged his hands down my thighs, grabbing the back of his neck and bringing him for another kiss.

His kisses were insanely addictive, I was getting drunk off of his love.

He started to take off his vest and shirt as I took off my own. Spencer’s eyes never left mine or my body. As he pulled off his pants he took a moment to soak in what was laying on his bed.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He spoke in an almost gravely tone. I smiled as my entire body tingled while he climbed on top of me.

His lips dived towards mine and crashed together in a moment of complete unison. I ran my hands through the curls on the back of his head, feeling his hands creep up towards my chest.

Our tongues swirled in dopamine through our heavy breathing. Time felt like it was going by so fast as we discovered each other's bodies. He was thin and slightly sculpted but strong.

He grabbed my hips and brought me down further on the bed to be level with his face. Spencer stopped for a second and looked deep into my eyes. “Is this going too fast?”

I moved my hands from his back to grip the arms that were standing on either side of me. “Only if you think it's going too fast. We don't have to do this tonight.” I looked back into his eyes trying to understand what was going on in his brilliant mind.

“I hope it doesn't bother you, Y/N. You’re still more than welcome to stay.” He softly offered as he laid on the bed next to me.

I rolled over and stared right back into his soft hazel eyes. “Spencer, I hope I’m not speaking too quickly, but we have the rest of our lives to enjoy more moments like these.”

He cupped my face with his hands and kissed me on the forehead. I closed my eyes and heard him whisper,

What do I say to someone who is my soulmate?

------------

[writers-blogck]

A Pity Party for One ( Sugawara Koushi x Reader )

Warning(s): This includes a lot of cursing and alcohol use. Characters are assumed to be aged up to past the legal drinking age. Did I get the inspiration to write this after listening to Michael in the Bathroom for the tenth time in a row? The world may never know.

Title: A Pity Party for One Pairing: Sugawara Koushi x Reader Fandom: Haikyuu! Word Count: 1,798

       Mascara? A mess.

       Drink? Empty.

       Mental State? Terrible.

       Hotel? Trivago.

       You tossed your red solo cup against the tiled wall of the bathtub that you had claimed as your current residency. Whose house was this anyway? You think the guy had a man bun but you could have been wrong. Everything was a blur other than the image of your boyfriend feeling up another girl. How could he just throw three years away, three goddamn years?! A choked sob slipped past your lips as you pulled your knees closer to your chest.

       How had you gotten yourself in this situation? Here you were, in a stranger's empty tub having a mental breakdown. Converse sneakers and pastel pink dress bunched at your waist. Even without looking in the mirror, you knew that your makeup was a mess. It would only make sense with how much you had cried. You had no plan for what you should do. Everything just hurt and you were wishing you were home under your covers instead of this porcelain bed. All your tears had been shed and you were left with small whimpers and clenched fists.

       "Oh...I didn't know that anyone was in here. The door was unlocked and I was just planning on washing up a bit and-" A boy with light brown hair that seemed to be tinted with silver when it hit the light right walked in your hiding place. It wasn't like you had locked the door, you probably should have. You had simply slammed the door behind you and that had been enough notice for the people around you. How long had you been in here? Your phone had died an hour ago when you arrived at the party. You were just on life's shitlist today!

       "It is utter bullshit!" You huffed out, not seeming to care that this guy you had never met before just walked in the bathroom where you were hiding. It wasn't like you were using the restroom but you knew that you looked like a hot mess right now. Damn, you might not even look hot and instead just look like a mess. How was that fair? Groaning, you leaned your head back and hit it against the cold wall.

       "Whoa...You look like you have had better nights." The guy slowly walked in, shutting the door behind him. If you weren't drunk out of your mind and hurting like you never had before, then you might have been scared about being in this room with this guy alone. He could lock the door and then who knows what could happen. Still, that was the last thing on your mind.  

       The boy was wearing a dusty blue shirt with what looked to be khaki pants. Average, normal, safe. He didn't have any immediate red flags that you seemed to attract. Did you just give off the vibe of someone who could be walked over? God, maybe you were. How had you been so stupid for three years...This wasn't the first time. You had a suspicion but you didn't want it to be true. You had been with this boy since high school and the idea of having to live without him was terrifying. You had become dependent on him. God, what were you going to do? How were you going to get home?!

       Red sneakers moved closer and soon the boy who looked to be around your age was squatting next to the tub. His arms rested on the cool porcelain, something that had felt wonderful against your hot skin when you first got in. You couldn't help it, you got hot when you drank too much. Normally you would just sip on whatever you were having that night but once you saw your world crumbling in front of you, you decided it was time to just down the entire thing as fast as possible. The faster it got in you, the faster the hurt would go away. You hoped anyway...

       "I just want to go home!" You whimpered, hands gripping at the itchy fabric of your dress. He had been the one to suggest you wear it, he said that he liked how it 'hugged your curves'. So, being a nice girlfriend, you decided to wear it and what does he go and do?! Feel up some girl that you had never even seen before! Had you not been enough? How long had he been cheating on you? Was this the only girl or did he have multiple women he went to so he could get his rocks off? Your head was spinning with the alcohol affecting your system. You were drunk.

       "Okay," His voice was soft, like he was approaching an injured animal and didn't want to scare it off, "How did you get here? Can I go get someone for you or is there someone I can call?"

       Watery eyes met his warm ones and it was the first time you had made eye contact with this stranger. You wouldn't lie, he was very attractive. In that soft but strong way. The kind of soft where he wouldn't let anyone walk over him. You had thought that was you but you had three years of experience to prove otherwise. You must have been a pitiful sight to see if his expression was anything to go off of. Why did he care? It wasn't like either of you knew each other. You weren't used to people being nice just to be nice. Was he an angel? He sure looked like he could be one. You wondered what he looked like under his shirt with how it accentuated his muscles...Oh, God! Your cheeks only reddened even more at your thoughts. What kind of drunk were you?! You never would think that way...At least, you would never tell anyone you thought those things. Luckily you still had enough control of your lips to keep yourself from saying anything too embarrassing, for now.

       "My ride is out there with his hand under some other girl's shirt. Fuck, I have to go home with him. I live with him and I just saw him...." You buried your head in your knees, in a mix of wanting to hide your misery filled face and wanting the bright lights to just tone down for a bit. They seemed brighter than normal bathroom lights...What were you even talking about? It wasn't like every bathroom had the same lights. Even with your brain trying to distract you with these unusual thoughts, you couldn't get the image of your boyfriend out of your head. The two of you had even been talking about marriage recently. His mother seemed so happy with the two of you...What would she think if she knew what her son was really like?

       "Three years and this is how he treats me...I think I am just cursed with bad luck or something. God doesn't want me to have a good relationship. I've wasted three years with this guy and...."

       "Don't talk like that. Sometimes we have to go through tough times to get out on the other side. You know, you have to have rain to have a rainbow." The boy brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear and you were convinced that he was your guardian angel. Why else would he be this nice and so helpful to a drunk girl he didn't know, crying in the bathroom for who knows how long.

       Sugawara bit his bottom lip gently in thought, unsure of what he should do in this situation? He knew he was good at helping people (according to the team anyway), but he had never dealt with something like this before. He was glad he decided not to drink tonight or else he would be having a harder time with this. All he had to do was think clearly and he surely would come up with some plan, right?

       "Well...I can always drive you home or we could go find the people throwing the party. Asahi and Tanaka might be able to think of something. More likely Asahi since Tanaka might be a bottle in already..." He mumbled the last part mainly to himself but your ears perked up at the familiar name.

       "....Tanaka?" Your voice was quiet as you glanced up at the handsome boy, causing his heart to skip a beat. Why did people's eyes always look so pretty after they had cried? That wasn't fair. He wished he could help more but he simply nodded at your strange question.

       "I know him," You rubbed the back of your hand against your eyes, not even thinking about the black smudges that were only getting worse on your skin. You were disheveled with makeup smudged more than an abstract painting and a dress with a recent stain that Sugawara would assume was whatever you had in your plastic cup before it was empty. Yet, he couldn't help himself and thought you were one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. If he saw your ex.....He pushed those thoughts to the side. He could think of that in the future.

       "He is our friend...I mean, my friend...He is in some of the same classes as me."

       "Great!" Relief washed over the young boy as he realized that he wouldn't be left in the dark on what to do with the situation at hand. "How about we go and get you some water and then we go look for Tanaka? I'm sure we can find him, he lives here after all. We can get you feeling a bit better and then we can figure out what to do from there, okay?"

       "That sounds nice...I don't drink normally, I don't like it."

       "Don't worry. Once we get you some water and ibuprofen, then you will start feeling better. Who knows, I'm sure he has something to eat here. Nishinoya and Tanaka tend to keep the place stocked to the brim when it comes to parties. I bet they keep the pantry that filled even when they weren't planning a party. Those guys could eat an entire banquet themselves and still be ready for seconds."

       Sugawara smiled as he heard the soft sounds of your laugh echo in the small bathroom. He hoped he would be able to hear it more, even if only for a little bit. He may only know you for this day but he still wanted to see you smile. Tears and a frown didn't suit your beautiful face.

       As the man offered his hand, you had no idea that it would be the hand that you would be holding for years to come. It would be the hand that gave you what you always dreamed of - a wedding ring.