#to make sure i don’t put my foot in the wrong loop

[bulldog-butch]

cis men love to complain about having to stop and put a condom on meanwhile lesbians are out here having to stop and scramble around to find their harness and the right dick and then get into the harness and make sure the straps are tightened enough and the dick is oriented the right way

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part sixteen

authors note: this is a nice lil break from all of the angst! ya'll deserve it! just.....remember that storms sometimes come in cycles, so let's just enjoy now! also, my legal knowledge is limited, so we take some creative liberties. just go with the flow, bro.

i also wanna just say thank you, as always, to all of you who enjoy this story of mine! i hit over 100k words and 300+ pages in the google doc i write this in, and it's such a special thing that i feel largely goes to you all for the wonderful support. so thank you!!!!

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angst (good-ish?), fluff, language, suggestive themes

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

faceclaims

words: 7k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @southerngirl41 @wanderingreigns

The hearing to see if the open case against you moves forward is scheduled for 8am on February 15th, 2024.

You’re outside that courthouse at 7am sharp on February 15th, 2024.

It’s all you could think about in the days leading up. Once you learned that you passed your home inspection, there was a bit of relief but still that bitter feeling of not knowing how the court date would go that kept you in that loop of misery.

Joe, bless his soul, has been a saint, staying with and supporting you in between his frequent trips to your mom’s house to spend time with Callie.

And Alexis…..my God, you’re not sure how and if you could ever repay her. She gave you a detailed play by play of her attack on Mariah, and while on the surface level, it pleased you to know that bitch got her ass beat.

It didn’t do shit to the emotional pain you’ve felt at having your child ripped away from you.

Hate is a strong word, but you hate her. She could drop dead tomorrow, and you’d spit on her grave.

It’s a bold sentiment but also how you feel. Maybe it’ll go away as time passes, or maybe it won’t. Truth be told, you don’t really care too much about it either way.

You’d hoped Alexis would stay around a little longer, as you deeply enjoyed her company, her support, wanted to express to her how much her grounding you and keeping you from catching a case, putting herself at risk for catching a case, meant to you. But, in true Alexis fashion, she’d hopped on a flight and skipped town.

It wasn’t entirely surprising. She can never be in one place for too long, but it does leave a little bit of a sting. 

Granted, in her words, “Girl, don’t worry, I’ll be back when my warrant becomes active.”

The memory brings a small smile on your face as you sit in the courtroom, hearing the details of the case presented to the judge. 

It’s a daunting ordeal but not nearly as difficult as you anticipated, mostly because there is literally nothing being presented that could implicate you in any way. Truthfully speaking, the prosecutor and your public defender sound like they're advocating for the same thing: a complete dismissal. 

It provides you a small slither of reassurance and validates your request to have Joe stay at the apartment. In the negative percent chance that something went wrong today, you wanted to continue to keep his presence in Callie’s life a secret. Push comes to shove, he could serve as a liaison between the two of you.

The presenting of the “evidence” lasts much shorter than you were anticipating, and it’s when the court is ordered to stand, that the rush of anxiety returns. It takes a lot in you to settle yourself, to keep your foot from tapping, to keep from falling out.

Reminding yourself that not a speck of incriminating evidence was presented, thus no basis for moving forward with the investigation, is what keeps your centered.

As centered as one can be in this moment. 

There’s a brutal delay in the moments before the verdict is handed, one that makes your throat dry and eyes water. It’s suddenly so overwhelming, but you force yourself to pull it together. 

Judge Merritt removes his glasses from his eyes and releases a heavy sigh. “In all my years on this bench, this may be the most frustrated I’ve felt by a case before me.” For a second, your stomach drops. What does he mean by that? “There is not an ounce of evidence before me to support the actions that were taken nor the claims made against the defendant.” A shaky breath leaves your mouth as you ground your feet into your heels. That’s definitely not what you were expecting him to say, but it’s most definitely what you were praying he would say. 

“The law is the law, and I respect all parties involved who followed protocol. But my God, what a waste of time and resources.” He then directs his focus specifically on you, gaze almost apologetic. “Young lady, I sincerely apologize for the stress this situation has put you and this innocent child under. What a disgrace. Whoever made these horrific, false accusations against you, may God have mercy on their soul.” He reaches for his gavel. “All charges are dismissed against the defendant on the basis of no evidence. This case is officially closed, and the child is to be returned to the defendant’s custody, effectively immediately.”

At the same moment he bangs the gavel, you double over, hand over your stomach, crying almost instantaneously. “Thank you,” you say in between tears and share a hug with your lawyer. Surely, this is the easiest case they’ve ever defended, but it’s now one of the most important moments of your life.

You don’t hesitate to gather your jacket and adjust the purse on your shoulder as you murmur a goodbye to the lawyer and make your way down the aisle of the courtroom. You’ll probably send him a thank you card with a heartfelt message at a later date and time, but that’s not a priority currently.

The only thing you want and need is to go get your baby.

You’re looking down, trembling hands digging for your car key in your purse when you hear it, the single most beautiful sound to exist in this world, in your world.

“Mommy!”

There’s a good chance you risk whiplash when your head snaps up at the sound of the voice you’ve been almost dying to hear for the past couple days. It’s so worth it when you land your eyes on that dimpled smile that makes your life have meaning.

“Callie…..”

Before you can even close the gap between the two of you, Callie’s little feet are moving across the busy lobby of the courtroom. You literally drop to both knees, arms spread to accept her hug when she throws her body against yours. 

The tears intensify as you hold her close, hold her tight, like you’ll never let her go. And you won’t. Never again. “Calista….” She’s crying into your chest the same way your tears are soaking the top of her head. “My baby. My sweet baby….”

Callie pulls back to look at you with a frown you hope to never see on her face ever again. “Please don’t leave me anymore, mommy.”

“Never,” you vow. Law be damned, nothing could ever separate you from her again. “I will never leave you again.”

It’s the joy and happiness you feel at being reunited with your daughter that prevents you from asking just why the hell she’s at the courthouse. But, that question is answered when footsteps approach the two of you.

Your heart swells again. “Mom….” 

Your mom is the first to pull you into her for a hug that includes the three of you. She pulls ways, tears in her eyes. “There was no way on God's green earth I was going to let one more unnecessary minute pass before letting that baby be with you again.” It’s clear Joe communicated the time of your court date with your mom to make sure she would be here right on time for the dismissal and subsequent return of custody of Callie to you.

He’s literally the perfect man.

You can’t stop hugging Callie, can’t stop holding her tight, almost needing to have her in your embrace. It’s when you turn to your mom though, needing to express something to her but not entirely knowing how that you loosen your hold a little bit. “I’ve missed you so much, mom, but….”

She lifts her hand to stop you. “I understand, sweetie. We’ll catch up.” You appreciate her so much in this moment. She must know all you want is to be able to have Callie back in your place again, return to some semi sense of normalcy. “Go take your baby home.”

She gets it. You love her and have missed her dearly. However, you just want to go back to your place, especially as Joe is eagerly waiting for Callie to be back with you as well. Just want her to be home.

“Thank you, mama,” you hug her again, sniffling. She holds you for a minute and then steps back, brushing a hand over Callie’s face. Callie, who hasn’t pulled her head away from where she’s laying on your chest. 

You thank her yet again for all she did. She had to have been out of work the past week to stay with Callie, and you make a mental note to talk to her about giving her some money for that time she couldn’t work. You know she does okay for herself, but that loss of income has to impact her one way or another.

She may not accept it, but you still want to offer.

The car drive is full of Callie catching you up on everything you missed in the days without her, and you eat up every second of it. She’s even more thrilled when she sees that Joe is at the apartment, waiting for you and her with breakfast already prepared.

He really is a gem.

The three of you enjoy your meal, Callie opting to sit on your lap as she eats, clearly wanting to be close to you. 

The feeling is mutual. 

Joe had made a comment just yesterday, partially frustrated as it was Valentine’s Day, and he wanted to do something nice for you, something nice with you. But, he already knew you weren’t really in the mood for anything other than sulking and obsessing over your court date. Still, he was just irked about the situation as a whole and its hindering him spending what should be a special day catering to you.

You’d calmly explained to him that the best valentine's day gift you could receive was returned physical and actual custody of your daughter. And to have her back, to have just that, means the absolute world to you.

All you need is her.

Hence why the rest of the day is spent holed up in your apartment, Callie taking the lead and dictating what she wants to do. A lot of play. Some movie viewings. Occasional food breaks. And a lot of wholesome fun.

It warms your heart to see how happy she is to be home. 

The three of you are sitting on the floor of your living room, coffee table moved to the side to make room for all of Callie’s art supplies she ‘shares’ with the two of you as you all color. It’s about halfway through the day, when you realize you’ll need to start wrapping up to get her in bed.

Clearing your throat, you catch her attention. “Callie….your dad and I want to talk to you about something.” Her eyes lift from the page and settle on you with a heightened level of curiosity. Reaching out to brush back some of her hair, you start to explain, “you know how we live here in mommy’s place in this town?” She nods. “Well, daddy actually lives somewhere else when he’s not working.”

Her eyes fall on Joe as she asks, “where do you live?”

He answers with the gentleness you’ve noticed he reserves for her and only her. “I live in Florida.”

Her eyes flash with a glimpse of excitement. “Really? That’s where Disney is!”

Joe chuckles, and you can tell he doesn’t want to focus too much on that aspect of the move. He wants Disney to be an absolute surprise for her. “It is, but almost all of your cousins all live in Florida too.”

The excitement grows as she clarifies. “Cousin Jon and Cousin Josh too?”

Joe flicks her nose. “Yup.”

“Callie….” You redirect her attention back to you, taking both of her hands in yours. “Your dad and I think it’s a good idea if….if you and I move to Florida with him.” You quickly add on. “We’ll get a house together, and we’ll all live with each other. That way when daddy comes to visit, he’ll be at home with us.”

You can tell she’s sitting on the words, processing and making as much sense as a 4-year-old can make out of a situation like this. Finally, she asks, “will I still see grandma?”

This is when Joe jumps in and assures her. “I will make sure your grandma can come see you whenever she wants, baby girl.” Callie is too young to understand the underlying meaning of his words, but you catch on quickly. He’ll pay for your mom to come visit whenever she, you, or Callie want to see one another. “And you and mommy can come here and visit however many times you want to.” At this point, as this man is already forking up most, if not all of the money for a house, you have a hard time finding it in you to protest any of this. Especially as it primarily benefits Callie.

Again, she sits on this new information and asks a follow up question. “Can we get a backyard?”

Joe is quick to answer. “We sure can.”

She glances up at him with those sweet eyes you’re almost certain he’s physically incapable of saying ‘no’ to. “A big backyard?”

Joe suddenly reaches over and lifts her up high. Callie’s sweet giggles are food to your soul. God, you missed her. “As big as you want.”

Settling into Joe’s lap, she shoots you a wishful glance. “And a puppy, mommy?”

Laughing, you reach and tickle her side. “Nice try, sis, but you know the rule. Not until you hit double digits.”

Joe gives you that look. That look that tells you this is clearly something he wants to “discuss” further when alone, i.e., try to convince you why you should cave. You’re open for the discussion, but you’re not changing your mind. Callie is entirely too young for a pet, because you would be the one taking care of the damn dog most of the time anyway. And as you weren’t raised with animals, it’s not really your thing.

Maybe a fish.

Settling down, you ask her again as she sits comfortably in Joe’s lap. “So, you’re okay with this? With us moving?” Before she can answer, you add. “We’re going to try to find a house soon, so….so we can move as soon as we can.” This is the part you struggle with the most. Not having a lot of time to prepare for such a big thing, but you also know the sooner you’re out of that town, the better. Not being able to give her more time to say goodbye though absolutely sucks. 

Still.

You have to get Callie out of this town. 

“What about my graduation?” There’s a hint of sadness to her question. Understandably so. This is a big accomplishment for her. 

Joe offers, gently. “We’ll do something special for your graduation. I promise. Maybe invite your cousins.”

“With ice cream?”

“Yes. With ice cream.” Laughing, you share a look with Joe who nods for you to share the next part. “Hey, baby?”

“Hmm?”

“You, me, and daddy are gonna spend some time in Florida this weekend so we can go tour a house and see what we think of it.”

It’s something you and Joe discussed at length the night before. Well, more him telling you that he thought it’d be a good idea if you could get away for a couple days. You’re pretty sure he expected more of a protest from you, but he received none. The idea of being in a completely different state with Callie is more appealing than you think he realizes. 

It’s not a hard sell.

As with most of this discussion, she’s clearly intrigued. “Really?”

Nodding, you continue. “Daddy’s gonna fly out with us tomorrow morning, but he’s gotta leave tomorrow afternoon to get back to work, so it’ll mostly be you and me this weekend. But, I talked to your cousin Kaylah and we’re gonna see if you and Ellie can have a playdate.”

Both Kaylah and Trinity have checked on you often in the past week, offering words of support and encouragement that truly held you up in moments where you were already feeling so low. 

They make the idea of moving and having that kind of support system that much more enticing.

Connecting with her cousin clearly chips away some of Callie’s sadness as she cheers. “Yay!”

It pleases you immensely that she took the news so well, though a large part of you believed she would. 

This is what she’s always wanted.

A family. 

————

Traveling with Joe is so much easier than traveling alone, mostly because of how helpful it is to have another adult present when flying with a child. Naturally, Callie stays close to you, but it’s the closeness and holding her most of the time while Joe handles luggage and checking you in for your flight that you appreciate more than anything.

You’re appreciative of all he does for you, but it's physically being there that makes the biggest difference. His money is fine and all, but you don’t care about that shit. You just need him. That’s all.

Of course, he got you all first class tickets but unlike the last time you flew with Callie, instead of her being the social butterfly that she is by making friends with the flight crew, she’s fast asleep in her seat. It’s not entirely unexpected considering the ungodly hour you had to wake her up at to make it in time for the flight. If the situation was different, you’d have objected to such a crunch timeline. However, as Joe literally has a show tonight, the earlier the flight, the sooner you could view the house, the better the chances he can make his flight out in time.

Joe’s apartment is exactly as nice as you imagined it to be. It’s definitely luxury, but it looks like it’s unlived in, which is expected. You know he spends most of his time on the road. He’s probably been at your place more than he’s been at his own in the past couple months.

That’s just the life of a professional wrestler.

You lay Callie down in the guest bedroom and let her get in a little rest while you freshen up in the shower before Joe shows you around his place, where things are and whatnot. He tries to get you to take a nap, but it’s hard for you to sleep, especially when you slept as well as you did the night before.

The best sleep you’ve had since Callie was removed from you.

So, you instead catch up on some emails, mostly work related, navigating a time to meet with your principal and figure out some plan for your resignation. You’d be willing to stay on with the school system to guide and help out whoever they hire to replace you, so long as they understand it would be a long distance type of situation. 

Regardless, it’s not a major concern. Your family comes first. 

Joe, being the perfect man that he is, fixes a breakfast for you and Callie to eat before you head out. And it’s nice to finally be able to eat without emptying your stomach less than half an hour later. It’s even nicer to be able to share that breakfast with the two people you love the most.

Similar to breakfast, the car ride to the viewing is a fun time, Joe allowing Callie to have control of the music. She, of course, asks you to play her Disney playlist.

You don’t hesitate. You’ve missed this, missed all of her requests, everything about her, really. 

But pulling up to said house is an entirely different experience.

“Holy shit,” you breathe as Joe pulls his Range Rover into the driveway behind the red Tesla you’d guess belongs to the realtor his manager hired for ya’ll, Jen.

“Mommy, you said a bad word,” Callie scolds, and Joe chuckles. You shoot him a side glare which only makes him laugh more as he moves to unbuckle Callie from her booster seat. 

“Mommy’s sorry, baby.” It’s a genuine apology, but you don’t actually regret what you said. You can’t help it. The house looked huge in the pictures, but it’s massive in person. You feel like you’ve just walked into Beverly Hills or something. Like if the house wasn’t secured by a massive, black wrought iron gate, the neighbors would call the police on you for trespassing on some where did you people come from BS.

Jen, the realtor, is waiting for you in the foyer of the house. She’s nice enough, seems genuine and chill. But, it’s hard to focus too much on her when you’re stuck in a state of awe at the fact that you’re literally standing in a mansion. Callie instantly falls in love just from the fact that her voice echoes near the entrance, among other things as well, but that fact alone wins her over immediately. 

You find it strange, however, when Jen basically leaves the three of you alone to tour the house. Granted, you’ve never actually been on a house tour, everything you've seen on HGTV indicated homegirl is supposed to actually, well, sell the house.

“Sis must not care about this commission,” you whisper to Joe, but a gasp immediately leaves your mouth afterwards as you walk into the kitchen. “Oh my god….” You’d fallen in love the minute you saw the pictures, but seeing it in person is a whole other experience. “Look at the ovens.” The open floor plan of the kitchen alone probably rivals half the size of your apartment back home. Maybe more. “Is this real granite?” Running a finger over the cool stone, you realize that in a house this big and luxurious, it only makes sense that everything included is real. 

And expensive.

Callie giggles, standing close to Joe. “Maybe mommy can learn how to cook.”

Smacking your teeth, you playfully cross your arms over your chest, warning, “okay, I’m forreal. Ya’ll better leave me alone. I try.” 

“Yes, you do absolutely try.” You can’t move fast enough to punch Joe’s arm, a small laugh leaving his mouth at your slowness. Or maybe it’s just his speed. You can tell he’s been hitting the gym harder in preparation for WrestleMania, and it’s paying off, paying off very well. With everything going on, you haven’t had the time nor desire to show him said appreciation. 

An unfortunate occurrence indeed. 

“Let’s look at the rest,” Joe encourages, leaning over to pick up Callie, though something tells you she’ll be wiggling to get down and explore with her own two feet. 

Following them, you’re grateful that you wore your most comfortable pair of sneakers. Exploration of this home is a workout in and of itself.

Sure enough, you’re barely into the back of the house when Callie asks to get down, running into the movie theater room. “It’s just like the movies!”

“It sure is….” Touring the rest of the residence is something like out of a fantasy. There’s not a single thing you can find wrong with this house. The rooms, and there are plenty of them,  are large, spacious, ready to be decorated as you see fit. You even come across two spaces that you could see being your and Joe’s office spaces. That’s one thing you really did miss after giving up your office for Callie to have a playroom. This house is big enough for her to have two playrooms if she wants.

And you know Joe would give it to her. 

The master bedroom is literally perfect, but the bathroom is even better with a separate shower, bathroom, and large his/her sinks with counter space that links the two sinks. It conjures inappropriate thoughts about how said space could be used. 

But, it’s really the backyard that does it for you. It’s humongous, beautiful green grass stretching out for what seems like a mile. There’s a separate attached building that you already know Joe would turn into a home gym, a beautiful pool that’s covered up, covered patio and just nothing but room for Callie to run around.

And she does just that.

Her little legs take her all over the greenery as you take in everything else. 

Joe suddenly turns you toward him. His hand is on the back of your neck, and his voice is almost vulnerable, as he asks, “do you like it?”

Maybe if not for the emotional rollercoaster you’ve been on the past week, you’d hit him with your usual smartass remark. But, that’s neither a desire nor an option, as you answer with equal vulnerability. “I love it.” It’s when you see that spark of excitement and relief in his eyes that you see a glimpse of Callie, see her smiling face and big, hopeful eyes. You’d never realized just how much of him is in her. “But Joe, I don’t want you sp—”

“It’s ours.” 

One, two, three blinks precede you asking with a stutter in your voice. “W–what?”

His hands shift to your hips as he repeats himself. “It’s ours.”

There’s a hint of alarm growing in your body and projected into your voice. “You’re saying that like it’s supposed to make sense, Joe.” 

He brings his lips to your forehead and says, “this is our house.”

You’re hearing him, but you’re not actually hearing him because there’s no way in hell he can be serious right now. No way that he can seriously be telling you that this beautiful house you’re standing in, the kind of house people can only dream about having one day, the level of luxury that’s reserved for Pinterest and vision boards…..is yours.

Chuckling at your probably expected reaction, he adds. “I could tell by your facial expressions just looking at the pictures that you loved it, so I asked Kaylah and Alexis to come see it, since Kay knows what I like, and I know Lex knows what you like.” You suddenly realize why he was being a bit strange with his phone the other day, a stark difference from the man who literally told you his passcode even when you didn’t ask for it. Going through your man’s phone was never your thing, especially with him. You trust him too much for that shit.

It also explains Alexis' sudden departure. She was checking out the house for you, seeing if it was something that you would like. Obviously, it’s not something you like.

It’s something you love.

Joe continues to explain. “Now, technically, the signing isn’t until next week, because I wanted to give you and Callie a chance to see it for yourselves, but it is under contract to make sure it’s ours….if you want it.”

If…..

There is no if in this situation.

“Joe…..” Tears are burning your eyes, and it’s still hard to comprehend just what he’s saying, but the reality is also setting in as well. “You seriously bought us a house?”

His expression softens, voice lowering as he reminds you. “I told you, I love you, and I want to be with you. Wanna be with Callie.” 

It’s hard to not be choked up in this moment where this man has literally purchased an entire house for you. And not some small 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom starter home in the middle of bumfuck nowhere but a literal mansion, a dream.

Sniffling, you nod to yourself, laughing tearily and reach up to hug him. Joe’s arms are immediately around you, holding your body close to his. “Thank you.” He must have done all of this in under a week, recognized how difficult all of this was on you and wasted no time in speeding up this process to get you what you need. “Thank you so much.”

He’s always there for you when you need him, and you’re not sure how to help him understand how that means the absolute world to you.

Callie runs over to where you’re standing, trying not to be a blubbering mess. Your emotions have been all over the damn place lately. Thankfully, she directs her question to Joe. “can we come visit here when we move to Florida? It’s so fun!”

You give Joe a nod, indicating to him that he should tell her. This may be a moment for all of you, but it’s a special thing you want him to be able to have with Callie. 

“Baby girl….” He kneels down on knee in front of her, gently pulling her closer to him. “This is our house.” She gasps, and you can only imagine the happy smile on his face. “You, me, and mommy, we’re gonna live here.”

“Really?” Her excitement is palpable and stretches across the entire premises. “Forever?”

He chuckles. “As long as you want to live here.” 

Callie suddenly asks, clearly realizing just what this means. “I can paint my room?”

That’s one thing you also know she’s always wanted to do, to paint the bland white walls of her room back at your place. 

Now though….now she can. 

“You can draw on the walls in your room for all I care, baby girl. It’s your room.” He would be that dad, the dad that lets his kid do whatever they want with their space, because it’s their space. 

If only you were that mom.

“Uhh, Joe—”

“And get a puppy!” Your eyes go wide at this. This child really is not taking you seriously, but you’re especially floored when Joe’s ass whispers to her something about talking to you about it.

It’s when Callie starts to run around the backyard, happy and ecstatic, celebrating, that you warn him. 

“You think I’m playing, Joe. Get that lil girl a puppy, and I promise you, you gon be taking Toto on the road with you. She gon be at your side when you do your slow ass walk to the ring. I’m not taking care of no dog.” And you mean that. Callie can give him all the puppy dog eyes—no pun intended—she wants. She’s just not old enough yet.

Of course, Joe tries to sway you, suggesting, “it’ll teach her responsibility.”

A heavy sigh leaves your mouth as you observe Callie spinning in a circle. This child has the energy of the energizer bunny. “We already have one rambunctious child. Let’s just focus on her first, please?”

Your little family of three is more than enough.

It’s everything you need.

This, right here, right now, is all you need.

————

Joe told you he talked with Kaylah about being a bit of your tour guide and helping you and Callie to familiarize yourself with the area while he was gone, but he didn’t mention that Kaylah would literally be coming over that night.

It’s a surprise when you get a call from the front desk asking for permission to buzz Kaylah in, but you don’t hesitate to authorize it, especially when you overhear Ellie’s little voice in the background. 

You know Callie will be thrilled to see her cousin. 

And she definitely is, the two girls making more noise than probably what’s appropriate for an apartment, especially an upscale apartment. But, something tells you even if there is some type of noise complaint, Joe won’t hesitate to dead that shit.

“How are you doing? Really?” Kaylah asks as the two of you sit in Joe’s living room on the sofa as the girls play in the guest bedroom. The TV is on Smackdown, but Joe hasn’t made his appearance yet.

You promised Callie you’d call her when he got on screen, so it’s something you pay attention to.

“I can’t believe she would do that to you, and she was supposed to be your best friend?” Kaylah sounds rightfully disgusted. “You and Callie didn’t deserve that.”

“I have my baby back, so I’m much better now.” And it’s the truth. It’s almost night and day how having Callie back in your custody has completely changed your existence. You can actually bring yourself to do something other than cry, can actually experience emotions other than sadness, and most importantly, you can also keep food down.

There’s still some lingering nausea that you wish would just go away, but it’s tolerable. Much tolerable than the constant vomiting.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to leave that place. I don’t know if I could stay there either after that.”

“A part of me doesn’t want to go back now.” Even though you’ve only met Kaylah once, there’s something about her that’s comforting and easy to talk to. “I just….even now, it’s like I have this fear that they’re gonna take her from me as soon as I step foot off the plane.”

She reaches over and places her hand on top of yours. “That’s over with now. The judge dismissed everything. You’re okay, girl. Callie’s back home.”

Feeling the wetness on your face alerts you that those damn tears have returned. For someone who hates crying, you’ve sure been doing a lot of it. And you hate it. 

“Thank you, Kaylah.”

She gives you a warm nod and smile. “Oh!” Kaylah reaches over to her purse on the coffee table, digging around before she pulls out a folded piece of paper. “Here. You’ll need this.” Unfolding the paper, she explains, “it’s the info for the doctors and dentists Jon and I use for ourselves and the kids. Ellie especially loves Dr. Pyle. She’s super great with kids, and I absolutely adore my primary and OB-GYN. They’re both fabulous black women who actually listen when you have an issue.”

There’s so many things to consider when moving that it never even crossed your mind yet that you’d need to find a whole new slate of medical providers. Kaylah’s thoughtfulness is so appreciated. “Thank you. I should probably call tomorrow and get those appointments set up now.”

With everything you’ve been through this past week, it’s not a half bad idea to get a check up just to make sure everything is going good internally.

You add that to your to-do list for tomorrow. 

Maybe see the OB-GYN for your women’s wellness exam as well. You’re just about due anyway.

She nods. “Definitely, and I don’t know if you and Joe have talked about schools, but Ellie’s private school is really great.”

Private school….

You’d definitely thought about schools for Callie, but a private school wasn’t really an option as you were factoring in your financial capability. Now though….now that Joe is in the picture, you’re almost certain he would not only want Callie to be in private school vs public school, but he’d pay however much it cost to do so.

You’re not entirely opposed, interestingly enough. Especially since Callie is technically the kid of a celebrity, it might be a good move to keep her in a smaller, more private setting. 

“We haven’t, but I’m sure it's a discussion we’ll have.” You then remember. “Can you also give me the information for the dance academy Ellie goes to? I think I want to see about putting Callie in ballet.” It’s something she’s been wanting for a while, and accepting Joe’s financial generosity is becoming easier when you think about how it can benefit Callie. She deserves all of the happiness in the world.

And you’d much rather her do ballet than finesse her daddy into getting her a dog that’ll eventually be yours.

“Of course! We can actually swing by there tomorrow, so you can get a feel, if you want.” She offers, and it sounds like a great plan. Checking out the school with Joe is also something you make a mental note to discuss with him. Something tells you Kaylah is a good judge of character, but you need to check for yourself. This whole experience has made you that much more protective of your baby girl. “Joe also asked that I take you guys furniture shopping to start furnishing the house.”

At that, you groan and lean your head back against the sofa. “Girl, it’s gon take a minute to furnish that house. It’s so big.”

“It is, but it’s also so beautiful.” She leans closer to you, hand on your forearm. “And you don’t have to do everything at once, just like the master, Callie’s bedroom, the living room. You know, the main rooms.”

“Oh my goodness, I already know Joe is gonna’ have that girls room looking like a damn toy store.” He already mentioned something about knowing someone who does wall art and murals and reaching out to see if they could do a Disney mural in her bedroom. Not that you’re opposed to that. “He already spoils her. Now that we have this big ass house, I know it’s only going to get worse.”

Kaylah makes a sound and shrugs. “Let him. He loves her. He loves being a dad. Let him spoil her. Let him spoil you.”

“I love Joe for a lot of reasons that have nothing to do with his money. I don’t need him to spoil me financially. Other ways though….” Because of everything that’s happened the past week, you’ve had neither the mental or desire to be intimate with Joe. But with Callie returned to you and the litany of other positive things happening in your life, that sex drive is gradually building back up.

A small part of you is wishing that you’d gotten in a ‘quickie’ in the small space of 

‘Callie is sleeping’ time before you went to see the house. Granted, you also know that Joe isn’t a fan of quickies.

If he can’t have you for as long as he wants you, milking out at least 2 to 3 orgasms, he doesn’t want you at all. 

“Girl please, that man is like my brother. I don’t need the visuals.” She laughs, waving her hands in a “please shut up” manner. Giggling, you glance at the TV and see the blue lights flashing around the arena.

Sitting up and angling your body towards the back of the sofa, you make a sound when your chest presses against the cushion of the sofa. Your boobs have been weirdly tender too. Ignoring one of many annoying things about being a woman, you shout out, “Callie Bear! Daddy’s on TV!”

Callie runs in there faster than Usain Bolt, Ellie not too far behind. The girls plop on the living room floor, Callie’s eyes glued to the TV, not wanting to miss a second of it.

Your attention is also glued to the TV, but also elsewhere, even as your fine ass man talks his shit while looking so good doing so. 

You’ve learned a lot in the past week, been through a lot, but one of the major takeaways has been the importance of community. Of family. Alexis has transcended past best friend territory. A best friend doesn’t do what she did, doesn’t take the heat, even if she won’t feel said heat, the way that she did for you.

That’s something a sister would do. 

And while your heart swells at the notion of considering and seeing her as such, having that important conversation with her about what you want her to be in your life moving forward,, it’s also triggered another train of thought.

With change, comes friction, and while that friction can be uncomfortable, it can lead to something beautiful.

Look at you and Joe. Where you started, and where you are now. If you had to, you’d do it all again. It’s just all so worth it. 

So, you decide to pull out your phone as Callie goes crazy seeing Dwayne aka “cousin Maui!” appear on the screen and scroll to your earlier messages. Your thumb hovers over that thread, and there’s a brief moment of hesitation before you decide to power over fear and type out a message

You: hi, bianca. sorry for the delayed response, a lot has happened….  but you’re right. it can end with us. when’s a good time to call you? better yet, can we meet up?

You don’t even bother proofreading it before hitting send, not trusting yourself not to back out.

To say you feel 100% confident with your decision would be an absolute lie. You’re still wary about moving forward, but you owe it to yourself, and Callie, to try. From now on, you only want and need people in your life who want and deserve to be there.

And if…..and if your sister is included in that list, then you owe it to yourself to at least see what happens there.

This is a new season of your life, and you intend to embrace it for all it brings.

[callsign-dexter]

Heartstrings Tangled

Request: Hey 😊 could I ask for an Antonio Dawson imagine where you're dating and also work for the intelligence but one time he gets really distant as he doesn't want you in trouble due to your job but you think he doesn't want you anymore. One day you get shot during a mission and you nearly die. You're out for a while and Antonio never leaves your side, feeling terrible for letting this happen. When you wake up it's all fluffy, he apologizes and promises to never let you out of his sight again 🤗

Pairings: Antonio Dawson x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, inaccurate police talk

Being in a romantic relationship with Antonio Dawson was a dream, he treated you like royalty that is until you got to work, you understood that dating coworkers was a no go but you both just loved each other dearly, or so you thought. You didn’t think anything was wrong with your relationship but him pulling away and basically not speaking to you unless it was related to work was throwing you for a loop and you were not liking it.

The both of you had just woken up and were getting ready for the day. “Hey, babe?” You yelled out from the bathroom as you were brushing your teeth.

“Yes?” He asked coming in to meet you.

“Do you think we could get some Chinese food tonight for supper? There is a new place that opened up and I heard that it was good.” You said as you put your toothbrush in its holder and turned to look at him.

“I would be down for that. I heard it was good too.” He said and smiled at you and then you headed into the kitchen to eat a little something for breakfast and then you both were on your way to work.

You had both rode into work together after all you both lived together. You both got out of the car and met each other in front of the car and your hand connected. As soon as your foot hit the step of the precinct steps his grip on your hand would disappear. This confused you “Everything ok?” You asked when you noticed his hand no longer in yours.

“Yes, why?” He asked and continued on into the building as you followed.

“Well, you just stopped holding my hand is all.” You said and he stopped to enter the passcode on the key pad.

“Keep your voice down. We’ll talk about it later.” He said once the gate buzzed and that left you confused as ever but you continued up the stairs behind him. What you didn’t see was the frown on his face as you entered the bullpen.

“Um ok.” You said. When you would go in for a kiss, he would basically pull away from you and didn’t return it. It was truly messing with your feelings and your heart. You both walked to the locker room and stood in silence as you got what you needed and when you closed your locker you turned to look at him. “I love you.” You said and went into for a kiss but he just pulled away and walked away. You stood there speechless. What had you done wrong from the car to the precinct? You walked out and headed to your desk and sat down getting to work and failing to notice him look at you with a hurt look on his face. He watched a tear fall down your face but you quickly wiped it away and kept working not even once looking up. His attitude had changed drastically once you arrived and it hit you like a ton of bricks.

 Kim and Erin had noticed your change in behavior and decided to talk to you about it. They knew about your relationship with Antonia so when you came out of the locker room and sat down and started crying they wanted to the bottom of it. They both looked at each other and got up and strolled over to your desk and you looked up giving them a questioning look. “Can I help you both?” You asked and they grabbed you arm and hauled you up and into the locker room making sure nobody was following.

“What’s wrong?” Erin asked and you just looked at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said trying to deflect the question.

“Come on Y/N/N. We saw the tear slip when you sat down.” Kim said and that is when the tears started pouring.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.” You said and sat down on the bench and they looked at you to continue. “He was all loving this morning and then when we got here his demnor changed.” You spilled your feelings out to them.

“Oh, honey. He’s just being stupid.” Erin said and kneeled in front of you and looked at her.

“Did I do something wrong? Is he embarrassed of me?” You asked them still crying and they shook their head.

“No. No don’t think like that. None of this is your fault. Like Erin said he’s just being stupid. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Kim said. What you didn’t know was that Antonio was outside listening while he went to go and get something to drink. Having heard you crying made him stop, he never wanted to hurt you like this, that was not his plan. He just wanted to keep you out of trouble with Hank.

“I don’t think he wants to be with me anymore.” You said

“How long has this been going on?” Erin asked

“Almost 2 months. At first, I thought it was just because he was having rough nights and everyone has been stressed about the drug deal case we have been working on. His attitude would change once we got home.” You said and that broke your heart and his. “I think we’ve been gone too long.” You said and started to get up and that is when he took off not wanting to get caught. By the time he got back to the bullpen you were already at your desk but didn’t once look up. Most of your day was filled with paperwork and nothing too exciting. If he wanted to play this game then so be it, you would play the game too. It was rolling into the afternoon when Hank came out of his office.

“Alright listen up.” Hank said and you all came around to listen to him. Antonio tried to stand next to you but you moved to where you were standing between Erin and Kim. “I just got intel about a drug deal from one of our undercover cops that is about to go down on the case we have been working on and I want to be there to stop it before it can happen.” He said and everyone nodded and went to gear up. As you were putting on your bulletproof vest you looked up and saw Antonio looking at you, he could see the hurt in your eyes but you just walked away.

You rode with Jay as you were going to the drug meet up place you two began talking. “Are you ok?” He asked and you looked at him.

“Antonio is acting weird. He acts like he hates me whenever we get to work. I think he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.” You said. You had known the Halstead brothers for a long while you were practically their sister.

“Is that why you’re being quiet for the past two months?” He asked and you nodded.

“I’m gonna kill him.” He said but you all pulled up

“Jay, please don’t. I still love him.” You said and he nodded. You both got out and put on your working face and went over to Hank.

“Ok. I you guys know what do. I want everyone to be safe and communicate.” He said and you all nodded. As you were walking over to Jay’s truck Antonio came up to you.

“Babe. Listen-“ He began but you cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear it. If you want to break up then so be it. I’ll move out after this case.” You said and walked away from him leaving him behind.

You all waited for at least 10 minutes before any activity showed but you guys were ready. You watched with Jay as the undercover cop and the drug dealer and his men rolled up. Once the exchange started happening you all came out of hiding and the ones in vehicles turned on their sirens.

“Chicago PD!” Hank yelled out and then guns were drawn it was a standoff. “Put your weapons down!” He yelled out and then shooting began and everyone returned fire. A lot of the other men took off and some of them were down injured and some dead. You ducked behind a crate when a bullet had nearly hit you. You somehow got split up from Jay as he was on the other side ducking behind his own crate but still was able to see him.

“Are you ok?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yea. I’m ok. You?” You had asked him.

“Yea, I’m good.” He said and you nodded. You took a breath and then came out of hiding and began to shoot. You had hit one of the men but he had also shot at the same time. His had grazed your upper arm and your bullet had lodged into this shoulder. You ducked behind the crate again and hissed you looked at your arm and saw the blood. You looked over to Jay and he looked over to you and made sure the coast was clear and then came running over to you. “Are you ok?” He asked looking at the wound. Gunfire was all around you.

“Yea. It was just a graze.” You said and then stood up to began to shooting but didn’t draw your gun quick enough and everything felt like it was in slow motion. A bullet that was fired from one of the men had hit you just below the bullet proof vest and as you were processing what had happed you looked over to Jay and he had a look of horror on his face. Then you felt another one goes into the right side of your neck and you went down like a sack of potatoes. You didn’t know which one to put pressure on so you just laid there gasping for breath. Jay popped up and finished off the man and then ran to you and pulled you into safety. Then the gunfire stopped and everything sounded like it was underwater. You could hear Jay on the radio but couldn’t answer. All you wanted was Antonio.

“5021 George, officer down. I repat officer down. I need medical assistance immediately.” He said and then you passed out.

——————————————————————

Antonio’s world stopped when her heard Jay’s voice over the radio and ran to them. He saw Jay putting pressure on your neck and abdomen. He ran over to you both and tried to help but Jay just glared at him. “Back off. You’ve done enough damage.” He said and Antonio was hurt at his words but backed off. That didn’t stop him from kneeling by your side.

“Come one baby. Stay with me.” He said and touched your face but you didn’t wake up. Ambulance 61 from Firehouse 51 rolled up 5 minutes later. When Gabby and Sylvie rolled up, they were shocked and scared for their friend. Hank and the others had shown up as well. Your breathing was sallow, so sallow that it looked like you weren’t breathing. You were covered in blood and there were blood streaks from where Jay had pulled you into safety.

“Gunshot wound to the right-side neck and abdomen. Passed out just 5 minutes ago.” Jay said to them and they nodded and loaded you on the gurney and into the ambulance. Jay looked at Antonio and shook his head and glared at him and headed to the hospital. Antonio felt guilty he didn’t want this to happen but yet it did and he couldn’t tell you sorry.

——————————————————————

When Antonio got to the hospital everyone else were in the hospital waiting room. Nobody was talking and he didn’t blame them. They waited for 3 hrs on an update and nothing new was said and that was worrying him. On the 4th hour Will came out and Hank was the first one up to him.

“She’s lost a lot blood but she’s doing ok.” Will said

“When will she be able to have visitors?” Hank asked

“She can have them now. I’ll take you up to her now.” Will said and they looked at Antonio and they nodded so he followed Will up to your room. “I’ll be back to check on her later. If she wakes up let us know.” Will said and Antonio nodded. Will left and he pulled up a chair beside your bed.

Antonio was able to look at you fully now. You were hooked up to wires and had gauze wrapped around her neck. He sat there listening to your heart monitor and it brought him relief that you were alive. He thought about the hell he had put you through in the past 2 months and he was truly regretting it now. You had yet to wake up and it was bothering him. When he saw you laying there bleeding out and Jay putting pressure on your wounds, it made him sick to his stomach. He should’ve been the one doing that instead he had turned the entire precinct against him for just hurting you.

Will and a few other nurses were in and out of the room as well as the other Intelligence members but Antonio never moved from his spot. Hank came in one time but stayed for a bit. You were like a daughter to him. “I know you’re together.” He said out of the blue one day and Antonio looked at him.

“How?” He asked

“It wasn’t hard to figure out.” Hank said

“I was trying to protect her from getting fired.” Antonio said

“I would never do that.” Hank told him.

“I really hurt her. I pulled away from her.” Antonio said to Hank and he nodded.

“Yes, you did. I suggest when she wakes up you make up with her and tell her why.” Hank said and Antonio nodded and then Hank left.

——————————————————————

4 days is how long it took you to wake up and when you did, you were in pain. You groaned in pain and that woke Antonio. He jumped up and went to you. “Babe, you’re ok.” He said and you looked at him.

“Why are you here?” You asked hoarsely and he was taken back.

“Because I love you and I’m sorry for hurting you over the past 2 months.” He confessed to you and you looked over at him.

“I don’t understand.” You said tried to talk again but it came out in a rasp.

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble or fired so I started to pull away from you. It hurt me do it to you. I’m truly sorry. I’m never going to do it again.” He said and you looked at him with a soft expression. You were going to talk again but he stopped you “Don’t try and talk. You were shot in the neck.” He said and you nodded but winced. “I love you Y/N. I’m never going to let you out my sight again.” He said and you smiled and motioned him forward and when he did you grabbed his face and kissed him. When you broke apart for air you both were smiling. “I’m gonna get Will.” He said and you nodded.

While he was gone you had time to think. He was truly sorry and wasn’t going to do it again. You had your Antonio back and that is all that mattered. However, he has 2 months of making up to do but you were ok with that. You loved him and he loved you.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

[viperwhispered]

How Not to Be Swept Under - behind the scenes

So, since I’ve been enabled (ty @scint1llat3), some thoughts on the process behind How Not to Be Swept Under. Spoilers for the series, obviously, and also below the cut for length (oop I sure had a few things to say).

Too Much

So, like I said in the notes for this, hearing Ylivoimainen by KUUMAA got me thinking of Jamil being overwhelmed by his feelings. In the song the singer is talking about how you’re overpowering, in the sense that he can’t stand against you, and how the singer would do anything to get to you. Now, while I didn’t think Jamil would be quite that drastic - man’s far too aware of consequences and things - I still wanted to explore what it would mean for Jamil to deal with such feelings.

Iirc, already when I posted this I was pretty sure I wanted to continue the fic. Looking back on the file, I did have the beginnings of the second part there already, but decided that leaving the first part at the moment of realization would be the most impactful.

Ngl, I kinda really love the line “No, if anything, you were quite…inoffensive.”, which is at the end of that part where Jamil’s trying to figure out why you have him on edge. Yes he’s not annoyed (quite the opposite if he’d realize it) but somehow you sure bother him. Wonder why.

“And the way you had looked at him, like-” In my head, this would’ve continued something along the lines of “like you cared for him” - but of course Jamil’s not going to let such conclusions come out, especially with Kalim interrupting him, too.

And for “Surely he was not that stupid. After all, there was no way-”, I was thinking something like “there was no way he had a crush on you”, but, again, Jamil sure isn’t going that far at this point. No way.

Of course, for all these, I don’t mean to say that what I thought when writing is the only way to read it, far from it. But it is what I was thinking at that time.

And that shit in the end? Yeah he’s not willing to put words to it, even in his own mind, but he can’t quite deny what is going on, even if he refuses to face it.

Too Hard

Jamil’s solution to uncomfortable feelings: let’s pretend they don't exist. That’s definitely gonna go fine 🙃

Reader, meanwhile, definitely is aware of their own feelings at this point - they were already acting on them in the first part, after all. So Jamil really is starting on a back foot here, in the sense that he’s still trying to figure (or avoid figuring) out his own thoughts and feelings, while reader’s feelings are turning into action.

However, Jamil’s standoffishness / avoidance here is throwing reader for a loop. I struggled quite a bit with how I should portray this - I didn’t want reader to just go “I’m sad because you’re distant” because you need to be really close for that kind of vulnerability, I feel - certainly closer than these two are. So there was a version where Jamil overheard Kalim comforting reader about it, and another one where Jamil heard just the wrong bit of what you said to Kalim.

In the end, I’d like to think I struck out a reasonable balance between making it clear enough what was going on between you and Jamil, while also not making them too good at communicating.

Ngl, here and throughout I so loved writing Jamil’s thoughts, going through the denial while also peppering in the bits that were quite telling enough of what he actually felt. He might not be admitting it to himself yet, but also even if he tries, he can’t just act neutral with you.

Whereas the title of the first chapter was referring to reader being too much for Jamil, here the title refers to Jamil trying too hard to “act normal”.

Also, by the time I posted this, I already had the title and vague concepts for the next part and the finale - the only question was if I’d need a transition between those two.

Such a oneshot this turned out to be, huh, just 5 parts.

Too Little

Pivot time! The dam breaks, finally, and Jamil has to accept that things are as they are.

It was around this chapter that I noticed myself using all these metaphors about currents and depths and things and started to use them more intentionally. That’s where the title for the whole series came about, as well. I’m not sure where the idea cleared out for me, but I think around here the latest I realized the whole “struggling against the tides (aka your feelings) and expending all your energy there - accepting your feelings as they are, making things all in all much more easier / pleasant” dichotomy for Jamil.

Which, certainly doesn’t apply to just romantic feelings. Like, that man has been repressing so much, and probably spends (or spent, before book 4) so much energy just maintaining the facade - energy which he could use for other things more fruitfully, one would imagine. So, yeah, it became a bit of a theme, that whole learning to understand and accept one’s feelings.

Again, I had so much fun writing him yearning. I was allowing him to complete a few more of his thoughts, letting them go a little further, but it’s not like he’s fully comfortable going all in yet and admitting even to himself all that he’s thinking about.

Tho also look at him being all soft and mushy and in his feels.

Also I couldn’t decide how dirty I could / should go with the “What it would feel like to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you, to-” bit so cutting it off solved that question too, lol.

I did also consider making this chapter much more lewd, Jamil maybe even masturbating to the thought of you, but then there’s the question of community labels and stuff and I didn’t want anyone to miss out a part. Plus like, as much as I love my lewd, I also didn’t want to imply it was just horny he’s feeling for you. But it was definitely a balancing act, trying to figure out just where I’d want to take this.

Tbh, I still might write the nsfw version of this (or something similar, at least) at some point.

Another thing to add to the wip / idea list I guess.

To me, the title feels quite self-explanatory here. He’s got too little of you, and wants to have more of you in his life.

Also that ice cream bit was absolutely there just to treat myself.

Too Fast

So, sometime earlier in the process I’d decided the reader should be the one confessing / making the first obvious move. Partly because come on why should it always be the guy doing that, and partly because the theme here was to keep Jamil on the back foot (ily Jamil but you’re just far too fun to fluster).

So when Too Little ended with Jamil deciding to act, I suddenly realized I had a bit of a dilemma - after all, Jamil is the sort who likes to make others act. Originally, I thought that what would throw Jamil off here would be you acting before Jamil gets to make his move. But for a character who likes to nudge others to act, would that really be a problem?

Thankfully, Jamil is also a planner thrown off when things go off rails - I mean, he can definitely adjust, as we see here and elsewhere, but it was enough to throw him off the loop the way I wanted to. So, I pivoted to Jamil being surprised by you making your move without his nudges. Jamil maintained his backfootedness as intended, and I managed to keep myself from accidentally glossing over parts of his character - win-win.

Writing this out like this feels like such minor nitpicking but well let’s just say that for the particular vibes I wanted to go for, it seemed to make a difference.

Also this bit:

“But he needed to know if it all was enough for what he wanted with you.

And if not… Well. Perhaps there was something to be done about that. Given enough time, enough attention…

He could be a listening ear, a supporting presence, get to know you further, if he needed to.

Yes, he wanted you to be his sooner rather than later, but if he had to wait and work for it, he would.”

Now, one could certainly read this a bit yan if one wanted to, but mostly I just felt like I had had Jamil be so “nice” so far and it felt like I really needed a dash of the more calculated parts of him, willing to put so much on the line to get what he wants. Like sure we’re going pretty fluffy with this story but it is still Jamil we’re talking about.

The scene with the basketball trio was originally Scarabia kitchen (with Jamil almost fumbling his phone into a pot or counter instead, and a random student questioning him), but then I realized I already had Jamil doing a lot of cooking and related things in this fic. So basketball trio to the rescue, and for a change of scenery, too. (And me hoping that in just couple of lines of dialogue I won’t do too grave injustices to the other characters.)

Also with Floyd in there, of course I had to include the line about “a taste of blood in the water”.

Again, it was quite the balancing act, trying to figure out just how flustered Jamil should be. A king of compartmentalization, after all, (and no jmeal this is not a compliment), but also I wanted him to be genuinely affected. So addlebrained Jamil it was, but hopefully I didn’t make him too much of a bumbling fool for who he is.

Also ngl I was really happy with myself with the parenthesis thoughts.

“He’d make something quick for Kalim’s dinner while preparing something to share with you. (What could he make with the time and ingredients he had that you really liked? What about dessert? He knew how much you enjoyed sweets, after all.)”

The logical, planning mind in the regular text, all the feels and “idle” thoughts in the parenthesis - which he’s trying to keep under control / at bay, but can’t, quite.

Again, Jamil, wouldn’t life be much easier if you let yourself feel your feels?

Ngl, I kind of feel like a coward, skipping so much of the dialogue in the confession scene. On the other hand, this series had turned into such a deep dive into Jamil’s head, that I was kinda content to keep to that inner perspective, even in this particular situation.

It’s strange, though, since often when I draft fics, for example, I build things around dialogue. But with this fic it just seemed to be different aspects calling to me.

Also knuckle kisses? Leave me absolutely weak, I could not resist including that.

I did wonder if I was too obviously spelling out my thought process, talking about reader having been ahead of Jamil in the feels curve, but on the other hand I figured it would be something Jamil would realize. So hopefully it didn’t turn too far in to telling rather than showing (I say, as if the next chapter isn’t so much of telling, oop).

“And in that sweet moment Jamil finally stopped fighting, at least for a moment. He let go of his plans, his resistance, and allowed himself to be swept up by you.”

And here we are, finishing with those themes of tides / feelings, the first dip of Jamil allowing himself to stop fighting. Not gonna say he dropped all his bad habits here, but at least he had a moment of calm.

Just Right

And we get the fluffiest of payoffs. Expounding on themes I outlined earlier, but also just fluffy sweetness.

Ngl, I was pulling from my irl relationship for a lot of these things.

“And all those things Jamil had not even allowed himself to think of back then now freely filled his mind.”

Like I said in the notes for this part as well, I combed through the earlier parts, picking out the unfinished thoughts and other bits that were poignant for what I wanted to say about Jamil’s feelings and his handling of them. So lots of callbacks, pretty much, to tie things up.

“However, finally, Jamil had learned how to withstand those currents. Fighting them, denying your pull… It truly had been a fool’s errand. Riding with the waves, steering his course was the only way he could make it - but only once he allowed himself to be carried by the flow.”

I was really wondering how to word this bit the right way. I didn’t want to say that the relationship was inevitable or anything like that - life happens, Jamil has agency, he could’ve chosen to say no to your date invitation etc. But the feelings were there, and couldn’t be denied away - at least not without significant and frankly wasted effort.

So, yeah, it was a fun project, going through the stages of Jamil’s thought process, slowly (or not so slowly) letting him think in different ways as the story progressed and showing those things in different ways.

Plus I’ve been doing almost exclusively oneshots for some time so it was nice to do something a little longer.

Hopefully these thoughts were of interest to at least some of you! Again, I want to iterate, I don’t want to say that my thought process behind writing dictates the one true way to interpret things or anything like that. It is simply where I’m approaching the story from, and what is behind the choices I make in telling the story.

Honestly if anyone reads all of this you deserve a cookie. Maybe even a drabble.

[phantomrose96]

I’d love to hear about your fucked up subway, as best as you can express. Love love love hearing about weird dreams!

In exchange I’ll tell you about my recurring Bad Mall— I’m not on any meds my brain is just like this— usually I’m at the mall looking for someone. Usually it’s a friend, sometimes it’s All Might (??? Also haven’t seen BNHA in years why he there), and in one notable instance, it was a blue sock puppet who everyone loved.

I don’t know why I hate this mall so much. If I could I would never have another mall dream again. It is, technically, a very nice mall. The employees are nice. Usually I have a friend there. The shops are interesting and fairly priced. But something about the atmosphere is just… *grey*. Sapped. It’s a big loop of a building, sized such that there should be a courtyard in the middle— there is not.

The main entrance borders a clothing store that also sell luxury nail polish (like… made of velvet) and a decadent chocolate shop that gives out really nice free samples. Across the way there’s a couple jewellery stores I’ve never been in, and then you make a sharp left and you’re into the mall proper. To your right, the food court. I’ve only stopped there maybe ever twice, and the food is really good. The second time I accidentally put someone else’s fried chicken order into an incinerator so we got married about it.

On the other side, there is GameStop. This store is the bane of my being. It always has the *coolest* stuff but if I dare set foot inside the dream will start looping around it— genuinely, one time I tried to escape by running to the other side of the mall, and I ended up in a secret passageway that led me right back to GameStop. The worst part is that it’s all dream stuff. I don’t get to take any purchases home.

Past that, on the right there’s kind of a weird store that sells vintage stuff, old video games, and tshirts. On the left is a shop that sells gnomes. Directly ahead is a Walmart, and, in the middle of the like. Mall hallway. a free floating hot drink store that also sells wooden cutouts of deer, and kickass hot chocolate. Turn left.

I haven’t been in any of these shops. The only one I recall clearly is a big, outdoorsy-themed sportswear shop to the left. It has a full sized pool in it. I’ve never been inside, only pressed my face to the glass. It also seems to have some sort of scavenger hunt happening with bits of shredded paper. Usually I hurry through the rest of the hallway, not sure why. Turn left.

On the corner to your left, there’s the shop where one of my friends works. The only thing I remember about it is a wind-chime made of dvds. To your right is a large store that takes up the entire stretch of building— it’s one of those, like, VR experience places. Past that, on the left, there is a cinema. Turn left.

You’re back where you started, now. You can go outside. The parking lot is huge, and there’s a MASSIVE textiles store you can only access from out here. Don’t go to the stuffing area, bad vibes. There’s also a handful of gacha machines. One is easily lockpicked, and has cool Pokémon stuff inside. Another has little historical artifact recreations that are all slightly wrong. The Mona Lisa but her hair is blue. The Statue of Liberty, but the torch is a bundle of snakes.

There’s another bundle of disconnected shops. One of them sells pizza? And also it always wakes me up instantly so I don’t know what the pizza is like. The mall doesn’t always spit me out into the parking lot, either. That’s just part of the mall experience I guess one second you’re walking away with your shopping the next you’re running for your life in a dream video game c’est la vie

Hey anon I fucking LOVE your nightmare fucked-up dream mall. If this was the setting of a 16-year-old forum post creepypasta that only exists in reposts and screenshots I'd read the hell out of it.

To your right, the food court. I’ve only stopped there maybe ever twice, and the food is really good. The second time I accidentally put someone else’s fried chicken order into an incinerator so we got married about it.

^Highlighting this because it's doing a lot for me.

My fucked-up subway does not have nearly as much lore as your fucked up mall, and most of my feelings about the fucked-up subway are rooted in the heightened emotional ether of dreams where everything is slightly wrong, but I'll take a shot at capturing the vibes.

The first hallmark of fucked-up subway stations is that they are deep and they are vast--and by vast I mean there's often endless dead-space fanning out from the platform. The stairs descending to the platform are often unrailed and give you a wide view of the endless black-void expanse that stretches beyond the platforms.

The structure of the tracks and the trains is a lot more like a rollercoaster than a real subway. The tracks are bare and exposed and peter off into the dead-space distance. The cars are small and often roofless. They're often some combination of cold and wet and exposed. When there's no roof, there's usually the latent understanding that if you fall out you'll fall far.

The fucked-up subway trains run very infrequently. Usually when you get to the fucked-up station, the train in your desired direction is just about to depart, and if you miss this one, the next one will not be for a long time.

The fucked-up subway trains go to stations that do not exist. They're always modeled off the subway routes in my home city, which I've lived in for close to 5 years now and whose subway system I know like the back of my hand. This means you'll always know where you're trying to go, and be confident in how you're getting there, until you realize the subway is headed to the stations that do not exist.

The stations that do not exist often have transfers with other subway lines, which you can take in an attempt to get back on track. These transfers follow the same rules as the infrequent trains--the train and direction you need will always be just arriving when you are, and if you miss it you'll be stuck waiting a long time. Usually to transfer you have to descend to a deeper level, which brings you to more of these vast and dark and precarious platforms hanging over the abyss, with exposed traintracks running on either side. Sometimes you'll accidentally descend the wrong side--inbound instead of outbound, or vice versa, and need to hastily backpedal (or come up with some way to get across to the other side of the chasm).

One dream with the fucked up subway system had the deep, deep subway system. This station goes all the way down. No clue at all how deep but I'll call it 30 floors, at least, into this dead and lifeless, lightless trough at the bottom. The very bottom has no train, it's just the very bottom of everything. It's a bit like being at the bottom of the ocean, or the bottom of an almost pitch-black cellar--if that cellar's walls were hundreds and hundreds of feet above your head. There is a shop down here! It sells frozen meats that are kept very well preserved down here due to the cold and lifeless nature of the trench's pit.

It's not really a shop, per se. There's no staff or anything. It's more like you've discovered the abandoned contents of this cellar. Things are just stacked around, and very very hard to find with so little light. I don't remember how paying works.

Sometimes, you'll go to a station that exists, but it'll be wrong. You're at the correct station but nothing about it or its surroundings is correct. Nothing looks right. You recognize nothing. But it is the correct station. Sometimes this is nice. One time it let me out into this very pretty street with a nice red brick church whose yard and stone wall were surrounded by beautiful flowers. I met a friend here and she disappeared.

The fucked-up bus lines exist, and they go south. I've only ever ridden them at night and in the pitch black, and they run to places that aren't safe. This is a problem because they run infrequently, and you have to wait for them outside in the dark. I took the fucked-up bus line to a church way south of the city, where I was helping a nice couple set things up in the church. They were never there while I was. The church was always dark.

On the way back taking the fucked-up bus, there was a stop in the middle for the driver to rest. I talked with the other riders while we waited. The bus driver had a medical episode and drove the bus over the side of a nearby cliff. I don't remember what happened when we tried to get help.

[thenightlymirror]

Such a strange two days. This wasn’t a big deal when it happened, but I was working on some files, punching things into excel, when my trainer kicked my foot. And I assumed it was on accident, but then she let it linger there, and gestured with it across the sole of my shoe. I was not expecting anything like this and was surpassingly calm about it (I mean…) and just calmly asked “What?” And she asked, “Is that your name?”

Now, the back of my shoe says Saucony, so I replied, “Yes, my name is Saucony. I tell people my name is Anthony because children used to make fun of me in school.” And she laughed and so did I. And that was it. It was Thursday and I think we were just slap happy, sitting together in the same little room for a week. I’m sure she wondered if she could, she did, and that was it.

Today, she was a little late, and miffed. Her daughter is being bullied in school. I told her, the way I got through it was by being funnier than the bullies, knowing every possible joke, so my joke would be funnier, and that this is terrible advice, and I truly have no advice. All you can do as a kid is just not give them ammo. Just get out of the way and let them get irritated by somebody else. I was bullied because I was not very fun. When you’re fat and ugly, people don’t admire you, and when you’re sad about it, serious, lonely, needy, sensitive, angry, weird, explosive, it’s just a feedback loop. Her kid is anxious and sensitive. She would have to fake not being anxious. It takes a few years to figure that out, or a lot.

There are so many things wrong with this park. All the records are shit. I swear the office manager scanned a lot of these records in, shredded them, then never actually saved them digitally. Just not finding them. Then when the trainer goes they interrupt me trying to put out all these work orders with stuff I just can’t answer.

Finally got out of work and then went to my eye exam. Supposed to be a big storm. They say I need bifocals and the lenses at this place are going to come out to $500. No. I’ll have to get glasses somewhere else tomorrow and that’s just another day without a new prescription.

As I step out of the glasses place, the rain is just pouring. Even in a raincoat, by the time I get to the car, I’m soaked to the knee. When I turn the corner out of the mall, the cars there are driving through a foot of water and I realize I’m going to too. Get off the expressway and the neighborhood is flooded too. At one point, I’m certain my car is just gonna float. I get scared and turn around to try another way but it’s all the same. Just decide to fuck it and drive through it back home. I was afraid the parking lot would be flooded, but it was the highest elevation in the neighborhood. Just got lucky.

[tailoroffates]

Heads up 7 up tag game

Tagged by: @emelkae, thanks for the tag! I was given a choice between heads up 7 up, and last line. I've decided I'll do the heads up, as I enjoy putting up the snippets :P For this post I'm going to tag a few folks and then leave the tag open so anyone interested can participate! @luckyy19 @doublegoblin @charlesjosephwrites @the-orangeauthor @primroseprime2019. Also, please feel free to tell me if you aren't into playing tag games and I'll keep you out of the loop. Thanks!

From: The Garden That Burned series - Book 1, Kindling (my upcoming novel).

(Context: Danny stands inside the witches hut and is asked to travel to a different plane of existence in order to free an immortal guardian who has been sealed for centuries...)

  “So this Karma person, she will guide me- wait... What do you mean the rings will protect us from each other? Is she dangerous? Would she hurt me?” I asked nervously as Rizza frowned.   “No! Well, not intentionally. Look, Karma was sealed after the Tari Nova, but during the fall of Atlantis. She fell mid-battle, and she’s been there for thousands of years. You need to keep in mind most everything that she’s ever known is long gone, not to mention the fact that it was another Guardian who sealed her in the first place. We couldn’t possibly begin to predict her current mental state, so yes. Give her this ring and tell her I sent you and all should be well. Oh, but do make sure you use my name, don’t just say a witch or she’ll punch you into space.” She replied giving me a thumbs up. I continued trying to keep myself calm, gripping the banister hard as a small cope for the information overload I had just received. Punch me into space… can she actually do that or was Rizza joking with me?   “I’ll go along with this because my gut is telling me I should, but this is a shitty idea…” I said as suddenly Rizza's hand shot to her mouth and she looked at me in shock.   “Hey! Language!” She scolded, then pointing to a sign on the wall that I swear to all gods present and lost, was not there the last time I looked. It read:  “In my home, mind your manners. Actions, thoughts, and language matter!” My focus shifted from the sign to Rizza, then to the sign again. My expression must have revealed that I was utterly unimpressed, because she simply started laughing at me.   “I can’t just give you all the answers or you won’t learn how to learn. These are just things that you’ll have to do, and you’ll have to do them your own way. That’s the only way that’ll do, after all. Just remember, if you are going to do something, be it right or wrong, do it with conviction. Nothing worthwhile comes easy, Danny. So, unless you’re willing to put your best foot forward your desired results may be out of reach, hmm? Yes, you’ll do fine.” She said in a bashful tone while waving her hand in a playful fashion. We stopped in front of one of the doors.   “Alright... What’s the plan then?” I asked, fidgeting with my fingers. A wispy carved symbol sat above the door and the plaque nailed to its center seemed to be written in Belani script. I frowned. I’d need to get closer to translate it… I thought as Rizza suddenly reached down and turned the doorknob revealing a strange, stagnant place with absolutely no color. Hues of black, grey, and white cascaded across this vast empty space where no ground or sky appeared to exist. Several faces appeared out of nowhere and began pressing themselves into the fabrics of their reality, creating dull silhouettes on the other side of the door. They desperately tried to force their way through the colorless sea of nothing, each releasing a gasping scream which made it through the doorway and echoed off the walls of Rizza's house. Just as they closed the distance to the door, Rizza slammed it shut and glanced at me quickly with a coy grin.   “Oops, wrong door.” She said playfully as we walked forward two more doors before she stopped. “This is it, Kid. Last stop before you start to have an idea of what you’re doing.” She said as I frowned in response. I wiped the sweat forming above my brow.   “Wrong door? Are they all like that?” I asked in terror as she laughed out loud.

[littlegoldenbirdie]

The Dragon and the Maiden (sort of) #4

Tick tock, tick tock, something tells me I had better hurry up and get this up here!

This one's kinda long...

Chapter 4: Sixty feet to six feet

“…I’d better cast that spell if we want to get anywhere,” she said abruptly. “You can watch me if you like, or if it’d make you feel better.” He managed a nod, and she prepared the spell again. Speaking words in no language he could recognize from his eons of life and travel across uncountable planes, swirling mana colors that just seemed wrong in some way he couldn’t define, she reached out to lay a hand on his head. He closed his eyes as her touch made the world go mad around him, his thoughts and senses going haywire as reality twisted, or twisted him for a frighteningly long moment before he was left gasping in dizzy panic for an even longer moment. He kept his eyes closed as he relaxed, controlling his breathing as he pushed the fear away and forced himself to be calm. Then he noticed that something had changed drastically. For one thing, the tiny speck of a touch he had felt when Amelia laid her hand on his head now covered the top of his skull from horn to horn. Opening his eyes, he found he had to look up at her where she crouched over his head, her hand still where she had placed it. “You shrank me?” he practically screeched as he looked himself over. “Great! Just great! Now look at me! I’m six feet tall, tops, if that! My sheer size was the only advantage I still had left after this whole nightmare I’ve been living through! If they catch me now…” Amelia gave a lopsided smile at those last five words. “Yes, if they catch you. At the very least, a six-foot-tall dragon should be a lot easier to hide than a sixty-foot-tall dragon. Not only that, but it’ll be easier to heal you… and feed you, too!” Pulling back for a moment, she gave a dramatic shrug. “…What, you really think I’d shrink you and leave you hanging? Now come on, let’s get out of here.” Kneeling next to him, gently moving his broken, ruined wings aside, she tried her hardest to loop one of his arms over her shoulder and help him get up. It was surprisingly easy, which she honestly hadn’t expected. “You’re lighter than you look,” she said in the most nonchalant tone she could manage, trying to distract him from how much it had to hurt, moving badly splintered wings and touching deep, bloody gashes. Stifling a serpentine hiss, he flinched slightly, unable to resist the urge to recoil from her touch. She paid no heed to what she was sure he would have once found humiliating and managed a smile as his whole body drooped against her shoulder. “I suppose it makes sense, you not weighing very much for your size. It makes flying easier, right?” His head lolled a bit as his strength ebbed for a long moment, giving him a glimpse of her face, mere inches away from his own. How long had it been since he’d let anybody get this close to him? When was the last time he had felt a gentle touch, or any touch at all, given how his ability to shatter the minds of those who so much as laid a finger on him had almost become a reflex?

“Stay awake,” she said in a tone that held just the faintest hint of sharpness. “I’m going to need you to help me out here. Just a little. All I need is for you to swish your tail back and forth in the dirt behind us as hard as you can as we go. That should wipe out any tracks we might leave. Do you think you can do that for me?” He gave the slightest of nods before bowing his head and putting all his remaining strength into lashing his tail back and forth in the dust behind them as she had requested. Never had such a simple effort taken so much out of him… His vision darkened for a long moment, the world spinning and his heartbeat thundering in his ears before her voice cut through it all. “Hey, hey, don’t fade out on me, all right? Maybe I’m asking too much of you, what with the condition you’re in and all… Eh, let’s just forget about trying to erase our tracks. We can probably make a good enough distance for it not to matter, especially if we hustle. I think I can handle most if not all your weight, so you can just concentrate on staying awake.” It was all he could do just to nod slightly, but that was enough for her to know his answer. “…Works for me,” she said softly with a smile she knew he couldn’t see, successfully resisting the urge to pat him on the back in a comforting manner he would have likely found patronizing at best. “It’s all right; I’ve got this… and you.” Having made sure that he wouldn’t trip or fall, she decided it was time for the two of them to get going… or for her to get going, since she was carrying him.

A few slow, shaky steps later, she found herself needing to pause. She didn’t like how exposed she felt. If anyone stepped into the area, they would see her, see them both. How could she fix that? A moment of thought later, she found herself grumbling as she came to a conclusion she would rather have avoided. “…Guess there’s really nothing for it, then,” she sighed. Casting a glance Bolas’s way, she grimaced a bit at the thought of what she had to do next. “I’d ask you to cover your ears, but you don’t seem to have the strength to do that. Forgive me, but I’m… I’m going to have to sing.” He opened one eye and looked at her. “You need to sing? Why? This doesn’t seem like a good time for that…” A smile took shape on her face. “Most folks don’t realize this, but any reasonably talented mage can just as easily whistle up a spell instead of just speaking an incantation. It works off the same principle.” She paused for a moment, trying to think of the easiest way to explain it. “Breath is Life, and Life is power. And when you use your voice, what are you doing but imprinting sounds upon your breath, which I just said is power in its own right? Whether you whistle, hum or outright sing, the result will be the same… whatever you want it to be.” Clearing her throat with a light cough, she took a deep breath and began to weave a melodic spell.

Her voice, ringing in his ears, didn’t sound all that feminine… or even human. As a matter of fact, it didn’t sound like any noise a creature with vocal cords could reasonably hope to produce. That thought came to him before her song filled his ears and his mind, crowding out all other thoughts until all he could do was listen… and obey. I am not here, the song whispered in his mind. I am not here, we are not here, nothing is here, it said to him. An image of an empty glade hung before his mind’s eye, blocking out everything else. It wouldn’t have made any more sense to him even if he could think straight. Even without access to magic his mind’s fortifications had been unbreakable. But now… now…

-----------

Give him a break; he's pooped.

[pennzance]

Ghostbusters: Port Huron (Episode 7)

Episode 7: The Edison Inn

Date: August 24th, 1998

Incident Report by Eric

I want it on the record that I strongly dislike any man who, this close to the turn of the millennium, wears tweed by choice.

His name is Stanley Richardson. He is the current managing head of staff at the Edison Inn. Since PoHo is the childhood home of Thomas Edison (childhood as in ‘he spent some of his life here but left before he did anything notable but we’re going to take credit for that anyway’) we’ve got a few things in town named after the man. The Edison Museum is more about the railroads that used to bring business and goods through Port Huron and gets by existing on the excuse that Edison liked trains as a kid. Really, what kid doesn’t like trains though?

But the Edison Inn lives off the man’s reputation in his later years in that it is big, showy, and very expensive. One of Port Huron’s few BIG venues for fancy to dos. As such, the staff there can be somewhat tightly wound. Or, in Stanley’s case, downright cracked.

This is not our first visit to the Edison Inn. We were here a few weeks ago on what turned out to be absolutely nothing. Not even an actual plumbing emergency as we sometimes get, just… nothing. Stanley is convinced that there’s some sort of ghostly draft in the ballroom that overlooks the river, but we waved PKE Meters in there for about an hour and didn’t find anything. We recommended he call a building inspector and get the windows checked and went on our merry way.

But he calls us this morning, asking for another ‘evaluation’. There’s a wedding coming up, he says, big event, lots of money, using the Inn as a reception venue and he wants to be sure everything is in order. Okay, fine. He’s willing to pay us, and it probably won’t be a day where I get slime vomited all over me, so off we go.

We swept the rooms and hallways, but everything starts to go wrong in the ballroom. We’ve swept the place with PKE Meters and the Ecto Goggles and, again, came up with nothing. Then Bryan stumbled on an honest to God secret passage. I thought Stanley’s little tweed chest was going to collapse. The passage leads to some stairs that go way, way down. Amber claims it was over sixty steps, and I don’t know what that is in stories but it’s a lot. At the bottom of the stairs is a large, sealed door.

Jeremy gets to work on that, and I ditch my Proton Pack to run all the way back up to keep Stanley in the loop. When I get up there, this happens:

“Stanley,” I said, trying to fake a smile, “we found the bottom. You wouldn’t happen to have a key for any doors that may be down there, would you?”

But Stanley just sniffs and looks down his nose at me, which is impressive considering I’m taller by about a foot and a half. “Actually, I would like your crew to clear out.”

“Clear out? We just got down there! Come on, Stanley, we’re not charging you extra for the spelunking, let’s see what’s down there and put your fears to rest.”

“No!” he snaps, which in my experience is a bit unlike him. Stan comes off as super nervous and eager to please, a bit of a doormat, so to have him show backbone is odd. “I want you OUT! All of you!”

I shrugged. I’m not THAT invested in this job. But then, from the secret door, there’s this hellacious noise. One that seemed familiar, and then the screaming started.

I didn’t even think, I just bolted back to the passage only to get my ass kicked clear over my head. Something big rushed past me and into the ballroom, and I hit my head hard enough on something that I’m not entirely able to make out what the hell is happening before Amber arrives and helps me to my feet.

In the ballroom, more screaming. THAT’S what I would expect from Stanley. He’s getting batted around by our old friend from the railway tunnel: the big horse with the bat wings. Not what I expected today, but let’s go. I owe this thing for my massive headache.

But I left my Proton Pack downstairs. Whoops. Amber sets about distracting it with some well-aimed blasts, trying to get it away from Stanley, and Jeremy meets me coming up hauling both his Pack and mine. I don’t even bother to fasten all the straps as I run back to the ballroom with him and we proceed to light this stupid horse up.

Was there collateral damage? Yes. Most of the windows, one out of three chandeliers, and one very large set of curtains all either exploded, crashed or caught fire, but I got the paperwork signed this time beforehand. Stanley had hightailed it out of the room as we drew its attention, trying to trade its focus between us as we wore it down with shots and streams.

This thing was a lot tougher than last time, though. It took all three of us to wrangle the beast while also fumbling around to place either of our traps correctly in the rapidly accumulating debris. Bryan finally decided to join us and contribute, blasting a finely carved oak bar into splinters before activating the trap and sucking the thing inside.

What Bryan HAD been doing was checking out what was beyond the door. That thing had come through when Jeremy managed to pop it open, and Bryan had figured it was best to see where it came from rather than to, y’know, stop it. Jackass.

Still, I’m glad he did. He described a long, thin tunnel that terminated in an access door to the old Sarnia railway tunnel, where we fought this thing the first time.

I don’t get paid enough to look into the connection too deeply. That’s what Bryan is for, but I’ll admit I’m curious. Maybe I’ll look up a few things on my own, like leases and deeds. Maybe it isn’t about WHERE things are, but WHO put them there.

End of report.

ADDITIONAL: I am going to institute a fitness program headed up by Amber because this team needs one, apparently. There have been too many incidents of my employees being taken out of action by being knocked over or having to overcome stairs. It is very inefficient and easily fixable. – Stephen Kaye

[fellpyrean]

Advent Statement 10 - Hospitality

And here we are. The final one I managed to write, though I am pretty sure I only finished it on the 23rd or 24th itself and then promptly fell over dead. Unfortunately, the final intended chapter of this advent was never written, but who knows! Maybe I will write it as a silly goof this year. 

On to this one, I really had to keep beating ideas for the stranger out of the ranking, but they still ended up with two chapters, those showy bastards. They’ve just got such aesthetic, you know? 

This chapter contains a version of an OC of my partner and I’s, and we love him very much. Please, be polite to him. He’s an excellent guest. 

CWs: canon typical violence/peril?? 

___________________________________________________________

You've seen candles in the window, haven't you?

They're popular this time of year; little AA powered twinkling things, plastic and fake leaves of holly to make them pretty and fire-safe. Don't get me wrong - I like them. I think they're charming. I just never really thought of them beyond decor until recently. 

Never really wondered what a candle in the window meant until I put that candle in my window and… formed my contract, it would say. 

My guest.

It’s a welcome, the candle. A bright, flickering beacon at the end of a long, dark journey. An offering of food and shelter and, hah, hospitality. 

I should backtrack. 

The house used to belong to my uncle, but the one I got it from was an old family friend. I’d just gotten kicked out of my old place, so they’d decided it was as good a time as any to pass the place back on to me. And look, maybe it was a horror movie setup from the start, but the reality is, when someone gives you a house, you look past the colonial brick and woodwork and the included cellar and encroaching old-growth and any creepiness inherent and go hell yeah, I’ve got a place to live. 

It’s a lovely house. Sturdy and creaky all at once, with stone and real wood floors and a huge glass door - a much more recent addition - that looks out over the field between it and the forest out back. No ever-present sounds of traffic, no door-to-door salesmen because out there, odds are they’ll be met with a shotgun. It was peaceful and cozy, once I got a few rugs, and I was willing to coexist with whatever ghosts might have haunted the place as long as they were polite. Feels like I shot myself in the foot with that one, honestly. 

This began with a candle. 

I found it tucked away in the cellar, and ignoring the fucking foreshadowing of where I found it - literally behind a hole in the wall, where a piece of stone had been loosely removed and set back in - I was immediately charmed by it. It wasn’t new and neat; it was old and yellowed and rough, obviously hand-dipped, and the smell of clove came faintly from the slightly soft wax. I mean, it’s not wax, but that’s what I thought it was. It was tallow. Rendered fat. Yeah. You don’t need me to say the rest; you’ve already got an idea and so do I, but I never asked.

It sat in one of those old-fashioned metal candle holders with the dish and the little loop to put your finger through, with a little circle of melted ‘wax’ still in the tarnished base, and… And I thought it had an antique charm to it. It wasn’t all neat and perfect like something modern, and it just. Made sense to me that when it came time to decorate my home for the holidays, I put it in one of the windows. The front ones all had curtains but I’d not quite managed to scrape enough together to get curtains for all the ones in the back, so in the interest of fire safety, it went in the narrow little window next to that big, glass door facing the woods. 

No curtains, and I could see it from my usual perch at the kitchen counter. Seemed perfect. 

The sight of it there, burning bright and filling the room with that odd but not unpleasant scent made me feel warm. Cozy. Just old, orange flickering firelight lighting up the space, silhouetted against the black shape of the trees outside. 

A glittering invitation. 

He… it came the next night. 

All day, I was weirdly on pins and needles. I couldn't sit still for the life of me, and that antsiness manifested as the most cleaning that house had probably seen in a century. Even the baseboards got a scrubbing. I can't even claim that I had company coming in like a month, because I didn't; I only had the one couch and my dining table only sat two if you didn't mind personal space. Like hell was I offering to host. 

But it just seemed like something that needed doing. And when I was done cleaning and tidying, I started to cook. Beef and barley soup, if you must know. 

It had just really finished up when I… When I relaxed enough to look up and notice that it was dark - and the candle was lit. I hadn't noticed the scent of clove filling the room, threading through the rich scent of soup, until then. 

And then I noticed something much, much worse than a candle I didn't remember lighting. 

There was someone standing on my back porch. 

I almost screamed from that alone, really. I know I locked up for a moment, breath caught in my chest as I stood there with nothing but a wooden spoon in hand and stared at the barely illuminated… person? Standing just a few feet from the glass. 

It wasn't… wasn't quite shaped right. It was very tall, and the outline was all wrong. This was not helped by the fact that I could see what looked like antlers coming off its head, before I realized there was still a skull attached to those. 

A bare, yellow-white deer skull over its face like a mask. I could see the flickering candle light, the pale moonlight dripping down the prongs, glinting off the teeth. And then it slowly stepped forward. Its outline rustled as it moved, as it stepped closer and raised too sharp fingers and gently, carefully, knock-knocked on the glass. It… it sounded wrong. It wasn’t flesh that made its fingers, and I have never wanted to own a shotgun more than in that moment. 

But it just stood there. That hand still raised expectantly, its unseen eyes fixed on me. I did not move. I watched as it slowly tilted its head, watched something sway and clatter from its antlers, and it knocked again. 

I… I swear, when it. When it knocked again, when it stared at me with that skull’s empty eyes, I felt a sudden… sense of crisis. Like the candle smoke went cloying, like I could hear those… those claws dig into the glass, and abruptly knew that it only stayed behind it because it was being… polite. 

It was the most absurd thought, but in that moment, I knew that it was true and I latched onto that surety like a rope. 

I opened the door for it. 

My terror was probably tangible in the air as I did it, but I lunged over and unlocked the door and slid it open. I was close enough I could smell the scent of pine and dirt and smoke clinging to it, clinging to the… the pelts it wrapped around itself. I could hear the layers of dusty furs rub against each other as it nodded towards me and held out that pale, clawed hand towards me, until I took it. 

It shook my hand and my skin crawled at the cold touch and then it just let go and stepped inside. Each step clunked. I didn’t think about it too hard. 

All I did was close the door, listening to it clunk, clunk, clunk across the wooden floors, and heard it pull out a chair at my tiny dining table. 

I wish it had done something worse, but, no. 

I gave it soup and it wasn’t until it finished eating it with a mouth I never saw that my words came back to my tongue and I could ask who, what it was. 

And it just answered, in a voice deep and rough, “I am your guest.” 

It is the guest, and I. I am the host who invited it in. 

Nothing about it was human. Its joints moved wrong, like… like an animal. But it held the steaming mug of cider delicately in its… fingers that clicked against the ceramic and sipped it almost contentedly, and I just had to watch and host it with a smile as my fear simmered beneath my skin. The longer I saw it under the light, the more I realized just how wrong it was, and it was only with my nerves fraying and my fingers shaking that I guided it back to the door once it stood and thanked me for the meal, and just. Left. 

I watched it walk and slump back out across the field and vanish into the trees and only then did I let myself slide to the floor. I felt wrung out. Exhausted and jittery and I didn't move for a while. 

It was only when I realized I was watching shadows dance on the ceiling cast by candlelight that I found an outlet to act on. I snuffed the candle with fury and marched right back down to the cellar with it. That was really the first time I ever wondered why something so charming had been shoved into a literal hole in the cellar wall, but now I had a feeling. 

The candle called that thing inside. 

So, if. If the candle was in the cellar like that, there must have been a reason. Had my uncle put it there? Had he known? Was that why he'd passed off the house, why the person he'd given it to had never set foot inside while they owned it? I had no answers but I was pissed. Scared pissed. I'd had to sit next to that thing for an hour and act like everything was normal and like I didn't hear way too many things shift and clink-clunk together when it moved or wonder where the soup was going or whether the soup was what it was eating at all. 

I shoved the candle back into the hole, back into that dirty, dark little spot and I found the stone that was supposed to cover it hidden beneath the stairs and rankled at the idea that someone had set it up for me to find. 

All that mattered, I told myself as I hefted the stone back into place and pushed at it until it was more or less back where it belonged, was that the candle was gone now. It was gone and unlit and that thing wouldn't come anymore. 

I think that desperate satisfaction helped lull me to sleep; me telling myself I had fixed the problem. It had worked for the last person, so it would work for me. 

(The last person left. The last person never stepped inside the house again.)

Couldn't really afford them, but I bought the rest of the curtains the next day. I didn't want to see the field in the morning anymore, didn't want to watch the twilight and squint for owls and deer. I didn't want the thing in the forest to see me, to see any light spilling from the windows and take it as a welcome. 

Oh, and a shotgun. I kept it very close as I hung my new curtains and ate my extremely cheap dinner, and the thing did not come back. 

Not for a week. 

I watched every night for it. Jumped at every creak and thump outside, though I was very proud that I hadn't devolved to checking with my shotgun in hand. 

When I heard that heavy clunk on the back porch though, I instantly knew the sound. 

Clunk. Clunk. 

Silence. 

My heart thudded frantically in my chest as I dared not move. 

It was standing on the back porch again. I couldn't see it behind the thick, heavy curtains I had installed, but I knew with utmost certainty that it had come back and the candle was not lit. 

It did not knock. 

It stood there, and then I heard it laugh.

Low and raspy and rolling, and then I heard those claws drag against the glass. 

"Am I no longer welcome?"

The glass wailed. It shook. 

“You no longer wish for me to be your guest?” My shotgun was on the table. I went for it. I’d bought it for this. I ran, and the glass shattered. Something. Something snarled, something came running too fast, its steps disordered and heavy, and I refused to look. Not until I had my shotgun in hand and turned and it was. So, so much worse than I expected. 

It no longer resembled a person at all. It… it had too many limbs. All those pelts, writhing and shifting, too many limp paws and hooves all clawing forwards, all connected to that single, grinning deer skull. Bones and twigs and baubles jangled beneath, a horrid cacophony that howled as it barreled through my kitchen, as that deer skull’s mouth opened - I shot it. 

I don’t think I missed, but I. Didn’t dare wait and watch. 

All I know is that it didn’t stop, either way. I shot and ran and it laughed and cackled and snarled and I. I ran down. 

I don’t think I could have made it out the front door, or my car. I don’t think my car could have withstood it. Upstairs… I would have just been cornered. The only option I had was down. I’d be cornered, but it had… it needed to be my guest. I had to host it. At least until I could figure out some other way to deal with it, at least the candle kept me safe. 

The cellar had a good lock. Sturdy. I just prayed it would be enough as I barreled down the stairs and dropped my gun and scrabbled at that stone. It thudded against the wood. I heard the door splintering. I heard the things horrid hollow laughter, heard something too, too heavy for empty, writhing skins slamming again and again into the door as I struggled and pulled at the wall, swearing as it moved so, so slowly, dragging against old mortar - 

The door shattered. 

The stone slipped and cracked on the floor as I plunged my hand into that awful little hole and grabbed that too-soft candle in the dark and. And felt fur brush against my arms. Felt soft, supple leather draped across my shoulders and rasping breaths at the back of my neck. Cold, long-dead teeth pricked above my spine as I. Shivered. 

But it didn’t move either. 

So I. I pulled the candle out of the wall and didn’t look at the mismatched pelts, at the old claws that capped empty, grasping paws as I held it up. I licked my lips. 

“Can I invite you to sit down for dinner upstairs?” 

My voice was impressively even. I was… specific. As specific as I could be, with its teeth pressed to my skin. 

You can probably guess since I’m here that it worked. It… it didn’t let go of me until I lit the candle. That walk up the stairs was… one of the worst moments in my life, I think. The skins were so heavy as it clung to me. Cold bone on my neck, awful, nameless things jangling as I maintained my brittle smile and ferried my guest back upstairs to my dining room and dug for the matches and lit the damned thing. 

And then it waited politely, pelts shifting and rustling as it literally pulled itself back together into something person-shaped and I made more soup. 

The candle sat in the middle of the table. I watched it burn down slowly as my guest tucked in, content and docile, and ignored the cold breeze blowing into my kitchen from my shattered back door. It made the flame dance. The smoke coiled about the lights and wreathed the room and filled my lungs until it finally left again, glass crunching beneath its hidden feet as it pulled aside the curtain and vanished back into the night. 

I didn’t try to hide the candle again. 

Call me a coward, but I… I shot the fucking thing and it didn’t even slow down. Where would I even aim if I wanted to shoot to kill? The skull? Would I try lighting it on fire? Flames would probably work, but. But I was scared. I was scared and I could still feel the ghost of its teeth and claws pressed tight to my skin. I had a feeling that if I set it aflame, it would drag me down with it, and I… I wasn’t at that point yet. 

I kept the candle in the window and my guest came by, again and again. It brought me gifts, you know? Old pelts. They’re beautifully preserved. Said it was only polite to bring gifts to such a hospitable host. 

And every time it visited, I watched the candle burn. Lower and lower. 

It’s just a nub now. Maybe enough for a single night. 

That’s… why I came now. 

It’s supposed to snow this weekend, you see… It’ll be too cold for it to leave, the snow too deep. 

I can’t turn it out into a night like that. It has such old, weary bones. 

It’d make me a terrible host. 

[kirascottage]

hey! could you write a fluff fic of lip gallagher x reader? maybe something where he’s protective? love your writing! - nina <3

always choosing you

lip gallagher x f. reader

summary: lip saves you while at a party.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: soft and protective lip all in one, swearing, alcohol, mentions of trauma, non-consensual touching (just the waist), mentions of violence, kissing, mentions of sex (1x)

join my taglist here !

“Babe, this tastes disgusting.” You scowled while referring to the red solo cup in your hand. At your distasteful words, Lip’s head had whipped over to your twisted face, studying your wry grimace then looking at the poorly made drink most likely whipped up by a Sophomore that had no idea how to mix alcohol.

“Here, take mine.” Without a second thought, he quickly swapped the drink in your hand with his own, Vodka Cranberry. The drink he voluntarily handed you was a translucent shade of dull red and it fizzed at the top. Taking a sip, your brow arched in a consensus of the pleasant-tasting beverage.

To a family like the Gallagher’s, it was portrayed as a psychedelic for Lip Gallagher to be seen as a caring individual rather than a belligerent boy without any anger control. (especially to someone like Fiona) His emotional trauma merely enabling him to hide his concealed emotions from others, but like any other person, it took tremendous work that you were willing to put in.

“Hey, you wanna go soon?” His eyes naturally drifted around the party as he questioned you with a gentle hand sitting comfortably at your waist, his thumb moving slowly over the material of your shirt. “Sure, lower-class man parties are always a bummer.” You mutually agreed, glimpsing as to how his eyes travel across the room to a familiar redhead.

“I’m gonna go tell Ian, you good here?” His thumb pointed in a backwards direction as he walked the same way, you nodded in approval before he was off with his shoes tapping in sync to the music as he proceeded to the Kitchen while you stood in the living room against a wall.

It wasn’t usual for Lip to willingly leave you alone, especially in social situations like this one with intoxicated teenagers at your every corner. He once claimed a wannabe Tristan Dugray from Gilmore Girls would sweep you off your feet and carry you off to the sunset but you declared that would be spurious.

You picked at your nails for the first few minutes, growing bored as you waited, your fingers following the curvature of the cup along with the slight indentations and lines as your patience grew thin. Most likely Ian was stuck in a conversation with long-haired Milkovich, and he wouldn’t wanna leave just yet, his usual stall techniques including whining to his eldest brother.

Your evident impatience had swallowed you whole, eventually abandoning the remains of the drink at a battered table so your arms could cross in front of your chest and your foot tapped insanely quick against the floor. Now that tapping would've bothered anyone as the music vibrated through the drywall and the neighbours were nearing annoyance with the deliberation of filing a noise complaint.

As you were just about to set off to the kitchen, slender fingers gripped at your belt loops hauling you closer to the point your rear had struck the male stranger's chest.

“Hey! What the fu—“

“What’re you doing here all alone?” You attempted to harshly to move away at the poor tone of male seduction but the firm grip on your denim loops was restricting you from such.

“You see, I'm not alone so if you’d—“ You gestured impatiently to his hand with a curt glint in your tone whilst looking back at him; but, he cut you off with a brisk ‘S’alright, baby. I’ll take care of you.’ And no intention of letting you go.

You huffed with a squirm as his disengaged hand grasped at your waist where the emptiness of Lip’s hand had formerly been. “I have a fucking boyfriend—“ You inevitably began to yell over the music at the boy you could recognize as Clint Eastwood from your English class with a drunken smirk plastered onto his features.

This time it wasn’t his slurred voice cutting you off once again, it was a familiar rage-ridden Gallagher. “Get your hands off my fucking girlfriend.” Lip’s baritone became hoarser by the word as his hands hastily gripped at the boy's collared shirt whilst you stumbled by Ian who had briskly caught your arm hoisting you upright.

“Sorry! Dude, I didn’t know she—“

“Really? I clearly fucking heard her say she had a boyfriend,” His scowling brows drew together tightly and his lips pursed at the boy's face trembling in justified fear; as the scene grew larger with frequent yells occurring from Lip, most attendees of the party queued in on the scene.

“I guess idiots like you don’t know how to take a fucking hint.” Lip would’ve severely beaten his face in till Clint was due a trip to the ER but your magnifying grip at the back of his torso was enough to subdue his nerves and release the male off to the side and make his way to the car while gripping your hand the silent way there as the music grew fainter.

The car ride was silent, Lip’s hands gripped the wheel hard enough for distinctive marks to melt into the leather of the disk-shaped circle. He was well indeed sober, the only drink he had consumed was the one he had given to you and mostly full when it came into your possession.

When the car paused in the Gallagher driveway, wordlessly, Ian had left the car to give the both of you a moment, cautiously entering the chaotic household where most of his siblings had been asleep; Fiona being the only one awake where she had been watching a movie with V as Debbie laid on her lap. Yet, Lip hadn’t even moved his hands from the ignition; he had barely even blinked or twitched.

“Lip,” Your voice whispered, filling in the empty void of the vehicle. He silently looked over with his head slumped against the head seat, “What’s wrong?” Another whisper, your fingers rested comfortably on his knee.

“I just—“ He sighed, “—I don’t like the way he was touching you. Nobody should touch you like that.” He paused thoughtfully amid his heated sentence, clearly hesitant. Though, you remained silent as you were taciturnly aware that he was nowhere near finished.

“What if he wasn’t a creep and it was some guy that could offer you so much better than I could. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I also don’t want to hurt you.” His cerulean optics drifted over to his knee where you had been drawing circles over the denim, his anxious eyes remaining focused before you spoke up and his attention had diverted back to you.

“So don’t.” You offered a faint smile, “You’re not your parents, Lip. Take it one day at a time, if you don’t want to hurt me then you’re not going to.” You shook your head as you spoke.

“You could’ve knocked that guy into oblivion but you didn’t, and I know why you didn’t. I’m not gonna push you; Just take it day by day with me, okay?” He lethargically nodded in response, drinking in your words slowly as they enveloped his brain in a tight squeeze. Your monologue clinging to his mind as he would require those words later on.

Silently, you drifted your eyes back to the house, your eyes retaining on the Gallagher residence as he spoke. “Stay the night?”

You returned your head back to him and grinned in response, pecking his lips a few times before hopping out of the car as he followed. Trudging towards the wrought gate as he gripped at your hand, gently leading you through his house but pausing once to wave at Fiona which she reciprocated with a gleeful nod and a wave.

You had thought you entered his shared room rather quietly, changing into a shrunken pair of basketball shorts and a navy blue sweater both of which had belonged to your boyfriend. As you climbed the bunk, an adolescent boy had begun speaking with sleep lacing his words, “You better not be having sex, I'm trying to sleep.” Carl finished with a snore as he shuffled.

You both hastily muffled your laughs whilst cautiously climbing into the top bunk where his sheets laid messily due to him not making his bed the morning prior. You took very little time situating yourselves, the tip of your chin laying on his shoulder, and you were laid on your stomach. Meanwhile, his arm curled around your back and his stomach had faced the texturized ceiling.

You both laid there silently for a few minutes, maybe even a half-hour. Most likely Ian had passed out on the couch, and Carl’s snores had filled the room so it was a guarantee that it was safe to speak without any eavesdropping.

“I’ll always choose you.”

For a moment you thought he was asleep as well by how still he remained, till his face had carefully turned millimeters from yours. “I don’t care if it’s an Italian mafia man or some belligerent idiot from English class. I’ll always choose you, Philip Gallagher.” You muttered into his shoulder, a tinge of minor embarrassment creeping stealthily up your neck at the sappy confession.

“I’ll always choose you, too.” He whispered back, he wasn’t much for words but he could always muster up a considerable fraction of what you meant to him. Kissing the tip of your nose, he whispered again whilst placing his chin on your forehead. “Now go to sleep, or you’ll be bitchy in the morning.”

taglist: @miiamour @bugswrld @zzzfour @black-rose-29 @sprucewoodlover @bloodyrockwork @myalupinblack

[softsnzstuff]

What about nurse Steve having a week off for vacation and to Eddie’s surprise he turns up at the office about three days in. Turns out Steve came down with a wicked cold and had to cancel his trip, and now he’s getting a sinus infection and has to come see Eddie as a patient for antibiotics (idk if that’s allowed but it still seems fun lmao)

Anon, this is SO GOOD! I’ve had this in my inbox for like a week because I wanted to make sure I did it justice. Please enjoy 1.6k of sick Nurse!Steve and Doctor!Eddie

*****************************************************

“Hey Robin, here’s the chart for Mr.Jones. Doctor Munson would like to follow up in about six weeks.”

Robin looked up and locked eyes with the bubbly girl standing in front of her. Chrissy was a nurse from one of the other clinic locations, filling in for the week while Steve was on vacation in Chicago.

“Thanks Chrissy!” Robin took the chart and placed it in front of her, watching the strawberry blonde’s high ponytail bounce as she walked away.

Robin smiled and began typing in the computer as Mr.Jones appeared at the little window by her desk.

“Sounds like it’s going to be six weeks until the follow up Mr.Jones. You want another Thursday appointment?”

“Only if it’s Doctor Munson.” The man chuckled.

Robin jokingly looked left and right before whispering, “I’ll make sure it is.” She wrote down the new appointment information on a business card and handed it to the man who smiled and nodded on his way out, leaving Robin to type the appointment notes in the computer.

Mr.Jones - 6 week f/u for BP. Requests Dr.Munson. Thursdays work best due to his work schedule.

She dated and initialed the appointment note as her phone vibrated in her pocket. She wasn’t usually one to check her texts at work, but seeing that it was a slow day, she took a peek. To her surprise it was a text from Steve.

Hey Robin. Can you do me a favor?

She typed back quickly,

‘Hey Steve-o, what can I do ya for?’

The response came quicker than she expected.

Does Eddie have any gaps in his schedule today?

‘Mmm yeah he’s got an opening at 2, but don’t worry about it. Go eat deep dish pizza or whatever you do in Chicago.’

I didn’t go

Even though he couldn’t see her face, she was visibly puzzled by this.

‘Steve why are you not in Chicago and why are you asking me about Eddie’s schedule??’

Before she could interrogate him more, her phone lit up with a picture of his face. He was calling. She quickly glanced at the waiting room making sure no one was there.

“Steve?” She whispered, “I’m at work, Dingus. What do you want. And why aren’t you in Chicago??”

“I need- H’AESSSH! ISSSHHH!! ITSSCHIEW!”

Robin pulled the phone away from her ear, startled by the loudness. When she finally put the phone back to her ear, he was blowing his nose, “Gross Steve.”

“I know. I need an appointment. Got sick over the weekend, cancelled the trip. snrff It’s only getti’g worse.”

Robin sighed, “Yeah you sound awful. No offense. I’ll put you in for the 2pm yeah?”

“Tha’gks Robin.”

“See you soon.”

As soon as she hung up, she pumped some of the hand sanitizer from her desk onto her hands, rubbing them together. Steve sounded contagious and she wasn’t going to risk it.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and pulled up Steve’s file on the computer, printing out a blank chart for him. She circled some information with her pen that had the bobbles on top and then set it to the side for later.

***

Steve rolled into the waiting room at promptly 1:45. Instead of his clean and pressed scrubs, he was in sweatpants and a hoodie, his face three shades paler and nose raw and red.

“Hey Robin.” He sluggishly picked up the pen at the window and signed himself in.

“Jesus Steve. You look like shit.”

“You flatter me, Buckley.” He sighed, but she wasn’t wrong. He turned to the side, bringing the sleeve of his hoodie to his face, “HM’PTCCCH! NGTSCH!! ISSSHIEW!”

Robin used her foot to push her swivel chair back a foot as she looped on a mask from her desk drawer. “That sweatshirt is probably a level 2 biohazard at LEAST.” She pushed the box of tissues towards him. He plucked a few and blew his nose. “How long have you been like this?”

“Ummb since su’day I thi’gk.”

Robin shook her head and tsk-ed as she scribbled a note on his chart. “I’m gonna bring this back. Hang tight.”

She got up and walked the chart back to Chrissy, who was finishing the outpatient paperwork from the woman before.

“Trade ya!” Chrissy chimed, holding out the chart for Mrs.Norris. Robin cheerfully handed Chrissy the new chart and took the old one back to her desk.

As she tapped away at the computer scheduling Mrs.Norris’ follow up in two weeks, she could hear Chrissy’s hushed voice as she took Steve’s vitals in the exam room.

“-he’ll be in soon. Good talking with you!” The door closed and Robin heard the plastic click of Chrissy flagging the room that the patient was ready for the doctor to come in.

Even through the closed door, she could hear her friend, “TISSSH! ISSSH!”

Robin got up, grabbing the box of tissues from her desk, shaking her head. She knocked gently on the door before opening it.

“Room service.” She joked, setting the box in his lap before closing the door and heading to Eddie’s office area.

She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned into him whispering, “You might want this, doc. Next patient sounds contagious.” Robin held up a mask with one finger

“Thanks birdie.”

He stood up and put on the mask, Robin looking over her shoulder as he opened the door, looking down at the chart.

“Robin!” He yelled, door still open. He poked his head out and took the mask off, laughing. “You didn’t say it was Steve! You’re so dumb.” He continued laughing as he closed the door behind him.

“Hey Steve, sorry Robin thinks she’s funny. She said you sound super contagious.” He pulled up a chair and straddled it, snapping on some latex gloves.

“She should write to the British medical journal.” Steve quipped.

“Oooh he’s feisty today! So what happened to Chicago??” Eddie asked.

Steve swiped at his nose with a tissue, “Ca’dcelled. I got sick on Su���day…? Feel like shit.”

Eddie tilted his head as he listened, “Well. If you don’t mind me saying, you also sound like shit. And knowing you, you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t concerning you.”

“Yeah… feels like it mbight be a sinus i’dfection?”

“I’ll be the judge of that. C’mere.”

The younger of the two leaned toward as Eddie reached out with gloves hands and felt Steve’s lymph nodes. He hummed in thought as he moved his hands up, feeling the area around Steve’s cheeks and head. Steve winced at the touch.

“Sorry. Definitely feels swollen.” Eddie said, opening a drawer and pulling out an otoscope. “Told your head back for me?”

Steve did as he was told and Eddie flicked on the instrument’s light, sticking the end into Steve’s nose and looking for a minute, first in one nostril, then the other.

“I think your initial thoughts were correct,” Eddie leaned back, removing the plastic cover from the instrument and sanitizing his hands, “definitely looks like textbook sinusitis. Good to know your medical knowledge is unaffected by illness.” he joked.

“Ugh I- hehh AISSSH! Issssh!! HEH’tssCHH!” Steve’s face was locked in the crook of his elbow.

“Gnarly.” Eddie held out the tissue box. Steve took several and gurgled into them.

“I’b so sorry. I feel so disgusti’g.”

“Hey, don’t it’s okay. You forget I spent the majority of my residency working sketchy night shifts. You wish your germs could compare to the shit I’ve seen.” Eddie stood up and opened the top cabinet, pulling down a big glass jar.

“Listen I don’t do this for all my patients, BUT since you were such a good one, you can take a lollipop from Doctor Rockstar’s secret supply.” A huge smile crossed Eddie’s face.

“You think you’re cute, huh?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

“And you don’t?” Eddie retorted back. “I’m just saying I’ve been told my sweets have magical healing powers.”

Steve locked eyes with Eddie for a few seconds before he reached in and took a Cherry one.

“Good boy.” Eddie pinched Steve’s cheek and out the jar away. “I’m gonna write you a script for some antibiotics. Should be ready for pick up in a few hours. Until then you’re free to go!”

“Thanks Eds.” Steve wanted to pick up the playful banter but he was just exhausted. He left the room and went to Robin’s little window while Eddie took some notes on the chart.

Robin had taken off her mask and was chewing on the end of her pen, trying to take notes on insurance verification for tomorrow’s patients. She looked up when Steve was at her desk.

“Doctor Rockstar make you all better?” She asked.

Steve coughed into his sleeve, “Yeah. Sent me some antibiotics. I’ll follow up with him when I’m back at work I guess.”

“Great, less work for me then!” She exclaimed. “Go home and sleep yeah?”

Steve nodded and turned on his heels to head out.

“Oh and Steve?”

He turned around, half out the door. “Yeah?”

“You get one of the Good Boy lollipops?” Robin teased.

Steve reached into his hoodie pocket and waved around the cherry one he had picked, which Robin couldn’t stop laughing at. Steve huffed a laugh and exited. “Later Robin!”

[hansensgirl]

push it to the limit.

summary. | As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him.

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, watersports, obsessive behaviour, coercion, bribery, dark themes, drinking (champagne), hate fucking, unprotected sex, rough sex, public sex, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation, breeding kink, choking, allusions to anal, reader is really rude (so is Niki), *sexism/misogyny/paying for sex (see a/n), and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.4k

pairings. | Dark!Niki Lauda x Reader, James Hunt x Reader (it’s one-sided).

author’s note. | please enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. *he talks about paying you for sex as a way to degrade you, it’s brief and in german! it does not reflect anything about me or my blog. we are pro-sex work here! it’s just fiction.

“Look! There he is!” a small voice tells you, pointing somewhere with a great distance. You’re not sure how he manages to spot his favourite racer from so far. Among the sea of heads, your younger brother sits on your shoulders. You can feel him touching you down to your bones, and you try to ignore the pain just for him. “You sure? You said that five times before, y’know,” you denote, and you hear the six-year-old groan. “Yes, I’m sure! Look, he’s drinking that nasty stuff like always,” he adds, and you realize he’s talking about James’s signature champagne.

“It’s not nasty,” you mumble under your breath, remembering the way the pleasant liquid felt and tasted against your tongue. Sticky gold is what you’d describe it as, and you recall how it stained your skin. Shaky hands are bound to tremor even more under pressure, and your friend is an absolute clutz. It’s no wonder she made such a mess, as it is one of her best traits. But a particular pair of hands that seemed to have Midas’s touch cleaned you up, and you still to this day wish you were awake to thank them. You have many regrets, but that’s just a small one.

“Can we go closer to the fence? I want to try and talk to him,” your brother politely requests, and you let out a heavy sigh. Your mouth is pressed in a line, and you begin to shift your feet. You’ve got boots made of suede, a brown colour that always seems to go best with your all-black outfits. There’s a matching jacket on you as well, and it has fur on the cuffs and collar.

“What’s the marvel of watching it in person rather than watching it on television? Out here, we struggle so much, and you can barely even watch them properly. On the television, well, you see it all, and you can be as comfortable as you want,” you wonder out loud, and the child holds onto you tightly. He squeezes your head tightly, and the ribbon in your hair begins to fall in your face. It’s white silk, with a lovely hem to it. You save it for these races your sibling always wants to go to. Your other coloured ones are left for daily excursions, and sometimes a good party, too.

“Excuse me!” you loudly call out, and other women cast you nasty glares. You’ve seen those same looks one too many times, and you don’t pay any mind to them. If they truly care about their spots, they’d stand up and fight for them. But they’re just like babies with a piece of candy in their tiny fists. Maybe a jellybean, or perhaps even a pack of those oh so enjoyable Sour Patch Kids. “Why do you like only him?” you ask, raising both your eyebrows as you get closer to the fence. “I like James and Niki!” he exclaims loudly, and you loop your fingers between the holes of the fence.

“Niki? As in Niki Lauda? That arrogant, Austrian asshole?” you question in shock, not minding your foul language at all. “Yes! The guy that Dad hates. He’s cool, and he’s fast,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “Honestly? There’s nothing cool about him. He’s just… fast. James is the cool one,” you argue, and you can hear him groaning. “You like James Hunt because he looked at you that one time,” he snaps back in annoyance, and you sigh dreamily in remembrance. “Exactly! Now I need to look for Niki, I wanna say hi to him!” your brother exclaims, and your eyes scan the entrance area for Niki Lauda.

“Don’t just say hi to him; ask him for an autograph! We can sell it to one of his fans afterwards. They’re always dying for anything of his,” you propose, and your brother simply ignores the swindling ways that you’ve inherited from your grandfather since you were a kid. It’s the reason why you tend to find purses with deep pockets and smooth zippers that don’t pinch on the inner fabric. You reach into your bag, and you grab a marker that you’ve always got with you.

The crowd gets louder and louder, almost as if you’ve got headphones on your head and you want to turn down the volume, but you keep hitting the wrong button. A woman shrieks in your left ear, and a man whoops in the other. More bodies press against you, and with the marker in between two of your digits, you hope that you don’t return home with billions of bruises. On the big screen, recaps from the previous races are being played. It’s win after win, all on behalf of Niki Lauda and his incredible luck that doesn’t seem to have any end.

You’re finally able to make out what people are screaming; the curly-haired man’s name. “Niki! I love you!” they all shout, and you wonder if any of them like James. It seems like you haven’t found your people, and maybe just for today, you’re the odd one out. “Seems like you’re not the only one that has Niki amongst their favourites,” you grumble, and your brother lets out a giggle. A few moments later, he sits up far more proper on your shoulders. The hand with the marker in it grabs onto one of his legs, and you make sure he doesn’t fall down and ends up being the true loser of this race.

“Niki! I’m your biggest fan!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, using his full voice and then some. You look over to the entrance, and you spot the brooding Austrian wrapped in red walking out with a deep frown on his face. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but your brother doesn’t care about your deep annoyance towards his idol. Niki shoots a look over to where you’re both standing, and your brother waves his arms from side to side, trying to get the racer’s attention. Even if he doesn’t, you have a feeling that Niki will be more displeased than anything.

It only makes sense, as he always acts that way with his fans though they’re the only people who appreciate him.

His nose is upturned, and he tries to pinpoint your brother and his powerful screams. High-pitched yet so loud, it’s no wonder why his tantrums are the root for almost all household headaches. “He’s looking over here,” you tell him, and your brother nods. “Yeah, because of me! He’s going to come, and I’m going to meet him!” he squeals, somehow connecting none existent dots to fuel a form of hope that dwindles inside him. You can be mean, but you’re not cruel. So you won’t be a realist, and you’ll let the youth on your shoulders believe what he wants to think.

“And when you meet him, ask him to sign something,” you advise, not letting go of your chance to make a few hundred dollars. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s pondering whether or not he should do it. “Niki! I love you!” the woman next to you screams as if she’s using every bit of her energy to get him to notice her. Your head already starts to ache just a bit, and you wish you brought some form of a pain killer. Niki saunters over to the fence, and for some reason, you don’t feel proper behind the fence.

It’s the way he carries himself with the highest of heads, a sort of confidence dragging with his every step. He knows he can do anything right now, and everybody except you would love him for it. He could make an entire turn and not greet his fans, and they’ll laugh it off. You’ve witnessed his haughtiness, and there’s no doubt inside you that you’ll see it again. “Niki! Good luck on the race!” a person says, and the rest of the crowd laughs at them.

“Dude, he doesn’t need your luck,” someone next to them says before elbowing the poor fan’s ribs. You can hear them wince in pain before they start to scream at the racer once again. Niki raises his hands up to his chest, almost as if he’s surrendering to something. That bratty smirk of his is replaced by a cheerful smile, and while everyone adores it, you see right through the façade. “Hello, everyone!” he greets, and you already want to roll your eyes until they fall back into your skull.

Niki stands right in front of you, and you try to look somewhere other than his face. Your view darts wildly until you finally settle on looking at the exceptionally boring asphalt underneath your feet. The screaming quiets down, and you wonder if everything is okay. “Uhm, Mr. Niki Lauda? I love you! I’m such a big fan! I watch all of your races, and I try to go to them all! Can I have an autograph?” your brother gleefully expresses, and you snap your head up at his words.

Much to your dismay, you lock gazes with the man you hate most in this entire stadium. His eyes are rather dull, yet they’ve got a sort of darkness in them that makes you feel just a tad bit uneasy. Both begrudgingly and excitedly, you hand the marker to your brother, who, in turn, gives it to his idol. Niki takes it gratefully, and he raises his least dominant hand. The other fans try to reach for it, for him. But he ignores them, and he gives a high-five to your brother.

You can’t hear the sound of their palms meeting because the displeasure of the crowd drowns it all out. “What do you want me to write it on?” Niki questions, taking the cap off of the marker. “Uhm, my shirt?” he offers, stretching the red fabric towards the elder. You observe as the racer awkwardly signs his name on your brother’s clothing, and you know that your Mother is going to be more than angry. Your Father, on the other hand, will be filled with pride and excitement.

“Thank you so much!” the child squeals, and Niki simply waves his hand as if it was no big deal to him. But you know that deep down inside, he was probably a bit annoyed. “Do you want an autograph, Miss?” Niki asks, and you take note of how his demeanour has changed. His features are softer, and his eyes seem to be lit up. “Oh, uh, no, thank you. I’m waiting for James. I love him a lot,” you tell him, pushing your shoulders back in confidence. The people around you let out gasps, and they follow their sounds up with whispers that aren’t so hushed.

Niki’s face drops, and you give him your fakest smile. He stares at you, almost as if he wants to lash out and scream. Maybe even call you a name or two. “That’s alright,” he assures after a while, and you have the urge to say something snarky. He hands the marker back to your brother, who is too busy being in awe of his favourite racer to listen to you being on your worst behaviour. Niki walks off, but this time, his stride lacks his boldness. “He’s so cool!” your brother squeals, staring at the Sharpie. You sigh, knowing that you two will constantly butt heads over Niki.

“Well, I beg to disagree.”

“Niki! Is everything okay?” one of the mechanics asks, and the star nods his head mindlessly. Instead of pressing him for some sort of answer, he leaves Niki alone to mull all by himself. There is not one person who dares to talk to him before the race unless it has to do with the car or the competition itself. It’s out of pure fear because nobody likes to face the Austrian’s wrath. From screaming way too loudly to piercing, uncomfortable stares, he never knows how to properly communicate with others.

He gazes at you from just a few mere metres away. His eyes are like ice, and he hopes you can feel the coldness from where you are. He really fucking hopes you do. You’ve got that sultry look to you, and it’s not cast towards him. No, it isn’t at all, and it irks him all the way to his bones. You ogle James fucking Hunt. Of all the other inferior racers there, you choose to admire James, and Niki hates you both for that. At every single race, he’s seen you show up to, you never look at him.

You don’t acknowledge him at all. It doesn't just hurt his ego; it also breaks his heart. Your preference and love for the Englishman injure those butterflies inside Niki’s stomach, and yet they still continue to flutter. The funniest, most ironic part of everything is that the races you attend always end with Niki being the winner. Never James. But you still idolize him over the Austrian, and he’s tired of it.

“Make sure it goes fast, okay? Fast, but nothing should catch on fire or malfunction,” Niki tells his technicians, and they halt what they’re doing. “But, Sir-” one of them starts, and Niki closes his fist for them. “No,” he simply states before crossing his arms once again. Niki looks back over to you, and you’ve now got a smile on your face. He loves the sight, but he knows his adoration will turn sour in a few seconds once he follows your line of gaze. So he chooses not to, and he decides to use you as his motivation.

The racers all go to their cars, and they pull their helmets on. Some are dressed in black, some in white, and only two in red. James and Niki. Niki is surrounded by his team, and James has twice the number of people next to him. Along with mechanics are girls in short skirts with jackets similar to yours. Deep down, you wish you could switch places with one of them, but maybe it isn’t as good as it seems to be. Perhaps your spot behind the fence with your younger sibling is what’s meant for you.

Your neck is more than exhausted. Your shoulders have a unique pain to them, one that not even doctors can begin to describe. Your bones are in desperate need of a crack, and your muscles crave a lengthy stretch that’ll leave you shaking. Yet, you continue to stand there with no complaints ready to fly off your tongue. The whooping behind you is so loud, but you’ve gotten used to it. “C’mon, Niki! You can do it!” your brother cries out, clapping his hands in excitement.

Niki flashes a thumbs up, and he looks at you one last time. As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him. Perhaps this time, you’ll realize he’s the best racer there is. He takes a deep breath, and he reassures himself that he’ll win as always.

“I have a feeling Niki is going to win this one,” the lady next to you says, and her friends nod their heads in utter agreement. You want to ask why she thinks that, but you’ve already left a bad taste in the crowd’s mouth. “Do you think Niki will win?” you ask your brother, looking up at him as best as you can. “I think so, but maybe James will surprise us!” he predicts, and you nod your head. “I hope James wins,” you whisper under your breath. Your bottom lip falls victim to your teeth, and you gnaw on it out of stress.

You keep your sights on James, and occasionally, you glance at Niki. Perhaps it’s simply just morbid curiosity that’s eating at you because there’s no way you’d just casually look at a man you despise with all your heart. As all the racers go to their designated spots in their cars, excitement fills your stomach. But it’s mixed with fear, as anything can go wrong at these tracks, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You get lost in your thoughts, thinking about all possibilities.

Who will win? Who will get hurt? Who will get angry? Who will become sad? You ask yourself all these questions that don’t truly matter much to your life, and yet you still try to find an answer inside of you.

Suddenly, the sound of engines revving and then taking off fills your ears. Screams follow them up, and you realize that the race has started. You wait until every single car leaves your view before looking at the scoreboard. You can’t bear to watch them risk their lives while you stand not so comfortably yet safe behind a fence. “Oh my God! James is in the first place!” you squeal like a kid in a candy store, and your brother claps.

Some of the people around you cheer for James, and others for Niki. But you ignore them, and you simply focus on what the orangish-yellow neon lights say. Some names switch spots rapidly, perhaps too quickly for you to keep up with. But you stay trained on the upper two; I. HUN, II. LAU. The former stays on top for most of the race, and the latter switches with him every now and then. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” you nervously mumble, hoping that the Englishman stays on top.

“Seems like your favourite is going to win,” the known lady cleverly smirks, and you give her the side-eye. “Yes, because he’s good at what he does,” you confidently agree, hoping that you won’t have to eat your words in the next few minutes. She chuckles before shaking her head. “No wonder you don’t like Niki Lauda,” she expresses, shaking her head practically in some form of awe. “What are you talking about?” you annoyingly press, already growing tired of whatever conversation she’s trying to make.

“You’re both egotistical and full of yourselves. You do it because that’s who you are, and Niki does it for his own reasons, like pure enjoyment. It’s so obvious for you to dislike him because he’s a reflection of you, and you hate that,” she states, proud of herself for whatever reasons. “That’s dumb, and so are you. He does it because that’s who he is. I do it because I don’t like some people—such as yourself—and because I have plenty of reasons to be prideful. Not egotistical,” you snap, and she raises her hands as if she’s surrendering.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Your mood has turned absolutely irritable, and the bitterness has claimed you entirely. You realize that you haven’t checked the places since before speaking to the lady, and you get excited. Flicking your head up, you expect to have your preferred person’s name at the very top, but instead, you see the name of the one and only Niki Lauda. I. LAU, II. HUN. “No, no, no!” you panic, watching as James stays in second place. None of the names change places at all, and you find yourself to be absolutely crushed. “Yes, yes, yes!” the crowd cheers and your face has fallen in disappointment.

Niki’s name gets announced, and everyone is absolutely elated. Everyone apart from you. Your brother celebrates the win from his high spot, and everybody jumps for joy. You stay silent, and you try your hardest to not swallow your pride. Each driver gets out of their cars slowly, and they congratulate the Austrian with smiles on their faces. You stare at him callously before you notice that James is still grinning. Despite not winning entirely, he never actually lost. So there’s no reason for you to be so dull and gloomy.

He walks off with his posse of men and women, and you realize maybe it’s time for you to head home as well. “So, your favourite won,” you say to your brother, and he giggles. “Yep! And yours lost!” he jokes, and you let out a forced giggle. “Yeah, yeah,” you brush off, making your way through the energetic body of people you strongly dislike.

Niki is engulfed in overly suffocating hugs. Some hands shake him, and some even slap him on the back, not so lightly. He doesn’t know which pairs belong to which bodies, and yet he goes with them all anyway. “You did great, Niki!” one voice praises. “Yeah, great job, Niki!” another adds. He thanks everybody in one sentence, and he pulls away once they start to mingle amongst themselves. The fantastic win of his isn’t what’s on his mind. It’s the thing that’s been etched and burned into his brain for him to think about, even though it should be appreciated now.

No. You’re what’s on Niki’s mind, and he has no intention of letting you leave.

He looks over at the swarm of heads that may have drowned you, and he can’t find you there. Not one trace of you is left behind, and his blood boils. Do you truly hate him to the point where you can’t even stay back for a few more seconds? Niki swears in Austrian under his breath, and he frustratingly walks over to the crowd. Fingers that aren’t yours reach out for him, and he ignores them all. “Have any of you seen that woman with the little boy on her shoulders?” he angrily questions, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

His heart is still clamouring wildly in his chest, practically beating against him to be let out. “Uhm, she just left… She went that way! But I could easily replace her if you want…” a woman flirts, and Niki completely ignores her words after he gets what he wants. He leaves abruptly, and they are still yelling after him. “So eine verdammte Schlampe. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dir eine Lektion zu erteilen, du hast darum gebettelt, seit ich dich gesehen habe,” he grumbles, walking through the crowded entrance.

Niki emerges with perseverance and even more anger than before. He searches through the sea of racing enthusiasts, and he spots you being bent over. It’s a wildly lewd position for you to be in, and Niki finds himself feeling flushed and displeased at the way you let others leer at you. He should be the only one to see you that way, nobody else. The Austrian wants to storm his way to you, to grab you and drag you somewhere more private so that he can put you in your place, but he knows the current setting isn’t right.

“Uhm, Mr. Lauda? Would you like a drink in honour of your win? It’ll be on us!” a shy waitress offers, appearing out of nowhere. He jumps in fear, but he quickly calms down. “Well…” he ponders, even though he’s not a fan of drinking after a race. In a trice, the lightbulb in his brain goes off. It shines brightly, and a clever idea starts to nag him. “Do you, uh, mind doing me a favour? I’ll even pay you extra,” he quickly prompts, and the waitress smirks. “Sure!” she agrees, carefully balancing the glasses on her tray.

“I need you to take all these glasses—maybe add some more champagne and make sure they’re really full—to that person over there,” he instructs, pointing to where you are. He watches as you wave to your family, who drives off without you. “The one with the brown jacket?” she double checks, and he nods in assurance. “Yeah, that one. Take them to her, and tell her they’re from someone who adores her and her love for champagne quite a bit,” Niki directs while trying to hold in a villain-like laugh.

“Ok! Then I just leave?” she asks, tilting her head innocently. “Yes. And don’t mention my name or anything about me at all,” he adds quickly before placing a hundred-dollar bill on the tray. The waitress slips it into her pocket before walking to where you’re standing idly. Niki watches the innocent worker make her way towards you until he realizes he should hide away before she makes a mistake.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Hi, I have something for you,” a waitress tells you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- What? I never ordered anything, I think you have the wrong person,” you tell her, turning your back and facing elsewhere. “No! I have the right person. They said they’re someone who adores you and your love for champagne!” she gleefully clarifies, and only one person comes to mind. James. You let out an excited, eager gasp. One that can’t be rivalled by any of Niki’s fans from his win.

She hands you the two full glasses, and you can just tell that the golden liquid is of high quality. You get drunk quickly, perhaps a little too easily. But that’s never stopped you from enjoying yourself at all. “Thank you so much! Oh, and I’m sorry for being rude at first,” you softly whisper to her, and she simply waves you away. “No worries,” she reassures, and she walks off before you can finish your first glass.

Tilting your head back, you bring the first flute to your mouth and you down everything it has to offer in just a few gulps. The drink slides down your throat with such ease. It’s brut, and it has a sort of bitter yet sweet taste to it. Sighing, you smack your lips and take whatever is left of the first glass gratefully. You then switch the glasses around with shaky yet skillful hands. “Thank you, James, for being such a lovely guy,” you murmur to yourself, dragging out the last letters of each word.

The alcohol quickly settles inside you, and it starts to distort you as always. Blurry eyes and a hazy mind, you’ve turned into a drunken mess in a matter of a few seconds. You slowly sip on your second and last glass before your temptations grow tired of your sluggishness. You down the entire thing until there’s a small drop at the bottom that just won’t budge. You let out a tiny sound of amazement, and you find yourself wanting to have some more. You lick your lips, trying to search for a slight hint of the sort of melon flavour until it goes away.

“Uhm? Does anyone know where that waitress went?” you ask loudly, and those who hear you shake their heads ‘no.’ “Damn,” you frustratingly mutter, lightly stomping your foot against the concrete. You roll your head backwards, in both a stretch and a habit. Your mind feels heavy, but your bones and muscles are even more burdensome. You bring your skull back to its normal position, and you decide to go look for her. Stumbling clumsily, you walk back into the dreaded arena where everyone is still celebrating Niki Lauda’s victory.

Niki watches you amongst a crowd of fans who are trying to form some sort of discussion with him. They hound him with all kinds of questions, some about the race itself and some about the esteemed racer and his personal life. Like a hunter stalking his prey, his eyes stay trained on you until you disappear behind the red door that leads to rooms that only named people are allowed to go to. “So, what are you going to do now, Mr. Lauda? How are you going to celebrate?” one of them asks, with a sort of sultry tone to their voice that he fails to notice.

“I have plans with a friend of mine for tonight,” he briefly states before pushing through them and following you into the stadium. “Can I join?” another asks, and he simply ignores them as they call after Niki with even more curiosity. It’s not hard to spot someone in bright red overalls suddenly walking into somewhere he shouldn’t be, but it’s easy to pay no mind to him because he’s a champion and most people who see him aren’t.

“Where, where, where are you, kleine Maus?” he hauntingly calls out, and his voice echoes back. Niki can hear the sound of your shoes clicking against the ground, and he decides to follow it. He tries his hardest to calm his heart down, but it’s hard to both hold your breath and make sure you’re not nearing cardiac arrest. The racer quickens the paces of his feet, practically jogging towards you as you decide to turn around and forget about the champagne.

Your jacket slips off your shoulders as you whip your body around, and suddenly, you’re pushed against a wall. The brick is painted over with a sort of cream colour. You begin to panic as strong hands keep you from fighting your attacker. “Du bellst wohl nicht nur, kleine Maus,” he notes out loud, and you don’t understand a word of what he’s saying. The voice is familiar, though, except for the fact it’s a few octaves deeper than you last heard.

“Niki?” you question, halting your flailing fists and restless legs. “Yes, kleine Maus?” the man questions and your jaw drops in shock. “What the fuck?! Are you insane? Get off of me!” you scream loudly, and his hopes of getting you still begin to die like a flower in the wintertime. Niki grabs ahold of your wrists in his dominant hand, and he swiftly turns you around and stomps on your ankles. “Help!” you cry out, but his other hand presses your face against the wall.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” he orders in your ear, pushing your white ribbon out of your face. You listen to him, but you disobey his commands at the same time. Writhing around, you try to escape the claws that squeeze you tightly, and you fail miserably. “Cute. Now stop fighting me, or else I’ll hurt you so badly you wouldn’t be able to go to anyone for help,” he threatens, and you gulp thickly in fear. Your saliva tastes of alcohol still, and you regret ever coming to the race.

“Good girl. See? That wasn’t so hard. All you need to do is listen to me,” Niki instructs, talking down to you like you’re some child who doesn’t know any better. “Why?” you choke out through gritted teeth. Your cheekbones rub against the brick, and the pain is gruesome. “Because I need to put you in your place. Do you seriously think you can just mouth off to me like that? To disrespect me like that? To prefer that pathetic racer over me?” he asks, and you let out a whimper. Each of his words sinks into you like needles filled with anesthesia.

They numb your mind until you realize what’s really happening, but by then, it’s too late.

“Well, obviously, I prefer James over you! Look at you, you’re rude, and you’re a horrible, shitty person. Now get off of me!” you lash out, even though your body doesn’t move. Niki simply laughs like a maniac, and you find yourself wanting to take back your words. “Maybe I’m so rude because I like you. Like how little boys tease little girls when they have crushes. You do know what a crush is, right? Just making sure since you’re so cold-hearted. Bet you don’t know anything other than hatred,” he spits, and you’re pretty offended.

“I know what you’re talking about! I’ve had feelings for people, okay?” you bite back, and Niki becomes curious. “Really? Let me guess. James Hunt? Some old boyfriend of yours? A man at a party who cleaned you up because you don’t know how to take care of yourself?” the Austrian questions, and you don’t realize who he’s talking about until you look at his hands. They’re the same as those gracious ones, except they’re more rough and lack gentleness. “That was you?” you ask, and you’ve lost all fight in your body at the realization.

“Well, of course, kleine Maus. Someone had to watch your back, and that someone is me! Du bist nicht so klug, wie du dich selbst darstellst, ganz ehrlich. But that’s okay, it’ll be okay. It’ll be just alright now that I’m here to put you in your place,” he reassures you, and you don’t even have the energy to ask him what he means. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve learnt my lesson now, can you let me go? I won’t tell anyone, Sir, I promise!” you plea and your words start to blur into one another.

“I don’t think you’re sorry, kleine Maus. I need to do what’s necessary because I’m fucking tired of you and your bullshit,” Niki snaps, and you whimper from the harsh tone of his words. His change in behaviour gives you whiplash, and you realize that there’s no way out of whatever he has planned for you. “So careless, so mean, so ignorant… So clumsy. I guess you aren’t as independent or as strong as you claim to be,” he whispers, and he causes tears to sting your almost empty eyes. They hurt, and they carry such maliciousness to them that you can’t help but be terrified of Niki.

A hand comes up to the waist of your jeans. They flare out at the bottom, and well, they look pretty damn good on you. But maybe a little too good because they make Niki think wild thoughts. He expertly takes the buttons out of their holes, and he unzips your rusted zipper. “P- Please, Niki,” you beg one last time, but Niki ignores you. He pulls down your pants against your protests, and he lets them get tangled with your tired feet. Your bare ass is exposed to the cool air of the arena, and goosebumps begin to rise on your skin.

“Such a lovely ass, kleine Maus. Maybe I should fuck it instead of doing what I had planned. Would you like that?” Niki politely asks, and your eyes nearly fall out of your skull. “N- No, thank you, Niki,” you shakily reject, and he nods. “You see, unlike you, I’m not so mean. So I’ll spare you, but only this once,” he cheerfully tells you, acting as if you’re supposed to start jumping up and down at his words. The closest thing to gratitude he’ll ever get from you is silence.

Niki still has a tight grip on your hands, and with your legs now immobilized from the mess by your feet, you can’t do much to save yourself. He wraps his arm around your waist, and he grabs at the crotch of your panties with no care at all. The cotton bunches up, and his fingers graze lightly against your folds. You try to ignore his touch, but he does the opposite and forces you to focus on it. He’s frozen, and you’re waiting for his next malevolent move. You can hear his heavy breathing, and he angles his digits upwards so he can touch you even more.

You press a fist against the wall, and you try to brace yourself as best as you can. Unexpectedly, a fierce pain strikes you in your hips, and it hurts more than you can describe. His hand has left you, and you can feel the air breeze against your pussy. Your panties are on the floor, ripped into a shred of fabric that no longer has any good use other than reminding you of how you could’ve avoided this entire situation. “I’ll get you better ones, don’t worry,” he reassures you in a humorous manner, and you squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance.

Instead of having your hips jut out for easy access, he pushes your torso against the wall until there’s a pressure inside your stomach. Instead of pain, it’s a sort of tingling sensation that makes your eyes bulge out in shock. “Uhm...” you hesitate, and his ears perk up. “What is it?” he frustratingly asks you, and his harsh tone snivelling. “N- Nevermind,” you mumble, and you just try to take deep breaths. “Are you ever going to shut up?” Niki questions as his other hand skillfully unzips his red overalls.

He’s wearing a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt for the hot weather and occasional coolness. You keep quiet, not sure if you should answer him or not. Niki grumbles in another language that you don’t understand, and you realize that no matter what you do, you’ll always make him angry. Even your begging doesn’t bring you any fruits of labour. Only disappointment.

His shorts join the pile of clothing on the ground, many colours clashing that leave his eyes to be sore. Sunset pink panties, pale blue jeans, vibrant red overalls, and black shorts. It’s a fashionista’s worst nightmare. His hard cock is left in his boxers, and he’s just too impatient to fully undress. He throbs out of want and need, with a swollen tip that leaks with pre-cum. “I know this isn’t so… What’s the word you people use? ...Ah, romantic! I know this isn’t so romantic, but it’s not supposed to be. I’m the only one who’s supposed to enjoy this, not you. So I don’t care if you want to fake a smile or anything like that, all you need to do is not say anything,” he explains, and you nod your head.

“O- Okay, Niki,” you assure, and he lets out a groan that is followed by his tongue clicking against his pearly teeth. “Dumb whore,” he spits, and his hand wraps around your throat. You’re inebriated beyond belief, and you don’t realize he can crush your windpipe in a split second until he whispers in your ear. “Can’t do one thing right, can you?” he retorts. The grip he has on your wrists suddenly loosens up, but you’re too sluggish to fight him. And even if you try, you’ll end up a pathetic loser with even less honour than before.

The fat tip of his large cock presses against your mildly slick pussy. “You’re already wet for me, kleine Maus! Oh, such a whore. You say you don’t want this, yet your little cunt is telling me otherwise. Maybe you should use it to think instead of your empty brain. You’d end up in better places if you did so,” he advises, and you try to tune him out. But he’s like an alarm that just won’t stop until you do something, and yet, you’re helpless. “Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dich zu meiner Hure zu machen. Wie viel verlangen Sie? Einen Dollar? So oder so, du wirst von mir gefickt werden,” Niki snickers, and you have a feeling his words lack kindness.

But who the hell are you to worry about kindness?

Niki pushes his hips forward as his cock slowly sheathes itself inside of your tight pussy. The way you hug him makes him moan immediately, and he wonders if he’s the first you’ve ever had. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you’re so right, kleine Maus,” he groans, slowly bottoming out inside of you. You’re biting down on your wobbly bottom lip, trying your hardest to keep quiet and not let out any cries. The pain is searing. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever felt, and it ingrains itself into your mind until it’s all but an illusion. You’re practically about to be torn in half from his cock, and you’re at an impasse.

The racer curses as his balls rest against your ass, heavy and swollen. He’s deep inside you, filling you up until you’re bursting and you don’t know what to focus on; the pressure in your stomach that just seems to grow with each passing second, or the pain that leisurely turns into pleasure you’ll be addicted to? Everything is so much all at once. “Feel that, kleine Maus? Do you feel how deep inside you I am? Good, because you’ll have to get used to it,” he tells you, and you writhe around.

“So desperate already…” he whispers, watching as you can’t stand still at all. Niki’s hand leaves the base of his cock, as he thrusts his hips forward to elicit a reaction from you. He holds onto you tightly, and your body jerks from his movement. Your swollen stomach is pushed further against the wall, much to your dismay. You let out a gasp, and you try to close your legs as much as Niki will let you. He chuckles before he drags his cock backwards. His tip is the only thing inside you, and he suddenly begins to pump into you roughly. “Oh my God,” you whimper quietly, and your words are drowned out by the sound of skin against skin.

He thrusts up into you at a quick pace, one that your fingers or past lovers could never rival. It seems as though he’s fast when it comes to almost anything. “Die beste Muschi, die ich je hatte,” Niki whispers. Your pussy slickens up as he fucks you, coating him with your sticky wetness. The sight is something to behold, and his cock slips in and out of you with each thrust. “Make some pretty noises, kleine Maus. I want to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock,” he demands, and a loud moan moves past your lips without warning. It’s lewd and pornographic, yet it’s not as debauched as the sounds your wet pussy makes.

“Yeah, that’s more like it, hure,” Niki praises, and you mewl once his cock begins to touch that sweet spot of yours. It makes you go dizzy and hazy, and it also makes your legs weak. You involuntarily stop clenching your thighs together. Each thrust brings you against the wall, and you feel like you’re about to explode. Your pussy clenches down on Niki’s cock tightly, and his motions stutter. “Are you going to come already, my little slut?” he questions, slowing down his thrusts just to see you get frustrated. But the reaction you have is quite the opposite of what he wants, and he’s confused.

You let out a shaky breath that is filled with relief. You try to cross your legs together and push your ass backwards so that you’re far from the wall, even if it means that you’re closer to Niki. Your efforts don’t do much, and you want to wail in defeat. Niki observes you carefully before he shoves you back against the wall. You cry out before whispering a simple ‘please’ to him. He doesn’t realize what you’re talking about until he watches you place one of your hands on your stomach. You splay your fingers out delicately, and Niki chuckles.

The hold he has on your hips goes away, and he reaches for your hand. “Shh, it’s okay,” he reassures, and you furrow your eyebrows in both confusion and surprise. Niki pulls his cock out of you until you’re an empty, gaping mess. Suddenly, he presses down on your bladder until warmth trickles down your legs, soaking the fabric at your feet. A few tears leak from your eyes, and Niki watches as you burn up with embarrassment and shame. The pain and pressure in your abdomen go away as you finally alleviate yourself.

“Dreckig, dreckig, kleine Maus,” he degrades, and you don’t have it in you to be offended. The streams of liquid eventually come to an end, and you’re so ashamed. You press your face against the wall and wait for Niki’s next word. But he doesn’t say anything at all. Zip, zilch, nada. Instead, he pulls his hand away from your stomach and uses it to silently guide his cock back to your drooling, aching hole. “Couldn’t help yourself, I know. It’s okay, it’s not entirely your fault, liebling,” Niki tells you, even though he’s more patronizing than comforting.

“Es ist nicht deine Schuld, dass du nicht weißt, wie man etwas richtig macht. Keine Manieren, keine Höflichkeiten... Ich verstehe, dass du so bist, aber ich bin hier, um dich zu ändern. Ich bin hier, um dir beizubringen, dass du unter mir stehst und dass du nichts anderes tun solltest, als meine Hure zu sein und mich zu verehren,” he continues, and you’ve decided to give up entirely. You forehead rests on the white brick, and Niki begins to fuck you roughly once again.

He pounds against your sweet spot relentlessly, not one error in his rhythmic thrusts. “Poor little thing acts all tough until it comes down to it… And now look at you, you’re a complete mess with my cock stuffed inside this perfect pussy,” Niki grunts, leaning his body forward. His chest is right up against your back, and his chin rests on your sweaty shoulder. Your white ribbon is a tangled mess, the two ends of it twisting together and falling in your face. The silk material is no longer cooling, and the styling purpose of it has lost its touch.

The plunges of his cock are more deep than quick, and each shove of his hips sends you spiralling in pleasure. “F- Fuck,” you moan, seeing stars in your vision as your legs twitch from overwhelming gratification. “Yeah, you like that? You like the way my cock makes your pussy feel, kleine Maus?” he questions, and he further pushes his head down until his mentum digs into your skin. You wail loudly out of pain before nodding your head desperately. Niki squeezes the sides of your neck even more, but he also pushes down on your windpipe until you’re gasping for air.

You wheeze resoundingly, and the sound of you suffering for breath sends even more blood down to Niki’s pulsating cock. “Say it, tell me how much you love my cock and how much of a slut you are for me,” he demands, and you grasp at whatever’s left in your vocabulary. “I- I love your cock, Niki. I’m such a slut for you and your cock. You make me feel so good. I love your cock so much,” you pathetically mewl, and you can feel a form of tightening building up in you. Your lower abdomen burns up with searing flames, ones that trail all the way down to where you’re both connected.

You get wetter and wetter, more loud and desirous as your climax builds up. It’s like a staggering tower that reaches up to the sky and past the clouds; it has an end, but it keeps growing. “Are you going to come, kleine Maus? Are you going to come around my fat cock? I know you are. C’mon, do it,” Niki urges, and you moan his name loudly. “Do it, come on my cock right fucking now, or else I’ll make this worse for you,” he demands, and your back arches violently. You let out a gasp as your jaw goes slack. Red fills your vision, and you’re clamping down on his cock.

You moan his name loudly, and your juices coat his already sticky cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mewl, digging your nails into your skin as you struggle to keep quiet like he ordered you to do. Your pussy spasms wildly, and your clit throbs, desperate for a few fingers to rub it. Your legs shake just a little bit, and you find yourself meeting Niki at his every thrust, desperate to keep going. Your ass moves backwards, and his hips move forwards, and the Austrian fucks you through your orgasm. Your nerves have sparks flying from them, and every part of you is sensitive.

“You’re so pretty when you come, kleine Maus. You look just like a desperate whore,” Niki grunts, and he can feel himself inching closer to his own climax. It’s like the light at the end of a tunnel or the chequered flag that usually waits for him at the race track before he’s announced to be the winner. “I’m gonna come inside you, kleine Maus, even if you don’t want me to. I’m going to fill you up with my seed and make you all nice and round. That way, you’ll know who you belong to, and you won’t be whoring around for the James Hunt you love so much,” he whispers in your ear, and you rapidly shake your head.

No, no, no, no.

“Yes, yes, yes, kleine Maus, you’re going to take my seed because I said so. Now stop fighting me,” he moans in your ear, and his thrusts grow sloppy and lazy. Niki shallowly fucks into you, and his balls begin to tighten up. His chest rises and falls, and he can feel his high beginning to climb up to the sky. Up, up, up, and away. Niki moans out the little pet name he’s applied to you, and he entirely shoves his cock inside you until he can’t move anymore. Growling, he comes inside you without a care in the world.

The raging, red tip of his fat cock is so deep. White ropes of his seed shoot into your womb, filling you up until you’re an upset, messy cumdump. “This is all you’re good for, kleine Maus,” Niki whispers in your ear, reminding you of your so-called place that he believes you belong in. His cum drips down your inner walls and leaks past his cock, and your fluids mix with each other. Niki’s cock twitches inside of you, but he remains as hard as a rock.

“Can’t wait to see you with my baby, kleine Maus. And I can’t wait to see James’s face when he sees you with me. Er wird so schockiert sein, dass sein Gesichtsausdruck unbezahlbar sein wird,” Niki laughs wickedly, and you can’t imagine you’ll ever meet anyone as cruel or as twisted as he is. “Can you get off of me now? I want to go home, and I want to stay as far away from you as I can,” you snap in both annoyance and exhaustion. “Nu-uh,” he tuts in a disciplinary manner. “You’re not going anywhere, kleine Maus,” Niki tells you. He tilts his head up until his lips touch the skin of your ear.

“I still have to celebrate my win with you, and I’ll make sure to push you to the limit, kleine Maus.”

[mha-princess]

Canon Dabi x insecure reader where she’s insecure about her body since she’s not thin. She voices it to him after seeing a pretty and smaller girl flirt with him, and he shows her how much he cares for her? NSFW pls! Thank u!

stop your whining [dabi x fem!reader]

A/N: I didn’t proof this so bc I really wanted to post today also I’ll be posting my 1k event soon! - Anako ✿

Genre: canon-verse, smut, drabble

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warning: unprotected sex, breeding, degradation

You continue to twirl on the bar stool, your attention long adverted from the chatter dispersed around you. It wasn’t an uncommon for you to tune out of the league’s conversations, especially when the topic was new recruits. New female recruits. To be honest you didn’t think new recruits within the group was necessary, but then again it wasn’t your call. You rolled your eyes at the thought and let yourself tune into the girl riding Shigaraki’s dick, desperate to receive a compliment.

“I really admire your ideologies. I’m willing to follow through with any task given. Any task given.” She enunciates, taking a step closer towards both Dabi and Shigaraki. Her small stature made her seem sweet, cute even, but her eyes had mischievous intent. The two men glance at eachother exchanging an understanding look before, looking back to the girl.

“Thank you for your interest. We look forward to your loyalty. Kurogiri be a gent and show her out.” Shigaraki, responds.

The girl grins as if she just had an interview and was sure she got the job. As Kurogiri shows her out you watch her sway her hips, the skirt she’s wearing a little less than admiring. After Kurogiri is out of sight you sigh in relief.

“Thank god that’s over. Fucking groupies, this is getting old.” You sigh raising from the bar stool.

“Her quirk will be of use to us.” Dabi shrugs.

“Shapeshifting? Tch, isn’t that what we have Toga for?”

“You think I’d drink animal blood?! Gross Y/N!” The blonde exclaims, partially offended.

“Wouldn’t put it past you babe.” You shrug, “I’d rather you be able to do both that way we don’t have some groupie in the league.”

“Why so judegmental now Y/N? Aren’t you all about giving people chances and bullshit like that?” Dabi snarks, shoving his handing into his pockets.

“Not skanks,” you reply, “Well, maybe she didn’t come off as a skank to you seeing as you were pretty friendly.”

“Jealousy is fucking ugly on you.” Shigaraki rasps, opting to leave the room with the others rather than hear you bicker with the black haired male.

“Jealous? The hell is there to be jealous about?!” You shout, the leader sending you the finger before leaving.

“Shigaraki’s right.” Dabi agrees, beginning to stroll away to his room, “It’s also a huge turn off.”

“Turn off ? It’s not like I ever turned you on. You’d rather the skimpy skinny bitch, right? She seems more your type.” Dabi stops to turn around to face you.

The expression on his face was unreadable but the aura he was emitting was deadly. He then inches toward you causing you to take little steps back.

“Y/N.” Is all he says and you stop right where you are. As he closes the space between you he grabs your arm, the force of his fingertips crushing into your muscle.

“The room. Now.” He grits, shoving you in front of him.

“Don’t fucking shove me. Better yet keep your hands off of me. ” You mumbled, making your way down the hall.

When you enter the room Dabi slams the door behind you.

“So fucking unnecessary,” you voice, back turned to him.

“No, your fucking unnecessary. And fucking look at me when I’m talking to you.” He demands gripping your shoulder and flipping you around.

“Didn’t I say to keep you damn hands off of me?!” You hiss, pushing his hands off of you. Dabi, refutes by taking a death hold on your waist, pushing you into the foot of the bed. His hands grip tighter and eventually your sides begin to run hot, the smell of singed clothing flooding the air.

He draws closer to your face, he gets so close you can feel his breath ghost over your lips, “Now listen you fucking brat, I don’t know what your problem is but you better fix that shit real fast. I don’t like to play with bratty bitches.”

“Your the bratty bitch,” you bark. Dabi’s lips draw together before he pushes you over the footboard and onto the bed. He then climbs inbetween your legs and loops his fingers around what’s left of your belt loops.

“You can either tell me what your problem is now or you can wait until my cock is rupturing your fucking cervix. ” he offers, pulling your pants off along with your underwear.

“Do your worst, bitch.” You spit.

Now I know it seems like that was a badass move, but it was a bad decision to say the least. Dabi was never a gentle lover and now that you’ve pissed him off, he definitely wasn’t going to take and precautions. You were being a bitch and if the only way to fix that is fucking you, then so be it.

Without any care he yanks you up and takes off the remainder of your clothing. Your lips purse into a thin line, the feisty part in you wanting to say something, but with the mood you had put him in you knew better. In one motion your back hits the mattress once more.

The male on top of you doesn’t even bother stripping from his clothing. You watch as he undoes his zipper and shimmies his pants below his hips. He sucks air into his mouth before pushing it out causing spit to fly onto your slit as well as his cock.

He then grabs the back of your knees, his fingertips still hot from the incident earlier, and throws them onto his shoulders.

“Don’t open your mouth until your ready to tell me what the hell is wrong with you,” and with that remark he plunges the whole of his cock into your pussy. You let out a shaky gasp which is quickly met by a hand around your throat.

“Not a fucking peep.” The male urges, drawing out of your folds before thrusting back in. He slams his hips into yours hard enough to send you moving forward on the mattress. The sheets beneath you losing there stability. Your pussy clenches around his length in an attempt to lessen the impact of his thrusts.

“Stop clenching. Your gonna rip my dick off,” he growls, and it sends chills through out your body. Dabi had such a disgusting mouth, vial even, but in the end it’s only added to your pleasure. The pleasure which you couldn’t admit you were indulging in. The thought of Dabi fucking you with no mercy only made you want to piss him off more.

Your voice ached to be heard as he continued to fuck your greedy pussy. The sounds of slapping and low distasteful grunts echoed off the hollow walls as he continued to reek havoc on your slit. The closer he got to cumming the closer he neared your cervix.

“You know what? Your fucking cute like this. Being a stubborn fucking brat. Making me fuck you just to get you to act right.”

Cute? Through the rough pleasure that you were feeling that word made something burn inside you.

“Cute? You don’t think I’m fucking cute.” You wither through labored breaths. He takes the pressure off of your neck, interested in trying to hear you explain yourself as he pounds your cunt.

“And why wouldn’t I think your cute, mm?”

“Because you were into that thin bitch. Talking to her, grinning at her. Bet you couldn’t wait until I left so you could fuck her.”

“If I wanted to fuck her I would’ve fucked her. But here I am balls fucking deep in my cunt. In the pussy that belongs to me.” His vulgar words, spark a heat in your tummy, leaving your insides twitching.

“So that’s what the attitude was for? Because you thought I wanted to fuck some rando?” He chuckles before taking the back of your thighs into his hands. He then pushes them back as far as they can go before pulling the length of his cock out, leaving only the tip. Your hand scrambles to meet his stomach but by the time your fingers meet his skin he’s already eight inches deep in your pussy. The head of his cock kissing your cervix.

“Dabi!” You cry out, your toes curling as he slams the weight of himself into you. The boy leans down and places a tart kiss on the shell of your ear.

“So pretty when you cry out like that.” You whimper at his words and weakly shove at his chest.

“Take some out. I told you what was wrong.” A feeble whine lacing your tone.

“I know that’s what we agreed on but your sucking me in. I couldn’t pull some out if I tried.” He whispers, dragging his tongue up your ear. You groaned, squirming under him it was as if he just kept adding inches. Nevertheless the pain you felt was something you were use to, something that you only used to add to your pleasure.

“Gonna cum.” You cry out as he rhythmically fills you up, his cock crashing against your womb again and again. You feel you thighs tremble as your body locks up around him. Your hands slam down gripping the sheets as your orgasm courses through your body. Dabi moves his mouth to kiss you as he lets his own orgasm spill into you. Once you regain your breath you lazily push him off of you.

“Heavy.” You mumble, grabbing the sheets to cover yours self, but before you can pull them over your chest they’re ripped from your hands.

“Don’t.” He demands, letting his hand trail up and down your lower abdomen as he lays he head on your chest, “Let me rub here. It’s cute.”

“Stop calling me cute.” You say rolling your eyes.

“But that’s what you are. Your a damn brat as well but your beautiful, perfect body, perfect smile. It warms my shallow ass heart.” You fluster at his words as he continues his actions.

“Dabi don’t say-.”

“Will you be quiet?” he sighs, “I love you. Your perfect. I wouldn’t dare think of another girl so stop your whining.” You obey and entangle your hand in his hair .

Nothing else needed to be said on your part or his. You were aware of you over exaggeration of the situation and you were glad you had a boyfriend who cared enough to hear you out, even if it was after destroying your cervix.

Masterlist | Request Rules | Request Box

[tom-whore-dleston]

Okay so I’ve been thinking nonstop about reader dating Simu but the relationship is still ya know new lol but reader has to leave LA and go back to her home state for whatever job she has and that leaves reader and Simu back to long distance dating. He really hates it cuz he can get really clingy but not in a annoying way. Lol 😆 but, him and reader haven’t had sex yet and before reader has to leave the next day or whatever they decided to have their first time together 🥹 then of course Simu ask reader to move in with him 😭 idk I’m in my feels right now lol like u don’t have to write this that was just something I wanted to get out of my brain 🧠 and of course u can add ur spin on this and add more 🤗

Wait omg this is cute 🥺🥺😭😭 There must be something in the water we’re drinking bc lately I’ve been in an angsty fluffy mood too (hence why my smut is less gross atm bahahahaha)

But to expand on this thot, I imagine Simu taking you on a romantic date that involves going all around LA. He holds your hand most of the night, only letting go when he needs to go to the bathroom or something. Then when you get back to his house, you kinda linger in the car bc neither of you want to make the move of leaving each other. You both kiss for a while before you put your foot down and say you have to leave. It obviously hurts you to do it but you couldn’t just leave the life you have back at home for a man you just started dating.

As you're driving back to your hotel, you had to pull over on the side of the road because of how hard you were crying. Once your sobs settled, you found yourself looping around and driving back to his house. You've never done something this impulsive in your life. You always played by the rules and listened to your brain. This was the first time you listened to your heart, and you've never felt more alive.

Simu was sitting in his living room, petting Chopa with tears in his eyes. Chopa had never seen Simu this sad before so she curled closer to him, plopping her head in his lap. He was very confused to hear the doorbell ring this late in the evening. When he opened the door to find you behind it, his heart began to beat so fast he thought he was going to pass out.

No words needed to be exchanged as Simu pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply. You kicked the door shut, symbolizing the logic you were willing to shut out for your happiness.

He led you to his room where you finally made love to each other. Neither of you had felt this much passion with any of your previous partners. It felt like everything you knew about love finally made sense. While he was deep inside you, Simu confessed that he loved you. He didn't care about how soon it was to say it because he was never so sure about being in love until you came around. In turn, you revealed your love to him too.

After you both came, you cuddled and kissed in the darkness. It was silent except for your heavy breaths and steady heartbeats. That was until Simu asked you a question.

"Will you move in with me?"

Without hesitation, you said yes, leading you to another round of intense sex. No part of your body signaled to you that what you were doing was wrong. Even if it did, it wouldn't have mattered. It wouldn't have changed how madly in love you were with Simu. Because that was all that really mattered to you both.

[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.