#'His back is hunched as it usually is; as if there is an invisible force weighing him down.'

[mlmxreader]

Insecurity | Billy Butcher x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ probably a lil ooc, but i was wondering where reader is insecure about their body and Billy makes them feel better and hes like idk rly soft? it doesnt have to be smut, but idm if it is, thats up to u.

if you dont want to write this then maybe number 9. "Getting into a fight because someone insulted them"

6. "I got you, you're okay"

1. "The first time you said you loved me - that was my best day" - @loganbcrnes ❞

: ̗̀➛ Billy immediately picks up on it when you're not feeling your best, and in his own way, he tries to make you feel better.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing (obvioisly), use of the word "fag" as a slang term, mentions of smoking, sex references, insecurity

↳ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Billy eyed you carefully from his place at the desk, hunched over slightly as he kept his dark brown eyes on you; hardly able to ignore the way you tried to make yourself blend into your surroundings, and how you always quickly looked away when you caught your reflection on your phone screen. He wasn't an idiot.

He knew what was going on, just as he knew why you had been distant from him lately, too. Usually, you would sit next to him with your feet on his thighs, relaxed and taking up as much space as possible. Not today.

No. Instead, you were trying to make yourself invisible, and he knew what was going on; but Billy was far from the most courteous of men, and when everyone else left the two of you behind, he cleared his throat, and dared to smile a little.

"Oi!" He practically shouted. "C'mere."

"Billy, don't," you sighed, shaking your head.

Billy clenched his jaw a little bit. "C'mere, please. I got a bone t'pick with you."

You rolled your eyes, all but marching over to him; your hands stuffed into the pockets of your oversized hoodie. Gaze on the ground. "What?"

"Y'know," he hummed, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the desk. "The day I saw you, that were the day I fuckin' well realised the moon ain't the most breathtakin' thing."

"Seriously?" You deadpanned.

"Yeah, seriously," he nodded. "Every fuckin' day I look at you, I don't fuckin' get it. How a cunt like me managed to pull someone as fit as you... bloody well beyond me."

You were about to move away, brush him off and ignore his words completely, when he gently coaxed you to stand between his legs; forcing you to maintain eye contact with him.

"Billy-"

"Shut up and listen, alright?" He huffed. "You can fuckin' sit in your corner fuckin' mopin' about like some crybaby cunt all you like - I don't give a toss. But if you asked me? I'd say you was fuckin' peng. And I'd mean it. I fuckin' well would."

"It's not my looks..." you muttered. "I really... Billy, I don't wanna talk about it, alright? There's people with nicer, better bodies than me and-"

"Yeah, but that's your body, innit?" Billy shrugged, almost grinning. "And 'cause it's your body, I happ'n to think it's better than any other cunt's body."

You scoffed at him, shaking your head. "You're only saying that-"

"'Cause what?" He quirked a brow. "There ain't no one here but you an' me, so it ain't like I'm tryin' to fuckin' play with you. It's just us, and I'm sat here, tellin' you: I like your body."

"Billy-"

He tapped your thigh gently. "I like how these rest on me lap when you sit next to me on the sofa."

You rolled your eyes.

He gently tapped your stomach. "I like how soft this is, and how I gets to put me hand on it when we sleep."

You glared at him.

Softly, he tapped your chest. "I like how this presses up against me back in the mornin' when you sneak out for your mornin' fag an' come back."

"How'd you-"

He gently traced his fingers from your shoulders to your elbows. "I like how these feel around me when we're snuggled up watchin' shit horror films."

He grabbed your wrists, grinning. "And most of all, I fuckin' love how these feel wrapped around-"

"You're disgusting!" You laughed, snatching your hands back and fondly shaking your head. "Vile!"

"There's that award winnin' smile," he grinned, letting you go. "Y'know, you don't need the fuckin' perfect body. The one you got is the one that's alright."

"Thanks..." you mumbled, daring to gently pat his cheek. "I know you're trying..."

"I got you," Billy said, as softly as he could allow himself to. "I got you, you're okay. I ain't goin' nowhere yet... unless you and M.M's gonna watch that shit again, that fuckin', what is it? Downton? You watch that and I'm buggerin' off down pub."

You nodded, taking in a deep breath as you smiled. "You are the loveliest bastard I've never met, you know that, don't you?"

He shrugged, sitting back down and putting his feet on the desk again; his hands folded in his lap as he grinned at you. "Yeah, but you fuckin' love me."

"Unfortunately," you hummed, sitting on his desk with your arms folded. "Y'know... some days... just some, I think about what my best day was, and I know."

"Hmm?"

"The first time you said you loved me - that was my best day," you said quietly, picking at the loose skin at the side of your thumb nail.

Billy took a moment, observing you carefully. "Pretty sure that was my best fuckin' day, in all. Can't lie... but, say - why don't me an' you grab a quick Chinese? The others ain't gonna be back for yonks, so we can sit down, have a nice Chinese, and watch that fuckin' Take Me Out bollocks you like, eh?"

You grinned as you nodded, clearing your throat. "That's the best idea you've had in a while, y'know... d'you reckon we could order in?"

"Don't see why not," Billy admitted. "Ain't like Homelander's gonna disguise himself as a lowly fuckin' delivery bloke now, issit?"

"True," you agreed with a slow nod.

"G'on," he told you quietly, gesturing with a quick nod. "Go grab the leaflet, we'll see what's good - and it's whatever you want in all. Starters, puddin', whole lot - anythin' you want, order it."

"Alright, Sir," you teased. "No need to bark orders at me."

"Can do a lot more than that," Billy smiled, raising his brows. "All you gotta do is fuckin' ask."

You hopped off of his desk, feeling your stomach rumble loudly. "I might take you up on that later, but... Bill?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks," you told him quietly. "I, erm... I needed all that, and I appreciate it."

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

thank you so much for reading, but if I may have your attention for a brief moment: Fadi needs help to evacuate himself & his family from Gaza as urgently as possible. if you DO have the means to, then please, consider even giving just £1, it would make all the difference to a family in dire circumstances.

[ahqkas]

♯ BAD MOON RISING ; mattheo riddle

❛ don't go around tonight

well it's bound to take your life

there's a bad moon on the rise ❜

PAIRING! death eater!mattheo riddle x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! feelings of affection were just a weakness so he needed to get rid of the source

WARNINGS AND TAGS! lot of angst + a tiny bit of fluff, cruel mattheo (he’s been forced into it), kissing

WORD COUNT! 2.2k

NOTES! my complex boy

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

DAYS BEFORE THAT FATEFUL CONFRONTATION, THE CHANGE IN MATTHEO'S BEHAVIOR HAD BEEN GRADUAL BUT UNMISTAKABLE. It began subtly, with him slowly withdrawing from your usual interactions. During dinner, where you once shared whispered conversations and stolen glances, his eyes now avoided yours entirely, his gaze fixed resolutely on his plate or somewhere in the distance, empty of their usual glint of light. The words that once flowed so effortlessly between you had dried up, replaced by a heavy, uncomfortable silence. His hand no longer found its home on your thigh, rather keeping to himself as he picked at his nails.

During your study sessions, which had been a blend of focused work and playful banter, Mattheo became silent, his attention firmly on his books and notes, leaving you feeling like a ghost in his presence. You noticed the way he would position himself slightly further away, creating an invisible barrier that only added to your growing sense of unease. His laughter, once a source of warmth and home, was now absent, replaced by a cold, detached demeanor.

You tried to reach out to him, to understand what was happening, but each attempt was met with curt responses or outright avoidance. The physical closeness you once shared — the brief touches, the comforting hugs, the gentle kisses — all seemed to vanish, leaving an aching void in their wake. Mattheo's once reassuring presence became a source of confusion and hurt, and you found yourself grappling with a growing sense of isolation and fear.

The nights were the hardest. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing with questions and doubts. You replayed your last conversations, searching for any sign of what had gone wrong, but found none. The memory of his warm embrace and soft words haunted you in a way that it hurt every day to even look at him. Each day, the gap between the two of you seemed to widen, and the weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension grew heavier on your heart.

The library was a space full of quiet whispers and rustling pages, where students lost themselves in their studies. You and Mattheo had claimed a secluded corner as your own, a small table tucked between towering shelves of literature. It had become your usual spot, a place where you could be together hidden from all the curious gazes.

You were hunched over your textbooks, diligently taking notes, but you couldn't help the frequent glances you stole at your boyfriend. He sat across from you, his brows furrowed in concentration, but there was a tension in his posture that you couldn't ignore. The quill he held between his fingers moved absently over the parchment, but his eyes were distant, lost in thoughts that seemed far away from your current surroundings.

"Mattheo," you called his name softly, trying to draw his attention. When he didn't respond, you reached out and gently touched the back of his hand. "Is everything okay?"

His head snapped up, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something in those brown irises — pain, confusion, fear? — before it was replaced by a hard, cold look. "I'm fine," he said curtly, pulling his hand away from yours as if your touch burned him.

You frowned, your concern growing. "You don't seem fine. You've been distracted all week. What's going on?"

The Slytherin boy slammed his quill down, the sound echoing harshly in the quiet of the library. "I said I'm fine, [Name]. Just drop it."

Your heart skipped a beat at the harshness of his tone. He's never acted with you in this way. "Mattheo, please," you pleaded, and the tone of your voice trembled slightly. "I'm just worried about you. You can talk to me."

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, drawing the curious eyes of nearby students. "I don't need to talk about anything," he snapped. "Especially not with you."

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you recoiled, clear hurt flashing across your face. "Why are you being like this?"

His eyes were cold, devoid of the warmth you had always found there. "Maybe I just don't want to be around you anymore," he said, his voice cutting through you like a knife. "Ever think of that?"

The library seemed to close in around you, the weight of his words suffocating. You struggled to breathe, your vision blurring with tears you refused to let fall. "If that's how you feel," you mumbled, voice breaking, "then maybe you should just go."

For a moment, his expression softened, a glimmer of regret flickering in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the same cold expression. He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you sitting alone at your usual table, the weight of your shattered relationship pressing down on your chest heavily.

The corridors of Hogwarts were dimly lit, casting long shadows over the stone walls as you made your way through them with determined strides. You had tried to give Mattheo space, tried to believe that he just needed time to sort out whatever was troubling him. But the distance he had put between the two of you, the coldness in his eyes — it all felt wrong, like a mask hiding something far more sinister. You couldn't let it go. You had to know the truth.

You found him in an abandoned classroom, the one you used to sneak into for stolen moments of privacy when everything felt like it was too much to handle. The room was filled with the faint scent of old parchment and dust, the opposite to the warmth and life it once held. Mattheo was standing by the window, staring out at the darkening sky, his silhouette outlined by the fading light.

"Mattheo," you called out to him, voice echoing slightly in the empty space. He turned, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of the sweet boy you loved in his eyes. But then his expression hardened, and he set his jaw defiantly. The image was gone.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice cold and detached.

Yet you stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated by his words and behavior. "I need to know what's going on. Why are you pushing me away? Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not lying," he said sharply. "I've told you already. I don't love you, [Name]. This —" he gestured between the two of you "— was just a distraction."

Shaking your head, you felt tears welling up in your eyes for the second time this day. "No. I don't believe you. I can see it in your eyes, Mattheo. I know you. You're hiding something."

"You don't know anything," he spat. "You think you do, but you don't. I never loved you. I used you to distract myself, to feel something other than this emptiness inside."

You recoiled as if he had struck you, the words slicing through your heart like millions of daggers. But you weren't ready to give up. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't care. Tell me you never loved me and I'll walk away."

For a moment, he faltered. His eyes softened, the mask slipping to reveal the distress underneath. He glanced away from you, the complete opposite of what you wanted him to do, unable to meet the irises he so fell in love with.

"I don't care about you, princess. I never did."

You stared at him, your heart breaking all over again. You wanted to scream, to cry, to shake him until he admitted the truth. But you knew it wouldn't matter. Whatever he was hiding, he was determined to keep it from you.

"Fine," you said after a while, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "If that's what you want, then I'll go. But know this, Mattheo Riddle: whatever you're hiding, whatever you're afraid of, it's going to come out eventually. And when it does, I hope you realize what you've lost."

You turned on your heels and walked away, the silence of the abandoned classroom pressing down on you like a heavy weight. Stepping into the corridor, you let the tears fall, each one a testament to the love for him you couldn't lost and the boy who had pushed you away.

Inside the classroom, Mattheo watched you go, his heart aching with the weight of his lies. He leaned against the window, closing his eyes as he fought back his own tears. He knew he had to keep up with the act, to keep you safe from the darkness that was coming. But the pain of pushing you away was almost too much to bear. All he could do was pick up the pieces of his own broken heart and try to make sense of the chaos he had left behind.

A few days later, chaos erupted within the stone walls of Hogwarts. The once peaceful corridors were filled with yells and screams as Death Eaters stormed the castle with sadistic laughter of their own. The sight of the Dark Mark glowing ominously in the sky cast an eerie green hue through the windows. Your heart raced as you sprinted through the halls, desperately seeking safety.

Students and professors alike were caught in the pandemonium, their faces masks of fear and confusion. Spells ricocheted off the stone walls, leaving scorch marks and rubble in their wake. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning wood and the metallic tang of magic gone awry.

As you rounded a corner, you skidded to a halt, your breath hitching in your throat. Ahead of you, a group of masked Death Eaters loomed menacingly, their wands raised and ready to strike. Panic surged through your system, but you forced yourself to think clearly. You had to find a way out, a safe place to hide until the madness subsided.

Ducking into a side passage, you pressed yourself against the cold stone wall, your mind racing. You could hear the distant sounds of battle — the clash of spells, the cries of pain and fear. The Dark Mark's glow seemed to pulse in time with your heartbeat.

Just as you began to move, a strong grip clamped around your wrist, pulling you back into the shadows of the passage. Your heart leapt into your throat, a scream forming on your lips, but it was cut short as you recognized the hand that held you. Mattheo's dark eyes met yours, filled with an urgency you had never seen before.

"Mattheo?" you whispered, confusion and hope mingling in your voice.

"Not now," he muttered, his grip never faltering as he tugged you along. The two of you darted through the twisting corridors, the noise of the ongoing battle echoing behind you. His pace was relentless, and you struggled to keep up, your mind racing with questions.

You rounded another corner, then another, moving further and further away from the chaos. Finally, he pushed open the door to an empty classroom and pulled you inside. He slammed the door shut and cast several protective spells on it, the tip of his wand glowing brightly in the dim room as you watched with confusion on your face.

Only then did he release your wrist, but the intensity in his eyes remained. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You nodded, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. "What are you doing, Mattheo? Why are you helping me?"

He looked away and you could see the muscles in his jaw tightening. "I had to make sure you were safe."

"But you lied to me," you said, voice trembling. "You said you didn't love me, that I was just a distraction."

He flinched at your words, unable to meet your gaze as his fingers found yours. "I had to. If they knew how much you meant to me, they would have used you against me. Against us." He leaned closer to you, his eyes closing briefly before opening again to meet with yours, a frown pulling at his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I thought pushing you away would keep you safe."

Your heart twisted with a mixture of pain and understanding as you looked into Mattheo's tormented eyes. You could feel the weight of his guilt, the burden of the lies he had carried for your sake. Without a word, you closed the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his in a desperate, fervent kiss.

The embrace was fueled by raw emotion, a collision of love and anguish that threatened to consume you both. Mattheo's arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you close as if trying to protect you from the storm raging outside and you clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you poured all of your longing and forgiveness into the kiss.

For a fleeting moment, the chaos around you faded into nothing. There was only the two of you, lost in the moment. But as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the room, reality came crashing back with brutal force.

Reluctantly, you broke apart, your breaths mingling in the air as you stared at each other, hearts pounding in sync. There were no words to express the depth of your emotions, no promises that could erase the scars of the past. But in that moment, as you stood on the steps of uncertainty, you knew one thing for certain: you would face whatever came next together, not caring about anything other than the boy in your arms.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Full hcs for the m6 with an MC that has chronic pain (I looked through the masterlists and didn't find anything, but it's totally possible that I missed something O///O)

The Arcana HCs: MC with chronic pain

Julian

He devotes his full care and attention to every person in need of a doctor he meets and you are about to get 200% of that

Will do a full examination as soon as you're able to talk to him about it. Give him your medical history, past diagnoses, personal opinions, potential causes, and any other detail you have

Listens to every word, writing them all down so intensely that his handwriting is even less legible than usual

In the moment, there's not much he can do beyond suggesting a few alternate ways of handling it and covering you with kisses and careful, all-encompassing sympathetic hugs

In the long run, chronic pain starts to rival (if not surpass) hematology as his field of study and expertise. Pain management does get easier over time as he learns and applies more

It has also changed how he speaks about pain

The earliest example of which was when he told you that he was "intimately acquainted" with it and you misinterpreted that as him saying that he suffers from it too - you still tease him for that

Your biggest medical advocate & never loses sympathy for you

Asra

They didn't really know how much you suffered from it until your first weeks back, and then they watched as you had to relearn how to live with it. To call it nightmarish would be an understatement

So, so, so many pain easing spells and potions. His collection was already impressive for Nadia's migraines but now it's tripled

Curious to the point of almost seeming insensitive about the sensations you experience. They did, with your permission, try linking to you enough to take them on once

He didn't like it. He can handle physical discomfort well enough but he hates it with a passion and this was a horrible realization

Thoughtful and protective of your right to comfort and access to accommodation, to the point that you sometimes have to remind them that you really can handle it

Asks you every morning and through the day how your pain levels are and will adjust accordingly. Bad pain day? Leave the shop to him, here are some meds, he'll bring you breakfast in a bit

Has been known to use pain transfer spells on rude customers during your flareups - it's two birds with one stone!

Nadia

Had a hunch that it was something you experienced from the moment she met you, if only because she was dealing with constant migraines at the time and recognized the pain

Does her best to hide it from you because she doesn't want to make your pain about herself, but gets frustrated beyond measure about it. She's a fixer, and this is something she can't just fix

She does everything she can for you, of course - opening the Palace doors to anyone with knowledge on the subject, stocking up and giving you access to all of her pain management methods

But it still gnaws at her when she knows you're having a bad pain day and the most she can do is encourage you to rest and have your meals sent to you and try to get extra time to spend with you

Even more proud of you than you can tell (which is very proud). Living in pain the way you do is no easy thing and that pain being largely "invisible" only adds to what you must be going through

Very respectful of your needs. It doesn't matter if she doesn't understand why you need something right away, if you need it, you need it

Muriel

It's not something he'll confess to until you're close enough and he's comfortable admitting it, but he has his own chronic pain from his Coliseum injuries. It's not constant, but it flares up regularly

A poorly healed fracture in his wrist. Some mangled nerve endings from blunt force trauma to his ribs. A wrenched knee that never fully healed and keeps coming back like a sprain

There's another layer to the days he spends hiding in bed, lifting nothing heavier than his tiny carving tools

He never really got much medical attention when the injuries were fresh and he certainly hasn't gotten any for the pain since, but he'll share all the knowledge on natural medicine he has

And nobody knows how physical pain can get into your head like he does. He doesn't always know what to say, but he is dedicated to listening when you're struggling and helping where he can

A little slower at accepting support for his own pain (it's months, if not years, before he's comfortable with being seen for it by a doctor) but he's with you every step of the way. You're not alone

Portia

Portia is excruciatingly empathetic to you and this is not something easy for her to understand or relate to

Pain? Physical pain?? Which you can't control, or point to an obvious/visible/curable source for??? How do you not act like you're in constant pain? How have you not found a cure?

(To say that she cringes when she remembers peppering you with these questions is an understatement. What matters is that she learned and she never doubted you for a second)

She still has difficulty fully comprehending what you're going through, but once she's dragged you to her brother and gotten some action items to follow up with, supporting you gets easier

Checks in with you several times a day on schedule and keeps a list of useful questions to ask so she can understand your pain levels

Always has at least two pain meds on hand in case of a spike or flare up and will scour the markets for any ingredients that she hears will help with pain/nerve damage/inflammation

Will bring Pepi to loaf and purr on you for hours when you need to stay in bed for the day and leaves treats on the bedside table

Lucio

He relates to this more than he wants to, but his own experience is so all over the place he doesn't know how to talk about it

Sure, he had chronic pain when he was a count, it's hard to have an emergency amputation done by an inexperienced student and then a decently weighty metal prosthetic for 20 years without it

But back then he had plenty of doctors and the kinds of resources to make managing it almost easy, not to mention the parties and pleasures he indulged in constantly to distract from it

And then for three years he felt nothing - nothing at all

At this point, he'd choose the pain over the ghost form any day, but that doesn't make it easy. Hearing you talk about your pain openly helps him realize it's possible to live with, even though it's difficult

So that's what he does. He'll live with his pain, and you'll live with your pain, and you'll both wake up to it with each other for company. He can do this

He'll still go as far as threatening any medical experts he finds with their demise if they refuse to see either of you and you're not there to stop him, though

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Treat You 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, violence, mentions of abuse, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (Tall!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You stumble out into the hallway, nearly colliding with the dingy and peeling paint on the wall. The door slams with the force of your frantic exit, nails bending painfully as you let go of the brass knob. Your heart pulses in your ears as another crash bangs from inside the apartment and your father's tirade blazes on.

You untangle your bag, the only thing you could snatch as you stepped halfway into your shoes. The doorknob twists again and you quickly flee down the hall, your father yanking at the door as it jams. You quickly veer down the staircase and only stop at the top of the next flight to pull your shoes on all the way.

You catch your breath at the front door, aware of how Mrs. Davis’ door snaps shut when you pass. You continue outside without a destination in mind. You could hide out at the library again, no one notices you there. It is a bit far to walk.

You sling the crochet bag over your head so it hangs against your hip. You reach inside and find your change purse. You don't have much after the electric bill. Two bucks, it's three to get the bus.

You huff and tuck your hand back in your bag. Your feet carry you as you wind down the street. The apathetic rush of traffic makes you feel invisible. You don't mind that, it's more dangerous to be seen.

There's nothing remarkable about you. You're taller than most girls but that's more worthy of ridicule than admiration. You wear second-hand clothing, some of it your dad's handmedowns, and hunch until your spine hurts. An elephant trying to play fawn.

You chew your lip and stop by the vintage shop. Not the Goodwill but the expensive place with the designer houndstooth and Louis Vuitton logos. In another world…

Across the street, a night club stands desolate and eerie in the daylight. A few times you passed during opening and it was rowdy and flashing. Just on your way to the bus station to spend a couple hours on a bench.

On the next street, a cafe. The place that closed then opened only weeks later. New ownership but everything else the same. The prices aren't as steep as the Starbucks kiosk near the station.

You ponder it, stopping outside as you see a woman behind the counter. You're a bit relieved it's not the usual barista. That guy with reddish hair and warm brown eyes. He likes to talk, too bad you don't.

You enter and approach the till. The woman greets you brightly, her eyes look tired, and she points out to the specials. Nope, you can only afford a tea.

You pay for the green tea and way for her to pour the hot water. As you tap your fingers on the counter, another figure appears from behind the espresso machine. It's that guy. Dang.

“Hey, done break, your turn,” he chirps, quieting as he sees you standing there. He smiles, “oh, hi, you been helped?”

You nod and look down. The woman places the cup of steaming water in front of you. You thank her and take it, turning to claim the seat in the corner.

You sit and settle in with your bag in your lap. You don't have much to do so you stare out the window. Pedestrians pass by, with purpose, some even happily.

The cafe is quiet. There's a couple nesr the opposite wall, on a date, maybe. The ambiance holds even as people come in, ordering and leaving with their drinks.

You blow on your tea and sip. You tug the string of the bag and dip it up and down. Your dad will tire himself out soon. Maybe two hours. You can't make one tea last that long.

You put your arm on the table and curl your shoulders. You trace a finger on the tabletop. You usually keep a book in your bag but you took it out to read last night.

You frown. It shouldn't be like this but that's just how it is. You don't have much of a choice. Your dad is your family, your only family, all you have.

You wiggle your nose and swallow back your self-pity. No use crying. Especially here.

“Hi,” the voice frightens you as the barista approaches with a cinnamon bun on a plate, “uh, I'm Peter, remember? Saw you last week?”

You blink. You press your palms to the cup and feel the heat threaten to blister. He's short, his shoulders broad, and his posture straight.

“Er, you want a cinnamon bun?”

“I… no, I don't have the money,” you rasp and sip your tea.

“On the house,” he insists, “really, there was a mix up this morning and we made a batch too many.”

“That's nice but… no thank you.”

You know what it is to accept favours. They always come back to debts. You lower your head again.

“You don't like sweets? We have quiche–”

You shake your head. He hovers, waiting. You turn to watch out the window again. You wince as the plate clinks onto the table. He leaves the bun there and goes back behind the counter. You ignore it.

Maybe you won't come here anymore.

[five-rivers]

Dream Lantern Chapter 1

For Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 5: Hunt.

The person who entered the small examination room wasn’t a doctor.  They weren’t even human.  

Danny, who had been hunched in the less-than-comfortable chair in the corner, waiting for the doctor to get to him, sprang to his feet.  “You!” he hissed, green sparking from his fists and his rings snapping into place and sweeping outward to transform him.  “You did this!”

At first glance, the person in front of Danny looked human, but that was only at first glance.  The ridges of their eyes curved smoothly, owl-like, into the bridge of their nose.  Their hair, too black, formed a widow’s peak so sharp Danny wasn’t sure it couldn’t draw blood.  They wore a black suit that was about ten times too formal and old-fashioned to even exist in Amity Park.  

But all of that could be brushed aside.  Sometimes people just looked or dressed strangely.  The real indicator was the eyes, which were red from lid to lid and faintly luminous.

“Yes,” said Nocturne, gloved hand touching their face as if to make sure it was still in place.  “Did you think someone else could have?”

“Put them back!” demanded Danny.  “Or I’ll–”

“Or you’ll do nothing,” said Nocturne.  “They are hostages, boy.  I’m sure you realize this already, or you would have attacked.” 

Danny bristled.  “What do you want?”

“Your help.”  They laughed, showing off teeth that were both too white and too sharp.  “You like that, don’t you?”

Danny scowled.  He couldn’t deny the way his core had twitched at the word ‘help,’ but even full ghosts weren’t mindless slaves that could be programmed and activated by their Obsessions’ triggers.  Besides, he had better people to help.  

Like Tucker and Sam.  Jazz.  His parents.  

They were elsewhere in the hospital, in comas so deep Danny couldn’t touch their minds at all.  The doctors had kept Danny here, just in case he was about to slip into a coma, too, but knowing that it was Nocturne, rather than just suspecting it…

He wanted to fight.  He wanted to force Nocturne to let them go, to wake them up.  

But… hostages.  

“With what?”

“With retrieving something,” said Nocturne.  

“And if I help, you'll bring them out of their comas?”

Nocturne lazily raised a hand.  “I swear it.”

“Fine.  What is it and where is it?”  If it was something dangerous, he could always sabotage it.  He had experience with that kind of thing.

“Oh, you mistake me, child.  I will retrieve it myself.  I only need you to accompany me to do so.  A being of your… nature is required.”

“What, a half ghost?”

“A creature neither alive nor dead,” said Nocturne.  “I think you fit that requirement quite nicely.”

The way Nocturne leered at him made Danny’s skin crawl.  He forced the ectoplasm swirling around his hands to recede and landed.

“Fine,” he snapped, again.  

Nocturne reached out towards his face and Danny swatted their hand away.

“I’ll go there awake, thanks.”

“Very well,” said Nocturne, still smiling.  They turned and opened the door.  It no longer led back into the hospital.  Nocturne’s form liquified, and they oozed through the door, gaining volume as they did so until they were in their massive usual form.  The one that could hold and crush Danny in the palm of a hand.  

Danny swallowed.  He hadn’t realized Nocturne could make portals like that.  He followed, and the portal shut behind him.  

Nocturne’s smile grew smugger.  They turned and made a sweeping gesture.  “Behold,” they said, “the Plain of Dreams.”

There… wasn’t much to look at.  There was a big island there, sure.  One large enough that the other side vanished into the horizon.  But the surface of the island was flat and gray, devoid of any point of interest except for size.  

“You live here?” asked Danny.  

“Once,” said Nocturne, almost wistful.  “But there is no time for reminiscing.  You have a role to play here.”

“Which is?”

“That of a lantern.”  Nocturne reached into the invisible folds of their robes and pulled out a glittering, golden, jewel-studded cage, one shaped like a lantern and floored with rich, plush bedding.  They pinched the door open and held it up in front of Danny.  

“No,” said Danny.  “I’m not getting in there.  If you need my glow or whatever for your thing, well, guess what?  I glow just as well out here.”

“It’s not quite that simple,” said Nocturne, circling him.  Danny turned, trying to keep eyes on Nocturne’s face and hands.  “You must be neither alive nor dead, awake nor asleep, willing nor unwilling.  Caged, but uncaptured.  Hungry, but full.  Complaisant, but steadfast.”

Danny’s skin prickled again.  He did not like this, and the fairy-tale-like phrasing was not helping his nerves.  “I don’t know that I’d call myself complacent.”

Nocturne chuckled.  “Different word, little ghost.  Or… I can seek out more friends of yours.  The girl in red, perhaps?”  They switched directions so fast Danny couldn’t keep track of them.  Their next words were whispered into Danny’s hair.  “She still dreams of you, you know.”

Danny flinched away, glaring, but he couldn’t hold Nocturne’s gaze for long.  He frowned at the cage instead.  He did not like it.  At all.  

“I get to leave at the end?” he asked, knowing full well he couldn’t hold Nocturne to that in any meaningful way.  Even Nocturne’s word that he’d let his family and friends go didn’t mean much.  

But what else could he do?  He’d already tried to wake them up himself, and he didn’t know what else Nocturne could do to them when they were in that state.

“Yes, yes, and I’ll wake your family.  We have already discussed this.  You are wasting time.”

“We hadn’t discussed this, actually,” said Danny.  “We’ve barely ‘discussed’ anything.”

“I can send them deeper,” said Nocturne, voice low and dangerous.  “Do you want that, child?  Perhaps their doctors will notice when they stop breathing on their own.  Perhaps not.”

Danny, core making an awful whining sound, raised his hands in surrender and flew into the cage.  Nocturne, moving swiftly, closed it behind him.  

The exhaustion he’d been holding back all day (or was it all week?  All month?  All year?  Since he died the first time?) poured over him.  Against his will, he sank slowly to the blankets and pillows at the bottom of the cage, clouds of golden dust rising around him as his weight settled.  His eyelids fluttered, and his vision became blurred, uncertain.  

Nocturne threaded their long, pointed fingers through the bars of the cage and pressed one against Danny’s chest, over his core.  Inky, starry blackness flowed from Nocturne’s finger and into Danny.  He could feel it being pressed into his core, and his core drank it in, growing colder.  His aura flared out involuntarily, to a brightness that was almost painful.  He groaned and tried to turn his head against one of the pillows.  

“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” asked Nocturne in a falsely sweet voice.  It echoed weirdly, the words warping around their edges, morphing into other voices, other conversations.  “A simple waking dream.  Look.”

With some effort, Danny raised his head as Nocturne thrust the lantern-cage forward.  For a moment, bright colors streaked dizzyingly across his vision, like fireworks and flowers, but then–

What lay before him was not the gray and featureless plain he had seen only moments before.  Instead, ringed by the golden haze of dreams was a vibrant forest, decked with vivid colors and bright flowers, brighter and more numerous than they ever would be in reality.  Or maybe jungle was a better word.  In the distance, majestic mountains rose from the middle of the jungle, tinted blue and purple, glittering cities of gold and crystal built on their slopes.  A flight of butterflies bigger than birds exploded from the near edge, and swooped around Nocturne and Danny in a rainbow whirlwind.  Some of them had wingspans longer than his arm.

“What,” Danny might have said, aware that his words were slurred into unintelligibility, if they were spoken at all, “is that?”

“The Dream Wilds,” said Nocturne.  

They reached into the cage again, adjusting Danny’s position so that he was halfway between sitting and lounging, hemmed in and supported by blankets.  They might as well have been chains, and even as that picture developed in his mind’s eye, it developed in reality as well.  Blanket twisted around his limbs and grew darker, the fabric taking on a metallic sheen.  Pillows grew heavier… but also softer, pulling him yet deeper into the half-dreaming state Nocturne had forced on him.  

He was, really, horribly comfy.  

If it wasn’t for his hazmat suit and its boots, Danny could almost be convinced he was bundled up in his own bed.  Then, he blinked, long, slow, and sleepy, and he wasn’t wearing his hazmat suit anymore.  Instead, he was wearing a set of pajamas that, if he’d seen them in the real world, would have sent him into paroxysms of envy.  They were a set, a button-down shirt and a pair of pants, the type of pajamas he liked the most.  They also were sewn with tiny star-shaped sequins in the pattern of real constellations.  

Danny knew they weren’t real.  Unfair.  

Nocturne chuckled and tugged on Danny’s newly-bare toes.  

“Don’t,” mumbled Danny, sleepily, not coordinated enough to twitch away.  “Let’s get this over with already.”

“Yes,” said Nocturne, gliding forward.  “Let’s.”

.

The Plain of Dreams was only the greatest of the many places in the Ghost Zone where the ethereal and otherwise elusive energies of dream gathered.  It had been tamed, once, and inhabited, brought to the kind of civilization only known in the dreams of visionaries.  Crystal cities of philosophy.  Hidden villages in perfect harmony with nature.  Utopias of justice, science, and art.  

But those realms were long gone.  When the rulers of the Dream Kingdoms saw the approach of Pariah Dark's armies, they ordered the caged dreamers on whose dreams the foundations of the cities were built woken and released, and their cities faded back into the wilds, and the wilds themselves faded and sunk into slumber until only fragments and memories remained.  

There were ways to navigate them, if one had the right tools.  Ways to access the Dream Wilds where they slumbered, still beautiful, rich, and powerful.  Even with those tools, however, the Dream Wilds were still immeasurably dangerous.  

Even in the Ghost Zone, there were few places where one could be destroyed by their own passing fancy.  

It had taken years upon years for Nocturne to find the lantern-cage, a relic from one of the Dream Kingdoms, traded to a traveler and sold on as a curiosity not long before Pariah took the throne.  Cages not unlike this, but far grander, had held the forever-sleeping dream-architects who had made up the foundations of the great Dream Kingdoms.  The only other Nocturne had ever heard of beyond the borders of the Dreamlands had been from their own collection, melted down to be reforged as part of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep.  

The success of that plan had made the sacrifice worth it, but Nocturne still resented it, and the lost opportunities it represented.  

All too often, Nocturne found themself dreaming of what would have been, if they had still had their own lantern-cage.  If they had been able to travel back, to reach the Dream Kingdoms before they fell to ruin entirely, to enter the great halls with a dreamer, and once again let dreams be true.  

But even dreams must bow to time.  

The cage was not all Nocturne needed, nor the only preparation they had to make.  Among other things, the cage was useless without the proper dreamer.  

The Dream Kingdoms had, for the most part, used volunteers.  Specially selected, educated, and prepared, quite literally pampered beyond the dreams of sloth, the dream-architects of old had been remarkable.  But even they were unlikely to have had the qualities Nocturne sought.  

And seek they did, searching high and low, throughout both the Infinite Realms and the human world.  But no matter what dreamer they brought to the Plain of Dreams, no matter how long Nocturne wandered, their lantern did not light the way.  

They had thought it must be a matter of power, and set to collecting dream energy from wherever they could, even going to the human world to gather it from living sleepers.  That particular endeavor did not go well, and they returned to the Realms with less than what they’d started with.  

But then they found that old record, and its list of odd requirements.  Neither alive nor dead, awake nor asleep, willing nor unwilling.  Caged, but uncaptured, hungry, but full, complaisant, but steadfast.  A liminal dreamer was required, and not just any liminal.  

There were only two liminals that Nocturne knew of.  He could, with some effort force either of them to fulfill most of the other conditions.  Waking dreams were well within his capabilities, the right pressure on an Obsession would have any ghost, full or otherwise, walking into a cage.  Hungry but full was trickier, but the lantern-cages were designed to help regulate what their inmates absorbed, among other things that allowed their function of bringing dreams into reality.  A glut of dream energy and a dearth of more traditional forms of sustenance would do nicely for Nocturne’s plans, and if the requirement was more metaphorical, they could adapt.  

The difficulty lay in 'complaisant but steadfast.'

The elder half ghost was widely regarded as a coward, having fled from too many fights he himself had started.  Even if he wasn't, Nocturne had tasted his dreams.  Vlad Masters relished every bit of power he could hold over others, and resented any he could not subjugate or suborn.  

The younger… Any being that could escape a dream crafted by Nocturne had to be described as both willful and strong-willed.  Yet, while the child had dreamed of being recognized and praised for the service he provided, in the waking world he provided those services unasked and unrewarded.  

It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.  Nocturne wasn't about to make more of the creatures.  

From there, their preparations were relatively simple.  Phantom was young and brash, not stupid.  He may have managed to defeat Nocturne once, but the circumstances had been vastly different.  Then, Nocturne had been gathering dream energy and assessing the potential of dreamers.  They had been spread thin, distracted.  

trapping a whole city in slumber.  

Which led to the present moment.  

As during their first encounter, the boy was far more susceptible to dream sand than even ordinary humans.  Nocturne could not recall at the moment whether or not Plasmius had fallen asleep as quickly, or if the weakness was unique to Phantom, but that hardly mattered.  What mattered was that he was working.

Where Phantom's aura fell, the Dream Wilds and all their flora and fauna became real, material, some might even say alive.  The radius of the effect was miniscule.  Nocturne could easily see beyond it, past the golden air and verdant leaves, to where the Plain of Dream was as drab and flat as ever. Phantom was not one of the great dreamers of old.  Nor, Nocturne could already tell, would the masterworks once crafted by those dreamers be making an appearance.  Phantom's conception of the Dream Wilds was too simple, too imperfect to support such complexities.

Butterflies.  Really.  

Even some of Nocturne's earlier dreamers had done better, reached further.  

And yet… the texture, the depth of color, the quality of light… Yes, with Phantom as their lantern, he would reach the ruins at the heart of the Dream Wilds, and finally claim what they had sought for so long.

Lantern in hand, they glided forward, beneath the boughs of the great trees.  

.

Danny had expected it to be dark under the trees.  It had looked dark.  Instead, every leaf, every branch, every flower, every crawling, flying, or running thing, every wisp of colored mist was illuminated by Danny’s own aura, which showed no sign of dimming.  The shadowless quality of the surroundings added to their dreaminess, another layer of unreality on top of the haze, blur, and dazzle.  

Danny slowly turned his head back towards the way they’d come from.  The way he thought they’d come from.  Already, the open Ghost Zone sky was entirely hidden from view.  They could have been walking for hours, not… not…

How long had they been walking?  Had it been hours?  He couldn’t tell.  

Danny really didn’t like this.  But he couldn’t really do anything about it.  He was in a cage, and Nocturne still had his family hostage.  Plus, moving and thinking felt like swimming through honey.  Soft, cozy, comfy honey that made him sleepy.  The way the cage swung helped with that, a gentle, lulling, rocking motion that had him drifting, distracted.  

He blinked hard, rousing back to the half-asleep state Nocturne had put him in.  Being caged was one thing.  Being totally unaware of his surroundings while caged by an enemy was something else.  

“Where are we going?” he asked.  

Nocturne said nothing.  

“Where are we going?” he repeated, adding volume in the hope that it would let his words carry more clearly.  

Nocturne looked down at him contemplatively, clearly weighing options.  Then they smiled, sly, smug, and indulgent.  “We hunt the Beast of Dreams.  A chimera with many forms and faces, it guards the way to our destination.  Three times we must face them, and three times we must gain their tokens, else even your light will not shine on our path.”

“What if we, um.”  Danny licked his lips, trying to recover the thread of his question.  His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.  “What if we can’t find them?”

Nocturne tsked at him.  “What a terrible attitude to have,” they scolded.  “It’s almost as if you don’t care about your family at all.  After all, if you are useless, so are they.”  

They stopped their glide and reached through the bars of the cage, touching Danny’s shoulder where it joined to his neck.  Normally, with his hazmat suit, it wouldn’t even be exposed, but now Danny shivered as Nocturne pushed more energy into him.  He whimpered as his aura burned ever brighter in response.  His core hummed, high and strained, but his heart beat steadily, and his breathing stayed deep and slow.

“Guide me, little lantern, little light,” whispered Nocturne.  “I seek the Beast in the guise of Falsehood, where it lairs at the Gates of Horn and Ivory.  Show me the way.”

Danny had no idea how Nocturne thought he could navigate when he had never been here before and could barely see past his own aura.  No direction seemed better or more notable than any other direction.  

Finally, his eyes landed on a group of trees practically exploding with white and purple flowers.  He twitched his fingers in their general direction.  

Nocturne withdrew their hand and started moving in that direction at once.  Danny let out a sigh as his core gradually returned to a more relaxed state.  

They were looking for 'The Beast of Dreams in the guise of Falsehood.'  What did that even mean?  What did that look like?  Some kind of animal?  Like a fox?  A snake?

"The being we go to meet is the very essence of the deception of dreams.  It is that which makes you forget that you are dreaming, that which make you think the dead are living, and the living, dead, that which calls you late to events long past, that which casts you in a thousand roles whose lines you have never learned.  It is illusion and confabulation, a fabulist beyond all others.  He speaks truth only in service to greater lies."

Danny… understood some of those words.  Maybe if was more awake, he'd know more of them.  

“Even so, within the bounds of this, our trial, he will be forced to some measure of truth.  He must set a true price for his token, when asked three times, and when that price is paid, he must hand it over.  But even such a small honesty is one it despises, and it will seek to mislead us.”

“Mhm,” said Danny.  Beast guy would lie, and lie a lot.  Not much different than dealing with Nocturne themself.  Must be a dream thing.  

His eyes drifted to the trees and flowers outside the cage.  Periodically, glossy leaves reflected his aura back at him, making him blink and wince.  The trees here were really big, most of them towering even over Nocturne.  Which made sense, if Nocturne was from here, and they had those huge butterflies to contend with.  They’d fit their scale.  It still felt weird to Danny, and didn’t help with his deepening sense of unreality.

He blinked again, and his blink must have been longer than he'd thought, because when he opened his eyes, they were no longer walking, but standing under a massive apple tree.  Its branches spread wide and hung heavy with brilliantly red fruit.  No other trees grew under its shadow.  

To either side of the trunk, set into the hedge-like mass of greenery beyond the reach of the single great apple tree, were two tall gates made of pale materials.  Flowering vines grew around them, holding them shut as effectively as any chain. 

Speaking of chains… he shifted uneasily, and listened to the soft clanking of the blankets around him.  Yeah.  They were still messed up by… whatever was going on.  It wasn’t as if Nocturne had actually explained anything, and–

Something in the tree moved.  Danny startled as he realized that something was an immense snake.  Patterned in poisonous green and red, it blended in almost-perfectly with the surrounding leaves and apples.  

Normally, he wouldn’t blink twice at a giant ghost snake.  He’d fought more than his fair share of them.  Cobras, boas, vipers, rattlesnakes, you name it.  But this ghost radiated power far beyond that of a normal animal ghost, and he felt himself shrinking down among the pillows and blankets in an attempt to hide.  

He knew it wouldn’t work.  He was glowing too brightly.  

“Nocturne,” said the snake without moving his mouth.  His was deep and smooth, and reminded Danny of Vlad and, oddly, Clockwork.  “What an unexpected pleasure!”  It extended its head down, beyond the lower branches of the tree, as if in greeting.  “I see you have a new lantern with which to light your way.  I wish you good fortune on your journey, and hope you gain everything you seek.”

Danny winced at the use of the word ‘wish,’ but Desiree didn’t immediately jump out of the bushes, so he forced himself to refocus on the conversation in front of him.  

“Falsehood,” said Nocturne, “I come for your token.  What price have you set for it?”

“Is that any way to greet a friend?  It has been so long since your last visit, and you have not even thought to introduce your new friend.”  The snake lowered itself partially to the ground, the end of his tail still hidden in the trees, and began to circle Danny and Nocturne.  “He looks delectable.  I would love to just gobble him up.  That’s a joke, dear.”  It twisted to look more fully at Nocturne.  “I would never dispute your ownership of anything, after all.  Much less the light you steer by.”

“Enough,” said Nocturne.  “What price have you set for your token, that I might move forward?”

The snake shook his head.  "Moving forward, my dear?  Is that what you call this?  I must congratulate you indeed.  And in such a timely manner, too, for just the other night, another lantern-bearer came by, and took for herself the last of my to–"

"What must we pay to receive your token?"

"You won’t let me have even the smallest morsel of fun," complained the snake. "Your mother taught you no manners.  But very well.”  It turned away from both of them, somehow conveying the sentiment of sulking despite its body being a tube.  “In exchange for my token, I require either a thing that is both true and false at once, one lie that will become true, or one truth that will become a lie.”

"Any one?" asked Nocturne suspiciously. 

"The merchant cares not if you pay in gold or silver, only that he is paid."

"I want an answer, not a riddle."

"That is my sister's domain, not mine."

“Oh my gosh,” said Danny.  “Just do it.  If he doesn’t give you anything, then you know he lied.”

“Stupid child.  What do you think he means by ‘will become?’  So long as even a fraction of this place is held in reality, he has the power to make it so, and his games are far worse than those of the jinn you play with.”

“I know the rules as well as you, if not better,” protested the snake.  “I would not break them.”

“You would if you could.”

“I will not break them, then.  It is the same.  If you do not, perhaps I will assume you did come just to visit.  There are so many things you have missed when you were away, dearest.  It breaks my heart.”

“I doubt that.  This place is an abandoned ruin, the merest shadow of what it was.”

“And many places are, since the reign of the Pariah,” said the snake, mildly.  “Yet, even so, you have come here, dreamer in hand.  Do you imagine that everything is where you left it, even as you say that this place has fallen?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.”

Nocturne shook their head.  “I will not listen to your lies.  You won’t trick me.  Not again.”  They hung Danny’s cage on one of the lower branches and started to pace, hands behind their back.  

The snake sighed, and, to Danny’s alarm, wound around the branch he was suspended from to peer into the cage.  His eyes weren’t like a normal snake’s.  Instead of pupils, they had several spirals in varying shades of red, green, and black, and rotated slowly, hypnotically.  Danny found himself unable to look away, his awareness of Nocturne and, indeed, the rest of the snake fading.  

Until, that is, the snake spoke again.  

“It is just as possible for a lie to be told for a greater truth, as it is for a truth to be told for a lie.  I do not care for you, but my games, as you call them, are for the greater good of all.”

Danny blinked his eyes, which had begun to water, hard.  Crap, that was scary.  Not quite to the level of Freakshow’s staff, but scary.  The only thing that kept him from trying to find a way out right now was that even if he escaped, his family couldn’t.  He needed to stay here, stay strong, for them.  He’d already tried everything he could do on his own.  

“You will accept a statement that is both true and not in exchange for your token?”

“Yes.  Or one truth that will become false, or one falsehood that will become true.  I’m not terribly picky.”

“And you only want to hear this thing, not wipe it from my mind?”

“I don’t even have the power to do that.”

“I know for a fact you do.  You only want to hear this statement, and you will accept that as payment?”

“Oh, are you asking me three times?  It is almost as if you don’t trust me.  That’s hurtful, after our long acquaintance.”

“Will you, or will you not, accept a statement both true and false as payment?”

“I will, I will!”  The snake sniffed loudly, a sound Danny didn’t even think snakes could make…  Then again, this snake was talking, a ghost, and maybe also a dream (Danny was unclear on that point), so, really, they were already far beyond that point.  “I know you don’t consider me worthy of respect, but shouldn’t you at least respect the rites and rules?  It will go much more smoothly.  Quickly, too, if that’s something you’re after.”

Nocturne smothered a growl.  They raised a knuckle to their lips, the starry blackness of the digit standing out starkly against their mask-like face.  “Then my payment is this: the path I seek is the one that leads to the Crown and Cup of Dreams.”

The snake laughed, an odd, barking noise.  “And you say I never taught you anything.”

Nocturne opened their mouth as if to argue, expression pinched and sour, but then closed it, thoughtfully.  “You are trying to distract me.  I have given you payment.  I expect your token in return.”

The snake sighed long and heavy.  It wound its way onto a nearby branch and pointed its nose at one of the apples.  “Any of these apples may serve as my token.”

Nocturne quickly picked the apple the snake had indicated.  Then, they flew to where Danny’s cage still hung.

In Nocturne’s hand, the apple was large.  Big enough that it wouldn’t look strange if they tried to take a bite out of it.  Big enough that if it was hollowed out, Danny could fit in it comfortably.  But that wasn’t what Nocturne did.  Instead, they brought the apple to the bars of the cage, and as it passed through them, it shrunk down until it could fit easily in Danny’s hands.  

The perspective made Danny’s head swim.  It didn’t work.  But it did, and it was, and Nocturne was pressing the apple against his lips.  

“Eat,” they said.  Despite their earlier anger, that smug, teasing smile was once again bending the corners of their lips upward.  “The purpose of these tokens is to ensure the lantern can light the way.”

Danny leaned away from the apple, squinting at it.  "No," he said.  

It wasn't as if Danny's parents had ever sent him to Sunday School (the Holy Spirit was bad enough.  The Holy Ghost?  You got the picture), but Sam had always been delighted to share the darker stories, and Tucker’s parents went to church on Sunday mornings, whether Danny was staying over or not.  Plus, he did try to pay attention to literary symbolism in English, even if Mr. Lancer didn't think so.  

A snake offering apples?  Bad news. 

Maybe if Nocturne was the one being told to eat it, or if Danny's friends and family weren't on the line, he wouldn't have said anything, because screw Nocturne.  But they weren't and they were.  

"This isn't your token.  You're lying."a

The snake chuckled.  "Clever child."

Nocturne snarled and darted forward, clawed hand closing around the serpent's neck.  The edges of their form were flared out, like feathers or fur.  The apple fell down and vanished among the pillows and blankets.  

"I have paid your price.  I fulfill every requirement to walk this path, and you have no right to keep it from me!"

The serpent evaporated and reformed deep among the branches of the apple tree.  “You call me a liar, when you tell such untruths yourself!  Every right is mine, and mine alone!  Nor was I paid.”

“I gave you my statement, both true and untrue.  You will not cheat me.  Not now.”

“Did you?” asked the snake, clearly delighted by this turn of events.  

“How dare you speak of rules and respect, when you desecrate this ancient rite?  How dare you stand in my way, when I–”

“Indeed!  Who else should stand in your way?  My sisters and brothers?  All those with a greater claim to this path?”

As it turned out, despite everything, Danny had been paying attention to the whole conversation, even if he hadn’t followed all of it.  Nocturne had been sure the snake couldn’t lie if he was asked the same thing three times… so maybe he didn’t.  

“If the token is for me,” he said, slowly, “is Nocturne the one who has to pay the price, or is it me?  When you said ‘you’ earlier, you were talking to me, weren’t you?  I’m the one who needs to say one of those three things?”

The snake approached again, and Danny hastily averted his eyes.  "I like this one, Nocturne.  He reminds me of you, when you were younger, and better behaved."  He paused, significantly.  "And smarter.  Yes, little light, you are the one who must answer me, if you desire my token.  Of course if you do not…"  

Danny understood what the snake was implying, but he did, in fact, need that token.  

He really hated hostage situations.

But if what Nocturne had implied about the snake’s powers was true, maybe he could use this.  After all, nothing said the lie had to be his.

"Nocturne said they'd bring my family and friends out of their comas if I help them.  Can I give you that as the lie?"

The snake started laughing.  Danny, meanwhile, felt like his brain had been peeled out of his body and he was floating over his skin.  The persistent misty softness had converged on him, and now he was floating.  

"I had doubted before, but now I understand how it is that you were the one to defeat Pariah Dark.  Nocturne, dear, he has to be able to take the token.  I doubt keeping him like that will prevent him from vexing you, anyway."

“I can make him take it.”

“As you would.  Now–”

“You have not been this cooperative before.”

“Perhaps I simply want you gone.  You are, as I have mentioned, incredibly rude.  And ugly.  And I find what you are doing to be repugnant, as you yourself would, had you given it thought beyond your base desires.  Not that you listen to me–”

“You’re going to try to pass off something random as your token again, aren’t you?  And then you’ll claim it is because you didn’t give it to him, you cheat.”

“Me?  A cheat?  Never.  Or only at card games.  It is very difficult to play a hand when you don’t have any.”

“You aren’t even a snake.  You only look that way because of how he’s dreaming you.  But what I don’t understand is why you seem to want him awake.  You’re never this transparent.”

“Are you sure I want him awake?  Perhaps that is only what I want you to think.  Ah, and now you’re tying yourself in circles.  A shame.  Once you were good at this.  Or at least passable.  And you wonder why you couldn’t even hold the dreams of a single human city, much less the power that passes through here.”

“I am the Master of Dreams, and–”

“Only because there was no one else qualified.”

There was a long silence, and Danny felt himself drifting back to the surface of awareness.  That had been… strange.  

“Give him,” said Nocturne, their voice gravely with suppressed rage, “your token.”

Danny noticed with some alarm that the snake was wound around the cage.  When did it get so close?  Why did it get so close?  His scales flashed at him.  

“Take two,” said the snake.  

“What?”

“Take two of my scales.  Together, they make my token.”

“And… am I supposed to eat them or something?”  That… was that the right thing to ask?  Everything was still a bit floaty.  “Don’t laugh,” he said, crossly as the snake started to snicker.  It did that a lot.  “I’m serious.  You wanted me to eat the other thing.  The, um, the apple.  Are you going to make me eat these, too?”

“Take them and find out.”

Danny glanced back at Nocturne, but they didn’t make any objection this time.  Carefully and slowly, he crawled over the blankets to the bars of the cage.  Because of the way the bottom of the cage was curved and how the pillows and blankets were ever so slightly higher near the outside edge, he had to hold onto one of the bars to stay in place.  

“Any two?” he asked.

“No, the two you get by adding one and one.”

Danny glared at the snake for a moment, but quickly returned to looking at the scales.  Each one was only a little smaller across than his palm.  They glittered, and Danny blinked sleepy tears out of his eyes.  He adjusted his grip on the bars and resisted the temptation to lie down.  

He really didn't want to do this.  

"It won't hurt you?" he asked. That wasn't his main concern, but… in the moment, it was a concern.

"No more than pulling free a hair."

Depending on the hair, that could hurt quite a bit.  He reached out and grabbed a scale at random.  It slid free with surprising ease.

Most of it was green, but the edge of it was vivid red, as if it had been rolled in blood.  He tucked it quickly into the pocket at his breast, and reached for the next scale.  This one was green all over, a smooth gradient from one side to the other.  

He let go of the bar and slid back into the cozy nest in the center of the cage as if guided by an outside force.  Even without Nocturne’s intervention, the blankets and pillows tucked themselves in around him.  If anything, he felt even more secure than before, only head and hands free.  

But he was sitting there, holding the scales, one in each hand.  

In dreams, occasionally a dreamer is seized by knowledge or need apropos of nothing.  They know that this is their grandmother's house, even though it's obviously the grocery store.  They know they must hold the cards with only their left hand, or otherwise they'll lose, never mind what game they're playing.  Sometimes, too, the dreamer simply acts.  The impetus for their actions obscure, not originating from their own thoughts.  Jumping from cars, yelling, fighting, eating, smoking, cheating on tests, being unable to stop.  

Danny, not thinking about anything in particular, raised the scales to his eyes.  They sunk into his skin without a trace.  

At first, he rubbed his skin and eyes furiously, hoping to find a way to peel them off, but then… 

He saw.  

He could see.  

Before, it had been difficult to keep his eyes open, impossible to see past his own aura, but now everything looked so clear, from the leaves, to the apples, to the grass, to the gates and the ruins beyond them.  

"You see, now," said the snake, kindly.  "The purpose of my token is to shield your eyes, so you can see.  And, I suppose, better guide the one that carries you.  Before, you burned too brightly for your own good, but now…"  

Danny nodded as the snake spoke.  Vaguely, he felt as if he shouldn't agree with him, but what he was saying made sense.  He did see better.  He saw more.  

Most things were still misty, out of the corners of his eyes, but directly in front of them, they were clear and crisp.  Sharp.  Well defined.  

He could even see the path on the forest floor, where it ran underneath them and to one of the pale gates - which didn't look nearly as overgrown as he had originally thought.  

(There was something very wrong with that thought, with all these thoughts.  But this thought, in turn, slipped away and disappeared.)

“Which way, child?” asked Nocturne.  “We have wasted enough time here.”

Danny’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, so he pointed instead.  It was strange that Nocturne could not see the path.  Nocturne walked that way, lantern in hand.  And when had he picked the cage back up?  Danny was missing something.

“Nocturne,” called the snake.  “I meant what I said.”

“About what?”

“All of it.  Give my sister-self my regards.”

[feefeewrites]

Veiled in Shadows

Severus Snape x reader

Title: Veiled in shadows

Severus Snape x reader

Summary: After Dumbledore's death at his hand, Severus finds comfort in the reader and makes a heartbreaking decision.

---

A creaking door interupted the heavy silence upon Spinner's End, revealing Severus' hunched frame. His face, usually impassive, was deeply etched with weariness and the burden of his betrayal.

You sat by the fireplace, some mending lying forgotten in your lap as you looked up at him. The flickering flames cast eerie shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of exhaustion surrounding his features.

"Severus..." you whispered, rising from your seat and crossing the room to embrace him, feeling the tension in his body as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

He clung to you like a drowning man, his fingers trembling against your back. "I couldn't..." he began, his voice waivering, "I had to do it."

You held him tighter. "It's not your fault," you softly tried to assure him, brushing a hand gently through the dark locks of his hair. "You did what you had to do." The two of you remained it each other's arm for a long time.

But as the night wore on and the hours slipped away, a shadow fell over his gaze. You sensed a shift in his demeanor, felt a determination that worried you.

And then, when you least expected it, his hand reached out, fingers caressing your temple with a whispered incantation. Your mind swam as a fog descended, clouding your thoughts and memories. Panic surged within you, a primal instinct screaming for you to fight against the encroaching darkness.

"Severus?" you cried out, your voice laced with fear as you struggled against the invisible force that threatened to consume your mind.

Your memories slipped away like smoke, fading into nothingness with each passing moment. Faces blurred, and voices became distant echoes.

Desperation clawed at your heart as you reached out for Severus, grasping desperately at the threads of your rapidly fading reality. "Please," you begged, tears streaming down your face, "don't leave-"

It was no use. He was already slipping away, his form growing fainter with each heartbeat. And then, with a final whispered apology, he vanished into the shadows, leaving you alone in a world that suddenly felt cold and empty.

In the aftermath, all that remained was a hollow ache, a gaping void where memories once thrived. And though you couldn't remember his face or the sound of his voice, you could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers against your skin, a bittersweet reminder of a love that had been lost.

[bloglophop]

“Sense”

Mila and Law’s first meeting at Punk Hazard.

Song for vibes: Madeline and Theo by Lena Raine (this is…what Law and Mila meeting sounds like as a sound. Hope that makes sense. )

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Law was going crazy.

He had to be, and it made sense, given the harshness of the pure, frigid, soundless landscape he currently resided in.

It would probably make anyone go nuts if they stayed there long enough, and one look at Caesar clown was enough to affirm those suspicions tenfold.

As long as he stayed on mission it didn’t matter, but Law was definitely losing his mind a little to the cabin fever.

Either that, or every other day around the exact same time, some invisible force was moving his stuff.

Law’s desk was full of books and loose pieces of paper, stained with coffee mug rings and inky fingerprints from working too hard and too late into the night. It was his desk, he was allowed to keep it as messy or as tidy as he god damn pleased, and it was with a great amount of incredulity and indignance that over the last few months, every other day at around 6pm, he would return to his desk and find his papers scattered with complete abandon all over the room.

Beyond irritated with this frequent disturbance, Law had made the mistake of going to Caesar and asking if he knew anything about it.

“Someone’s been meddling with your office? Why, Law, I haven’t a clue!”

The horned man whirled around in the air, a big grin plastered across his ashy face- a grin that told Law Caesar knew exactly what was going on. Not at all in the mood to entertain Caesar’s foolish practices, Law simply made a gruff noise of confirmation and started to walk away.

”I hope that the trouble is quick to resolve itself, Law!” Caesar cooed to the back of Law’s head as the doctor continued to leave, his frown growing deeper.

“I do hope it’s not too unhareable- I mean, unbearable!” The clown cracked out into his signature ghostly cackle, and it was all Law could do to keep walking and not trample extremely hard on Caesar’s boxed up heart when he got back to his quarters that night.

Every other day.

6pm.

Mess.

The security cameras in the hallway outside of Law’s office revealed little except the yells of frustration he would emit after getting his concentration broken for the umpteenth time.

The final straw was when it happened right in his face as he was just sitting there, trying to work.

Law had been putting off taking a break for a little longer than he usually did, holding his head in one hand, hunched over as he wrote furiously with a pen in the other.

Without a single warning, every paper and lightweight object not secured or tied to a notebook went whirling up, thrown violently and with forceful abandon across the room. Law let out a gruff cry of frustration, swatting papers away from his face, standing up from his desk so quickly he made the chair fall over with a loud clang.

“Damn it!” Law seethed, his golden eyes wide as he looked around, scuffing his hand roughly through his choppy black hair.

”Sorry!”

Law went rigid, more frozen than the bleary white landscape outside.

Sorry? Had he just heard someone say sorry?

He strode from his desk to the open door, almost hurting his neck as he whipped his head around, scanning the hallway for whoever might have just spoken.

No one was there, and though it left Law with a clenched jaw and hot irritation bubbling away in his chest, this offensive intrusion was actually a blessing in disguise. The encounter had provided him with both the pain and the balm he needed to relieve it.

Because hallucinations didn’t apologise for causing a mess.

And if it wasn’t a hallucination, it was susceptible to his Room.

Law had a whole free day to plan, and then, the day after that, he waited.

The lights were off in his office, the door was open as usual, and Trafalgar Law was at his wits ends. In one hand he gripped a rolled up newspaper, watching the digital clock in the corner of the room as it provided a small glow of yellow light, ticking away at a countdown to 6pm.

3…2…1…

”Room!”

Law dashed out into the hallway, filling the entire space with an opaque blue as his devil fruit activated, searching for- whatever he was searching for within the space, and Law found it.

Moving fast- impossibly fast, he detected a presence in his Room coming from the far end of the hallway, about to pass his office. Law almost cracked a grin. This was too easy.

”Shambles!”

Flicking his wrist and fingers turning upwards, the newspaper disappeared from Law’s hand, and he instead found himself with a fistful of furs, the paper dropping harmlessly to the floor.

The same could not be said, however, about Law.

The thing he was gripping by the scruff of the neck- a person- was moving so fast that the force of being snatched up by Law dragged them both to the ground: Law unwilling to let go, the stranger unable to slow down.

Law grit his teeth as he stumbled to the cold metal floor, suppressing a hiss of pain in favour of being the first to recover. Not having his sword on him meant he had to get his hands dirty, but by this point, that was fine.

Law was pissed enough to no longer care.

Grabbing them with both hands now, two iron grips marked with death digging into plush fur, Law shoved them to the ground and scrabbled to get his knee on their chest so he could pin them down with his whole weight.

“Who are you?” Law demanded as he grappled with the squirming thing beneath him, undeterred by the clumsily kicking feet and scratchy nails.

“Stop that.” He snapped, increasing the pressure on their chest. “Why are you messing with my office?”

“I’m sorry, sorry, please!”

Law was a little surprised at the voice- lilting despite being strained with fear, with something of a sibilant ‘S’. Not quite the voice of the infuriating chaos maker he’d been expecting to apprehend. Law’s grip relaxed a fraction, just enough for the stranger to shrug their shoulders up and use them to awkwardly push their hood back off of their face, arms trapped at their sides by Law’s body.

Law found himself looking at a girl.

This, in itself, was no matter. Unlike that idiotic cook from the Strawhats, Law had no issue whatsoever fighting people of any gender, so it wasn’t that detail that gave him pause.

It was her eyes.

Amber and as wide as dinner plates. Her eyes were pleading, unblinking, set strangely and uncannily against her sweet and unassuming face.

“Who are you?” Law repeated again, maintaining his hostility as his perceptive gaze took in every detail- something he was sure that she was doing to him, too.

“I’m Mila” Mila’s lips were drawn up a little, contorted with worry. “I’m a courier! Between Caesar Clown, and- and Joker!”

Law sat up a little, exhaling sharply through his nose. So this was who Caesar had been alluding to previously.

“You’re Trafalgar Law,” Mila continued. “I know you, a captain, a warlord, you-“

“Yeah,” Law cut off her nervous blabbering with a sharp look. “Don’t need you to tell me who I am.”

Mila stared up at Law, cringing as another attempt to wriggle out from underneath him earned her more pressure against her chest.

”Mila. Cottontail.” Law muttered.

It had finally clicked. The last time Law had heard about Cottontail Mila, she was an extremely low level player in the pirate world from some backwater town in the North Blue. To see her here now, working under such high rollers was quite a surprise.

”You’re that messenger girl.” Law asserted, raising an eyebrow at her.

”Yes!” Mila squeaked, ducking her chin up and down in a nod. “I’m so sorry if I scared you!”

Law was taken aback somewhat, both by the apology and the notion that she could possibly scare him.

Mila was dressed for the harsh weather conditions, a soft and furry brown coat with a plush ruff around the neck and a hood to keep out the cold. The coat came down to her knees, where it looked like she had just layered leg warmer after leg warmer on top of the other to protect her lower half, topped off with a matching pair of fuzzy boots that she had been uselessly trying to kick Law with.

The coat had random bits of ribbon and bows pinned to it, like she’d tripped and fallen into a sewing basket.

Something about her hopeful, wind-chilled face made Law relent somewhat.

”You come by here every other day. Why.” Law demanded, folding his arms across his chest. He had no intention of letting her up just yet and, honestly, her coat was actually pretty comfortable to sit on.

Realising she was stuck, Mila let her head flop back against the floor, letting out a small ‘ow!’ As she accidentally banged her head, making Law fight the urge to smirk.

“I just deliver things between Caesar and Joker.” Mila answered, fighting the urge to try and free one of her hands so she could rub her head. “Parcels usually, sometimes just letters.” She mumbled.

Law clicked his tongue, nodding just a little. It made sense- Doflamingo would want to see samples and reports straight from the lab.

”Alright.” He conceded, easing up the pressure on her.

The second Mila had an inch, she took a mile, worming her way out from underneath him with a hurried;

”Wellthanksitwassonicemeetingyou, buh bye- eek!”

The last portion of her babbled sentence was punctuated by a yelp as Law had her by the wrist, pulling her back down to the ground to be level with him again, kneeling in front of each other.

“Hold it, Cottontail.” Law huffed, his patience wearing wafer thin. “You didn’t answer me. You make a damn mess of my office every single time you visit. Why!?”

Mila twitched, nibbling fretfully at her lip.

“I- oh, I thought I might be doing that, only, if you leave the door open when I’m coming past…” Mila offered Law a strained, toothy smile. “I’m so fast it’s been sending all your papers flying, hasn’t it?” She shrugged her shoulders up bashfully to her ears, continuing to smile at Law in the hopes it would melt his icy glare.

It was her sheer speed doing that? Law raised an eyebrow.

“So it’s my fault for leaving the door open?” He pressed.

Law had endured enough nights of tidying up scattered lab reports to warrant making the messenger squirm a little, and squirm she did.

”Oh no, no, not at all!” Mila’s smile dropped. “I just- I get so focused on getting my job done on time-“

“That you cause problems when I try to do mine?” Law cocked his head to one side, his lips twitching into a small smile as he watched Mila get more and more embarrassed.

“No, no!” Mila raised her free hand up to her mouth, biting down hard on the crook of her thumb in an attempt to displace her anxiety. Seeing this, Law released his grip on Mila’s wrist. His curiosity had been satisfied- he was a pirate, but he wasn’t about to be a monster to some overworked and weary looking girl.

“Stop that.” He sounded a little harsher than he meant to, but Mila stopped, looking guiltily up at Law.

“Walk next time. It’s bad manners to run around indoors like that.” Law let out a sigh, glancing off to the side. “Though I’m not surprised no one enforces manners around the Donquixote family.”

Mila blinked at him a few times, then let out an odd little laugh.

”I’m not part of the family.” She stared at him. Law’s golden gaze snapped back to her.

“I’m an independent party.” Mila explained. “I’m not…I’ll work for anyone. Here,” She suddenly pulled the sleeve of her coat down, showing her arm to Law. It was covered with watches, all of them engraved with the name of a different location, each showing a different time. “These are where all my major clients are located, see?” She pointed.

Law’s eyes widened a fraction.

”Some of these are Marine bases.” He stated blankly.

”Mhm.” Mila pulled her sleeve back down, scrabbling to sit up a little, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“…Why would any pirate hire you, knowing you work for Marines?” Law asked, incredulous.

“M-A-D.” Mila answered, simply and cheerfully.

“M-A-D?” Law frowned.

“Mutually assured destruction.” Mila nodded. “Pirates trust me with their very important information. But, if I do a bad job for the pirates, most of them know they could probably just…make me disappear after torturing some useful Marine information out of me.”

Law was a little taken aback at the eerily casual way Mila discussed the idea of her being tortured.

”Why aren’t you more concerned about that happening?” Law’s expression betrayed no emotion other than slightly shocked curiosity.

Mila locked eyes with him, suddenly fixing Law with a very wide eyed and serious look, already getting to her feet to be on her way as she spoke.

”Because I never do a bad job for anyone.”

[vvaspoppie]

Otto Octavius: Instinctive

→ Summary: After an incident, Otto finds out that Y/N is a mutant. → Author’s Note: Idk what this is probably the result of my Doc Ock obsession and watching some of the X-Men + Wolverine movies. Not evil Otto for this one. Pretend Norman allows them lunch breaks. →⚠ Warnings ⚠: Insecurities(?) → Fandom: Spectacular Spider-Man → Genre: Oneshot → Word Count: 1.2k → Pronouns: They/Them

You had no idea what Otto would think if he found out. You had been working at OsCorp for a good few years and in that time you’d come to consider him a friend. He seemed nice, but then again most people did when they didn’t know you were a mutant. It’s why you choose to keep it completely under wraps. The only people that knew were in your family. 

You worked in the genetics department. It seemed cliché, the person with a genetic mutation studying genetics, but that’s just how life works sometimes. You don’t remember how you met, and you didn’t really need to. You both took lunch at the same time and had been doing so since your first month at the company. 

It was lunch right then, not that you would have known that. You were too engrossed to notice the passage of time or your colleagues leaving the room or even Otto hesitantly approaching your hunched-over form. He softly called out to you but to your unprepared mind, it registered as a threat. On instinct, you disappeared. At least that’s what it must have looked like to Otto. You looked down at your arms and saw nothing. You saw the shock spread across his face as you silently stared. He turned around the room in search of you, mouth slightly agape. It was a better reaction than your last boyfriend. 

You’d turned semi-invisible in your sleep (meaning only your clothes were visible) and when he saw you he thought there was a ghost in your apartment. (Which was somehow more acceptable to him than the real reason). 

He softly whispered your name, which was when you reappeared. He jumped back in shock. “H-how did you do that?” He kept his voice low, likely not wanting to attract any attention from the people walking the halls outside.

Oh God, it was happening. You couldn’t tell if the look on his face was the ‘what-the-hell-did-you-do’ kind of shock or the ‘what-the-hell-are-you’ kind of shock. It was usually the second kind, but you didn’t believe Otto was like that. Didn’t want to believe he was like that.

Your heart was beating a mile a minute and your ears were burning hot as coal. This was it. You took in a deep breath and decided it would be quicker and easier to rip the bandaid off immediately. “I’m a mutant.” Then there was silence. His face reminded you of someone who had just figured out a complicated math equation, just more excited. 

It seemed as if the words went directly from brain to mouth. “Do you know how it works?” The realisation seemed to hit him quickly as he fumbled a bit with his next words. “Of course you know how they work,” he mumbled it like an apology, “D-do you know how it works on a cellular level, I mean.” With each passing word his voice became softer. You simply stared at him. You knew he was a scientist but his attitude still surprised you. Not afraid of the unfamiliar and instead interested - captivated by it - even. “No,” that was the word that opened the floodgates, “but I am doing independent study using my own blood. Oh, I also did my thesis on the genetic differences in human and mutant DNA.”

A small smile made its way onto his face. The air of the room was far less tense than a few moments before. “I suppose that’s why you never mentioned your thesis before.” Your face fell somewhat. “I can talk about it more if you want, just - don’t tell anyone else. Please.” It bruised your ego a bit to be pleading with someone like you're a school child asking someone not to tell anyone about your crush, but what else could you do. 

“Yes, of course,” he cleared his throat, though it sounded more than a little forced, “should we get to lunch now?”

You whipped your head in the direction of the clock on the wall. Your lunch break started a whole five minutes ago.

“Sure, sure. My bad.”

↔

At most lunches, you were both too drained to speak about much, preferring to enjoy each other's company in silence. Otto was more talkative than before for obvious reasons.

“You could commit crimes very easily with your abilities,” he spoke softly.

“I suppose so,” you didn’t quite enjoy what he was implying, but you didn’t want to assume deeper meaning where there might not have been.

“Have you?” Once again, brain directly to mouth. “Thought of it I mean- I know you’d never do something like that.”

“A few times,” it was tempting, even the best people’s minds would wander if they had your abilities, “I never acted on it. I doubt OsCorp would hire someone with a criminal record.” Nark sons of-

“Of course they wouldn’t, it would be horrible for publicity.” He cleared his throat and gulped down his water.

“Sure.” The conversation ended there and left a one-sided awkward air between the two of you. You wondered if it was a felony or a misdemeanour that caused the sudden uptick in his nerves. 

↔

It was the end of the workday and the lunchtime incident was almost completely absent from your mind. You packed your lab equipment away and wiped down almost every surface that you could. You weren’t sure if Otto was still in the building, but knowing him you ventured to guess he was. When you reached his lab, you could clearly hear what sounded almost like an argument. Almost because it was just someone else berating him. You knocked on the door and called out his name. The room went quiet and not a minute later Mr Osborn stormed out of the room. He shot you an irritated glance, but said nothing.

You hesitantly poked your head into the doorway. The lab was clean and Otto looked to be unharmed. (physically at least)

“Are you in trouble?” You asked, stepping into the room.

“No, no trouble. Mr Osborn is just … like that.” He was trying to keep the mask up, but it was plainly obvious that he was upset. Maybe now wasn’t the best moment to ask, but then again- “Do you want to go get dinner with me? I could pay if you want.”

“Yes.” His answer was quick, but his backtracking was just as fast. “I-I would love to…” He trailed off.

“But?”

“But I have more work still to do.” He sounded as disappointed as you felt.

“I thought they weren’t allowing overtime for this month?” HR did a crappy job of explaining why, but you got the basic idea down.

You could practically hear the way his heartbeat spiked by the look on his face. “It’s a special occasion.” You decided it was best not to question the way higher-ups thought.

“Do you know when you’ll be free?” This conversation was a verbal trainwreck.

“I believe I’ll be available next Thursday.” He had that awkward smile on his face again, it looked almost like the one he had when a hypothesis was proven wrong.

“That works.” The little confidence you had when you first walked into the room was nowhere to be found at this point in the conversation. He extended his hand, and you shook it. “It’s a date.”

He had to have been the most awkward yet cute person you’d ever known. And you had a date with him next Thursday.

Tagging: @sargensliza

[takingchences]

𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐩𝐭. 𝟔

A descendant of a legendary quirk longs to separate herself from her family name, but first she'll have to confront villains, ghosts from the past, and her growing attraction for Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x OP!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language

If you wish to join the taglist let me know! Thank you for reading and an early Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

series masterlist + my masterlist

After the reporters were escorted off campus, the rest of the day went smoothly. Bakugou was back to his usual boisterous self, which Sana was actually happy about (not that she'd ever admit it).

Momo offered to treat the girls at a nearby cafe, but Sana declined. The girl felt exhausted after such an exciting day and longed for her bed. There was a part of her that dreaded going home though. Thanks to Bakugou, she'd managed to evade the press and their questions, but she was afraid that somehow her father had found out anyway and was waiting for her.

So Sana walked as slowly as possible, dragging out the twenty minute walk back to her house to about thirty-five minutes. She'd barely touched the knob before the door swung open. Carefully, she poked her head inside. The entryway was empty, and no footsteps could be heard approaching. The solar powered girl wiped away an invisible drop of sweat. Thank God he's not-

"Why are you just standing there?"

Sana shrieked, jumping back in fright.

Umi stood hidden behind the door, a duster in hand. Her other hand was still on the doorknob. The young girl doubled over, clutching her chest in fear that the vital organ might break free from her chest. Dammit. She'd actually felt the years being taken off her lifespan.

"I saw you walking up through the window," the housekeeper put a fist on her hip. Her head was tilted to the left, taking in the hunched figure before her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," the solar girl sighed, pulling herself up to face the older woman. "Is he-"

"Gone. He's been in and out of meetings all afternoon." Sana breathed a sigh of relief. For now, she was safe. She noticed how Umi's eyes glanced behind her towards the street before returning to her.

"What is it?" Sana followed her gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"I just thought Shoto would be with you."

Hearing his name didn't help calm her heart. For months she'd made excuses as to why Shoto hadn't been around. She'd claimed that he was taking up more training for the entrance exam (which was probably true), or that he'd finally taken the time to visit Rei in the hospital. Anything she could think of to explain his absence, but honestly? She had no idea what her best friend had been up to all these months. She wasn't even sure what she'd done in the first place to deserve his silent treatment.

"We've both been pretty busy lately," Sana forced her lips to lift upwards. She'd perfected her fake smile over the years for all of the cameras and public appearances, but Umi knew her almost too well. She was scared that if she looked closer, she would see the overwhelming sadness Sana felt in her heart reflected in her eyes.

The housekeeper didn't look entirely convinced, but she didn't press the subject, either.

Admitting out loud that they'd had a falling out made it real. And Sana wasn't ready to face that reality yet, so she happily fed into the fantasy.

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

The next morning was uneventful. No sign of flashing cameras or pesky reporters camped outside the gates. No more stampedes in the hallway. The most excitement 1-A faced was Midnight surprising them with a pop quiz.

Lunch was peaceful. Sana sat at her usual table with Mina and the boys. She spotted Shinso lounging at the same table as yesterday and waved. His hooded eyes widened a fraction before hesitantly returning the gesture.

"Oh?" Mina leaned in close, her lips curled deviously. "And just who were you waving to?"

"A friend."

Mina gasped dramatically. "Do I know this friend?" Her bright eyes narrowed in suspicion. She leaned in close, though the volume of her voice didn't change. If she was trying to be sneaky about it, she was failing miserably. The whole table's attention was now focused on the them. "More importantly, is this mystery friend a guy?" Sana opened her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Mina clasping her hands together in prayer. "And if he is, PLEASE tell me he's hot!" The solar girl laughed, shaking her head. She wasn't blind. Shinso was very handsome, but there was a specific type that she was attracted to.

Normal guys just didn't cut it. She had her first love to thank for that.

"Am I not allowed to have hot guy friends?" Sana gestured across the table to two very smug-looking guys, one flushed redhead, and a snarling gremlin. She waved her hand dismissively towards the ash blonde. "And whatever you call that."

Kaminari and Sero erupted into cackles.

"THE HELL-" Kirishima grabbed his shoulders and pushed Bakugou back down in his seat. Sana sent him a wink, which earned her a demonic growl.

"Not ones that I don't know about!" Mina protested.

Sana took a long sip of her orange juice. She remembered Mina fangirling over Shoto on their first day. If she ever found out that they were childhood friends... well, she could only imagine the pinkette's reaction, but she had a feeling it would involve a lot of squealing and a few not-so-playful punches in the arm.

She could only smile and shrug.

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

After lunch, Mr. Aizawa stood at the front of the class wearing his hero suit, his hair still messy from the catnap he'd most likely taken during the break. "Today's training will be a little different. You'll have three instructors; me, All Might, and another faculty member will be keeping tabs on you." All around the room students gasped.

"Sir!" Iida held his hand up, like he was waiting to be called on. "What kind of training is this?"

"Rescue." His response caused the excitement level to rise even more. "You'll be dealing with natural disasters, shipwrecks, stuff like that."

A rescue mission? Sana leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. There were all types of heroes out there. There were those that specialized in battle, while others were better suited for search and rescues. It all comes down to how you can help the most in a crisis. If a villain appears in a public space, putting civilians lives at risk, where are you going to be most useful; in the evacuation or the takedown?

This training exercise Aizawa set up for them will test them in a way they couldn't prepare for. Fighting is easy, but protecting someone? Making split second decisions in a life-or-death situation that could cost not only your life, but countless others? How do you prepare for that?

Aizawa told the class to pipe down before continuing. "What you wear in this exercise is up to you. I know you're excited about costumes, but keep in mind that you haven't gotten used to them yet, and they might limit your abilities." The special compartments holding their suits slid out of the wall. "This special training is at an off‐campus facility, so we'll be taking a bus to get there. That's all. Start getting ready."

They all quickly changed into their costumes before congregating outside the school gate. Everyone was in full costume except for Midoriya. Bakugou had done a real number on his adorable green suit during their last heroics class, so the boy was forced to walk around in his gym uniform until the repairs were finished.

They reluctantly lined up outside the bus per the new Class President's instructions. Sana felt a cruel twinge of satisfaction as she boarded the bus and noticed the open layout. Nice try, Iida. She nabbed a spot in the middle next to Kirishima, who was practically vibrating in his seat. Everyone was feeling the excitement. The amount of energy pouring off of them was almost tangible.

"If we're pointing out the obvious, then there's something I wanna say..." Tsuyu caught their attention. She turned to the resident broccoli boy. "About you, actually."

The greenette blushed. "About me? What is it, Asui?"

"I told you to call me 'Tsu.'" The frog-like girl reminded him, flustering the poor thing even more.

"Oh, y-yeah. Right."

The green-haired girl help her finger to her lip in contemplation. "That power of yours. Isn't it a lot like All Might's?" The sound that came out of Midoriya's mouth nearly made Sana snort unattractively. The boy was a red, sweaty mess.

Yeah, I guess... if you ignore the fact that his limbs turn to spaghetti every time he uses it.

Kirishima also pointed out the big difference between their quirks before sighing. "Still, I bet it's cool to have a simple augmenting‐type of Quirk. You can do lots of flashy stuff with it." He held out an arm, activating his quirk. "My hardening's super strong and can destroy bad guys in a fight, but it doesn't look all that impressive."

Sana nudged his knee with her's. "Aren't you being a little hard on yourself?"

"Oh, no way," Midoriya shook his head in denial. "I think it's really awesome looking," he insisted. "You're definitely pro material with a Quirk like that." Thank you, Midoriya, for being so kind. Sana shot him a grateful smile.

"You really think so?" The redhead brightened, but he still looked a little down. "Seems like it'd be easier to be a popular hero if I had something flashier."

"My navel laser's got the perfect combination of panache and strength." Aoyama proudly pointed out, but Mina was quick to pop his bubble.

"But it's way lame if it gives you a stomachache, sweetie." The French boy deflated at that.

"Well, if any of our classmates have pro Quirks," Kirishima steered the conversation back on track."It's gotta be Todoroki, Sakano, and Bakugou."

Sana was genuinely surprised to hear her name mentioned. Not that she didn't believe in herself and her abilities, but to have someone else acknowledge her strength was so rewarding. She'd been compared to Shoto her entire life, but this time was different. Finally, someone was seeing her as an individual, as someone capable of standing on their own, and not in someone else's shadow. Shoto and Bakugou had two of the strongest quirks she'd ever seen, and here was someone who viewed her on the same level as them. It just solidified her belief that she was meant to be here.

"Sure," Tsuyu admitted. "But Bakugou's always angry, so he'll never be that popular."

"What did you say? I'll kick your ass!" Bakugou jumped up from his seat, gripping the handrail tightly as if imagining their necks in its place.

Tsu didn't bat an eye. "See?"

She'd tried to hold it in, but she couldn't keep it in any longer. Sana clutched her sides, snickering uncontrollably. Kaminari joined in the teasing next, casually leaning back in the seat across from her and Kiri. "Y'know, we basically just met you. So it's kinda telling that we all know your personality is flaming crap mixed with garbage." The amusement in his eyes was unmistakable.

"You're gonna regret the day you applied to this school, loser!" Bakugou was perched on the rail now, ready to launch himself at the electric blonde.

Midoriya watched the one-sided argument unfold with a look like he was going to pass out or be carsick, neither of which Sana hoped to witness. They broke off into smaller conversations amongst themselves for the remainder of the short drive.

"We're here." Aizawa announced, standing at the front of the bus. "Stop messing around."

"Yes, sir."

The class stepped off the bus, only to be welcomed by a familiar face... well, mask. "Hello, everyone," The Pro Hero Thirteen greeted them with a wave. "I've been waiting for you! I can't wait to show you what's inside!" The young heroes followed their instructors into the building. From the outside, it didn't look like much. But inside...

"Holy crap!" Kirishima exclaimed.

The interior of the building was huge. A grand staircase led down to the main floor, where areas were sectioned off into mini environments. "A shipwreck, a landslide, a fire, a windstorm, etc..." U.A really went Plus Ultra with their budget, huh? "I created this training facility to prepare you to deal with different types of disasters. I call it the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, but you can call it USJ!"

Aizawa and Thirteen whispered to each other, the rescue hero holding up three fingers. Their homeroom teacher looked annoyed as he turned back to them. Thirteen, on the other hand, was as cheerful as ever.

"Excellent! Before we begin, let me just say one thing. Well, maybe two things... possibly three, four, or five."

The list keeps growing! 1-A sweatdropped.

"Listen carefully. I'm sure you're aware that I have a powerful Quirk called Black Hole. I can use it to suck up anything and turn it into dust, but my Quirk could also very easily be used to kill."

Shocked gasps filled the silence.

"Some of you also have powers that can be dangerous. In our superhuman society, all Quirks are certified and stringently regulated, so we often overlook how unsafe they can actually be. Please don't forget that if you lose focus or make the wrong move, your powers can be deadly. Even if you're trying to do something virtuous like rescue someone."

With great power comes great responsibility. Isn't that what the first heroes used to say?

"Thanks to Aizawa's fitness tests, you have a solid idea of your Quirk's potential. And because of All Might's combat training, you likely experienced how dangerous your powers can be when used against other people. Carry those lessons over to this class. Today, you're going to learn how to use your Quirks to save people's lives. You won't be using your powers to attack enemies or each other, only to help. After all, that's what being a hero is all about. Ensuring the safety of others. That's all I have to say. Thank you so much for listening."

The class clapped and cheered, amazed by the Pro's speech. Mr. Aizawa, of course, already looked like he wanted to go home.

"Right. Now that that's over..." All at once, the group moved their attention to the plaza, where the fountain was acting strange. Suddenly, a dark, misty cloud appeared, a pale hand emerging from the darkness. Mr. Aizawa stepped forward, instantly on alert.

"Stay together and don't move!" Thirteen warned.

The class watched in confusion and awe as their homeroom teacher took a defensive stance, his capture weapon floating around him. His stance was defensive, but strong, as more people stepped through the purple mist.

"Thirteen," Aizawa commanded over his shoulder, his focus locked onto the growing amount of strangers downstairs. "Protect the students!"

Out of the mist appeared a hulking shape. Purple-black skin was stretched tight across bulging muscles. The being's eyes were wide and empty, it's brain exposed. It's beak opened in a reverberating roar. What the hell is that thing? Sana's hands clenched at her side, a slight tremble in her fingers. It obviously wasn't human... not anymore, at least. The students looked to their teachers for guidance on what to do, their voices strained.

"Wait, has the training started already?" Ochaco's voice was apprehensive.

"I thought we were rescuing people?" Kirishima asked.

Sana wasn't so sure herself what was going on, but her gut told her it wasn't anything good. It was clear that as unconventional as his teaching style is, Aizawa wasn't behind this. He looked too tense, too taken aback by their arrival. In that moment, he wasn't 1-A's Aizawa, but the Pro Hero Eraserhead.

So if it's not part of the training, then what-

Midoriya went to move closer, but was instantly scolded. "Stay back!" The raven-haired man threw his arm out. "This is real. Those are villains." Sana inhaled sharply, her gaze jumping between her classmates, her teachers, and the villains below.

It seems we're the ones in need of rescuing.

[lemonlillybee]

Whumptober Day 7

Title: The Way You Shake and Shiver

Prompts: Shaking Hands | Silent Panic Attack @whumptober

Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU)

Word Count: 840

Read on AO3

A clap of thunder booms and Peter flinches violently, shaking the metal structure around him. 

He’s huddled on a fire escape outside of an apartment that he knows is empty, knees to his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them to make himself as small as possible. He’s mostly out of the rain, but no amount of hunching can get him away from the thunder.

As soon as he lets himself relax, another booming crack of thunder has him tensing up again, and this time he covers his ears, pressing his palms tightly against his head and trying to ignore the way his arms are shaking.

He’d started the day out feeling exhausted, and now it’s early evening and he feels like he could fall asleep perched outside of this abandoned apartment. The only thing stopping him is the loud thunder, which comes in unpredictable intervals with just enough time in between each bang to let his guard down before his whole body goes stiff again at the sound, the exhaustion making his reactions to the thunder happen against his will. It has him completely on edge, and he spends what feels like hours sitting there trying to catch his breath but not fully being able to.

Sometimes, having heightened senses really fucking sucks.

Boom. Another clap of thunder, another increase in his heart rate. His breath is coming up short again, like his chest is being squeezed by some invisible force. He hadn’t planned on staying up here so long, but now that it’s been a while he reaches up and pulls the mask from his face, greedily sucking in cold air and hating how shaky the inhale sounds. 

He doesn’t get a break before the next rumble, and his hands tremble where they’re already held over his ears. His usual fear response is fight, or sometimes flight when he knows he’s up against something he can’t take on by himself, but sitting here now he feels stuck, like the more times he’s engulfed in the startlingly loud noise, the more he feels like he’s frozen in place, as if it’s getting harder and harder to move. When he comes to the realization he maybe can’t move, he’s suddenly overwhelmed with an intense dizzying feeling. His vision blurs. 

“Incoming call from Tony,” Karen tells him, her voice hard to hear over the sound of his own heavy breathing.

“Hey, Pete.” Tony’s voice sounds muffled and faraway. “You out patrolling in this storm?”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on trying to breathe. 

“FRI alerted me that your heart rate and blood pressure are through the roof right now. What’s going on?” Tony is trying to sound casual, but even through his panic Peter can hear the worry in his voice. Peter doesn’t answer. It’s been a few minutes since the last crash of thunder, and his whole body is tense waiting for the next one. The rain has stopped, and now there’s a light wind that has him shivering slightly. 

“Peter? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Peter squeaks out a reply, something he hopes is enough to get Tony off his back, and then there’s a long, silent pause. Eventually, Tony sighs heavily. “Karen?” 

For a moment, Peter thinks Karen is going to betray him, but she simply tells Tony that he’s not injured and he isn’t facing any threats, and Peter feels himself sag in relief. His shivers pick up, his body trembling from more than just the cool wind now. 

“Well…let me know if you need anything,” Tony says, and Peter finds himself nodding even though he knows Tony can’t see him, nor does he intend to let Tony know if he needs anything. 

As soon as Tony ends the call, Peter stands. His legs shake like they’re about to give out. He swings between skyscrapers until he arrives at this apartment, clinging to the side of the building just outside of his window for a good minute or two while he catches his breath and listens carefully to see if he can hear May inside. When he’s sure she isn’t there, he lifts his window open and crawls into his room. 

Once inside his room, he peels his suit off and pulls on a warm pair of sweats and a t-shirt, barely registering the fact that he’s shivering hard now or that his skin is cold to the touch. When he climbs into his bed, it’s as if his body recognizes the chance to relax, and he slumps under his covers with a sudden exhaustion that makes him feel weak and sluggish. He pulls the blanket all the way over his head, until he’s enveloped in darkness, and lets the tears that have been threatening to erupt finally spill down his cheeks. 

Peter is sound asleep an hour later when a figure comes into his room, crossing over to the bed and pulling the comforter off his head to smooth his hair back from his forehead and dry the still-wet tears on his face.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I'm a sleepy baby.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Another unit done. You’re not certain how you’ve kept it up but you’re just waiting for your motivation to fizzle out. Each activity, each page, you teeter on the edge of oblivion. Workbook Five is almost complete and Six will be the final for the course. There’s a shell of disbelief around you. You really did it. 

Well, not quite yet. 

You sit back and stretch your neck and shoulders. Your teachers always told you to stop hunching but your shoulders always curled forward and your neck sunk anyway. Not out of defiance, just to make yourself small, maybe even, invisible. 

You stand, fingers cold and slightly numb. It’s a rainy day and the cold seeps in as your mother keeps the radiator off. You tuck your hands into your hoodie sleeve and find your slippers, a faded old pair that used to be somewhat fluffy. 

It’s quiet. You haven’t heard your mother at all. It’s not too unusual. After a binge, sometimes she just sleeps all day and night. You don’t like it, you don’t like that it’s normal, but it’s just how she is. How it is and always will be. 

Well, you’re trying to change yourself. You can’t change her or this place. 

You open the door slowly and peek out. A habit. You emerge quietly and rub your nose with your cuff, sniffing behind your sleeve as you shuffle into the kitchen. You do your best not to make too much noise as you fill the kettle. You have a few more bags of green tea, the you’re all out. You need to go back to the grocery store but the food credits won’t come until next week. 

You turn the dial on the stove and lean against the front as the kettle sits on the back burner. You close your eyes, groggy and slightly dizzy. You’ve been staring at numbers for so long, you don’t even know what time it is. Morning at night, you can’t tell by a glance through the gray window. 

You yawn again. Maybe chamomile might be a better choice. You lift your head and lean back on your heels as you mull the decision. The floor creaks with your weight as you shift indecisively. You’re not even sure you have any left.  

As you back up, you collide with something, someone, else. You grunt as suddenly there’s a clamp around your neck and you’re shoved forward against the stove. You brace the edge, careful not to touch the top as the heat from the burner radiates across the metal. 

Lee’s chuckle brushes over your hair, “there you are, girl. You been hiding.” 

“Eek, no--” you squirm and writhe. 

He’s too strong. He pushes harder and you’re forced to bend, precariously hovering over the stove, the kettle not far from your cheek. You squeak as your slippers scuff on the floor between his feet. 

“Please--” 

“You should be begging,” he snarls, “little girl like you, messing where she shouldn’t be.” 

“I’m sorry,” you squeal, “you were hurting her--” 

“Ain’t none of your business, is it?” He jolts you and you nearly hit your head off the back of the stove. He grabs your wrist with his other hand as he pinches your neck tighter. “Your mama likes it rough, don’t ya know? Walls ain’t that thick.” 

You whine and struggle to resist him as he brings your hand up, angling it towards the kettle as you hear that water starting to hum. You can feel the heat roiling from it. You push back against him, pressing your hand to the back of the stove to get better leverage. 

“Want me to hurt you? Is that it? Tired of just listening,” he snorts, your hand shaking close to the kettle as you babble, “suppose like this, won’t be too bad.” 

He wiggles his pelvis against you and you hiccup in fear. You twitch and he shoves your hand against the kettle. You cry out as it scalds your skin, steam hissing through the spout and towards your face. Your eyes well and you gnash your teeth. 

“Pl-please,” you plead and he lets go of your arm, framing your hip instead.

He pulls you back against him, “Mmm,” he shakes his hips again, “think I could. You ain’t bad from behind.” 

Horror erupts up your throat as you scramble desperately, trapped by his weight. You grab onto the handle of the kettle, even as your burnt flesh screams, and you hurl yourself back. He staggers as you swing the heavy vessel in his direction but it only splashes on your slippers as he dodges away from you. A flare of anger lights up his blue eyes. 

“Ha,” he sneers at you, “you’re funny, girl. Got a whole lotta fight for nothing. Far as I can tell, ain’t no other man around to want you. Not even your daddy.” 

You lower the kettle, breathless and terrified. The sting of his word wounds more than the blistering flesh on your fingers. You shake your head. 

“Leave me alone,” you croak. 

“Hmph,” he curls his lips, “just you wait,” he eyes you up and down. 

You stand, paralysed by the stove. He stomps away and you watch him go, not daring to move. When you hear your mother’s door slam, you shakily set the kettle on the countertop. You turn your hand over an examine your palm, the sight of it adding to the agony. 

You don’t know how you can write now. 

📓

You tap the mousepad twice to get it to react. Your poorly wrapped hand makes everything double the task. You huff as you switch hands, awkwardly navigating to the email icon. You expand the window and find a new email. Professor Smith. 

‘Thank you for your last submission. I have reviewed your work and would like to provide feedback via Zoom if possible. Please provide times which work for you. 

Looking forward to speaking again. 

Take care, 

Raymond’ 

As usual. He is very direct. You can almost appreciate that about him and yet it does not rein in your paranoia. Feedback via Zoom? Why? Can’t he just write it down? Did you do something wrong?  

Ugh. You slump and stare at the keyboard. It can’t be avoided. You haven’t even started Six because of your hand. Maybe a review would be helpful. Besides, it would be a waste to give up now. It wasn’t so bad before, was it?  

You hit reply and key in your response slowly with one hand. 

‘Hello Professor, 

I can do anytime tomorrow.  

Thank you.’ 

It isn’t the most academic or professional response. You don’t know what else to say. You have no schedule to adhere too, you can only hope your mom isn’t making a racket. 

You send and close up the laptop. You have to rewrap your hand. It’s really hurting but you’ve been rationing the Polysporin. You just want it to heal quick so you can finish your work. 

📓

Professor Smith confirms for nine in the morning. You make sure you’re awake but your head is pulsing. Your sleep schedule is all off. You opt for a plain long-sleeved tee over the hoodie, trying to appear as presentable as you can. Nothing you own can compare to his tidy attire; you recall his sweater and stiff collar. Often, you find yourself wilting over how he must think of you. Just like everyone else does, you suppose. 

You get set up. Your room isn’t too bad. You’ve been trying to keep up on it. Your laundry is in a basket although the bookshelf is getting a bit cluttered again. Oh well, he won’t be able to see much around you. 

You open the laptop. Ten minutes to go. You can hardly sit still. Your anxiety peaks as you hear your mom’s voice from down the hall. It’s early for you, but even earlier for her. 

There’s a knock at the door, “honey, do we got any coffee left?” 

“Mom,” you get up and go to the door, cracking it open, “I left enough for a pot in the tin. I’m still waiting on the credits.” 

“Oh,” she smiles through the narrow space, “Lee musta used them the last of it.” She smiles. She’s drunk. She hasn’t just woken up, she’s been awake all night. She turns and waddles away unsteadily, “baby, we got no coffee.” 

You sigh and shut the door. You go back to the computer. Please don’t make a ruckus. You don’t need another scene. 

You click the meeting link and fidget. You’re not ready. Are you ever? Life is just doing things you’re unprepared for. 

You wince as Professor Smith appears on the screen. He greets you by name and you return a ‘hello, professor’. 

“Good morning?” He asks brightly. 

You shrug, “yeah, I guess...” you look one way then the other, uncertain, “how are you, professor?” 

“Great, thanks for asking,” he reaches for a tall mug and takes a sip before exhaling, “so, I suppose you would just like to get this over with.” 

“Um, no, er, I...” 

“Not saying anything about you,” he assures as he leans forward, crossing his arms over the desk. His eyes scan through his lens and you realise he must be reading something on the screen, “you’ve done wonderful work. I especially wanted to high light a few things.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah, I probably made some mistakes,” you clumsily click around as his image remains in the corner of the screen. You hiss as your fingers throb and open the workbook. 

“On the contrary, it’s perfect. In fact, you’ve managed to bring my own error to light. I was certain at first it wasn’t me but I went in a redid the work for Problem Eight. Clever.” 

You sit back and nod, surprised.

There’s a thump and your mom’s voice, met by Lee’s rumbling timbre. Muffled enough that their words can be deciphered but you worry it is still heard through the microphone. You clear your throat and move closer, sitting up as you bring your injured hand to rub your neck. 

“A lot going on?” Smith wonders. 

“No, sir, sorry, I wasn’t expecting it,” you shrug and scratch your cheek, the gauze rough and loose. 

“Oh my, what’s happened there? Are you alright?” 

You pause and jerk as another bang sounds and your mother’s cackle erupts, stopping sharply 

“Yes, sir,” you quickly hide your hand, “I had an accident. Um, I was going to ask... it’s taking me a while to type...” 

“By all means, we may discuss accommodations,” he assures, “I am, as ever, patient. Most importantly, you must take care of yourself.” 

“Sir,” you nod and your door rattles in the frame. “Um...” you glance over your shoulder. Why now? 

“Are you certain this isn’t a bad time?” 

“I’m sorry,” you face the laptop, “I didn’t think--” 

“Hey, you lazy bitch!” A hard rap shakes the door behind you, “get out here.” 

You go wide-eyed and stare at the screen. No. Please. Not again. 

Professor Smith’s brow ripples and his jaw squares, “it seems you’ve got some chaos over there.” 

“It’s just... I... one sec,” you bring the call full screen and search for the controls and hit mute. You stand up and go to the door, trying to block it out with your body. You open it as Lee smirks back at you, “we’re all outta coffee. Why don’t you go and get us some?” 

He holds up a ten dollar bill and flicks it against your nose, “y’ain’t got nothing else to do.” 

“I’m busy,” you say, “can it wait a few minutes?” 

“Busy?” He snips, “with what? You can watch your damn TV when you get back.” 

“Sorry, but I can’t--” 

“Lee, she’ll go in a bit,” your mother preens from down the hall. 

“I got a damn headache, she can drag her ass out right now,” he barks back at her, “it’s my money, ain’t it?” 

“Please, I’m... just after.” 

“Why? Whatcha hiding?” 

“Nothing, it’s school--” 

He shoves the door and you stumble back, hitting the bookshelf with your shoulder. He bulls past you and looks around, his eyes narrowing on your laptop. You turn to see the professor watching intently from his side of the call and you scurry to catch up with Lee and stop him. He elbows you away, tossing you against your bedframe. You hit it and crash to the floor. 

“I see, you entertainin’,” he scoffs and hits the keys several times. 

“Who are you, sir?” Smith asks, his tone cool but dangerous. 

You hear the little blip that signals the mute is off, “should ask ya the same. Whatcha doin’ talkin’ to young girls, eh?” 

“Is she your daughter?” Smith challenges and gets a chortle in return. 

“Nah, just a whore like her mother, ain’t she? You’d know better than me.” 

You get to your knees and grab at his hand, “please, he’s my professor.” 

“Don’t lie to me. Irene,” he spins as he hollers for your mother, “come see what your daughter’s doin’." He pauses to grit over his shoulder, "If ya gonna be whorin’ on the internet, you should at least try to get some money outta it.” 

“Huh, Lee, leave her alone,” your mom appears in the doorway and you crawl past Lee, keeping low as you reach up to keyboard and feel around. 

Professor Smith says your name but you hold the power button until the laptop fan slows and quiets. You sit back on your heels and look over as Lee peers around your room. Your mom sways in the doorway. 

“Who was that?” She asks. 

“I told him, it’s my professor--” 

“You ain’t smart enough for all that book stuff,” Lee growls, “go on and keep lyin’.” 

“Why do you care?” You sniff. 

“Honey, don’t be rude.” 

“Mom,” you whine, “he shouldn’t be in here.” 

“Lee, baby, I’ll go get the coffee,” she redirects. You hang your head. 

“I want her to go,” he turns and throws the ten at you, “the way she leach of ya, it’s the least she can do.” 

You wince, “it’s okay, mom, I can go.” You grab the desk and stand, swiping up the bill. You need to get out of this apartment. Staying will only make him angrier. Staying will only make she shame worse. 

[winxanity-ii]

YEAH, LEAVE IT IN THE PAST. | PRT.3

ship: jjk men: satoru & suguru x fem!miko!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 4.6k a/n: Ahhh I was stuck on how to end it lol, but fr the way i was writing this would have been broken up to five parts 😮‍💨😮‍💨...go to 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐍𝐨. ʲʲᵏ if you want to understand this; also Y/n's (your) power/ability descriptions will be at the very bottom.

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

In this dreamlike tableau, you float on the edges of reality and watch the scene unfold. Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara cluster around Satoru like planets gravitating towards a sun, their expressions fraught with concern and palpable anxiety.

Yuji's eyes are narrowed, his normally carefree demeanor clouded by a sense of urgency. His hands are clenched into fists, an outward sign of his inner turmoil. It's like he's physically restraining himself from springing into action, from going to look for you himself.

Megumi stands there, his stoic facade more brittle than usual. "Where is she?" The question slices through the tension. Each word is a meticulously carved blade, sharpened by his deep-seated concern for you. The way his eyes flicker to Satoru suggests he's mentally preparing for the worst.

Nobara's arms are crossed, her posture defensive. But the tilt of her chin, the pursing of her lips, reveal that her bravado is more fragile than she lets on. She's biting the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions at bay.

Satoru senses the mood, of course. Always keenly aware of the emotional currents in the room, he meets each of their eyes before answering. "She's fine, just taking a little me-time to learn more about her lineage." He flashes his trademark grin, wide and disarming. In that moment, his smile is like a magic trick, a piece of deception designed to draw attention away from something more complicated.

His voice is a masterful performance, light and relaxed, as if he's commenting on the weather. The words are calculated, designed to deflect their fears and redirect their thoughts.

For anyone else, the lie might be too transparent, the shift in tone too sudden. But this is Satoru. His every syllable drips with an assurance that invites belief, that almost forces you to think, 'Well, if he says it's okay, then it must be.'

Your friends appear mollified, their tense shoulders dropping ever so slightly, their clenched fists uncurling. They give each other subtle nods, silently agreeing to let go of their worry, for now. And as they disperse, the weight of their collective anxiety disperses with them.

Satoru's smile, still etched on his face as he watches Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara walk away, fades as though it was never there. The light in his eyes dims, replaced by a hollow darkness that's chilling to behold. His entire body tenses, his shoulders hunching slightly as if burdened by an invisible weight.

It's a startling transformation, like watching the sun eclipsed by a sudden storm cloud.

His hands, so often animated or held in a relaxed state, clench. The carefree air around him dissipates, consumed by a darker energy that unsettles you. It's like peeling back a curtain and finding not the expected stage, but an abyss.

His voice, when he finally speaks, is barely a whisper, yet it fills the emptiness around him as he mutters darkly to himself.

The words are a low, indistinct rumble, but your 'ears'—or whatever serves as ears in this dream state—pick up just enough to send shivers down your 'spine.'

"...Need her back..."

The words hang in the air, charged with an intensity that feels like a pressure change before a thunderstorm.

You take a step closer, compelled by a mixture of concern and something darker, something more primal. You call out softly, almost timidly, "Gojo Sensei..." though you know he can't hear you. The word is a mere breath, a whisper against the gravity of his revelation.

As if sensing something—or maybe it's just the erratic whims of this dream—Gojo suddenly looks up. For a split second, his eyes meet yours. And though you're sure he can't actually see you, the contact sends a jolt through you.

Then, in an explosion of cursed energy, he's gone. He's vanished into thin air, leaving behind a void that feels cold and impossibly lonely.

Your "dream" starts to fade, the edges blurring as if smeared by an unseen hand, and then you're tumbling, falling back into a deeper slumber or maybe into waking life—you can't tell.

Your eyes flutter open, and for a second, you're disoriented. The last thing you remember is getting in the van, and then...nothing.

Your eyes adjust, finding Satoru seated next to you, engrossed in his phone. He looks up and grins, his face radiating warmth, completely unlike the shadowy figure from your dream.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he greets you, and you can't help but feel a wave of relief wash over you. You're back. But back where? And from what?

"Morning? How long was I out?" you ask, rubbing your eyes, your voice tinged with confusion.

The dream, so vivid moments ago, is now nothing but wisps of memory, but the emotion it evoked in you lingers. It's unsettling, and you push it aside for now, turning your attention back to Gojo and the comforting normality he represents.

Satoru chuckles, setting his phone aside. "You've been out for three days straight. Guess you were more tired than you thought, huh?"

"Three days?!" You almost choke on your disbelief. "What have you guys been doing all this time without me?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Saving the world, fighting curses, eating ramen," he jokes, but then turns serious for a moment. "Actually, we've been laying low, giving everyone a chance to recharge. We're about to board a jet back to Tokyo Jujutsu Academy."

Your mind races, trying to absorb this new reality. Three days lost to sleep, but what about that dream? Your eyes wander to the window. Instead of an airplane wing, you're greeted by an ocean view framed by the window of a small hotel room. The sunlight reflects off the water, casting dancing lights across the walls. It's beautiful and so at odds with the emotional weight of your recent dreamscape.

"Everything okay?" Satoru's voice snaps you back to the present. "You seem a bit...lost."

"No, I'm fine," you lie, forcing a smile. "Just processing the whole sleeping-for-three-days thing. It's a lot."

Satoru eyes you for a moment longer, as if trying to decipher the thoughts behind your words. Then he shrugs, the inscrutable look replaced once again by his usual cheerful demeanor. "Well, as soon as you're ready, we can head out. The others are probably worried about their star teammate."

His comment brings a small smile to your lips. The tension in your shoulders loosens a little. "Alright, let me get my bearings and we can go."

As you start to get up, your eyes catch Satoru's one more time. It's just a glance, but it's enough. Enough to remind you that there are layers beneath layers, truths hidden behind smiles, and dreams that leave scars on waking life.

It's unsettling, but also...intriguing. As you prepare to leave the room, you can't help but wonder what secrets lie ahead. And as for Satoru, what depths are hidden behind those eyes, behind that mask? You can't shake the feeling that you're on the edge of something transformative, something that could change you—and him—forever.

And that thought, that wonder, is enough to awaken a new energy in you, pushing the fatigue and eerie dreams to the background. You're not just going back to Tokyo, you're stepping into a future filled with complexities, challenges, and possibly, revelations.

"Ready to go?" Satoru asks, standing up, his height towering over you.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you reply, your voice steady, but tinged with an excitement you didn't feel before.

Satoru grins, sensing the shift in your mood. "Alright then, let's head back and give everyone a show. They've missed their star, after all."

You chuckle, and for a moment, the world feels simpler, lighter. But as you follow Satoru out of the room, you can't help but feel that you're stepping into a narrative far more complicated than any you've known before.

And you know what? You're here for it. Because what's life without a little bit of mystery, a little bit of danger, and the tantalizing allure of the unknown?

You trail behind Satoru and the rest of your group as you all step onto the familiar grounds of Tokyo Jujutsu High. The feeling of safety washes over you as you sense the barrier's energy surround the area. Satoru deactivates his Limitless technique, and you can feel the air around him relax.

"Mission complete," Satoru announces, and you watch as he finally drops his guard. His shoulders slump just a fraction, a rare sight.

Just then, your eyes catch something strange, something nearly invisible. It’s a faint, distorted ripple in the air—almost like a mirage but in a color spectrum you've never seen before. Confusion dances through your mind, What the hell is that? An illusion? Or... something else?

Before you realize it, your instincts override any caution or logic, pulling your body into action before your mind can catch up.

Launching yourself forward, you intersect the path of the incoming blade. A searing pain shoots up your shoulder as steel slices through flesh and muscle. You want to scream, but the pain chokes you, swallowing your voice whole.

You stumble back, gripping your bleeding shoulder tightly. As your knees buckle under your weight, you're a swirling vortex of emotions—relief, vulnerability, fear, and more dread for what's to come.

Your eyes meet Satoru's, and it's like an electric charge. For a fleeting moment, his typically unreadable face morphs through a range of emotions: shock, realization, concern, and finally, a brief but agonizing flash of gratitude. It's a whirlwind, gone if you'd blinked.

Then the atmosphere thickens, becoming almost unbearable as Satoru's eyes crystallize into something ferocious. His cursed energy erupts, filling the air like a volatile storm ready to break free.

"Zen'in Toji," Satoru hisses, spitting the name out as if it's venom.

Toji pauses, looking almost amused. "Ha, I go by Fushiguro now," he dryly retorts, his words cutting through the tension like a knife.

Your voice almost breaks as you try to intervene, "Satoru, don't—" But the air is thick with energy and emotion, your plea lost in the chaos.

Satoru is already a blur, charging toward the man who was responsible for your injury, his cursed energy swirling around him like a cyclone.

As the two energies clash in an explosion of power, you're on the ground, struggling to rise, your fingers slick with your own blood. The pain in your shoulder screams at you, a constant, harrowing reminder of what just transpired.

When Satoru said the name, "Zen'in Toji," it was like a bolt of lightning slicing through your haze of pain and confusion. Zen'in? That surname reverberates through your mind like an echo in an empty hall. You've heard stories about the Zen'in clan from Megumi—powerful, traditional, and complicated—but never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd be caught in a battle involving one. And now, that man claims the name Fushiguro. The same as Megumi.

Your eyes widen as you watch the two men fighting. It's more than just their brutal exchange of blows; it's the little things. The way Toji holds himself, the calculating glint in his eyes, that specific stance as he gets ready to strike. All of it screams familiarity, like deja vu hitting you in waves. You've seen this in Megumi—during training, in the heat of real battle.

Could Toji be...?

Your ponderings are abruptly cut short. Toji delivers a vicious blow, and for the first time, you see Satoru stumble back. Blood sprays from his mouth as he falls to the ground, his body landing a few feet from where you're struggling to rise.

Time freezes.

Gojo Satoru, the invincible sorcerer, lies there teetering on the edge of defeat, and your heart plunges into your stomach. In that agonizing second, you've never felt more helpless.

Toji's eyes latch onto you, and you can almost feel them piercing through you. As you attempt to back away, your breath quickens, and your body tenses.

"L-Leave her alone," Satoru's voice breaks through, raspy and filled with a toxic mix of agony and stern warning; his cursed energy is like a flickering candle in the wind, about to be snuffed out.

Toji chuckles darkly, the sound enough to send a shiver down your spine. He moves toward you, effortlessly crossing the distance. Your heart pounds like a drum in your chest as you try to back away, but it's useless.

With a swift and deliberate kick, he flips you onto your back and presses his boot into your shoulder wound. Your breath hitches in pain, tears forming at the edges of your eyes. But you refuse to grant him the satisfaction; you hold his gaze, defiant.

"You're a fascinating one," he starts, his voice dripping with intrigue and arrogance. "I usually blend into the background, invisible to all you sorcerers with your fancy cursed energy. Yet you—how'd you manage to spot me?"

Before you can even think of a lie, or perhaps a truth, he lifts his boot off your shoulder. He crouches down, getting so close that your noses almost touch. He grabs a handful of your knotless braids and forces your head upward. The shock of this cruel, intimate action leaves you at a loss for words.

"Your eyes are quite expressive, you know? They're screaming even if your mouth isn’t," he observes, almost thoughtfully. "Remember this interaction, because the next time we meet, your eyes will be screaming for a different reason."

His voice drops to a low whisper, his words heavy with implication. "I'll be hoping to get a mission with your name on it. The chase is always more thrilling when the prey has a bit of fight."

He suddenly releases your braids, letting your head fall back onto the hard ground. "See you around. I have other bounties to claim."

He rises, turning his back to you, and walks away. He moves in the direction where Suguru and Riko had vanished, leaving behind a battlefield of wounded pride, shattered alliances, and questions that ache more than any physical injury could.

You grit your teeth and push through the pain, every movement sending a fresh wave of agony through your injured shoulder. But Satoru's there on the ground, far too still, and you can't—won't—leave him like that.

With effort, you crawl over to him, your eyes catching his which are barely open, a flicker of light in a rapidly darkening world.

Your hands tremble as you place them above his devastating wound. You focus, willing your energy to merge with his.

"Elemental Mastery: Soul Link"

The moment you do, it feels like throwing a paper airplane into a hurricane. His cursed energy is overwhelming, rebellious, chaotic—it fights you, pushing back with a might that leaves you breathless.

Satoru groans, his face twisted in a grimace of pain and struggle. You feel it then, like you've been hit by a bolt of lightning, a jolt that screams through your body, making you taste copper and see stars.

You're teetering on the edge of consciousness, the weight of his injuries threatening to crush you. But you hold on. You have to.

And then, something miraculous happens. In that place where your energies are clashing, something gives way. There's a momentary pause, a stillness, as if the universe itself is taking a breath.

You feel Satoru's energy shift, morph, change. It's as if a lock has found its key, a harmony achieved through cacophony.

Satoru initiates a reverse cursed technique, his energy suddenly flowing in a healing pattern you've never seen before. You feel the wound under your palms start to close, the damaged flesh knitting itself back together.

It's astonishing, a testimony to his unimaginable power and skill. But this time, it's different—there's an awareness, a control that you've never sensed from him before.

As the last of the wound closes, Satoru's eyes open fully. The atmosphere is electrifying, full of possibilities yet to be explored. "Y/N…" he utters softly, the sound of your name leaving his lips filling the air with an undeniable intimacy.

In his eyes, you see a multitude of emotions you can't quite name—an inexpressible blend of relief, respect, and something else. Something deeper, more vulnerable. It's as if he's opened a window to his soul, inviting you to peer inside, if only for a fleeting moment. And you realize, looking into those eyes, that he's not just the all-powerful, untouchable sorcerer you thought he was.

He's human, just like you, shaped and reshaped by the trials of life.

You remove your hands, both of you breathing hard, exhausted but alive. The air is thick with a new understanding, an unspoken bond. You saved each other, in more ways than one, and whatever comes next... well, you'll face it together.

Your heart beats out of your chest as you feel Riko's energy, a mere flicker now, growing fainter and fainter in the distance. The urgency weighs heavy on your wounded body as you and Satoru rush toward the fading life force.

Your feet barely touch the ground as you and Satoru dash through the labyrinthine ruins, following the distressingly faint blip of Riko's energy. Your breaths come fast and shallow, a mix of adrenaline and the weight of your own injuries making each inhalation feel like a small victory. Your heart feels like it's going to burst out of your chest, not just from the run but from the dread of what you're going to find when you get there.

Finally, you round the corner, and the sight that greets you hits like a sledgehammer to the gut. Toji stands there, his blade glistening darkly with fresh blood. Suguru is on the ground, moaning in pain. Riko lies unmoving a few feet away, a pool of red blossoming around her.

Time seems to slow for a second as Satoru locks eyes with Toji. "Long time no see," Satoru murmurs, but the words are a frostbite of a threat more than a greeting.

You've never heard that tone from him; it's not just cold—it's glacial. In that moment, you sense an ominous air thickening between the two men, like the atmosphere before a storm breaks.

Just as Toji lunges forward, blade slicing through the air with lethal intent, Satoru's hand lifts in an arcane gesture that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes, usually so playful, now seethe with a deadly focus. "Hollow Technique: Purple," Satoru intones.

The words seem to vibrate, echoing with an otherworldly power that makes your skin prickle, as if you're suddenly standing too close to a live wire.

A terrifying, formless energy bursts forth from Satoru's outstretched palm, materializing into a swirling vortex of dark, malevolent force. It's as if he's torn a hole in the very fabric of reality, and for a surreal, gut-wrenching moment, you feel as though you're staring into the abyss itself.

The energy lashes out, snapping through the air with the precision of a guillotine. Toji doesn't even have a chance to react. The force shears through him, severing his arm and carving away a chunk of his torso as if it were sculpting clay. The air is thick with the stench of charred flesh and ozone, and a mist of blood hangs eerily, suspended in time.

Toji staggers back, his face a twisted tapestry of emotions—surprise, agony, and a glimmer of what could almost be construed as respect. His eyes meet Satoru's one final time, locking onto them as if trying to convey something that words could never capture before ever so slightly, shifting to meet yours.

There's no vulnerability there, no sweeping emotion or unspoken bond—just the hard, glinting edge of a man who's never bothered with such things. Then, clutching the cauterized stump where his arm used to be, Toji drops to his knees with a thud that feels louder than any explosion.

"Megumi...will be sold...to the Zen'in Family," he rasps, his voice tinged with a guttural rawness, as if every word is a struggle against the life that's rapidly fleeing his body. His eyes, still locked onto yours, are ablaze with a savage sort of clarity. It's as if he wants you to remember this, to carry the weight of his final declaration like a curse—or perhaps a warning.

His lips curl into a grotesque, almost triumphant grin; it's the smile of a man who's just lit the fuse to a powder keg of consequences he won't have to face. And then his eyes glaze over, his body going limp as he collapses forward, life extinguished but his message chillingly clear.

The words hang in the air, reverberating with an insidious implication that lodges itself into your mind. Megumi, your friend, caught in a web of familial machinations that are as cruel as they are incomprehensible. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribcage, but there's no time to process it all—too many questions, too many emotions, and far too little time.

Your attention snaps back to Riko, the loveable and ever-hopeful girl who wanted nothing more than to live freely. You race over to her lifeless form, sinking to your knees. Your hands tremble as you take hers. She's already gone, her eyes vacant and staring at nothing. You feel a lump rising in your throat, but you swallow it down, shoving your grief into a dark corner of your soul. Now's not the time.

Suguru's pain-filled moans pull you back to reality. You glance over at Satoru, who's gently lifting Riko's body into his arms. The look on his face is inscrutable, but the air around him is charged with an indescribable force—like he's holding back a cataclysm.

You crawl over to Suguru, your own injuries screaming in protest. Your hands glow with the incipient light of a healing spell, your focus razor-sharp. You've got work to do, lives to save, even as you push your own body and spirit to their limits.

Suguru's hand envelops yours, his grip surprisingly strong despite his weakened state. His eyes meet yours, filled with a gratitude that words could never fully express. "Thank you, Y/N" he murmurs, his voice tinged with exhaustion but resonant with sincerity.

As you nod, a swirl of emotions threatening to overwhelm you, Satoru starts moving. He cradles Riko's lifeless form in his arms with a grace that seems almost out of place given the carnage around you.

Each step he takes feels deliberate, as if he's measuring the weight of the life that's been lost.

You can't read the expression on his face, but his entire aura is a complex tapestry of emotions, restrained yet simmering.

Your gaze follows him as he walks past a group of followers—devotees to some perverted cause. They're still clapping, caught in some demented ecstasy over the dark ritual they'd been performing around Riko's body. The callousness of it sends a surge of rage through you, hot and blinding, but Satoru's voice breaks through it.

"Do we finish them off?" He poses the question to Suguru, his tone neutral but carrying an undercurrent that suggests he's more than capable of doing just that—and perhaps even willing.

Suguru's eyes follow the scene, his expression hardening for a moment before he shakes his head. "It's pointless," he says, his voice tinged with a weariness that feels heavier than any physical wound. "A sorcerer must have a reason to take a life."

The finality in his words hangs in the air, resonating with an unspoken understanding that spreads among the three of you. Lives have been lost, and others saved; you've all danced on the razor's edge between life and death tonight.

And as you each take a moment to absorb the gravity of Suguru's statement, the followers' clapping begins to fade away, swallowed by the shadows that have seen too much.

As you stand there, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline, your eyes catch a glint of something half-buried in the dirt near where Riko had fallen. Thinking it may have been a piece of her fallen jewelry, you pick it up.

It's an odd piece, laced with both cursed energy and something... older, almost nostalgic. Suguru, watching you, raises an eyebrow but doesn't question it. Satoru, cradling Riko, pauses and turns his head slightly, as if he senses the shift in the air.

Before you can fully grasp what's happening, the pendant pulses in your hand—a heartbeat, almost—then emits a bright, engulfing light. Time seems to warp around you, the air thickening like molasses.

Satoru's eyes widen in alarm, a sharp gasp escaping his lips. "Y/N—"

Suguru reaches out, his fingers barely grazing the air where you used to be. His face, usually so composed, is etched with a kind of horror and desperation you've never seen.

Your surroundings whip past you in a disorienting blur of colors and shapes, and a nauseating feeling of vertigo takes hold. For a moment, you're nowhere and everywhere, lost in a void.

The last thing you remember is the devastation written across Satoru and Suguru's faces—like you'd violently ripped pages out of a story that was still being written.

And then, with a jarring lurch, you're back. You stumble, almost falling to your knees, but strong arms catch you just in time.

"You're back," Satoru's voice sounds almost shaky, his relief palpable. He pulls you closer, examining you as if to confirm you're real. "You scared the hell out of me. What happened?"

You open your mouth to answer, but your vision blurs, the room spinning around you. That disorientating trip through time and space is catching up with you, and you can feel your consciousness slipping away.

"...S-Satoru—" Your voice trails off as you pass out, but you're vaguely aware of Satoru lifting you up, holding you securely in his arms.

For just a moment before you black out completely, you think about how both timelines—this one and the one you left—share a moment of intense emotional turbulence.

In one, you left two sorcerers grappling with an inexplicable loss; in this one, you've returned to a reality where people were on the verge of grappling with your inexplicable disappearance.

And then everything fades to black.

A/N: ahhh this feels so rushed but i didnt want to bombard you guys with a bunch of stuff lolol; also did yall catch y/n calling gojo by the first name 👀 jajajaj

🇾‌/🇳‌'🇸‌ 🇵‌🇴‌🇼‌🇪‌🇷‌🇸‌/🇦‌🇧‌🇮‌🇱‌🇮‌🇹‌🇮‌🇪‌🇸‌ 🇦‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌🇮‌🇷‌ 🇩‌🇷‌🇦‌🇼‌🇧‌🇦‌🇨‌🇰‌🇸‌:

"Elemental Mastery: Soul Link"**

Healing through this method temporarily soul-binds her to the individual, which might transfer some of their fatigue or pain to her... Drawbacks: Given that she can heal others too, she forms a temporarily soul-bond, making it a double-edged sword because she might absorb some of their pain or fatigue, making the act of healing more complex...

[the-howling-storm]

OC-Tober - Day 1: Technique

Read on Ko-fi

OG prompt by slavontherocks on Twitter

A sudden leap backwards, followed by several more to gain necessary distance. His feet landing, dragging his position to a fast halt. Quick math and measurements played out in his head as the air filled with a relative silence. The space between the two was now optimal. All that stood before him...

"There... the perfect runway," grinned Randy. Crouching down, he hunched on all four of his limbs. Back straightened, and shoulders leveled just under his ears. Arms symmetrically propped on the ground by the tip of his fingers. One leg fully extended behind him, while the other bent inward at an angle for smooth transitioning. A runner's stance.

As the tension fills the air... metallic thudding breaks the silence. A rhythmic tap from his far foot, drumming against the floor beneath him. Hypnotic as it is foreboding. A preluding beat, looping over and over, as it awaits the next act.

Even as a child, Randall Jazz knew he had a temper.

A ferocious, bull-like rage that he took difficulty in culling from his nature. Even in his calmest moments, it would take from as his usual stubborn demeanor. Paired with such honed power, such fueled anger could only result in reckless abandonment and destruction. In a way, he could see why many would see him as a demon.

Yet such a weakness, can always be strength. A trump card came to mind. One he'd always dared not to use out of lack of practicality. Both to surroundings, and himself. Yet, a rare opportunity presents itself. Fueled by pride, for victory and his own humanity. Every inch of this body was a trained weapon. Bone, muscle, tissue and blood. A single burst is all he needs. 100% of what he could offer, for just a split second. Right here and now, to prove in this moment...

He can surpass any limit.

"You can hear it... right?" Randy speaks out from his inner thoughts. "Can't you sense that surge? It grows like a raging storm. A force of nature, swelling up in your soul from within. The taste in the air, the adrenaline in your veins, the excitement in your heart... All headed towards a one way course down the road ahead. One shot. One chance. Reach out. Cross the finish line. And break all contradictions that hold you back. That..."

The drumming comes to a quiet stop. For there was no longer a man to carry the rhythm. As the final note struck ears, he vanished forward. As if the laws of sound struggled to register his take off. Lagging behind, as the forceful winds jet outward behind an invisible mad dash.

As eyes and reaction finally correct themselves... the gap has closed. The speed demon returns to vision, staying straight course. Dodging at this stage is impossible. The only option is to block. A head-on collision.

But only an immovable object... can match an irresistible force.

"...is Climax-!!!"

A thunderous tear of pressure. A second wind, that not only dared to threaten the break the barrier of sound... but succeeded. A point blank sonic boom.

It was only a graze. A last minute correction of his sprint to avoid a clean hit. Out of safety to his own life? Or perhaps out of mercy. It mattered not. Deafening force shattering every window in radius of the spreading and dome. The street pavement ripping itself free piece by piece into rubble. What remained intact of the target, sent flying above and shredded by the sudden, sharp air. Randy himself, futilely attempting all attempts at impromptu brakeage against his own momentum, only to thrash and tumble along the coming road.

A high risk, yet high reward last resort. For its name signaled the end.

Climax Act Cadenza: Big Blast Sonic.

[percontaion-points]

Firstlife chapter 5

Today’s review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 5

“You’ve been living on shower water.” Bow still sounds shocked. 

“So have you.” If Vans shuts off our pipes—and I have a sinking feeling that will be his next move—we’ll be reduced to drinking from the toilet. 

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you don’t have access to shower water, you also don’t have toilet water, either. 

Over the intercom, the usual voice announces, “Tenley Lockwood. Your parents are waiting for you in Dr. Vans’s office.”

Literally nothing of value could possibly be gained from people who would throw their daughter away like she’s trash. 

I know that Ten’s going to go, simply so that we can establish that the parents are also villains in this. 

But JFC girl. Don’t go!

My dad has visited once every other month. When I asked him about my mom, he said, “We’re currently separated, living apart. She’s decided seclusion is better than family.”

Probably him convincing her that their daughter should be in prison for her refusal to obey was the straw that broke her back. 

I can’t help but note that the mom had been raised Troika, but signed Myriad to be with Ten’s father. Clearly good decisions and a strong foundation to ANY relationship. /sarcasm

My surroundings change in an instant, as if I’ve stepped through an invisible portal into a fairy tale. From cold and impersonal to warm and inviting. The walls are vibrant baby blue rather than medicine-cabinet gray. Six portraits hang throughout, three on each side of me. Each bears a different-colored rose, meant to add a touch of beauty to a bona fide hellhole. A large wrought-iron candelabra is twisted into the shape of a dragon.

[...]

An arched ceiling with a crystal teardrop chandelier dangles above a desk the same size as the conference table. The walls are made of light stone and dark wood, the two framing multiple bookshelves and a marble fireplace with legs carved to resemble lions. Lions with golden collars clamped around their necks, their heads bowed. 

Gossip claims there’s a door to the outside world hidden somewhere in this room. 

They’ve clearly made an effort to make sure that visitors never actually see how bad the prison actually is. Of course there’s a door from the outside. 

“Refuse,” he continues as if I haven’t spoken, “and I’ll be forced to punish Killian for sneaking food to your cell.” 

That’s his own fault. 

Am I to assume that you’re done trying to hook us up?

I flash back to the night I heard my parents arguing about my grandparents—my mom’s parents. The Troikan loyalists. 

“They just want to spend time with their granddaughter,” my mom said.

 “We can’t risk it,” my dad replied. “They’ll fill Ten’s head with nonsense, the way they once filled yours.”

 “They won’t. They only want to make memories with her.” 

“Don’t be naive, Grace. Everyone has an agenda.” 

How the hell is literally a single person’s life somehow improved by supernatural interference? Everybody is so busy being paranoid that the other side is out to get them that they can’t even enjoy a single thing. 

“If they’re so wonderful, why did you reject everything they taught you?”

 “To be with you,” she’d whispered.

Again, this is clearly a relationship built on a strong foundation, and 100% not the impulsive act of teenage lust. 

I’m not even sure that the father even ever loved the mother. 

“If you were to sign with Troika,” Vans says, “you would be on the opposite side of the war. One day, you might even be tasked with killing your parents.”

Sign me up for Troika, bitch. These people don’t give a shit about me. 

My dad closes his eyes, his shoulders hunching in. A position of defeat. He’s known among his peers for his indomitable strength and unwillingness to back down. “I only want the best for you. Why can’t you see that?”

I’m sorry, but literally nobody with any ounce of empathy looks at a literal CHILD being waterboarded and thinks “Ah yes. It’s what’s best for her. Clearly her parents have good heads on their shoulders!”

The doctor dons an impassive mask. “I’ve asked repeatedly to take my efforts to the next level. You refused.”

 What? My dad actually prevented certain tortures?

I literally don’t even know where you even go from waterboarding, caning, and starvation. 

“Stop the unnecessary chitchat and get this party started.”

Chapter 5 summary: Ten’s “punishment” for her continued refusal to sign with Myriad is that not only is she being starved, but also Bow. Sloan comes and gives her a granola bar through the door, but says that it’s from Killian. Bow refuses her half, so Ten shoves it down her throat as quickly as possible. 

Then they tell Ten that her parents are there to see her. When she goes, she’s surprised to see her mom, who hasn’t visited her once. Only her father comes, and once told her that he and her mother were separated. Her mom is crying, and Ten thinks that it’s good that she’s finally seeing the consequences of sending her daughter to this hell. Ten also thinks about the time she overheard her parents arguing about Ten spending time with her Troikan grandparents. Which as I said, it really only highlights how fucked up that her parents’ relationship is, but also society in general.

When Ten refuses to sign with Myriad, Dr. Vans looks to daddy dearest and he’s like “This wouldn’t happen if you didn’t keep stopping me from doing other methods of torture.” The entire time, Ten keeps hearing the actual voice of Bow in her head, encouraging her to verbalise her contract with Troika, simply so that she can get out of being literally tortured (again). But Ten is adamant that pain is only temporary, and it’s nothing to the thousand or so years she could end up spending in the afterlife should she actually choose. 

[noxtivagus]

I'm the local emet-selch liker on the dashboard. yes

still not over this article 😔

[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.