#credence reader insert

[oreithyia0]

Love how you wrote him!! Would love to see more of this

Helping Hand | Credence Barebone x Reader

RATING: Teen | GENRE: Hurt/Comfort | 1,808 words SUMMARY: You offer to help Credence from his situation. [Read on AO3]

The first time you saw the almost painfully pitiful young man named Credence Barebone, it was like looking in a mirror of your past self. You saw it in his downcast eyes and bowed head. You saw it in his frown-marred lips and hunched shoulders. You were once the same as he was. Perhaps the circumstances weren’t exactly the same, but you knew that he was a victim, similar to how you are now a survivor.

Fortunately, you had people who cared about you and managed to help you with your situation, and when you saw that poor young man all meek and vulnerable, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn a blind eye. Even if you didn’t know him personally, you believed that nobody deserved that kind of ill treatment, whatever it was. You couldn’t say for certain what the young man was going through, but you did know that he was in pain. And so, you approached him.

Keep reading

[akallabeth-joie]

Narrative Voice in LM 1.2.X

I think it's rather interesting how a bunch of Hugo's different approaches and techniques show up back-to-back in the early parts of book 2 here. In 1.2.1, for instance, he's keeping to a third-person-omniscient perspective: he's describing the speech and actions that any observer in the room would have seen, but also peppering in details as-of-yet unknown to the characters (such as that Myriel's great work on duty will never be completed).

We also see Hugo insert himself into the narration, suggesting particular documents or persons were sources of his information, as though Hugo was researching and reconstructing the story from primary sources and testimony: there's Mlle Baptistine's letters cited as the source of 1.2.4 (which also allows Hugo to use her perspective to narrate the dinner); the reference to the prison turnkey as witness of Valjean's chaining in 1.2.6 (to show the lasting emotional impact of the scene on a witnes); in the same chapter, the narrator references "my research" to allow a comparison between Valjean and Claude Gaux. I think this conceit of Hugo-as-historic-researcher reinforces the idea that it's a realistic novel: that the characters and plots are accurate representations of real people the idea that Les Mis is an everyman (/woman/child) story that could be about any unfortunate people and thus is about all of them. Furthering that idea, I find the citation of fake sources lends credence to certain details which Hugo includes in the narrative, which likewise could have been "reconstructed" from later sources, even if not named (the "small papers and large book" detail could have come from Hugo inspecting Myriel's notes and books in an archive, Valjean's escape attempts and subsequent punishments would have been documented somewhere in the prison records). Dropping unsourced 'facts' into the narrative ("four out of five crimes in London* are based on hunger"), also subtly reinforces the idea of the story as some sort of derived historic narrative.

However, we are in the realm of fiction, and Hugo-as-omniscient-narrator also freely includes tiny details of the exact scene itself as experienced by the characters in that moment, which would not be recoverable and are unlikely to be documented: the exact identity of the woman who pointed Valjean to the bishop's house, which was unknown to him and thus not reported to the "witness" for the scenes in the bishop's house; the depiction of Jeanne's young son sleeping on his basket or hugging the cat for warmth while waiting for school (an unlikely detail for Valjean to hear about in prison, which is ostensibly the context for the end of Jeanne's story); really the whole of Valjean's early history is full of these sorts of lost details (Marie-Claude giving the children milk and the girls spilling it in their haste to drink? Who would even have that information for Hugo-the-researcher to discover?)

And then we have 1.2.8: an extended metaphor of drowning as a representation for how poverty and incarceration cut Jean Valjean off from society. Hugo gets a certain amount of (affectionate) flack for interrupting the plot of Les Mis with digressions: seemingly unrelated essays and short interludes of real-person fiction. Hugo-the-author uses them to insert his social/political/historical opinions and develop his theses for the books, as well as setting scenes for later events in the plot, calling for political action by the audience, wrestling with his own past, and boring the censors.

*Also, referencing London make this message both more universal and (I imagine) less biting to contemporary French readers. Sure, other than this one sentence Hugo's only talking about French people and crimes committed in France, but dropping in this statistic about English crime supports his "desperation causes crime" message while also drawing off the criticism of French society/law a little. This tidbit is about those guys (who you-the-reader may be annoyed with re: the whole losing the Napoleonic wars thing) over there, not more woe at home! They do it, too! It's not just you and your society. Or something.

[werezmastarbucks]

golden

part two - Silver

part three - Black

part four - Green

credence barebone x fem!OC (platonic)

fantastic beasts x hogwarts legacy crossover = au

at the Circus Arcanus, Credence, who's looking for his identity and is trying to free Nagini, is a witness to arrival of a new 'freak'. She's constantly yelling something about poachers, and and revenge, and has strange golden chains on her arms and legs.

warnings: minor SPOILERS for Hogwarts Legacy!!!! mentions of abuse, active abuse, mentions of animal abuse (very light, I hate it), angsty of course, but not too much, violence

author's note: to combine the game and the movie, I had to insert a prophet type of the character, and do the time jump. Let's assume since the character had ancient magic, and is a witch, time is lenient to her. Also, as this is the insert of a game character, I gave her prophetic powers in part, to make it feel more like a reader. idk if it makes sense

word count: 8300

music: mermaid by skott, moon river by audrey hepburn, nature boy acoustic by aurora, hijo de la luna by mecano, la petite mort by coer de pirate

Credence couldn't stand this yelling. When Skender went on whipping another freak, trying to beat obedience into them, the boy with the mop tried to hum under his breath to phase out the noise. All of them were freaks, otherwise, they didn't have names. For the audiences, they had their circus names: the Bonfire Woman, the Wicked Twins, the Snake Woman. None of them ever said these titles out loud, none felt like artists. He, Credence, not being the one on the stage, was less than a freak; he was a nobody. It served him just well at the time. Skender would usually call him 'boy', or 'hey, you'.

There was also a serving house-elf who got the same portion of Skender love as everybody else. He didn't have a name at all, and everybody called him 'elf'.

There was noise. Sometimes his bones would burn, and his joints felt like they were about to be torn out. Credence didn't know whether he was screaming then, or the noise of the circus just became louder.

He only had one thing to do.

Unlike the freaks, he was relatively free to move around, and that and only that helped him to witness a new object being brought. The noise she created was almost insurmountable. Credence hid behind the curtain, his eyelids heavy from the lack of sleep. The smells of the circus were itchy in his nostrils; sweat, wet rags everybody wore, scat, sour smell of rotten food. The smell of burning flesh from the Zouwu cage.

Skender servants were whipping the horses, hurrying with the big cage mounted on the carriage. The girl inside was sputtering curses so quickly Credence couldn't process half of them. She was all golden and young, she looked like a hostage. But she wasn't a freak. Her long braided bronze hair was discheveled, she was definitely a witch. On her wrists, and her feet, there were thin but hot-looking golden chains. As she swirled around in her cage, jumping at the bars like mad, Credence noticed the same type of chain on her neck, locked so tight it must hurt her. Her eyes were bizarre, mad, like she was not all there.

He had the wonderful ability to hide so well Skender couldn't catch him even when he stood next to him behind a shelf with potions and medications. In the commotion of the newcomer, nobody noticed him.

The new freak was kept in a bird-like huge cage that was lowered from the roof of the tent; three people were needed to keep her in place with long poles while the cage was being put in place. Not because she would catch flames or turn into a cougar; but because she was so wild all the time.

The bars of her cage lit red-hot everytime one touched them; it was done not to let her move too much. There was just enough place for her to lay down in fetus position. Credence knew all that because he cleaned, and could hide like a ghost. To kill the time somehow in here, until he could come up with a plan, he hid around the corners, behind the curtains, below the desks, among the empty cages, and listened to everything. He was like a spirit, more than a man; and like an annoying poltergeist, he was treated.

As the dust settled, after her hectic arrival, Skender had the honors of listening to her interminable flow of curses and threats; all too rude and self-confident to Credence's taste. He would cram himself in between the clothing rag and the row of shelves standing behind the tent wall, and peek out with one eye to take a look.

"When I get out, and believe me, I will", she hissed with an accent Credence would place somewhere between Europe and north of England, "you will regret ever seeing me with your two eyes".

Skender laughed, his face almost hidden behind his uncombed, lush beard, his dirty face with little pig eyes glistening with sweat.

"You're now in this cage with the chains, little monster".

She tried to grab onto the bar, and the bar sizzled with the piece of skin from her palm. She yelped with pain and jumped back, cradling her hand. Skender started laughing again. Dull music of bells flowed into the tent in narrow torrents. Her face was almost covered with her hair, but big, golden hoops were glimmering through it in her ears; she looked like a jinn.

The girl crawled back and took the bars with her two hands, as if the scorching iron didn't hurt her at all. The movement was quick, sharp; Skender twitched with his whole body and held his breath for a second. For some time, the only sound in there was the bubbling skin on her hands as she held the bars.

"I will make you eat your own two eyeballs, poacher. Remember that".

Skender grabbed a walking stick placed against a box further away, and took two steps towards the cage. The girl slowly let go of the bars and sat down at the sharp sound of the strike.

"Sit back, and be quiet".

The man left, and Credence stepped deeper into the shadows. As the sound of Skender's steps faded away, he heard the girl moan with pain. He peeked out again: she crouched on the ground, trying not to scream.

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"Mesdames et Messieurs! Come closer, see tonight, at the Circus Arcanus, for your pleasure! The ancient creature of magic! Yes, you heard it right! The old hag looks like a young girl but let it not mislead you! For this creature was caught in the darkest forests of Scotland doing ancient magic!"

The crowd gasped. The girl sat in the middle of the scene, on the ground, seemingly unbothered by the dozens of pairs of eyes watching her. Her gold glimmered in the light of candles.

"These chains on her ankles, her wrists, her neck, and around her waist" - Skender banged his stick on the bars of the stage, and nothing happened. "These chains", he repeated again, louder. Of course, she wouldn't perform for him. Her body was shaking with rage. Skender bared his teeth, motioning to the servants to move into the stage and kick her. Nobody would volunteer. Finally, the house elf stepped into the little arena, trembling with fear.

"The chains you're about to see keep her magic at bay. These mind-boggling locks have been forged by Tubal-cain himself, and present another wonder of the world, recovered five hundred years ago in Jerusalem. Only a fine feature of blacksmith art can really contain power like this".

The elf approached the girl carefully and she lifted her face towards him. Surprisingly, she didn't attack him, but even let him get her up to her feet and lift the hem of her chemise a little, where the chain was seen. Having completed this little task, the elf ran back out of the cage quickly. She stayed standing, observing the audience like a wolf, with no human recognition whatsoever.

How old was she, Credence wondered. And does ancient magic really still exist?

"Now, if you will, ladies and gentlemen, on the sides of the cage, we need a little space", elated Skender continued. The spectators shifted and moved, chattering quietly. On both sides of the scene, two magicians appeared, with their wands ready.

"To prove to you how strong the hag is, we will lit her on fire. And believe me", Skender grinned with his showman's sneer, "no hair on her head will be harmed".

Credence caught himself holding his breath. As the two servants shouted, Incendio!, simultaneously, the long fiery tails flew out of the tips of their wands, rushing towards her. The last the audience saw of her was her unmoving position, her face with absolutely no expression. For several moment, she was burning, standing, like a straw figure they burn at the end of winter. After the fire ceased, the viewers gasped once again: the witch was still there, not a sign of burns on her; her clothes, her hair, her whole body unharmed.

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"The next time you levitate", Skender said. After the show, she was dragged and thrown back to her narrow cage, but didn't lose her spirits. Now was the time for her to laugh.

"Miserable fool. I don't levitate by command".

He waved his fist in the air as if he could do something with it. Credence had witnessed her jump on one of the servants with her feet and her fingers spread, trying to gouge his eyes out. She used no magic, but her anger alone gave her a little headstart.

"You will! You will do as I say".

"It doesn't work like that!" she shouted.

"Next time, you levitate like a fairy, or I will start torturing the elf".

The smile didn't quite leave her face, but her eyes hardened.

"You remember what I told you, Skender? Once I get out of here..."

"It won't happen", Skender spat on the floor in front of him. "You talk big, but you won't get out of the chains. You do as I say, bitch, and stop jumping if you don't want your face burnt like your hands".

Credence later interloped the elf as he was bringing her food, and gave him the ointment, for her palms. It wouldn't rid her of scars at once, but should take away the pain.

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Credence loved no one; Nagini loved him. Because he was braver than he seemed, and cared more than he showed. He was nice to her, he talked to her while everybody else, even the freaks, tried to keep their distance. In this little torture prison, the victims even formed alliances and the closest to Skender, put down the outcasts. Credence was not like them, and he was the only one who treated her with decency.

Only through him did she get any news of, if not the world, but at least the enclosed space of their circus. Who perfromed what, who Skender beat up, who left, who came. About the new freak, the ancient witch, she proposed to get closer to her. Maybe she would help them escape; she clearly desires that. Maybe, if they gave her what she wanted - Skender, - and free her of chains, she would liberate them together with her. Credence agreed, but he didn't know how to handle her.

"Be nice to her, like you are with me", said Nagini. Credence was looking down at his shoes on the dirty floor. He was, in fact, not the best for cleaning.

She did not levitate, the next time. As she said, the owner's requirements were unreasonable. There was no way she would levitate. The next performance was a disaster. She just stood there, disinterested, looking at the people outside like she wanted to crunch on their bones. No matter what Skender did; he poked her with his stick and lambasted her with curses, and screamed at her; she wouldn't leviate. Eventually, the servants were called to repeat the same trick with the fire. Credence asked himself, why she bled when stroke with a slicing curse, but wouldn't burn.

After the show, almost as it ended, he raced through the circus. He didn't know why the witch treated the elf so well, but there was talk of her killing poachers in dozens at a time, before she had been caught. He found the elf in the kitchen, mopping half-heartedly, and, with all the magic he possibly had in him, locked him in a huge locket in his little room at the end of the tent, next to the petty, where he slept. He threw some cheese and bread inside, and swore him to be quiet, and listened, as Skender ravaged through the circus, looking for him. He sat on the locket, shivering. Magically, no less than in a sway of miracle, Skender never made it to his little hole. After several hours of beating, screaming and bludgeoning everyone who crossed his path, Skender finally have gone quiet. Maybe he even left the tent to go to the city and buy a new elf; Credence opened the locket and begged with the elf to stay there for a while. The elf didn't much care and didn't fight back as he shoved him deeper.

She was yelling for Skender. Her voice was shrill and angry and made Credence hold on to his head as he approached her cage. The sharp pain in his temples razored him so deep he couldn't see for several seconds.

He sneaked into the place they were holding her and finally stood in front of the cage and not outside, hiding.

She was sitting with her back to the entrance, cursing.

"You should try to comply", he said, interrupting the torrent of crying.

"You should do what he says, for your own sake, and those around you".

He bowed his head a little out of habit. He was still a little intimidated of her, even though she was in the cage.

The witch turned to him, silenced at once. First, she was frowning, but, as she looked at him, her face lit up with a strange expression. He saw the recognition in her eyes, and it took him by surprise. For some time she was even quiet, and then, in a voice no one has heard her use here before, she called,

"Credence?"

She stood oh ner knees and reached her hand through the bars, careful not to touch them. Credence didn't move, uncertain what it meant.

"You know me?"

"Yes", her hand was reaching for him. The gold bracelet on her thin wrist glimmering. Credence wouldn't budge.

"How do you know my name?"

"It's a long story..." she appeared to be pondering something. Then scowled with horror.

"What year is it?"

She had a very young face; not older than eighteen, maybe. It was difficult to say. Her eyes knew something, there were dark shadows around them. But her face was the face of a maiden. And she asked him what year it was?

"Nineteen twenty seven", he said, observing her. She retreived her hand back, touching her head absently, trying to comb her long hair.

"Oh, no", she looked back at him, "we need to leave this place, Credence".

"Is it true that you have ancient magic? That you're old?" he asked, deciding to leave empty politeness aside.

"Yes, but these chains contain it", she said, looking at her wrists. "This one on the neck barely lets me breathe. And to think that I was back at Hogwarts, poachers' doom! That's what they called me! But I completely lost the track of time. I should've understood, when Dumbledore came to teach... I was away for too long..."

Credence blinked several times, frustrated at her empty muttering.

"How do we get them off?"

For a second she thought, then her face lit up. She was so different, so gentle, Credence noticed, when she wasn't screaming profanities at people.

"You could do it". The way she said it was meaningful.

"You... know what I am?" he asked. Familiar itch in the back of his head made him stoop, trying to contain terror tearing out of him. Suddenly he was expecting a strike, but it didn't come.

"Yes", she said tenderly, like someone who really knew him. Credence made himself look up and examined her face again. He was sure they've never met before.

"How? Is it because you're a... an ancient witch?"

"I am not ancient, Skender just invented it for the sake of effect..." she gasped, "the elf! What is with him? Is he alive??"

Credence watch her almost grab on the hot bars again and hurried to answer,

"I hid him. He's okay".

"Oh, thank you, thank you Credence. How many animals are in this circus?"

"Only Zouwu and a kappu. And, well, the elf", Credence shrugged. It felt secondary to him, but clearly, that's what she was most concerned about. "There also used to be a hippogriff and a couple of half-goblins, but Skender got rid of them".

Credence saw she was about to cry.

"What do you mean, got rid of them?"

He tried to actually pull the memory of them from his head; the months at the circus were blurry, like one big, loud, horrible carnival with constant bashing noise and the mixture of color.

"Look. Will you help us if I release you?"

"Who is with you?"

"A friend. Have you seen the snake woman?"

"Nagini?" she asked. Credence decided not to amaze at her knowing them all. He just nodded.

"We should get her out. And the elf. And kappa, and the Zouwu, very important".

He got agitated at her energy, seeing as the plan was suddenly being pulled at the seams. It wasn't their plan to rescue the whole circus.

"No, listen-"

"Bring me the biggest knife you can find, and a bell, alright?"

Credence listened to the outside, making sure nobody was listening to them like he used to.

"Alright..."

She outstretched her hand again.

"Give me your hand, Credence".

Maybe she was about to read destiny on his palm. He saw the scars on her hand, looking very similar to his own. As he touched her slender hand, he felt the surge of magic, and warmth, at the touch of a human. Strange thoughts howled in his mind. He wanted to slide his fingers up and tear the chain from her wrist away.

"We will get out of here. Believe my rage, friend".

As he returned to Nagini to give her the news, he was still pondering on the touch. It seemed he got a glimpse of what his magic could be; as if he touched something equally strong, and equally dangerous as himself, but more golden.

"The next time she's brought to performance, we escape", he said.

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The circus was readying for the evening show. The fire breather was brushing her hair; she gave Credence a glance of resentment as he passed her room. The twins were arguing about something, and the beasts were nervously pacing in their cages. He was overwhelmed with worry; he was sure the witch was going to complicate everything once she's out. It occurred to him in one of those moments, that he never asked her name; while she knew his and Nagini's. In his mind, she was the golden witch. The hoops in her ears, the bracelets around her wrists, and ankles, and neck, all vaguely symbolic, of what, he didn't know. As they gleamed in the bright candlelight, the flashes were as bright as the sun, almost white and iridescent.

Skender's workers poked her with sticks as she walked calmly towards the arena; she did listen to Credence, and became agreeable, convincing Skender he managed to break her down after all. Nagini had been picking a hole in her own cage, in the narrow, thin bars that kept her even in her snake form. At the right hour, she turned and slid quietly, concealing in the shadows of the drapes, while everybody was busy preparing for the show. The look of her empty room was the signal Credence had been waiting for.

He picked up a kinfe from Skender's empty room - he had been hiding the elf in his room, feeding him; he had to get him on a chain not to let him run back to his master. It was for his own good. He made a mental note to release the elf once the tumult begins. He had gone to see the lock on the Zouwu cage and realized it would be useless to battle with it without magic. The sight of the beast, contained in a small cage, stirred anger in him. He decided that he agreed at least on this with the witch. Zouwu had to be set free.

As she was being led through the corridors, happy Skender walking in front of her, Credence peeked from one of the sections of the tent, sending her a nod. She barely moved her eyes but formed fists of her hands. Credence ran. As he was running, he tore the hat from the clown's head, because it had bells. Nagini sliding beside him, his greatest weapon so far. He sneaked behind the back of the worker, and gave him a jab in the back of the neck. Nagini stroke, and the man fell on the ground.

The fuss began. Skender turned around, alarmed by the shrill scream of pain. Nagini slid between their legs, attacking the next guardian, while the witch kicked the third one. She jumped again - like a monkey, her limbs coarse from all the sitting, and started bashing his head on the ground. The horrified worker screamed. Credence watched as Nagini turned back into human and thought it a mistake; she would be far safer if she just crawled away from the path of the witch to let her deal with Skender. He didn't know why she did that. Behind her back, the witch was making her way towards Credence with her hand outstretched. He ran forward, hanging her the knife. A spell whistled just above her ear, hitting Credence in the shoulder. He caught himself on the wall, sharp pain in his limb crawling down to his fingers. He felt the black whirlwind inside grumbling with rage; he would lose control soon, and then the whole circus, together with his two accomplices would be buried. He clenched his teeth, looked into her eyes. The witch turned around and ducked, missing another spell. She was quite good.

Nagini attacked Skender with nothing but her short, sharp blade; and a green flash lit the narrow corridor for a split second. Credence heard himself scream as Nagini fell. The witch yelped with rage and threw the knife. As Nagini's body hit the ground, the weapon cut the air silently, and lounged in the middle of Skender's chest. He already put up his wand again, but didn't have the chance to yell a curse. The witch followed the knife, a golden lightning, and launched on him as he, too, crashed on the ground.

There were inhuman screams as she bent above him. Credence could feel the salt in his throat, while crawling towards Nagini. She was dead.

"What did I tell you, Skender?"

Skender shrieked with pain as she plunged her sharp fingers in his eyesockets. Then, gurgling sound, in Credence's head it sounded like music. He was half-way turned now, having forgotten about the elf, or anything else, for that matter. The world around him was already in shambles; the other freaks ran towards the noise, and now were scattering in all directions at the sight of what the witch was doing to their master. There was roar, and shrieking, and laughter, and terrified screams; wondering yelling from the spectators already at the arena, waiting for the show that would never begin.

She pulled on his shoulders with force, but was still unable to get him up if he didn't cooperate.

"Credence".

He lifted his eyes on her. Her gold touched her cheeks; long locks flying around her head.

"Please don't come undone; not now. You will kill us all".

He made it to his feet, and only then realized he was clutching her hand. She looked down at Nagini, horrified.

"This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to live... what have I done..."

He bit his lip until his teeth hurt. He split his lip in two.

"Skender killed her".

She pleaded with him to go release the animals. The circus workers were already gathering, unsure what to do. There was no explicit need to fight them for they were unguided without the showman who was now lying on the ground, with his squelched eyes in his open mouth. Credence looked at her hands, covered in blood.

"I'll release the elf".

"Wait", she ran back to the body and recovered Skender's wand.

"I can't do any magic at all, but you can".

"I've never had a wand in my life", Credence mumbled. Her face was in front of him, her hands took his head, covering his ears.

"Magic is in you. You're a natural. You can do a simple Alohomora. Meet me at the Zouwu cage outside".

Credence thought of taking Nagini with them, but couldn't think of any possible way to carry her. The best he could do was, taking her to his hole - yes, it was tiny, and smelly. But he slept there, and there was no other remotely acceptable place for her. Feeling his face twitching with crying, he put her into his bed and touched her face.

He then cut the chains off the elf.

"I'll tell master Skender!" he yelled.

"Skender's dead. The witch killed him", Credence replied coldly, "you can come with us if you want".

The elf glanced at the body in his bed and shook his head. Then he walked slowly away, and Credence followed him into the corridor. As he walked, he watched the ravaged rooms and freaks running away. Kappa's aquarium was now empty; his travelling water bag was gone together with him. As Credence turned to exit the tent, he found the river vampire sitting on Skender's chest and sucking the blood out of a big cut on his face. Credence slithered between them and the wall and ran outside.

The witch was standing next to the cage of Zouwu. It was visibly nervous. The cage wasn't even big enough to pace, so it just rocked from side to side, puffing. Some servants were also outside, trying to get her with spells, but she was hiding behind the stands with colorful costumes.

Credence looked at the wand in his hand and realized he didn't know any offense spells. When he heard someone use them, he didn't pay attention, not even a thought in his head that he, one day, would wield a wand. The flashes were raining on the side of the tent, trying to get her, as she crouched on the ground, yelling at them. It seemed, she had lost her mind completely and was just trying to defeat them with verbal damnations. Credence pointed Skender's wand towards two men and thought, 'go away'.

A powerful surge of air picked up the rags, clothes and garbage from the ground, eventually reaching them. It held them in the air like toys, and then they were pulled with force, thrown away, against the nearby market buildings, like glass figurines. The other two made themselves scarce instantly.

The witch reappeared, a bit dowdyish but in one piece, and, suddenly, there was a big, big smile on her face, making her look like a girl again. She gave him two thumbs up. Credence swayed and ran towards the cage. There was a crowd gathering on the square already; people were concerned, someone yelled something about the aurors.

He ordered, Alohomora!, and the lock cracked, and fell from the bars. The witch made him step back as she opened the door and let the beast out.

"Where's the bell?"

He pulled the clown's hat from behind his belt and handed it to her.

She shook the hat in front of the huge beast. It was big, like all the circus itself; bright-red and fiery yellow, it had two gigantic amber eyes that now followed the tiny clown bell attentively.

"Get his collar off", she whispered. Credence didn't even register it until she pushed him lightly on the shoulder. She continued to shake the bell in front of the monster; Credence was getting angry. He wasn't some spell-ready machine, he didn't know how to get the collar off without hurting the Zouwu. He voiced that.

"Credence", she said assertively, tugging on his collar. Finally, a gesture familiar to him, brought him back to his senses. "Credence, my friend, listen to me. Focus on the collar, and say Evanesco. Can you do that?"

He stummered.

"I-I guess".

"Go on my boy. There are people gathering already, and soon, the people of Ministry will be here, and I don't trust them much".

He pointed his wand at the tight iron collar, barely visible in the beast's lush orange fur.

"Evanesco!"

Instead of quietly vanishing, the collar first narrowed, choking the Zouwu, and then broadened, and exploded.

The beast roared and moved its enourmous body in all directions. People around them shouted and rushed away, but Credence decided to fix it immediately. He tugged on the creature's fur, trying to run behind its moving face. He could hear the witch calling his name, and the sound of bells. A strong push bounced off of his hurt shoulder, and Credence was in the air for a couple of seconds. The Zouwu, and the square, turned upside down, and he crashed onto a pile of rags at the circus entrance. As the whistling in his ears calmed down, he regrouped, and saw the witch trying to calm the beast down. She was just like a little squirrel in front of its face. It didn't pay attention to bells anymore, it was snapping its huge jaws, trying to swallow her.

He couldn't control the obscurial anymore. He could feel, rather than understand, as it lifted him up, tearing his body apart. Black smoke lifted him above the ground and pulled forward, towards her. He only just managed to catch her reaching hand as he soared up, into the sky, losing his consciousness in the roaring vortex of the wind.

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When he woke up, the freshness of the air almost lulled him back to sleep. He saw the stars, glimmering silver, winking at him. The smell of fire near him made his stomach suck its guts with hunger.

He sat up, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark, and the fire, scared. Has he killed her?

"Good evening", he heard. She sat on the other side of the bonfire, comfortably leaned against a stack of hay. Credence looked around. They were far away from Paris; the spaciousness around, and the quiet of the night told him they were outside of the city.

Her face was only lit by the bonfire, and she looked like a fiery ghost.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice rusty.

"Oh, not much. Maybe an hour. You're strong", she said, with a hint of strange admiration in her voice. She was pulling her hair, playing with it, finally relaxed. It was obvious she had been preoccupied.

"I- I never asked your name", Credence said.

"Orlaith Peverell", she replied, simply.

"Oh".

She grinned.

"Did you expect something else?"

He was embarrassed at his reaction.

"No, I just... just thought about you as 'the witch'", he said, bowing his head.

"Oohh, I like it. The Witch. The poachers used to call me the Cutter, but the Witch is much more noble and insidious, I think".

Across the fire, her smile glistened like lightning.

"The Cutter?" he wondered.

"I used to use Sectumsempra on them", she motioned in the air, as if she was slicing the fire diagonally. "It's a slicing curse. It opens up numerous little cuts on the body of the enemy. With time, I mastered it so well I could chop them into pieces with one spell".

"Why did you hunt... the poachers?"

"Yes. Well, when I was at Hogwarts, the Forest was swarming with them. I would walk through it to meet my peers, and there would be voices in the woods. I decided to clean the forest. You should've seen what they did to the animals they caught", her face changed into the grimace of hatred.

"And how did you get caught?" Credence felt like he was treading on top of a thread, asking her further, as if she could snap. He rubbed his neck which was a little sore after turning. In fact, he realized, his whole body ached, but now it was this warm ache of relaxing muscles.

"Oh, it was so simple. I was not being careful. Dumbledore told me to be discreet, but I was so arrogant. I have ancient magic, Credence. I could turn the earth. I could move mountains, almost. I thought I could take on twenty, thirty men at once. And I could. But, well, I hunted poachers, and they knew the strings to pull. They caught me up in between two flames. They said they wanted to put me in chains and one of them, he held this baby deer in his hands, threatening to slice its throat".

Credence frowned,

"Not even a magic beast?"

"Does it make any difference? As I let them put the chains on me, they let it go. I didn't know these were so powerful", she tugged on her wrist. "Can you try to take them off?"

She was, herself, like a magical chained beast.

He shook his head.

"If I tear them off, I tear you apart with them".

"I am useless", she sighed. "If I weren't useless, Nagini wouldn't have died. This wasn't her fate. She was supposed to live on".

Credence felt the knot in his chest, and concealed his face for a moment.

"Who will take her place now?" she mused quietly.

"What do you mean?"

Orlaith gave him a look of significance, as if she was seeing him for the first time. She even stood up and circled the bonfire to sit next to him.

"How are you after the flight?"

He was taken by surprise by her question. Very rarely, maybe once or twice in his life, has somebody asked him how he was. How he felt, whether he hurt. She was visibly unsure whether to touch him or not, and halfway through, Credence wished she did. She touched his hand quickly.

"I'm alright".

"Can I see your arms?"

A vomit-inducing feeling snaked into his stomach. No way, there are these cracks on his skin, through which the black core is seen. His core. He was dying.

He shook his head slowly and moved away a little.

"I asked you", he repeated, a bit colder, "what you were talking about, about the fate".

She sighed and turned towards the fire. Only now Credence noticed that the witch wasn't wearing any shoes. Her feet must be hurting.

"I know things. Like, your name, and what you are. And I know some of the future, although it's uneven. I can't tell you everything now, it's too sad for me. But... I know that, because I was there at the circus, Nagini died".

He was trying to place this kind of magical ability somewhere on the spectrum of what he knew.

"Are you clairvoyant?"

"Not quite. I just... know how the story goes. It's rather useless now, because I've already been changing the course of time. It seems I've bothered everything".

"Do you know who my mother is?" he asked quickly.

Orlaith was expecting this question. Her voice was filled with sorrow,

"No, I'm sorry. I know that you are an obscurial. Or, rather, there is an obscurial inside you. But your family..." she narrowed her eyes.

"You know, I can tell you this. You are the first - and the only - person in the history who hasn't only survived the first years with obscurial, but lived to see adulthood. You know what that means?"

Credence was silent, thinking, how many times he has reflected upon that. It wasn't something to be proud of, or amazed. Clearly, Orlaith thought that. That he was that special, strong, chosen one. She looked at him like that; like he was something.

"Come on, Credence".

"I don't know. I've thought about it. I can contain it now, control it a little. But I don't know what it means".

She rubbed her foot unconstrainedly. The chain on her ankle winked at him.

"I think... well. When you think about it like that... you must really be very strong to fight and even tame an obscurial like that, for so long. You must have some very old blood. Maybe you're one of the very powerful trees, Credence. I've only heard of several warlocks who could theoretically have that much of magical control".

"What's it good for?"

"It narrows the search greatly".

He shook himself up. Cope, he thought. She makes a lot of sense.

"And... who do you think..."

"I don't know American wizard families, I'm sorry. See", an upset laughter shook her body, "I know so many things, but none of them are useful for you".

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In the morning the first light woke him up. A foggy new day was rising above the countryside; Credence had no idea where they were. Chances were, he would need to turn and fly again, only to find out where to move on. While Orlaith slept, snuggled in the hay, he went searching for any houses at all; clutching Skender's wand, he was ready to use it to get some food for breakfast, and shoes, for her.

The remnants of a village were situated not far away, but no people. There was no food; he only found a couple of old, shattered houses, and a big, empty barn. Inside, he found a pair of beaten down boots, small enough for her feet. And a little brown chick, no bigger than a sparrow, peeping softly. He picked up the baby bird in his hand, feeling strangely hollow.

"There aren't even any scraps to give you, little one", he murmured. Together, a chick on his palm, and boots in his hand, they walked across the huge barn. He did manage to find a very old, half-empty bag of crops; but no human food.

As he came back, the witch was already awake, sitting there at the cold bonfire, like someone struck her on her head.

"Sorry, I'm not an early bird", she greeted him. He showed her the shoes, and the chick he found, sure she would love her.

Orlaith was amazed at the little baby like it was the most fantastic thing she'd ever seen in her life. She let it sit on the skirt of her dress, and then handed it back to Credence.

"I think she likes you more".

She was very grateful for the boots, too. Although they were still slightly big for her, she put them on at once, smiling.

The question of breakfast never came up. As they started discussing what to do next, it turned out they had very different plans of action.

"We need to go back to Paris and somehow hop on a train to London. From there, we-"

"No", Credence refused, "I have an address. There is a chance it's my mother's place. That's why I came to Paris in the first place. I have information. I need to go see her".

Orlaith shook her head assertively.

"No, Grinderlwald is looking for you. You won'd find anything in France, Credence. Your best chance is with Dumbledore. We need to seek him. Him, or Newt".

Just the name he recognized stopped him from shaking with anger.

"Newt? Scamander?"

"Yes, you've met him. He has connection to Dumbledore. He'll help you. At Hogwarts, with Albus, you'll be safe".

"I don't need to be safe. I'm looking for my parents", he pressed. Orlaith looked at him with her almost golden eyes. In the light of day she looked more tired, but still mysterious, sparkling. Like a fairy. It was a surprise she couldn't actually levitate; with all her wavy hair, and long dress, and round rings. She was all the light Credence lacked, in his appearance. He knew he was black, bloody and heavy.

"If Grindelwald gets you, you may get the answers, but then you'll die".

"That's what I want".

She stood up, towering above him. Credence was forced to look up upon her. Her face was concerned, unreadable otherwise.

"Don't say that again, Credence", she said quietly. "You will have a better life, without this curse. You will heal, and with healing, you will cast the obscurial out. Hasn't Nagini ever told you it doesn't matter what you were born?"

The sound of her name made him jump out.

"Don't use her like that".

"She was right", Orlaith continued, "you will find your family, but you shall find them not through the alliance with Gellert Grindelwald".

"Is that also a story you know?" he asked with his fists clenched.

"I'm much like you, but my destiny was more gentle with me. I don't know why I have ancient magic; my name only gives me so much to ponder on. But it doesn't matter how I came here, who sent me, why I know what's going to happen. I learnt to control it, it doesn't matter to me anymore. What matters to me is to keep the people I love, safe".

Credence turned away, away from her gaze, that made his spine twitch. He ignored the word she said, it didn't apply to him. Obviosuly didn't apply.

"I thought you only cared about animals".

He heard her chuckle. Her hand laid on his shoulder, and he felt the magic again. They were like two parts of a mechanism, vibrating off of each other. Two sources of infinite magic. It was surprising she didn't feel that, or didn't show. He put the little chick into his pocket.

"I need to go back to Hogwarts. They must be looking for me. They're looking for you, too".

"You go then". Credence hadn't mentioned still that he had no idea what 'Hogwarts' was.

"You don't understand..."

Credence turned back to her and clutched her narrow shoulders. He hadn't touched anyone in years, at all. He could feel the bones under his fingers, and her flesh, warm. He could almost feel her bloodflow, that's how vivid it was. And her slightly open mouth, her flaring nostrils, and her golden earrings, all of it, opened up a gap he didn't know existed in the world. Connection to someone else. She didn't retaliate, didn't scream at him; she didn't get angry or scared. The obscurial inside of him lingered obediently without raising its head. He let go of her, ashamed.

"You don't understand", he managed to utter, "I've been living, without a name, for twenty-seven years. I don't know anything about Grindelwald, and I don't think I care. I can't care".

She put her hands up, with her palms, scarred but much, much healthier than before the ointment; she never got to know that it had been Credence who sent it to her. The elf didn't actually like her that much at all.

She didn't get the chance to say anything, as her eyes enlarged with fear.

The sound of the wind was too swift behind his back, and the smell of someone's presence hit his nose.

Orlaith clutched his shoulder, digging her nails into his flesh, right where the spell hit him yesterday. She held him like she wouldn't let go even if they chopped off her arm. He stood next to her, looking at one man, who had apparated silently and was waiting for their attention.

How much had he heard? Shouldn't be too much, since Orlaith noticed him almost at once. But what if he had been creeping before?

His white face, a face of an old falcon with one glass eye, observed them with quiet contentment.

"My boy", he said softly. His skin crawled. He remembered this person, from before. His suggestive hands on Credence's neck, not warm, but dry and cool, the need to freeze and just comply that always overcame him when this man was beside him. Even when he looked different, Credence was awashed with the sense of importance, and doom, and inevitability. He did care, he thought, deciding the things were much simpler a second ago. Seeing Grindelwald quietly eyeing Orlaith, as he was ruminating. He now got the idea of urgency all of a sudden. A person like this, who had manipulated him to find an obscurial, only to use it, like a weapon. If he got a creature that wielded ancient magic into his arsenal, there would be horrifying things happening.

Her voice echoed strangely in his head. Sure, she would have these chains broken, but then she'll die.

Orlaith just clung onto his shoulder, trying to shove him behind, as the wizard examined them.

"Finally, I found you. Good that you're spending time outside of the city, Paris is so dirty. Who is your friend?"

"She's a freak from the circus. We escaped yesterday", Credence said, which came as a shock to himself. Without a stutter. He knew he could destroy Grindelwald if he really wanted. If he had time to practice, to use this creature inside of him. If he really tried.

As the wizard made a polite step forward, Orlaith barked,

"Don't touch him!"

Gellert's mouth formed an 'oh'. He was entertained.

"A freak, from the circus? And what little tricks do you do, mademoiselle?"

She was about to open her dirty mouth and flood him with everything she could come up with, but Credence took her hand and pulled it away from his shoulder.

"Nothing. She could barely levitate. Why are you here?"

"I have come for you, Credence", Grindelwald cooed quietly, his eyes still on the witch. Credence saw how the old wizard was contemplating her golden collar.

"Or should I take her, as well?"

Orlaith tried to grab him again, but Credence shook her off. He didn't even have space to give her a look.

"You need me? Let's go", he said.

"Credence!"

He closed his eyes and formed a storm. In a second, he turned, letting the obscurial out, and it was so easy, almost painless this time. Encircling her, sheltering her from the wizard, he whispered, hoping that she would hear,

"He can't know what you are".

He couldn't see her face, engulfed in the black and orange vortex of himself. The fractions of his soul were tearing at his eyes, ice cold. Then he moved towards Grindelwald where he knew the man was standing, and they flew, together, like two black swarms, towards the skies.

She kept calling his name.

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Dumbledore was most puzzled, happy, relieved and worried all at the same time. She begged him to go at once, but the blood pact weighed on him. As he worked on the chains, he was thinking.

"You know, Orlaith", he said, musingly, "that chick Credence found in the barn. What was it like again?"

The chains were almost choking her now. In presence of someone who could break them, they started killing her slowly, squeezing her throat.

"Well", she hissed, "it was small. Smaller than a chicken baby. Dark brown, with some spots. Interesting, green eyes, very uneven green".

"And the spots - golden?"

Something snapped. Orlaith already thought it was her own artery. The lack of oxygen made her dizzy, two Dumbledores floating in front of her. As she saw one golden little snake on the floor, she took a deep breath of air.

Albus was shaking his hand, like it burnt.

"Yes, pale golden", she said, touching her neck and feeling a scar with her fingers. "Why?"

The next chain, feeling its sister defeated, started crushing her ribs, and Professor rushed to disenchant it.

"Um... well... I'm thinking. You're right about Credence being uncharacteristically strong to whithstand an obscurial for so many years and even stay sane. It does mean very old and powerful blood".

"Don't tell me he's a Peverell", she squealed. One of her ribs cracked, and Dumbledore cursed the chain several times.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow ow ow ow!"

Finally, it fell down, as well. She could feel magic running through her veins, bright purple, and blue, and red. All her body was shot through with the warmth of it - a feeling she hadn't appreciated before. Albus mended her rib.

"Why?" there was a curious smile on Dumbledore's face.

"Why what?" she panted.

"Not a Peverell", Albus smiled wider.

"Oh, you know. Wouldn't want to find out that I fell for my cousin".

He was gentle with her wrist chains, smirking.

"Oh, no. See, I think this wasn't a usual chick. I'm not sure though - but", it was obvious Albus was uncertain. He gave her a long look.

He was fussing with the third chain, muttering.

"What was it then?"

"If it has pale golden spots, and unevenly green eyes, it might just be a phoenix, and coincidentally, my brother had confided in me, not earlier than three months ago, that he had had a son".

Orlaith let the magic shoot down her limbs, busking in its welcoming tingle. The rest of the chains broke and fell off her. Dumbledore stood up, content that he had no need to kneel down now.

"Professor, you think he's a Dumbledore?"

"Not sure, but he might be. He's the right age. And you can stop calling me Professor".

She looked outside, where spring light glinted on the surface of the great lake. How the boy would have loved the sight of these peaceful mountains.

"My brother met this muggle-born girl in summer of 1899. He only decided to tell me now, because, well, Fawkes left him, all the while Newt brought news of an orphaned boy with obscurial. You know there had already been an obscurial in our family".

She nodded.

"And Aberfot thinks his son ended up in America? How did he become orphaned if he has a living father? How did you not know of his existence these twenty-seven years?"

He laid his firm but reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"All of those are good questions, Orlaith. But do answers really matter right now? If Aurelius Dumbledore is in Grindelwald's hands, we should throw all forces to get him out".

She nodded again, now, in agreement. She rememebered Credence wasn't big on all this philosophy. Aurelius wasn't.

"He only went because he was afraid that Grindelwald will figure out I have ancient magic".

Behind her, Albus sighed with his kind, wise sigh, and it sounded like a smile. Aurelius, she thought. Golden, like her.

[mercurial-tenacity]

I fucking love your Cruel World series so much. Something I was curious about was, does Credence ever use magic? Im sure he’s not allowed to, but it’s so interesting how you almost frame the dynamic with the psychology as if he’s a non magical character held by two magical captors. Have there ever been accidental emotional outbursts? Has Grindelwald ever made him use magic during torture? Does he even remember that he’s someone who can use magic? If he was in a life or death situation, not at the hands of his captors, would he remember he could save himself?

Ahh thank you for asking! I spend so much time thinking about this series lately, I love the chance to talk about it! This question is also extremely timely, as it happens.

I admit it's been a little inconsistent in how it's been referenced (Grindelwald says in the first or second installment that they own him "mind, body, and magic," implying that he... well, has some magic), but since those first couple stories where I didn't yet have a long term plan, I've been thinking of Credence's magic as having been severely injured or damaged after the incident with the aurors in the subway at the end of the film, to the point that he appears non-magical. Graves and Grindelwald probably abducted him in the first place in the hope that they could get their obscurial after all, but when the obscurus didn't manifest anymore, they kept him anyway.

I was JUST thinking this very afternoon that if I were to go back and make any changes to the early part of the series, I'd really like to explore how Credence feels about his magic. Like, how does he feel after the first time they rape and humiliate him, and he wakes up the next morning and they aren't dead? If he had his obscurus, they would be. His anger is such a crucial part of his character, and his only expression of it has been stripped away, which must be terrifying. He's used to getting even with people even if he isn't really in control of it, but now, for the first time, he's actually helpless. Maybe it's not too late to go back and insert an installment along those lines, or maybe I'll touch it all up once the series is finished (hopefully that doesn't take another several years, yikes!), but it's definitely something that's been on my mind.

And I don't want to give too many spoilers, but it's very hard to resist talking about it, so I will say that Graves and Grindelwald are not in alignment on Credence's perceived magical status and that is about to become relevant.

Oh, I just had an idea - "Has Grindelwald ever made him use magic during torture," - what if Grindelwald tortured him to try to make him use magic? To find out whether he's still useful? Damn, that's something I want to write.

Also if you ever want to talk about more spoilery-type stuff feel free to DM me! I'm happy to share, I have so many ideas for this series rattling around, but I don't want to give the whole thing away out here in public. I promise to keep usernames a closely guarded secret if you promise the same for my plot details!

Actually, I may be in need of a beta reader for the next installment, so if anyone is interested feel free to reach out and let me know? The line between what happens and what SEEMS to happen is going to get... complicated... and feedback on how it comes across would be incredibly valuable honestly.

[away-ward]

Continuation to my prev rant about michaelrikakaibanks bonus scene:

Michael telling rika in corrupt "dont look to anyone to have this" or something like that, only for pd to turn him into a cuckold 😭 i kinda feel bad for him as a character now, because i feel like pd was the one writing him like shit, he just always gets sidelined, and maybe that plays even a little part as to why we hate him so much, just like how we dislike rika. Im pretty sure, at this point it's just pd's fault in writing. They just suck as hell.

It's the fact that michael's rika's partner in everything but he always had to eat her leftovers as if he was just a sidehoe to her. I hate it! What's the whole point of corrupt then? PD could just literally made MichaelRikaKai happen and end that story there like their original plan for a reverse harem to happen in Corrupt as a standalone. This brings me back to a conversation on your blog here about Damon/Will' possibilities of happening and the answer was a big NO because no one can replace Emmy, not even damon (i sleep good at night knowing emmyks always will's priority even above damon in will's life 😌), then leads us to KaiRika's dating possibilities, and I think what you and anon said then finally happens now. Not to spook yall or anything, but Yall kinda jinxed it!!

PD wrote "possessive" men only for them to end up sharing their lovers with everyone, and worse was there was no tags of the story being a poly story like many other romance authors did. Even if this story or dynamics are experimental, they should've been mentioned way before all these happening. PD pulled the riverdale poly ending for michaelrikakaibanks, and for what? No one writes their MMCSs and FMCs worse than PD so far. And all because they favour that terrorist rapist ass hoe damon? And that self-insert, dull as a block rika? 🙄

And i hate that kai would give into rika, but not alex. Alex wanted to fuck banks, but she can't because he doesnt share banks, but why can rika have her then? Literally, no other excuse than pd being obsessed with horny taboo ass fetishes and wanting to make sure the readers know that that if there's one woman in this world that kai will be with other than banks, it's definitely rika. I never saw it this way but i feel like Kai's one of those guys that will actually marry a second wife and not admit that he likes it 🙄 how surprising, because he's the last character with a personality written like that, should be acting like this. I hate it!!!

PD's new bonus made me lose all respect to them as a writer, made me pity michael (pitying michael!?), disliking rika even more, pitying the fuck out of banks she literally cant catch a damn break, and hating kai. Idk, this series really left a bad taste in my mouth. This bonus is like an extension of that rika fight in conclave, so fucking unnecessary, and as usual, PD's just so dissapointing. What was going on through their head honestly??? I feel so angry because this means only DamonWinter and WillEmmy's love for their partners are the only legit ones in the whole series, at least, monogamously. The series were already shit with the plot and characters, now it just got worse with the dynamics. All that michael's sweet talk in corrupt and conclave to rika, and kai's assurance for banks in hideaway were ruined because of this bonus scene.

Devils Night Series at this point, is just Fall Away + Credence 2.0 + p*rnhub

When i first read nightfall, i remember MOSTLY thinking that alex/emmy and will/damon scenes were mainly WLW and MLM fetishes. Other readers kept on telling me that that wasnt all there was to it to these relationships and those sex scrnes, and while i agree to a certain extend that maybe they're not just fetishes and they could mean something more for these characters, look at what happens now? Am i not right? And lets not forget the target audience for this series is for WOMEN, ADULTGROWN WOMEN, and NOT FOR QUEER PEOPLE. So It IS mainly a big perverted fetish by now, if it wasn't then. Because if this wasn't queer sex fetish for these horny women, then what it? Everytime dmaon/will or even alex/emmy or banks/rika hookup, there will always be the other opposite sex being entertained and sometimes even get off to them, be it that the one being entertained were either DN readers, or the characters in the DN universe. We queer people cant catch a fucking break. I fucking hate itttttttttt. PD's braindead fans cant defend them anymore, pd'll never get out of these siblings & queer sex fetish allegations i fear, not like they ever cared, they'll just write worse, because "no ONe TeLls mE WHAt to WriTE" 🙄

At this point, it's really better for me to just stay away from dark romances, especially PD, because these Dark romance writers are just NOT IT. They'll never fight their allegations out of their weird ass trenches i swear. From damon's romanticised and infantilised arc, to the plot, to the characterisation, to the assault and crimes and all the unnecessary incestous plotlines between banks damon rika, and then the out of touch with reality to the point of utmost stupidity of the whole revenge thing, then the misogyny from male and EVEN female characters here, then weak men abusing women and gaslighting them, and rebranding them as women empowerment, then this. This fucking binus and THIS FUCKING QUEER PEOPLE FETISH. fuck pd honestly. Idgaf anymore someone needs to knock some sense into them. Because aside from writing all of that, the biggest problem was that pd and their hardcore friends always seem to live in a weird bubble and rebranding their ahit to look nicer as if they dont stink? Ohmygod look, pd and pendragons literally sound like the horsemen! Shocking!

Maybe DN is my first darkrom so that's why i fell so strongly about it, but ohmygod, this series is just so exhausting, and whatnot with its cult followers, especially on twitter 😭 those booktwt devils night were part time bullies too. Thank god you've never been on DN side's of booktwt KO, they're all always so mean, always namecalling people out of nowhere just because they were against assault (against assaulters!!), being bullies and horny af 24/7 over disgusting things damon do, making jokes about it too as if rika still wasn't suffering from damon's actions in conclave. It's good that you're just here minding your own business because let me tell you, booktwt is not wort it. Booktok too, but booktok is only a tad better. The amount of cringe ass accounts on twitter i've seen acting like theyre the horsemen or cowgirls, or acting as if thunder bay is their home is something else!!! Not to mention the emory hate? Banks hate? And they also come Even from big booktwt DN accounts too! I feel like this series was worth my read, only so that i know now which authors, books and fandom to avoid in the future.

I've always been familiar with stan and fandom culture, and now i'm reminded why i can never last long in it because of things like these. Apart from my interest gradually decreasing, the fandom and author experience were just trash tbh. Ngl, i always pray that your blogs wont be found out by booktwt because the amount of hate theyre (big booktwt dn accounts) gonna give us just because we dont like their favs (FOR VALID CONCERNING REASON TOO, not even petty ones). As much as i love to see your fics been read by others, i hope they only stay with the sane ones 🤞 so far dn tumblr accounts have been nothing but reactions, fics, chill and memes, so i hope it'll stay that way always, like booktwters can take their shit ass opinions to booktwt, let me have book tumblr to myself god!!! 😭

Sorry, at this point it's just useless rants, so i'm ipending this here.

That was such a mess, wasn't it. Michael's always been soft when it comes to giving Rika what she wants, and I think that's probably what he meant. He'll be possessive in the idea that no one else can keep her, but if she wants to touch and be touched, he'll let that happen too. He's still the one making the call, which is why Banks asks him for permission.

But still. I hated it.

then leads us to KaiRika's dating possibilities, and I think what you and anon said then finally happens now. Not to spook yall or anything, but Yall kinda jinxed it!!

Haha, right. I did say it could only happen if both of their partners are dead, so even I couldn’t have predicted this would surface. But again, I’m not surprised by the situation itself. There was one line in Nightfall that told me all I needed to know about how these people were going to function going forward.

"Winter will consider it cheating if she's not here, too."

Based on that alone, I figured these people would continue hooking up with each other whenever they felt the desire to do so. They have their Partner, but as long as their Partner is there/okay with what’s happening, it’s all good. My surprise was that it took more than ten years for it to happened (I thought it was happening the entire time), and that PD hadn’t dropped the notion that the sun rises and sets with Rika Fane. Not only is it still being pushed, but now it’s being pushed through Banks. That was what I was frustrated about.

PD pulled the riverdale poly ending for michaelrikakaibanks, and for what? No one writes their MMCSs and FMCs worse than PD so far.

Funnily enough, I just watched Dylan is in Trouble’s reaction to Riverdale’s first and last episode, and when he got to that scene his reaction was basically the same as mine to the bonus scene. I thought it was the perfect coincidence.

And doesn’t hate that kai would give into rika, but not alex. Alex wanted to fuck banks, but she can’t because he doesn’t share banks, but why can rika have her then?

That’s a really good point! And it got me wondering about where the line was for them. Is it just the four main couples are involved in this “sharing” or do Alex and Aydin get an invite? I imagine the girls would want Alex to join, but if their Partner needs to be there/approve, then that would include Aydin and I can’t imagine any of the guys wanting to include him. We know canon that Kai and Michael have shared before Rika, so this break down is in line with that. And the same for Damon and Will. But I can’t imagine any scenario where Damon is willing to bring in Aydin, so that means any sharing that involves Alex can only be with Willemmy, but we’ve been there, done that.

But again. What do I know. Maybe Kai and Michael are a lot more open that I think they are.

make sure the readers know that that if there's one woman in this world that kai will be with other than banks, it's definitely rika.

Again, it’s this pushing that Rika too amazing to resist, and the only reason Damon didn’t get a go is because they discovered their related. It’s irritating because it really does circumvent the idea that their partner is the one for them. It gives the idea that their partner is the one for them because Rika isn’t available (Will’s excluded from this because I don’t recall a time when he’s ever shown actual interest in Rika that way. His heart has been Emory’s since he was 14 and nothing will change that.)

made me pity Michael (pitying Michael!?)

oh the horror. I can understand why this is disturbing.

When i first read nightfall, i remember MOSTLY thinking that alex/emmy and will/damon scenes were mainly WLW and MLM fetishes.

One, I don’t know enough to argue fetish vs kink, but I know PD is queer themselves, so to me it just seemed they wrote what they would be interested in reading. If you think it’s wrong that they are anyone else are interested in that content, it’s fine, but it’s the readers responsibility not to engage. Idk, I’ve never gotten mad at an author for writing something I don’t approve of, even morally. I just avoid consuming it for my own sanity. But I know you’re not alone in this sentiment for either DN or other works, so who am I to say.

At this point, it's really better for me to just stay away from dark romances, especially PD, because these Dark romance writers are just NOT IT.

 From what you write after this, I would say, yeah you probably won’t have a good time with Dark Romance. I don’t think I’ve ever read a dark romance where the ML doesn’t to something irreprehensible and feels no need to apologize or redeem himself, or the narrative excuses it some way. Misogyny and abuse are prevalent throughout the genre, as well as sex and relationships that are outside the norm.

If DN is you’re first dark rom, then I definitely wouldn’t go deeper than this. As far as content goes, there’s so much darker stuff. But I will say for some, writing makes a big difference, so maybe you’ll find a writer you enjoy more. Again, though, if it’s the content that’s bothering you, I’d stay away.

For me personally, I don’t venture into dark roms too often. I tried a lot of the popular series when I had the KU trial, but not a lot drew me in. And I’ve already discussed what it was about DN that caught me, so I won’t go over it again. Just know it’s not for everyone and that’s fine. Find where you’re line is and stay on the side you enjoy so that you have a good time.

this series is just so exhausting, and whatnot with its cult followers, especially on twitter

DN is exhausting. From it’s plot to it’s characters, it’s not hard to understand what’s going on but trying to figure out the why takes so much effort sometimes, and it usually just goes back to “PD wanted the vibes, that’s all.” Which, okay fine, but I’m struggling to fine a reason within the context of the story and that’s where I’m getting frustrated.

I need context and good characterization. And I’m super easy to please. The characters can do just about anything, if it makes sense, and I’ll be fine.

Fortunately for me, this has been my only interaction with other fans, so it's been pretty good so far.

those booktwt devils night were part time bullies too. Thank god you've never been on DN side's of booktwt KO

Oh, I’m not worried about them. I think they’ll probably stick to their preferred socials. I used to worry that PD would find my blog, but I have no indication they’ve traveled this far away from FB, Twt, Insta, and Tiktok. Which is funny, because tumblr used to be the fandom site. It makes sense that they think Banks is the most hated in that case.

In my personal experience, it’s a lot easier to remain excited about a series if you can find people to talk to about it who are likeminded. Even if it’s a small group, it’s usually enough. I do wish more people created content for the series to share and gush over, even if it’s not what I personally want. I can also understand people who close the last page and never want to think about it again. Sometimes I feel the same way about DN.

Tumblr is a pretty chill place most of the time because you can just block people, even anons. It’s can be easy to ignore hate or avoid interacting with different sides of a fandom. I’ve never been on anything other than Insta and at this point it’s been a long time since then, so I don’t know how easy it is to cultivate your experience over there, but it’s probably why I prefer tumblr so much and never felt the need to leave or try a different site.

Anyway, you’re free to rant. I totally hear you and get where you’re coming from.

Take care, KO

[warningsine]

https://www.ottawareviewofbooks.com/single-post/2015/10/31/palestine-by-hubert-haddad

Reviewed by Timothy Niedermann

Any author writing fiction about Palestine for a Western audience has two problems. The first is Westerners’ overall unfamiliarity with the Middle East, its long, varied history, and its very diverse cultures, and our attendant assumption of the superiority of Western institutions and practices. The second problem is the polarized, propagandistic nature of the current information that Westerners receive from both sides with regard to Palestine and the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Recently released in English by Guernica Editions, French author Hubert Haddad’s prize-winning 2007 novel Palestine is a brave attempt to get past the political noise and cultural baggage to tell a story of human beings caught in the remorseless conflict between Palestinians and Israelis.

In the southern West Bank, an Israeli soldier, Cham, is wounded in an ambush. Briefly captured by a small group of terrorists, he is soon abandoned by his captors near Hebron. Dressed in Arab clothing, with no memory of who he is, Cham wanders until an Arab scrap dealer finds him and delivers him to the home of Asmahane, a blind woman, and her anorexic daughter, Falastin. As they nurse Cham back to health, they notice his resemblance to Falastin’s brother, Nessim, a university student who is missing and presumed dead. Years before, Falastin’s father was killed by the Israelis. Falastin, then eleven, was with him at the time and is still haunted by memories of that day. She is now part of an underground resistance movement.

After he has recovered, Cham moves through the checkpoints and back alleys of Hebron, learning the other side of the Israeli-Palestinian relationship, as he is beaten and nearly imprisoned, witnessing harassment, raids by the Israeli army, and the razing of Asmahane’s house with her inside. Cham and Falastin fall in love, but her course is set, and she disappears on an undisclosed mission of her own choosing. Alone, Cham joins a terrorist group and infiltrates back into Israel wearing a vest laden with explosives.

Haddad’s main point seems fairly clear: take an Israeli, subject him to the same treatment that Israel metes out to Palestinians and that Israeli will likely become a terrorist, too.

He inserts a good deal of factual information into the text, mostly through dialogue, which is clearly meant to give the reader some background into the history and events that shape the daily lives of Palestinians. The descriptions of the relentless cycle of violence in both its deliberate and capricious forms are viscerally disturbing.

But Haddad also adds literary touches. “Falastin” is Arabic for “Palestine,” and, indeed, the beautiful, thin girl represents the land of Palestine, a place of marvels starved by circumstance. The language is often poetic, giving resonance to the unique and delicate beauty of the West Bank as well as the profound suffering of its people.

But some of this works, and some of it doesn’t. The translation seems true to the French, but Haddad’s poetic images often contain odd or incomplete references. And he seems to prefer using pithy adjectives and adverbs instead of fuller elaboration. An Israeli soldier is described as an “abusive occupier, trapped in resentment”—whose resentment it is, and of what is not clear. Falastin “took in the landscape like a bird with jealous wings.” A breath is “fatal.” Phrases like these are evocative, but at the same time a bit vague.

The plot is thin and moves rather fast. The main purpose of Falastin and Cham’s moving in and around Hebron seems to be to allow the author to describe the checkpoints and abuses by Israeli authorities, but there is little else to create drama or suspense to give credence to the radicalization of Cham.

The characters present another problem. The few Israeli characters mostly are caricatures, either bigoted or lustful. Several minor characters are used as polemical vehicles, and thus come off as overly preachy. This gets tiring. And unfortunately, with the exception of Asmahane, who comes across vividly, the main characters seem distant. We get almost nothing of what is going on in Cham’s head as he fills the blank spaces of his memory with images and emotions from life in his new identity. As an amnesiac, he must be in a constant state of bombardment with what he is experiencing, trying desperately to establish reference points to help him understand what is going on around him. His state of mind is declared, but not developed or illustrated.

It’s similar with Falastin. The haunting memories of her father’s death come across in all their horror, but her current state of mind is presented to us as a given. We never get an intimate sense of her inner person—her doubts, her worries, her conflicts. Her falling in love with Cham comes out of the blue and seems inconsistent with her otherwise detached, driven personality.

Here and there, this is a powerful book, but its defects accumulate to leave the reader unsatisfied and unconvinced.

[mysticalreadingnerd]

Let Me Warm Your Heart (Part 6)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |

Words: 2656

Summary: Love isn’t always rosy summers spent floating on tender clouds of euphoria. Sometimes it is loneliness and bracing the cold winters alone. Y/N and Credence both find the atmospheric dreariness reflected in their lives, separated as they are now.

 Disclaimer: I don’t own any character of the FBAWTFT universe. I wouldn’t have to spend time slogging over studies if that were true.

Warnings: None

It was truly strange how life brought things into perspective too late. For some reason, Y/N remembered the time when she and Credence had bumped into each other late in the evening. This had happened a few days after coming across him in front of Broadway. She had been bone tired after a gruelling training session and didn’t watch where she was heading. That had resulted in stumbling head along into someone. And that someone had just happened to be Credence. Maybe it was the fates that kept pulling her thread towards his, interweaving them in such an ironical manner, judging by the way she always chanced upon him in the unlikeliest of places. Y/N had apologized profusely for her clumsiness, fearing that she had hurt him. She sat there, unaware that she was practically straddling him, a dozen flyers strewn around them. He had just stared at her for a while, not believing his luck and then smiled saying, “It’s okay. I was just thinking about you.”

The wind had rustled his hair and his earnest expression had sent a warm tingle in her heart, his eyes shining in the evening light and a small goofy smile alight on his face. That was when she had started falling for him, she suspected. There were many similar instances that were literal neon signs screaming ‘you’re in love’ now that she thought of it. The way his ears turned bright red when Y/N lightly teased him about being a ladies’ man after at least 3 elderly women had smiled at him. She thought he was adorable. The way his mouth made a surprised O when he had his first coffee, his calloused hands being soothingly warmed by its heat. This innocence needs to be protected, she had mused. The way he stood silently watching over the kids from the NSPS, making sure that they didn’t get into trouble with Mary Lou (it didn’t matter even if he did instead). How the dreary light of the oncoming winter made his sharp features stand out even more, with the shadows dancing across his face. But above all, it was the kindness that emanated from his chocolate brown eyes when he smiled at the lost kid they had found. Credence had managed to stop him from wailing even when she had been unable to. 

She had been trying to deny it all this time, hoping that what she had felt was merely concern over a suffering boy she had stumbled across during a case. When in fact, she had been falling for the silent strength and gentleness with whose brilliance his soul shined. Y/N dragged a weary hand over her face, hoping she could be anywhere but this dimly lit room and wondered what Credence was doing right now. It was late afternoon and it been exactly three weeks since she had last seen him. He was probably scouting for a place for the next scheduled rally if her internal Credence tracker was correct. She thought about him often, at times, unaware that she was doing so until her mind had been consumed with the thoughts of the reticent man, thinking about how he used to smile at her with joy or look puzzled at something she said which he didn’t comprehend. 

Y/N shivered in her seat and idly wondered whether he was weathering the winter cold still clad in his threadbare jacket. That was more than likely to be the case. The first snow had made its appearance the day before and had it been up to her, the boy would be bundled up under a thick pile of blankets and made to spend the whole day lazing around in bed while warm, home-cooked meals kept him full. But it was no use pondering about how things should have been when it was no longer in her hands to change them. She had decided that being out of his sight would probably be the best thing to do. After all, out of sight meant out of mind right? She groaned internally, cursing herself. 

She knew better than anyone that Credence was starved for affection and given the attention she had been giving him, it was unlikely that he would forget her. If she had only been able to meet him once more, she could have cooked up a reason and made it seem like an assignment abroad. At least he wouldn’t worry about her and in turn, she for him. She had avoided the areas that they frequented and taken up longer work hours just to avoid accidently meeting him. But a part of her hoped that their paths would cross, just so that she could see him. See him and make sure that he was okay. But instead, Y/N found herself overseeing the interrogation of the wizard they had arrested for torturing Muggles. It shouldn’t have warranted her personal attention, but something about the man seemed… off. 

For one, he refused to talk with any of the Aurors. No manner of questioning had yielded any results and President Picquery had been at her wits end as to how to make him talk. There had been growing concerns ever since Grindelwald had disappeared from Europe and if a probable henchman of his turned up in America is would spell problems for the MACUSA. Y/N stood behind a screened wall, a one way glass blocking the criminal’s view. But despite that, for the past one hour, ignoring all questions aimed at him, he kept staring straight at her. It seemed as if he was aware of her presence and was drilling a hole through the glass with his gaze. His slit-like black eyes followed her every move and it felt as if he were sizing her up. Chalking this notion as absurd, she signalled the interrogating Auror to step aside and took up the reins in her own hands. The moment she entered the room, he looked up at her, the first movement that he had made since he had been brought there. He considered her with a slight tilt of his neck, like a snake coiling and uncoiling, curious of its prey.

Y/N checked the reports related to his arrest, most of them not giving up much information about him except for vague facts about how he tortured the victims to near insanity using demonic forces. He had been a pain to restrain, the backlash of his magic bringing down an entire warehouse and nearly obliterating three agents. He had managed to escape twice before they had finally caught him, half passed out from using too much blood for his sacrifices (apparently, demon summoning required magical blood, much to their relief in this case). She had met her share of crazy, blood purists in her time as an Auror but nothing made her skin scrawl more than the dead black eyes staring at her. Y/N shrugged off the sinister vibes aimed at her. 

“Let’s stop this pretence and get to the point, shall we? We have enough evidence to persecute you, and what awaits you doesn’t look good. Torture of innocent Muggles, one of whom was an ambassador, flagrant misuse of magic, use of dark rituals, forbidden blood magic, destruction of property through magical means in contradiction to secrecy laws, besides violating at least 40 other clauses of the International Statute of Secrecy.  It will be easier to just talk and may be the MACUSA could be a bit lenient. You either speak up or face the execution squad. There’s no means of escape.” The man, Asian from his appearance, didn’t blink even once as he considered her words. As soon as she was done speaking, a snicker escaped him, at first low in pitch. Bubbling up his throat, it grew louder and louder until it was a full blown laugh. The hair on her arms stood up at end as the air surrounding them crackled with magic.

“You are funny”, he said, a smirk painted on his face. He hadn’t moved an inch from where he had been sitting throughout the interrogation, restrained with bindings, recovering from battle injuries without even his wand on him.  Being able to channel magic despite that meant that he was dangerous beyond their comprehension. If he were to unleash his true powers, burning the MACUSA to the ground with no one else standing would be cake walk for him. Calmly, in a silent show of her authority Y/N stood up and spoke, “You can rethink your stance on this. It would be better to talk instead of wasting your energy like this. But you won’t have long.”

She exited the room to the sound of his booming laughter, as Aurors rushed towards the room to secure him. She ordered them to keep him in complete isolation, tied up and no one to enter his cell without her express permission. This was a matter more grave than she had imagined. They would have to use force if necessary and though she didn’t like using underhanded means, the alternative seemed grimmer than they could afford. She would have to report to the President soon and though she wasn’t looking forward to it, Percival Graves too. Dark times were here.

Credence looked up when a hand tapped on his arm for a flyer, but the touch was too rough, too hasty to be hers. Still, ever hopeful, his gaze did a quick sprint to the person’s face only to be disappointed. Yet again. It was just another street-side vendor looking for ways to pass his break time. He sighed as his Ma droned on in the background, his body slumping further into its perpetual slouch. He wondered for the umpteenth time where Y/N was. It had been 21 days since she had last met him. Not that he had been counting or anything. It wasn’t that they had decided to meet up regularly (it usually happened through mere coincidences) but this was quite unusual for her. He had grown so used to her presence in his life that her sudden absence made it that much harder. 

It felt like a lifetime since he had last seen her. Not just in his imagination or conjured up in his dreams like a wisp of a memory but in person, seen her brimming with life and filling his own with vibrancy, felt her laugh vibrate through his ear drums, touched her soft, unmarred hand as it warmed his own along with his ever beating heart, which sped up every time their eyes met. He just wished to see her once more, if for nothing else, but to make sure that she was okay. He had been worried sick by all the disastrous ‘what ifs’ that his mind had conjured over her prolonged disappearance and his heart ached with longing and sadness, anxious for her well being and hurting at her unexplained absence. Before his mind went off on a similar tangent, he scanned the crowd again just to make sure that she wasn’t there. 

It comprised of the usual people mixed in with a few unfamiliar faces, spread across ages, some of them curious, others whiling away time with nothing better to do. Credence was about to look away when an elderly woman standing on the periphery caught his eye. Being short in height she struggled to see what was happening and stood on her tiptoes. Silently, he withdrew from his position and approached her, hoping to help her navigate the crowd. 

Unsure whether to call out or to tap on her shoulder to draw her attention, he was put out of his indecision when the lady lost her balance and stumbled across his feet. He steadied her reflexively as a few of the flyers slipped from his grasp. A strong sense of déjà vu hit him when he realised that this was how he and Y/N had first met.  A pair of kind eyes looked at him as the woman regained her balance, her hand resting on his arm for support. Credence did his best not to flinch at the touch. He still found it difficult unless it was Y/N’s. “Thank you, young man.” A lilting voice accompanied the warm smile. She seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place where he had seen her, if at all. Maybe he had seen her at a previous rally. “I hope I didn’t hurt you, child.” 

Credence looked at her once again, struck afresh by the words she spoke. Then he remembered her. It was the same woman who he had met during a rally, the kind Asian grandma who had complemented him on his name. Today she had donned a flowing winter coat instead of a kimono, so he couldn’t recognise her in the first instance but the homely aura still clung to her demeanour. In response to her question, he merely shook his head. “I’m glad”, she hummed in relief, “It wouldn’t sit right with me if I hurt a sweet soul like you, even if unknowingly.” Her words though gentle hit him in the gut. He looked at his adoptive mother, who was winding up her speech, calling supporters to come forth when they petitioned for wider public awareness. Coldness crept in his chest and settled there. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the woman observing him carefully.

“Credence?” he looked at the grandma again, surprised that she had remembered his name after all this time. “Don’t look so surprised. I may be old, but my memory is like an elephant’s”, she chuckled at her own joke, its meaning lost on him. “Besides, I could never forget a handsome boy as you even if I tried.” Crimson dusted his cheeks at the compliment and he remembered Y/N’s words of being a natural ladies’ man. It couldn’t be true, could it? “I’m not”, he muttered denying any such notions. “I won’t insist on it if you’re uncomfortable but I speak nothing but the truth.” Her eyes twinkled and he couldn’t help the small lift the corner of his lips did. 

“Credence?” Another voice called out to him ,this time louder and more impatient, lacking all warmth that the previous caller had. The chill in his chest spread to his bones, creeping into his marrow. His attention whipped to the centre of the crowd where his mother stood looking at him with calculative eyes. “Duty calls, I presume?” the old woman asked, sizing up the elder Barebone now approaching them. Credence gulped, unsure whether he had done anything wrong or not. “Hello, I hope there isn’t any problem?” Mary Lou assessed the single flyer that had escaped his notice when they had bumped, her eyes flashing though a smile adorned her face. 

The lady smiled and said, “None at all. This fine man here was just helping me pick up the flyer I dropped in my clumsiness, silly old me can’t do much except live out my abundant pensions you see. From what he told me, your cause seems quite noteworthy. I’d love to hear more about it.”  Mary Lou gave him a once over, before deciding that things seemed fairly in order and launching into an in depth campaign talk with the woman. 

Credence couldn’t help but be bemused at how she had managed to divert Ma’s attention and saved his skin in the process. He silently thanked her, glad that angels similar to Y/N were still present in this world. He let out a sigh, all would be well with life if only he could meet her soon. “Don’t dally, there’s work to do”, his mother said to him over her shoulder, a cold look freezing him in his tracks. She glared at the flyer on the ground in a silent warning. Picking up the fallen flyer with his icy fingers, Credence hoped he could see Y/N before this winter froze his heart beyond redemption.  

Tag list: @multifandom-slytherin @mysticracoon @retardedhumanhere @thequeerishere555 @daeshaunex2

A/N: My procrastinating ass has no excuse besides being totally unproductive since the last update. Sigh. Not completely happy with this but I needed to get plot rolling forward. I will eternally hate filler chapters. Message me to be added to the tag list. The last three tags don’t seem to detect you guys, please tweak your settings to enable tags.

~ Mystical reading nerd

[sleepingdeath-light]

Hii👋👋

Can I request some fluff headcanons for Credence Barebone of fantastic beasts, please? 🥺

Fluff Headcanons | Credence Barebone

thank you for requesting!

reader is assumed as gender neutral

regardless of what time in his life you get together, he will always be an incredibly empathetic and affectionate lover - someone who knows you and your needs/wants better than even you.

as credence, he’s much more reluctant to engage in public displays of affection - keeping everything behind closed doors and limiting anything else to shy smiles, red cheeks, fleeting glances and hand holding at the very most

he’ll hold you close in empty rooms and lay with you against his chest, playing with your hair and humming under his breath

stutters and stammers around you because of how nervous and ashamed his blatant attraction makes him feel - in other words, it would be difficult for you to not know about his feelings for you

if you kiss his cheeks he’ll go bright red and touch the spot lightly once you pull away (no matter how long you’ve been together)

calls you “sweetheart” and “darling” a lot, usually in a quiet shaky voice, rarely ever using your real name

sometimes can’t even look at you without smiling, but will go bright red from embarrassment if anyone notices

gets you lots of flowers and will write you sweet love letters, hidden in the bouquets - given that’s all he really knows about being a good partner by merit of his upbringing

often talks about how much he looks forwards to marrying you and spending your lives together - a wide smile on his face as you discuss the ins and outs of your future lives

loves cuddling with you when you both have the time and space to do so

all in all, he’s incredibly shy and unsure of himself and will look to you for guidance about your relationship

after finding out he’s aurelius, he’s much more confident in initiating affection with you and will start to shed his shame and guilt when it comes to being with you

frequently kisses your knuckles and the inside of your wrist as a greeting after completing a mission for grindlewald

admires the view from the balcony with you a lot, standing with his hands on either side of you and his head resting on your shoulder - occasionally pressing gentle kisses against the back of your neck and the exposed skin around your shoulders

will randomly take your hand and pull you into a slow waltz in your room - putting on some music that one of your housemates managed to acquire on their sparse outings

calls you “my love” and “dear” most frequently, always whispering them lowly into your ear as a greeting, almost as if the terms were sacred in some way

seeks you out first when the pain gets too much and will spend as long as he can curled up in your embrace, calmed by your heartbeat and voice as you play with his hair - it makes it much more bearable when you’re with him

wants to spoil you and will bring you back the most beautiful and thoughtful trinkets he can find whenever he’s sent out: jewellery, clothing, accessories, foods, toys and so on

still gives you flowers and handwritten notes - though his handwriting gets less and less legible with each bouquet as his hands shake more than they used to

if anyone else looks at you, he’ll get incredibly protective and will usher you out of their sight - clinging to you for the rest of the day and reinforcing that you’re already very much so taken

isn’t as optimistic as he was before, but dreams of being able to live a simple life with you: marrying, living in the countryside and maybe even reconciling with the family he never got the chance to know (it’s a shallow dream, and he knows this, but he can’t help but think of it whenever he sees your smile)

[custardcrazy]

Daffodil (Credence)

HEY GUYS so it’s been a hot minute since i’ve written something huh?? anyway so idk if this counts as a reader-insert but i guess you could do that? or just imagine your oc bc i didn’t use y/n or anthing like that, just she/her pronouns. 

anyway enjoy this shitty oneshot. 

inspired by a post from @imaginecredence​ ( HERE ) 

__________ 

A while had passed since Credence had lived in New York City. 

Gone were the harsh cold nights spent in the drafty old orphanage, gone were the loud sounds of the city, and gone were .. well, mostly everything about his pitiful existence back then. He was no longer the scared young man, now confident (and yet still a little awkward) and self-sufficient. His younger self would spend lots of time daydreaming about his future - perhaps he'd be a rich, ritzy businessman, living each day to the fullest with a pretty lady on each arm. Or, perhaps he'd become a researcher, visiting foreign countries to catalog new species, documenting his findings in a well-worn journal. (It turns out that his future was a lot more simple - but he liked that all the same.) 

When he was daydreaming, the possibilities were endless. But back then, he was like a bird trapped in a cage in reality. 

Now? Not so much. 

While it was true that sometimes his mind brought up memories from the past that he'd rather tear from his mind than recall, he wasn't alone in dealing with this. Not anymore. 

The wedding band on his left hand was physical proof to this. 

Sure, Credence wasn't entirely sure if he believed in the "happily ever after" fairytale ending. And he knew that the ending of his story wasn't to be for a good while. But he knew for sure that this was gonna be pretty damn close to that. And if it wasn't? Well, he was happier right now than he had ever been before. So he'd take it with a grateful hand. 

Speaking of right now… 

Rays of sunlight peeked through the closed blinds, and the muffled sounds of birds chirping outside roused Credence from a relatively decent night's sleep. It took him a moment to fully wake up, surroundings fuzzy before sharply coming into focus. 

He felt a weight on his chest, and looking down, he saw her - still asleep, unabashedly using him as a sort of pillow, with her hair tickling his chin ever so slightly. Beautiful as ever, he noted, as the little bits of light streaming from the window gave her a slightly ethereal appearance. She looked utterly relaxed, and he couldn't help but smile a little whilst he gently smoothed a lock of her hair behind her ear. 

At his touch, she began to stir, taking a little while to open her eyes and yawn, burying her face into his pajama shirt. 

"What time is it?" she said, sounding groggy, and Credence glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, putting his hand on the back of her head as he did so. "It's early, dear," he said simply, as to which she answered with a muffled grumble. "I can go prepare breakfast if you'd like, Robbie and Mary will be up soon and clamoring at my heels," he continued with a small chuckle. "We've still got some bread in the pantry." 

"Which they will devour," she responded, looking up slightly at him. "I'll have to go food shopping soon, anyhow. Little devils." There was no venom in her tone, really, only affection. "Let's hope that they haven't depleted Kennebunk's bread storage just yet!" 

Credence knew that she loved their children as much as he did, maybe even more. He could understand that, as they had inherited their mother's eyes. He kissed her forehead gently. 

"They told me that we were going to the beach today, is that true?" She pretended to ponder over his question. 

"Maybe so, maybe not. I'll be happy to go if Papa prepares the picnic lunch, as Mama has a lot of washing to do before we leave the house." She feigned annoyance, which appeared as an adorable pout on her face. 

He smiled. "Gladly will, dearest." 

Kissing her again, he clambered out of bed. He could already hear the sound of hushed voices coming from the children's shared bedroom down the hall. 

Credence would have to hurry to wash up before his beloveds tore the kitchen apart. 

[magics-protector]

Safe

Credence Barebone x Reader

Pairing: Credence Barebone x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse, Mention of Anxiety Attacks and Panic Attacks, mentions of child neglect, the reader is a Scamander (it’s mentioned)

Summary: Credence has a night terror about his abuse as a child. The Reader is there to comfort him.

Credence rose from his bed swiftly with a cry - sweat clinging to his body, his eyes streaming with tears. 

Haunting memories he hoped would fade still linger in his thoughts - the pain, the torture. He could still feel the metal of his own belt against his hands, the lingering feeling that would never go away. 

Credence held his hands against the back of his neck as he gathered himself - there was doubt in his mind that he would ever go back to sleep. Until he looked over to his left. 

There, rising from a deep slumber, with soft eyes and a gentle touch, was the love of his life. 

Y/N was careful with their movements - making sure he was okay with them touching him. Once that was ensured, Y/N wrapped their arms around his shoulders and that seemed to break whatever dam that was holding his tears back. In the arms of his angel, Credence broke down. 

There were way too many nights he had spent alone with himself on days like this. He never had anyone to care for him before - he was always alone and he often felt like that is how it was always going to be. The looming thoughts of spending eternity alone in his own head almost sent him off the deep end. 

Then he met Y/N. 

It wasn’t by accident or anything. Y/N was in New York to start a new life for themselves - they were living with the Goldstein sisters (unofficially) and was working hard to get a job at MACUSA.  

Slowly, Credence opened up to them. 

And they opened up to him. 

Y/N spoke about living in the shadow of their older brother Theseus and how Newt - as kind and loving brother he is - essentially left them alone with their parents. Not that their parents even knew they were there. 

As Credence’s violent sobs started to become slow, raspy breaths, Y/N placed a kiss on Credence’s temple and rubbed his shoulders. 

And for the first of many times to come, Credence felt safe. 

[myriadimagines]

Preference: Fantastic Beasts

— showing them your magic for the first time

Characters: Credence Barebone, Jacob Kowalski, Leta Lestrange, Newt Scamander, Percival Graces, Queenie Goldstein, Tina Goldstein

Warnings: —

Requester: anonymous

Request: “Could I please request a preference for Fantastic Beasts: When You Show Them Your Magic For The First Time (Newt, Tina, Queenie, Jacob, Credence, Leta, Percival)”

A/N: hope it’s okay! i’m gonna assume that the characters don’t know the reader is a witch/wizard so yea

— CREDENCE BAREBONE

Credence would immediately feel closer to you, almost feeling some sort of solidarity. He’s had to hide his magic for most of his life, and to find out that you’re similar to him in more ways than he realises is almost comforting for him. He’d feel like he can confide in you, asking you questions he’s never been able to ask anyone else, and he feels like you understand him better than anyone.

— JACOB KOWALSKI

Jacob would be absolutely bewildered. Even after already having some experience in the wizarding world, he still gets surprised learning about magic, and he certainly didn’t expect for you to be a wizard. After getting over his initial shock, he’d be excited, wanting to learn about what you can do and trying to talk to you with the limited knowledge that he has.

— LETA LESTRANGE

Leta would be fascinated by you and your magic, finding it rather unexpected. She’d be pretty composed when seeing your magic for the first time, despite her initial surprise. Afterwards she’d want to know more about what you’re capable of, and overall just want to get to know you more, and she’d listen intently to the details of your story.

— NEWT SCAMANDER

Newt would be touched that you trust him enough to show him your magic, and he’d really value that trust you have in him. He’d be super supportive of your magic, and would want to offer any help that he can, even though Newt doesn’t feel like a particularly good mentor. Nonetheless, he’d want to be there for you,  and help you in your magical journey.

— PERCIVAL GRAVES

Percival would almost feel a responsibility for you, and would want to take you under his wing. He’d want to help train you, help you hone your magic more, and to see what you’re fully capable of. He’d ask you lots of questions, trying to get a feel for your abilities and how he can help, and he’d put himself in a sort of mentor position for you.

— QUEENIE GOLDSTEIN

Queenie would be super excited when you show her your magic for the first time. She’d be super supportive too, encouraging you to show off your magic, even if you feel insecure about your abilities, and she’d reassure you that everyone has to start somewhere. She’d even offer to teach you a few of her favorite spells and practice with you so you can feel more confident. 

— TINA GOLDSTEIN

Tina, like Percival, will find herself becoming like a mentor for you. She’d initially be concerned, especially if you’ve been hiding your magic for a long time, and she’d want to help you practice responsibly. She knows how exciting magic can be, but she wants to make sure you do it properly and safely, and she wants to help teach you in any way she can.

tag list: @myfriendmagislit​​ / @real-fbi​​ / @beautifulbows924​​ / @musicallisto​​ / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @hauntedpocdreamer / @ten-tenya-iida​​ / @fangirlsarah16​​ / @cnco-babes​​ / @doot-doot-danvers​​ / @batfam16​​ / @marvelismylifffe​​ / @locke-writes​​ / @ruvaakke​​ / @911buttercup​​ / @cryinqxlouds​​ / @lovinghufflepuffgirl​​ / @lxncelot​​ / @ofthedewthesunlight​​ / @bravelittlesunflower​​ / @captainshazamerica​​

[randomfandomimagine]

Celebrating Christmas With The Gang Would Include

Requested by anon:

Hiya could you please possibly do a Christmas with the fantastic beasts gang would involve?? (I wasn't sure if you were ok doing a more group based hc) I just thought something like little snippets for each anyway if you feel like you can do something like that I don't mind anything is brilliant thanks anyway :)

I wrote something similar to this a while back, but more focused on Credence, you can find it here (link). This one is a bit more general and about the whole gang, enjoy! :)

It was so fun! It felt like a family gathering

Everyone had a little chore, but it felt like you were doing it together

While Queenie cooked some magical food

Tina and Newt put up the decorations

Jacob was baking some delicious smelling sweets

You smiled when he put them in the oven to bake

Because he just went to Queenie and started dancing with her

They sang together as they moved around the room in sync

Leta was mumbling something about mistletoe as she passed by you

As you were helping Newt set the tree and started decorating it

He just shyly smiled at you and continued putting decorations on it

Pickett jumped out of his pocket and rested on one of the branches

Credence was now intently listening to Jacob as he taught him songs

All types of Christmas songs with their melodies and lyrics

When everything was set for Christmas, you hung out together

It was like a big family gathering indeed, with all that it implied

Leta and Tina were now having a friendly discussion about politics

Queenie and Newt were defending which magic school was better

Jacob was telling you about this new recipe he came up with

All while Credence asked him questions about it

Tag list: @fandomnerdsarecool​ / @fortheloveofbenyandtom​ / @overpowered-insanity​ / @snowfire71​ / @lookinsidemyhead​ / @timeladygallifrey​ / @okay-j-hannah​ / @x-joie-x // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!!

[aridbel]

Sweet as Pie

Requested: Can You maybe do a Credence x reader? When does he realize he loves her and when does he tell her?

A/N: I’ve been writing a bit longer. This is a bit different than I think you meant but... yeah

Being around Queenie was annoying. Not because she wasn’t sweet and nice, but the way she smirked at you knowingly made you want to run out of the room. She knew. She also probably knew that you knew that she knew.

“So Y/N, any new suitors?” You spit out your pie.

“What- I don’t”

“Credence, I don’t think you have any new lady friends, do you?” Your face was the color of the sun. Credence looked like he was in about the same shape.

“Queenie I don’t think that-” Credence interrupted you, running into the spare room (which you were currently occupying). You looked to Queenie pleading for advice,

“Go after him, honey”

You followed her advice, rushing further into the apartment. The door was shut and locked; which was pretty surprising for a door without a lock. You and Credence had been working on magic together, but you had never taught him how to lock a door. His emotions were scrambled and you felt horrible, it was your fault, Queenie found out about your crush and was trying to help.

“Credence, please, let me in” There was a thump and yelping, he must have knocked something over. No time for knocking, “Alohomora!”

The first thing you saw was Credence sobbing on the floor, “Creed” You hushed in a soothing voice bending down to comfort him.

“No- Please- Hate me- Y/N” He was hard to understand but slowly and steadily he collected himself.

“I don’t hate you, love” You tried not to touch him too much but it was hard, you just wanted to wrap him in your arms. The way that woman treated him and seeing the way it affected him hurt you. “Credence, you are an amazing, caring person; Why would I ever hate you? You are the best person I know.” Saying this surprised you, but you meant it. The way he grew out his hair after he escaped, him starting to get confident and comfortable enough to ask for things, even if they were little. You loved even the little things about him.

“I think I love you” He looked shameful but kept going, “I love your Y/H/L Y/H/C hair when it’s in the sun, the way you came here and comforted me, I love your laugh, I love how you stay with me when I’m like this, the way you're not afraid-” You needed him to shut up. It sounded rude but you couldn’t watch him continuing to not kiss you, so, maybe, you took things into your own hands. Your heart went a million miles a minute, you felt every cliche shimmy down your throat and lodge there.

Credence was stunned unresponsive for a minute or two before he clumsily started to work his tongue in tandem with yours.

He was first to pull away, gasping. You weren’t going to lie, it was wonderful to know you kissed the breath out of his lungs. Credence seemed to be in the same blissful state as you until he started to shake.

“I’m so sorry, that was too much-” Credence grabbed your arms and pulled you towards him.

“It was my turn” He looked down at you with a smirk and watery eyes. That was something you’d never forget.  

[lily-is-writing]

Headcanons: Comforting Credence Barebone

Request: Hey! :3 could you write a headcanon of the reader comforting Credence Barebone? Author’s Note: Brief Trauma Mention, nothing in-depth though

• First of all, this boy needs hugs. It is so obvious how touch starved he is

• But also he is dealing with some trauma so you need to approach carefully. He wouldn’t hurt you, he might just be scared you’re gonna do something not so nice

• When he finally realises he is safe with you, he will sink into the hug, probably cry a little, all the while listening to what you have to say

• Comforting words are equally as important as actions for this boy, hearing you say that you care and you want to listen to him and be there for him will make him so unbelievably happy.

• He blurts it all out to you, how he feels, exactly what happened and the effect it’s had. It hard for him to say, he might stutter and he will definitely sob when it comes to explaining the false hope he felt when he thought he had a friend in ‘Mr Graves’

• Avoid making threats to hurt anyone who hurt him when he is like this. It makes him feel bad, he doesn’t actually want anyone to be harmed.

• This won’t be a one of, he needs reassurance every now and then to feel like he isn’t alone

• Forehead kisses are a must. They make him smile even with tears streaming down his face

• You need to have patience because he will fall into these pits of despair sometimes. He is kinda convinced that these good times won’t last and all the bad will come swarming back

• He also will doubt your care sometimes and it may hurt your feelings but stick by him, his love and loyalty are so worth it

[mysticalreadingnerd]

Let Me Warm Your Heart Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |

Words: 1876

Summary: Wishful thinking can often bring dreams into reality. Or is it the other way around?

Disclaimer: Don’t own my boy Credence or anything of FBAWTFT, sadly. GIF credits to the owner.

Warnings: triggers for abuse, blood, ANGST and depression.

The belt sliced through the air, its slick slap resounding across the room like a whip. Credence whimpered loudly, the leather slicing through his skin and drawing blood from the welts that crisscrossed across his hands. Tears had made his vision hazy and stained his face into a blotchy red as his Ma struck down again and again and again, unrelenting in her blows. She hit him with more force than every preceding strike, trying to vent her anger the only way she knew. The force of the last lash brought him to his knees and the pain tore at his being, becoming so unbearable that he couldn’t breathe anymore. 

Darkness clouded his eye-sight momentarily as Mary Lou’s livid face stared at him with revulsion. “You should remember this the next time you lie. You wretched, wicked boy! No sins will be tolerated as long as you are sheltered in this house!” The agony of the hits made him crumble further into himself as the pain rippled across his consciousness. The next thing he knew he was lying on the floor of his room.

He had probably passed out from the pain, his delirium carrying him upto his bed, the last small sanctuary in this house at least. He was unaware as to what time it was but the cold night air that flowed through the open window and chilled him with the icy hands of the December winter brought the rough estimate to a few hours. A shadow passed along the window and he looked up. The sight that he saw made him want to cry again. But this time, out of relief. Y/N had somehow managed to enter his house, his very room without detection. He stared at her unblinkingly, wondering how she had got past his Ma… 

Horror dawned upon him with the realisation of her presence. Oh no! If his mother were to find out that she was here… he shook his head at her vehemently, “No. You have to leave…if she…if she finds…” she shushed him, placing a finger on his lips and he fell silent, enthralled by that one touch. She motioned for him to be quiet and crept toward the door, with the stealth of a seasoned lurker. She heard for any sounds emanating from outside and once she had made sure that no one was awake, she stepped towards him.

Y/N guided him towards the bed, settling him on the ragged cot and sitting beside him. She motioned for Credence to give his hands into her hold. He was hesitant at first, unwilling to show the real extent of the damage caused. His conflicted gaze searched in her eyes and seeing the empathy in them, he brought his mangled fingers forward. She let out a hissed breath on seeing the bloody mess that were his hands. Her first touch was as gentle as a feather but still a whimper escaped him, despite his efforts to drown them out. The pain was agonising and it was taking all his effort to not cry out loud. 

“Shh…Credence, honey, just wait for a bit. I will make sure the pain goes away.” He stared at her, not believing her comforting words but thankful for them nonetheless. “I… I was just hungry… and cold… so cold… I asked for one spoonful more, that’s it… I didn’t want Chastity to get hurt… hurt because of me. So I lied, said that the portions went bad. I didn’t want to… to sin… I promise. I promise I won’t, ever…”

The tears streaming down his cheeks soaked the collar of his shirt and the snot must have made him even more unsightly than usual. Disregarding all that, Y/N opened her arms in a silent beckon for him to come close and he melted into her embrace, his pain dulled to a persistent throb now that she was there. 

She wiped his face with her sleeve and her hand stroked the base of his skull, drawing soothing circles as he hiccupped, with his head laid upon her shoulder. With immense care she took one of his hands into hers and warmth spread through it, a dull glow emanating from her hand to his. He stared at their linked fingers, awestruck by the miracle happening before his very eyes. The searing pain dulled to a throbbing ache before slowly diminishing into nothingness. She took his other hand and repeated the process while he watched as her face scrunched up in concentration, not comprehending the scene unfolding in front of him. “How?” the word escaped his mouth as he continued staring long after Y/N was done tending to his wounds. She just smiled and winked at him as if to say, ‘guess’. 

Was this what his mother called magic? Was the soothing touch that healed and this warm glow that emanated from the woman he loved known as witchcraft? If that were true, if this was the sin that his Ma warned everyone against he wondered whether the world as he knew it had been turned upon its head, upside down. For even if he were unaware of the worldly knowledge that others may boast of, nobody could convince him that these were the doings of Satan. An angel in every sense had just taken his hurt away and the affection which shined in her eyes was something that a devil would never be capable of. 

Before he could ask any further questions, she shook her head. “I can’t say anything here”, she gave a furtive glance at the door and then at the window, “I had to make sure you were okay. Just sleep now, alright?” when he made no motion to move, she got up and shifted him so that he was lying on the cot. She tucked him under the lone blanket and was about to leave when Credence grabbed her hand, surprising both himself and her and said, “Stay. Only till I fall asleep. Just… be with me.” Something shifted in her eyes, something he couldn’t quite figure out but she nodded and sat at the edge of the bed. He looked at her sitting there and as their eyes locked, he wordlessly moved so that there was enough space for the both of them.

Understanding his silent plea, Y/N lifted the blanket and snuggled in with him, pulling him into her embrace once again. Credence moulded his body to hers, laying his head on her chest as she wrapped him in a hug, stroking his hair with gentle caresses. His now healed hands, hesitant at first lay at her sides but when she shifted to make space for him, silently acquiescing, he placed them around her waist tightening his hold on her small body. Her heartbeat thudded in his ears as he timed his own breathing to it, sleep making his eyelids heavy. “Please don’t leave me.” He mumbled, half asleep, his fingers tightened even more at her waist, giving the momentary illusion that if he held onto her tight enough, she wouldn’t disappear into thin air like he feared she would. The silence stretched on and he wondered whether he had spoken the words aloud or not. Her reply came like the wind weaving through trees, barely audible, “I wish I could stay with you, love.”

The words were whispered like a church confession and he sleepily lifted his head to look at her. The shadows danced across her face and before his mind could process what he was doing, he shifted along her length their legs intertwining with each other. With mere inches separating their faces and the distance fast diminishing, he whispered back, “I love you.” Credence pressed his lips to hers, his cold ones seeking and receiving her warm, chapped ones. It was slow, hazy and made up of something quite similar to the magic (if you could call it that) he had witnessed moments ago. The unhurried, languid movements cocooned him in a protective shell, even if it might be false. Quite against his wishes, his eyes closed as he retreated and a soft sigh escaped Y/N, their breaths mingling in the cold air. He should have been awake to know what she said next, to see what expression her face held, whether she was angry, disappointed or just sad. 

But the fatigue of the day weighed heavy upon him and before he knew it he went under the spell of a dreamless sleep. What felt like an unquantifiable amount of time passed as his body went through sensations and motions best known to the realm of unconsciousness. A sudden external shift pulled him from this weightless state and he noticed that he was lying alone in his bed. A gentle hand stroked his forehead a kiss was placed on his temple. He tried to clutch to that familiar touch that felt so much like home, hold onto it with everything he had and never let it go but it escaped his fumbling grasp. “I’m sorry.” He wondered whether his sleep induced mind had imagined those words or distorted them into something else entirely.   

A soft voice called him as a wetness formed in his half closed eyes. Credence. He wondered why they were calling him now. Credence. The wetness leaked from the corner of his eye, dripping along the length of his nose before falling on the pillow and dampening it. Credence. He noticed that the pillow had become quite soaked, how long had he been like this? “Credence!” his eyes fluttered awake as his hand grasped the one shaking him awake. Wide eyes peered into his as Modesty looked at her brother, half dazed and disoriented from sleep. “Credence, you will need to wake up soon. Ma will be calling.” He let go of her hand, the cuts on his hand stabbing him like knives against the rough fabric of Modesty’s shirt. He stared at the lacerations, the blood crusted on them, barely healed and raw. “Yeah”, he croaked in response, his voice gravelly with sleep. She left the room and he slumped back into his pillow, burrowing his head into the damp fabric.

He subconsciously cradled his hand, eyes shut tight as the tears flowed freely. He felt sorry as well. Because what his mind had conjured up would always be just that, a broken dream that held the sorrow of his reality. And it being a dream didn’t dull the pain. Not just of his flesh wounds, no. The fact that he would never be able to hold her like he was clinging to his very life (because that was what she was) and be held with the same tenderness in return, tell her how much he loved her and see the affection reflected in her eyes, the way they sparkled in the dream. And perhaps, he thought finally, openly sobbing into the pillow. This last thought made him cry harder than before. Perhaps, he would never be able to see her ever again. The pain was there, ever present, throbbing and real. And it would never go away. Because people could leave you in seconds without even a goodbye, but feelings lasted for a long  time. Sometimes they lasted for a life time. 

Tagging : @multifandom-slytherin, @mysticracoon, @thequeerishere555 @daeshaunex2 @retardedhumanhere

Let me know if you want to be tagged.

A/N: Tried my hand at angst, wonder if it worked…? A small make up chapter for the previous lack of updates. No? Okay, I’ll just leave this here and back away slowly…

~ Mystical reading nerd

[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.